Painted Scars (Perfectly Imperfect, #1)(21)

“Yeah, you won’t be running anywhere today, literally or figuratively. You just took a triple dose of painkillers, so you’ll probably be out in less than an hour, sleeping like a baby.”

“Shit,” he curses, then grumbles something in Russian and shakes his head.

“I have no idea what you just said, but I agree.” I nod. “Do you need to call them to cancel?”



“Yeah. Give me the phone.”

When we get to the living room, Roman somehow manages to transfer himself to the sofa. I grab one of the big pillows to put under his leg, then go to his room and bring back a blanket, which I throw over him. Roman follows my every move with his eyes but doesn’t comment. I don’t think he’s accustomed to having someone fuss over him. I might be wrong, but I believe he secretly enjoys it. I head to the kitchen and check out the breakfast left on the tray. It’s some kind of a hand pie with fruit filling. I take a bite. Still warm—it’ll do.

“I started watching a movie last night, do you want to join in? I only watched fifteen minutes or so.

I’ll bring you up to speed,” I shout while I’m taking a carafe of orange juice from the fridge.

“Sounds good.”

“Any chance there is popcorn somewhere?” I ask as I open the cupboard.

“I doubt it.”

“What about the kitchen downstairs? We can’t watch a movie without popcorn.”

“I have no idea. Call Varya and ask her.”

I carry over the tray with breakfast and place it on the low table in front of the sofa, then turn to Roman. “You take an awful lot of space. Head up, please.”

“And you are bossy today,” he says but rises onto his elbows.

I sit down in the place where his head has been, prop my legs onto the table and tap on my thigh.

Roman slowly lowers himself back down, putting his head on my lap. He hands me his phone with Varya’s number already selected.




I just can’t wait to hear this.

“Varya, I’m sorry if I interrupted you,” Nina chirrups into the phone. “Do you maybe have popcorn somewhere?”

I don’t hear the reply, but I can imagine Varya’s face. I’m pretty sure that no one ever saw popcorn in this house. We have bombs, a few crates of grenades, and a ton of ammunition in the garage. But no popcorn.

“Yes, popcorn . . . Well, to eat. We are watching a movie.” She listens to Varya’s response. “What do you mean ‘who’s we’? Me and Roman.” Another pause, and then, “Yes, Varya, I am serious . . .

No, that’s not necessary, . . . I . . . Okay, thank you.”

She places the phone on the table, looks down at me, and makes a disgusted face. “There is no popcorn, but she’ll bring us peanuts. I hate those, but she is eager to come over.”

Of course, she is.

The knock on the door comes less than five minutes later. Varya starts heading toward the living room but stops midway to stare at us. Her eyes glide over me lying on the sofa under the blanket, and when they come to my head resting on Nina’s lap, her eyebrows hit her hairline. Then she approaches, leaves a bowl of peanuts on the table, and throws another look at me, her eyes going to Nina’s hand that’s buried into my hair, her fingers playing with one of the strands.

“I could have come down for that,” Nina says.

“Nonsense, child. Do you two need anything else?”

“Can we get the lunch here, later I mean? I don’t think Roman will be leaving this couch anytime soon.”

Varya throws me a look and smirks. “Oh, I’m sure he won’t.”

When Varya leaves, Nina leans back and starts the movie. She’s bringing me up to speed on what happened, but I don’t really pay attention to what she’s saying, and instead close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her hand running through my hair. The painkillers start to kick in, and I could probably get up and go back to my room or at least sit up, but instead, I stay in the same position and listen to Nina’s voice describing in great detail how the murder in the movie happened and drift away.



*

“I’m not bringing you the crutches, Roman.”

I stare at Nina from my sitting position on the sofa and grind my teeth. We spent the whole morning and a good part of the afternoon lounging in the living room. I even managed to sleep for almost two hours, and my knee is much better.

“Nina!”

“Roman.”

“Get me the fucking crutches. Please.”

“No crutches for you today,” she says and pushes the wheelchair toward me.

“You are overstepping your boundaries,” I bite out.

“Sue me.”

I curse, get into the fucking chair, and wheel myself into my bedroom. After I take a shower and change, I take my laptop and go back to the living room. I hate to admit it, but there is still some piercing in my knee. It’s not that bad, but it’s still easier to be sitting; and, since I’m in a chair anyway, I decide to do some work.

“I’m going to the office,” I say and nod toward the door. “Let’s go, I’ll give you the tour along the way.”

She follows me down the east corridor, and I point to each door we pass. “The second office, which I don’t use. Two guest bedrooms, locked. The gym. I work out there every morning, and three times a week I have a physical therapist coming.”