Painted Scars (Perfectly Imperfect, #1)(57)

“I asked you a question. I need an answer, malysh.”

The dam bursts upon me hearing his endearment, and the tears flow freely down my face. My

lower lip starts quivering so I bite it and slowly raise my hands to his face. They are trembling. I hesitate for a second, then place my palms on his cheeks.

“You. Left. Me,” he whispers, and then bangs the door with his palm. “You fucking left me!”

“I know.”

Rage. So much rage in his eyes as he looks down at me, his jaw set in a hard line.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he whispers. “I wish I could turn back time and do things differently. I can’t, and that’s a fact. But I am not sorry for killing that bastard. That’s another fact for you. I’ll ask again. Why do you care if I was shot?”

I can’t make myself look away from his eyes. He’s not sorry for what he did. Can I live with that?

Roman clenches his jaw, reaches with his hand, and buries it in the hair at the back of my head.

“Answer me, damn it.”

“Because I love you, Roman!” I press my palms onto his cheeks and shake his stubborn head. “I love you. I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt. You will end this fucking war you have started, you hear me? I don’t care how you do it, but end it, or so help me God, I’m going to kill you myself.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, staring into my eyes with his fingers clutching the back of my head.

“Marry me,” he says, “and I’ll stop the war.”




Nina’s eyes go wide at my proposition. She’s probably wondering if I’m serious, and you bet I am.

No matter the means, I’m getting her back.

“You are blackmailing me into marrying you. Again.”

It’s not a question, but I decide to clarify anyway. “Yes, I am.”

Her eyes stare into mine, and I watch them closely. They are red at the edges, and the tears are still flowing. I don’t think she even notices that she’s still crying, and I yearn to brush them away with my hand. This will be the last time she cries because of me, I vow it to myself.

I need her to say yes. There is no way I can go through one more night without my wildcat curled into my side. She took my black heart with her that day she left, and if she says no, she can keep it.

I’m ruined for anyone else anyway.

“Jesus, Roman,” she sighs and presses the heels of her palms over her eyes.

I stare at her hands, which are smeared with black paint, and a tiny flame of hope rises in my chest.

“You didn’t take off the rings.”

“I couldn’t.” She lowers her hands and sniffs.

Okay. We are getting somewhere. I reach for her hand and take off the rings from her finger. They come off too easily. She has lost weight. I’m going to strangle her.

“Give those back!” she yelps and grabs for my hand, but I move it behind my back.

“I will. Just give me a few seconds,” I say, and gripping the cane, slowly start lowering my left knee toward the floor.

Nina stares at me, her eyes wide. She is crying again. “Shit, baby. Don’t do that.”

I ignore the screaming pain in my right leg and lower my left knee a bit more. It’s not the exact pose I envisioned, but it’s the closest to getting on one knee I can manage. I raise the rings in front of her.

“Will you marry me, malysh?”

She whimpers and exhales, tears still streaming down her face, then grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me up. It takes me a few seconds to straighten, and when I do, she raises her hand between us.

“You are not getting away with the cheap version this time, Roman.” She sniffs. “I want a dress, big and fluffy and sparkling. I want a ton of flowers, an orchestra playing fancy music, and of course —”

I feel my lips curl up in a smile. I am so fucking in love with my crazy little wife.

“I love you,” I whisper, slide the rings onto her finger, then grab her face and kiss her.



*

I trace my palm down Nina’s back, then lower it to squeeze her ass, and retrace the path up all the way to the back of her head where my fingers get stuck in tangled dark green strands. “Will this wash off?”

Nina lifts her head from my chest and looks at the strand of hair between my fingers. “Not a fan of green?”

“Not really. But if you like it, I’m okay with it. It’s awful, though.”

“It’ll wash off in a week or so. I hate it too.” She shrugs and places her head down again, just over my heart. “How will you stop the war with the Italians?”

“The usual way. Someone is going to get married to a sweet and docile Italian girl.”

“How romantic. And who will be the lucky groom?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Probably Kostya.”

“I’m sure he will be thrilled.” She yawns and closes her eyes. “How’s the physical therapy been going?”

“I finished it two weeks ago. Warren said we reached the maximum of what could be achieved, so there is no need for it anymore.”

“I’m glad. I know how much you hated those sessions. You are sexy with the cane, just like I predicted.” She smiles sleepily.