Page 69 of The Bratva's Arranged Virgin Bride
“Where are we going?” she asked, mildly panicking. “Not my father’s house?”
Did she think I would give her up after all that? After anything?
“I have a place that’s not too far from him,” I said. “I’ve been getting it ready. The beach house can be used for weekend getaways. This will be more of a home.”
She smiled and relaxed. “Home,” she sighed. “I like the sound of that.”
Leaning back against the headrest, she was half asleep by the time we pulled up the long, winding drive. She only nestled into my arms as I carried her inside and upstairs to my bedroom, soon to be ours. No more separate rooms. We were starting fresh.
By the time I had the covers over her, she was fast asleep, her tangled, blood-stained hair spread out beside her as she rolled into a ball on her side. Pulling up a chair, I sat within arm’s reach of her and called my private physician, who was used to late-night calls for strange emergencies. He said he’d be over right away, and I waited at Nat’s side, finding it hard to blink as I watched her chest rise and fall with each steady breath.
She had to be all right.
The doctor woke her up long enough to do an exam. It was pretty much as she thought, cuts and bruises and a mild concussion from the nasty welt on the back of her head. The doctor agreed to spend the rest of the night and went to camp out downstairs in case anything changed.
Nat looked at me from where she was propped up on a mountain of pillows, her eyelids already growing heavy again.
“You’re being silly to worry,” she said, the words barely out of her mouth before she drifted back to sleep.
“I don’t think I am,” I answered her anyway, settling down beside her to keep vigil as she slept.
I wouldn’t lose her now, not when she was back with me, where she belonged. I barely moved, perfectly content to stay glued to her side, passing the hours and making sure the love of my life stayed with me.
