Painted Scars (Perfectly Imperfect, #1)(24)

“Why? Did she want to eat them all by herself?”

Varya turns to me, and there is this mischievous satisfied look in her eyes, like a cat who got the cream. “No, Roman. She was mad because they didn’t leave any for you.”

At that moment Nina raises her head, our gazes connect, and she smiles at me. It’s like the sun had suddenly broken through the dark clouds, hitting me with its warmth, and I find myself wishing that this was real and not just an act. Her heels click on the floor as she is approaches, echoing in the big space.

“They ate your piroshki,” she says and puts her hands on her hips.

She is so bloody cute when she is mad. I lean forward, grab her around her waist with one arm and under her knees with the other. Lifting her, I deposit her onto my lap.

She squeaks and wraps her arms around my neck. “I got flour all over your shirt.”

“I don’t care,” I say and grab the wheels. “Hold tight.”

Her eyes widen, but she tightens her arms around my neck.

“Open the door for us, Varya,” I call over my shoulder, turn the chair around and wheel us into the hallway.

With Nina’s legs dangling on the side of the chair, it requires a little more maneuvering to handle the right wheel, but I manage, and take us across the hallway and into the elevator. She’s laughing like crazy along the way, with her face buried into my neck, and it feels so damn good.

My light mood evaporates the moment we exit the elevator and I see Leonid standing at the top of the stairs, looking at us with a calculated stare. I ignore him and take us to the door of my suite.

“Thanks for the ride.” Nina giggles and stands to open the door.

“Any time, malysh.” Inside, I shut the door behind me. “Come, we need to talk.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Maybe. Go get changed, I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.”




When I enter the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing clean clothes, I find Roman rummaging through the fridge. He changed as well, into a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt that stretches tightly over his wide back. I can’t help but stare.

“How’s the knee?” I ask when I manage to stop ogling him. He’s on his crutches again, so I

suppose he’s feeling better.

“Back to normal,” he says and closes the fridge. “Or as normal as it was a few days ago. I have to call to schedule my therapist for tomorrow. I had to cancel today’s session.”

I walk over and stand next to him, sure that I’ve finally overcome my body’s idiotic response to his size. My arm brushes his elbow accidentally, and I flinch.

“Sorry,” I whisper and close my eyes, angry with myself. I hate this.

I feel Roman’s arm around my waist, and in the next moment, I find myself sitting on the counter.

“You don’t have to do that all the time,” I sigh.

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s absurd. Did it hurt your leg?”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but you are kind of small, Nina. My leg is perfectly fine.”

“Everyone is kind of small around you, Roman.” I roll my eyes and swat his shoulder. “Does the physical therapy help?”

“Yes, but it’s slow. It took me two months to walk on crutches. One more to use them without having significant pain. Warren says we’ll try the cane in a couple of weeks, see how it goes.” He moves to the counter beside where I’m sitting, reaching for a glass and the orange juice container.

“And after that?”

He doesn’t reply right away, seeming to concentrate on pouring the orange juice.

“My knee is too fucked up. The cane is probably the best I can do.”

By the way he avoids looking me in the eyes, he doesn’t like that outcome.

“You’ll be sexy with the cane, Roman. Very aristocratic looking.”

His eyes snap up to mine and his lips lift in a smile. “And I’m not sexy now?”

Oh, you have no idea how much, I want to say. Instead, I just laugh. “Are you fishing for compliments, Pakhan? My God, you are so vain.” I nudge him playfully, and we both chuckle. When the laughter trails off, I change the subject. “You said you have something to discuss.”

“Yes. I need you to bug Leonid’s room first. His office as well, but his room is the priority.”

“Okay. How do we go about getting me into his room? I could sneak in while he’s working.”

“There is always somebody around, a maid or some of the guys.” Roman shifts his weight away

from his bad leg and leans his hip on the counter. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“What if I mess up?”

“You won’t.” He reaches for me with his hand as if he is going to touch my face, but then

reconsiders and turns away. “Did you inform your parents that we got married?”

I cringe. “Not yet. Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. Mom is going to kill me. She always talked about how she wanted to organize this huge wedding if I ever found someone crazy enough to marry me. Maybe I’ll just message her.”

A muscle ticks in Roman's jaw, and he leans toward me until our noses almost touch. “You can’t inform your mother that you got married via text message, Nina. You will call her and ask her and your father to come over for dinner.”