Painted Scars (Perfectly Imperfect, #1)(58)

I lift a few tangled strands of hair from her face, then look to the side of the bed where my crutches are leaning on the wall. I don’t think she noticed them when we came in, since we were preoccupied with removing our clothes on the way to the bed. She would find out in the morning anyway, but I prefer to tell her right away and be done with it.

“Nina . . . I have to tell you something.”

“Mhm . . . can it wait till the morning?”

“No.”

Her head snaps up immediately, her eyes staring me down. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. It’s just something I need you to know.”

“Oh, God . . .” She groans, “Just tell me what the fuck you did.”

My beautiful little flower is watching me, her eyes wide. I hate that I have to tell her. I hate it so much it makes me sick.

“I’m still using the crutches, Nina. My knee is still stiff in the mornings, and I can’t walk without them for the first hour or so.” I grit my teeth and continue, “I sometimes need them in the evenings, too.”

She is just watching me, her eyes staring into mine. I need her to say something. Anything.

“And?” she asks finally.

“And what? That’s it,” I say.

Her eyes widen even more.

“Holy fuck, Roman, don’t scare me like that.” She hits me on the chest with her palm. “I thought you were going to tell me something important, like how you offed Igor while I was away. Christ, baby.”

I stare at her. Not the reaction I expected. Disappointment, yes. Or at least some displeasure when she realized that she’ll end up tied to a disabled man for the rest of her life. Isn’t that bloody important? Maybe she thinks it’s only temporary.

“Nina, you don’t understand. It won’t get any better than this for me. I’m sorry, malysh.”

She leans forward until her forehead touches mine and places her palms on either side of my face.

“Yes, you already told me. I also saw your crutches and deduced as much myself, baby. And I

couldn’t care less.” She places a kiss on my lips. “So, you didn’t kill anyone while I was away?”

I decide to plead the Fifth, and wisely keep my mouth shut.

“Roman?” She narrows her eyes at me.

I sigh. “I offed Tanush, okay?”

“I knew it. I . . .” She shakes her head.

“He was the one who set up the bomb with Leonid.”

Nina regards me, scrunches her nose, then nods. “He deserved it.” She says and resumes her

position on my chest. “Just please don’t kill anyone else because of me.”

I listen until her breathing evens out. When I’m sure she’s sleeping soundly, I take her small hand from my chest and place a kiss on the tips of her fingers.

“I will be killing anyone who dares to hurt you,” I whisper. “I will just make sure you don’t find out next time.”





Epilogue


Two months later




“You are not coming with me to buy the wedding dress, Roman.” I glare at him from the other side of the kitchen, my hands on my hips.

“I will be outside the changing room. I won’t look, but I will be there.”

“No,” I say.

“Yes.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“There is nothing ridiculous about my fear for your safety. I still can’t forget the day when the bastard that Leonid hired tried to kill you. You have no idea what that one hour of not knowing if you were hurt or dead did to me. I will not go through that again.”

He comes in front of me, scoops me up with his arm around my waist, and deposits me on the

counter. It has become my favorite spot.

“Show off.” I reach out and squeeze his rock-hard biceps.

“You love when I do that,” he says and stands between my legs. “And it saves me from straining my neck.”

I feel his hand at the back of my knee, then traveling up along my thigh to my panties. He places his cane onto the counter, and then his other hand slides under my skirt.

“I will be late for the fitting.”

“They will wait,” he whispers in my ear, and suddenly I hear the fabric of my panties tear.

“I will have to find the architect who calculated the height of this counter . . .” He reaches for his belt, unclasps it, and starts unbuttoning his pants. “And I will tip them well.”

“How well?” I smile, hook my legs around his waist, and take a hold of the counter edge.

“Extremely.” He grabs my butt cheeks and buries himself in me with one thrust.



*

“Roman,” I say an hour later. “I want to try again.”

His hand stills in my back. “No.”

We’ve been trying to get over my fears and, it seems we were getting somewhere. Having him hold my wrists doesn’t trigger me anymore. We tried that first. However, when we tried having me lying on my back, we hit a dead-end. Whenever Roman tried to lay above me, even without actually pinning me with his body, I would freak out. It was tearing me apart from inside. I wanted to feel his body covering mine so much, but my mind always processed the situation the wrong way. I don’t know what to do to make my fucked-up brain “un-fuck” itself.