Painted Scars (Perfectly Imperfect, #1)(10)

Roman rolls up beside me. “You like it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m not a fan of large things,” I mumble.

Three stone steps lead to the main door, and I wonder how will Roman get up them, but then I notice a narrow ramp at the far side. He wheels himself up with ease. Watching him, I feel a pang of sadness. It must be hard for a man like him to have his life turned upside down so drastically. I take the steps to meet him at the entrance, and a security guard awaiting Roman’s arrival opens the big oak door for us.

Roman leads me across the big foyer to the elevator under the crossing of a huge double stairway.

A man in the same black gear as those outside enters from the hallway on the left. When he sees us, he stops and nods his head to Roman.



“Pakhan,” he says.

“Is Varya still awake?”

“Yes. I think she’s in the kitchen.”

“Tell her I’m back. Have her instruct one of the girls to prepare a quick dinner and then she can go to bed,” Roman says and gazes at me. “And tell the staff to make sure to stay out of the east wing. I don’t want anyone there unless I call for them.”

“For tonight?”

I see a mysterious smile form on Roman’s lips. “No. Tell them it’s until further notice, Vova. I’ll ring the kitchen when we’re ready for dinner.”

“Of course.” The man nods and turns to leave, but not before he glances in my direction with interest.

Judging by his facial expression and the way his eyes widened after Roman’s remark, the gossip is about to begin.

When we exit the elevator, Roman leads me down the hallway on the left and through the ornate wooden door opening into a huge space with a living room in the center. There’s a library on the far left and an enormous modern kitchen with a dining room on the right. The furniture is sparse, I suppose to make it easier for him to get around. The space is decorated in earth tones, mostly browns and beige, with lots of natural material—wood, mostly. It’s modern, but not cold. I like it.

“We need to go through some basics,” he says and nods toward the living area where a long sofa that could probably sit five people takes the central place in front of the big TV mounted on the wall.

“You will be sleeping in the room over there.” He points to the right. “My bedroom is on the other side.”

The space is so huge it takes me a few seconds to locate the doors he’s talking about. I don’t particularly care how the room looks, as long as it has a soft bed and a keyed lock on the door. My feet are killing me, so I go toward the sofa, taking off my heels along the way, and drop down onto soft cushions.

It feels strange, being here in his space. I’m going to be living here for the next six months. With him. Somehow it all seemed unreal until this moment, as if everything was happening to someone else. But now, with me sitting on his sofa, in his house, it finally hits me. This is really happening.

I should be scared shitless. Something must be very wrong with me because, yes, I feel the anxiety and I’m nervous, but there is no fear. I look up to meet the eyes of the head to the Russian criminal underworld—the man who promised to kill me if I fail to play my part in his strange scheme—and that flock of butterflies explodes in my stomach again. Dear God, I need to have my head checked, because instead of being afraid like a normal person, I’m attracted to him.




“It’s late, so I will walk you through the house tomorrow.” I wheel myself toward the sofa. “It would be best if you don’t roam around alone until I introduce you to everyone.”

“Okay.” Nina nods. “So, what now?”

“I’ll call the kitchen to bring us some food since we didn’t eat anything. Do you want something specific?”

“I’m not hungry, but it wouldn’t hurt to let the staff walk in on us. It’ll make the gossip pick up pace.”

Doing a show for the staff wasn’t in my plan for tonight. I assumed she would want to go to bed to get away from me as soon as we arrived, but now I’m curious what she has in mind. It’s slightly disturbing—the way she acts is so casual, like this whole situation is completely normal. There is nothing normal about having been pressured to move in with a stranger and pose as his wife. She must really love her father to agree to this sham and be so invested.

While I’m calling the kitchen, Nina starts taking the pins from her hair, and I watch the long black strands fall down her back one by one, like a waterfall of inky silk. I wonder if her hair is as soft as it looks.

“When do you expect the maid to arrive?” Nina asks as she takes out the last pin.

“Any second.”

“Okay then, let’s start.” She gets up from the sofa and comes to stand before me.

Leaning in, she starts undoing the buttons on my shirt, her face the embodiment of calm, but I notice that her hands are shaking slightly. A normal reaction, at last. When she’s done with my shirt, she cocks her head like she’s thinking about something and then looks me in the eyes.

“Can I hop on?”

I narrow my eyes. “Where?”

“In your lap? Will it hurt your leg?”

She wants to climb into my lap? I can’t stop staring at her. “It won’t hurt my leg.”