Page 19 of Velvet Chains
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Chapter 8
Laura
I STEP back, my hands falling away from his chest. The hurt from his words stings like a slap, but I refuse to let him see how deep it cuts. I clench my jaw, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over.
Screw him.
I turn away, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the anger and pain swirling inside me. When I finally trust my voice not to shake, I face him again.
“Well, yes, you’re right,” I say, my tone icier than I intended.“Being poor and pathetic is just the worst. How silly of me to think that your life might actually matter more than money or power.”
His eyes flash with something that looks like regret, but I don’t give him a chance to respond. I’m too raw, too wounded to hear any more of his cutting words.
Just then, a knock at the door interrupts the tense silence between us.
I gather the delicate fabric of my gown in one hand, making my way to the door. With a soft click, I turn the handle and open it, revealing a familiar face.
“I apologize for the intrusion,” he says, a tired smile on his lips. “I’m Dr. Petrov. We met briefly at the dining table the other day.”
Recognition dawns on me as I take in his chiseled features, the lines of fatigue and concern doing little to diminish his rugged, masculine presence.
“Of course, please come in,” I say, stepping aside to allow him entry.
Dr. Petrov nods gratefully, his exhaustion evident in the slight slouch of his broad shoulders as he moves past me into the room.
His gaze darts between Victor and me. “I know you must be tired, but I need to check on your wounds, Victor.”
Victor nods, his jaw tight. I can see the pain he’s trying to hide, the exhaustion weighing on him.
Dr. Petrov’s eyes twinkle as he sets his medical bag down. “Well, it’s nice to hear the first husband and wife fight.”
“We’re not fighting,” Victor and I say in unison, our gazes locking in surprise.
Dr. Petrov chuckles, shaking his head. “Could’ve fooled me. The tension in here is thicker than Victor’s skull.”
“Just patch me up, Doc,” he grumbles, easing himself down onto the bed.
I hover nearby, watching as Dr. Petrov carefully removes the blood-soaked bandages. I can’t help but wince at the sight of the angry, puckered wound on Victor’s shoulder.
“You really should be more careful,” I murmur, my earlier anger fading into concern.
Victor’s eyes meet mine. “I’ll keep that in mind, wife.”
Wife.
The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine; possessive and dominant. I look away, focusing on Dr. Petrov’s skilled hands as he cleans and redresses the wound.
“There,” the doctor says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “This should hold up for tonight’s wedding reception. Well, almost.”
Victor flexes his shoulder, grimacing slightly. “Thanks, Doc.”
Dr. Petrov nods, packing up his supplies. “Just doing my job. You two play nice now, you hear? I don’t want to have to stitch up any more wounds tonight.”
He winks at me, and I feel a blush creeping up my neck. Victor just grunts, but I swear I see the hint of a smile playing at the edge of his mouth.
Dr. Petrov pauses at the door, his hand on the knob. He turns back to face us, a knowing smile on his lips. “Oh, before I forget, your father wanted me to pass along a message.”
