Painted Scars (Perfectly Imperfect, #1)(49)

Roman still hasn’t come back. I clutch my sweater tighter around me and look at the clock again, probably for the hundredth time in the past hour. It’s half past three, and he hasn’t called or texted. I didn’t want to call him and intrude on his business deal, so I checked with Maxim—who stayed at the house—around one, then again around three. He didn’t know anything.

“Damn it, Roman,” I murmur to myself, eyes glued to the gate visible on the other side of the lawn.

“Don’t you dare get yourself killed.”

Sometime around four, the gate slides to the side and two cars park in front of the house. Men start exiting the cars, and I plaster my palms onto the window, looking for Roman. He exits last, and the way he gets out of the car—painfully, slowly—tells me he pushed his knee way too far this time.

“Stubborn, stubborn idiot,” I mumble. A distance he usually covers in seconds now takes him

almost five minutes.

What the hell was he thinking? Warren told him he wasn’t allowed to walk long distances for at least a few more weeks, and he goes and pulls an all-nighter not even a week later.

In the bedroom, I take out the wheelchair from where he stowed it in the wardrobe, and park it just next to the door. He has this moronic idea that he won’t let his men see him in the chair ever again, so I cross my arms in front of me and wait for him.

Ten minutes later, the door opens and he hobbles inside. He looks at the chair, then at me. I guess the expression on my face shows how furious I am, because he slowly sits down and passes me the crutches.

“I am so mad at you,” I sneer through my teeth, lean the crutches on the wall, then turn to take his face in my hands. “How bad is the pain?”

He meets my eyes, but doesn’t say anything, just grinds his teeth.

“Shit, baby.” I lean in and kiss his forehead. “I’m going to get your painkillers. Two?”

“Make it three.”

“Okay. Do you need help getting on the bed?”

“If you take off your clothes and wait for me there, it would be a nice incentive.”

“Not tonight, so don’t get your hopes up.” I brush his cheek and head into the kitchen.

When I climb into bed with Roman thirty minutes later, he’s already knocked out with the triple dose of painkillers. I take the opportunity to watch him. He’s usually up before me so I don’t get the chance to catch him unguarded. I move a few strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead, and trace the line of his eyebrows, nose, and chin with my finger, admiring his harsh features. God, I was scared shitless tonight. Without a word from him, I was afraid something bad happened.

We will need to have a serious discussion on that subject tomorrow. I don’t think he did it on purpose; I have a feeling Roman simply isn’t accustomed to having people being concerned for his wellbeing. He never talks about his childhood, and I suspect it wasn’t an easy one. There is so much I still don’t know about him. He rarely shares details regarding his business, and I think he’s trying to shield me from that side of his life. But I’m not stupid. In the eyes of the world, my husband is a bad guy. In my eyes, however, he’s just Roman. I don’t give a fuck about the rest, and that fact scares me a bit, too.





Chapter 16


“We could have stayed home.” I gather my skirt and take Roman’s hand to exit the car.

“I owed you a dinner.”

“We should have gone back home after the restaurant. The club could have been left for some other time.”

“I have some business with Pavel here anyway, we won’t stay long.”

He could have discussed business with Pavel at the house; he’s doing this because of me. I just mentioned the club in passing yesterday, saying I had a great time and would like to go again sometime. I didn’t expect it to be the following day, damn it. He had to spend the whole day in the wheelchair after that stunt he pulled, and I hate that he’s pushing himself on my account. However, there is no discussion with Roman when he gets something into that thick head of his.

We arrive later than we did on our last visit, so the club is already packed. It takes serious maneuvering to get across the first room, even with Ivan leading the way. After we are seated, the waiter brings us drinks. I lean on Roman and turn to tell him something when I notice a tall blond man on the other side of the room. He’s standing with his back to me, chatting with a few other guys. I feel Roman’s hand come around my waist, and he asks me something. I don’t hear the words, my attention is focused on the blond guy. The more I look at him, the shallower my breathing becomes. Someone calls for him. He turns, and it feels like his movements are in slow-motion. Then, his face finally becomes visible. He looks up, our gazes clash, and I stop breathing.




I feel Nina stiffen next to me. It lasts for a few seconds, and then the hand she placed on my thigh starts shaking.

“Malysh? What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t react. It’s like she hasn’t even heard me. She just stares at the crowd. I follow her gaze, trying to see what may have spooked her, but I can’t find anything out of ordinary. People are drinking and talking, and nothing stands out except a man near the exit, looking in our direction. I don’t like other men looking at my wife, but it’s a common occurrence. Nina has an exotic beauty that attracts attention. However, the way this man is staring at her, it’s beyond ordinary interest—a mix of recognition and malice. He’s close to my height, so combined with the horrified way Nina is staring at him, the pieces of the puzzle click into place. Trying hard to control my rage, I take Nina’s chin and turn her head to face me.