Page 70 of The Bratva's Arranged Virgin Bride
Chapter 41 - Nat
I woke up nestled against Kolya’s sturdy chest, the crisp dark hairs tickling my cheek. I remembered waking up a few times to find him staring at me as if he was afraid I would disappear at any moment. I told him teasingly that he was being weird and he should go to sleep. He got in next to me and pulled me close, and as soon as he was breathing steadily, I drifted off again, safe and happy in his arms.
I had gone from believing I was as good as dead to having so much hope I was almost bursting with it. The bump on my head was only a dull ache now, and the other cuts and bruises had been patched up by a doctor who appeared out of nowhere. My hand still needed stitches, but it wasn’t an emergency, and Kolya didn’t want me to have to suffer more than I already had until I was more rested.
I gingerly moved my fingers, and a dull ache spread across my hand. It would be a long time before I could properly hold a paintbrush, but at least all my fingers were still there.
As much as I wanted a boiling hot shower and to scrub off the remnants of my captivity, I didn’t want to disturb Kolya, and I felt secure where I was. In his arms, where I belonged, and I never wanted to leave.
It was difficult to keep memories of what happened at bay. Flashes of Vissarion’s horrible, leering face and echoes of his taunts and laughter were still near. I had no idea if he was alive or dead, and I didn’t care, either. If he were still alive, he’d wish he were dead, because he wasn’t in for a good time, that was for sure.
I sighed softly, shifting in Kolya’s embrace. My father would go nuts if he knew what happened to me, and I hopedKolya wouldn’t feel the need to tell him. More than anyone, Aleks Fokin knew how dangerous life in the Bratva could be, and I understood now why he always wanted me to be sheltered. It was a miracle I got to study in Italy, but I soon figured out it was to keep me far away from what happened in his life.
Well, now it was going to be my life if I chose to stay in this arranged marriage. As if Kolya would let me go without a fight to end all fights. I saw how much he cared for me, and it left me awash in a warm glow. But was the evidence of his current feelings enough to erase what he’d done in the past? Would those feelings last?
A fresh twinge in the wound on my hand made me think of the career I wanted to have as an artist. Painting was my absolute life. I lived and breathed to mix new colors, and could haunt a museum until the security guards kicked me out. Despite my love for it, I never felt that I was good enough, and I was never satisfied with anything I did. I never even tried to prove myself wrong by putting any of my own paintings up for sale in my gallery in Milan. Too afraid that the fear of not being good enough was true.
The only one I deemed good enough and truly loved, I held close for inspiration that I might create something like it again one day. It was gone because of Kolya. Could I ever truly forgive him for that?
Oh, it was petty and childish, and I could argue with myself until the end of time about it, but that painting almost felt like my soul had come to life. It gave me hope that I was talented and not just a fraud.
Enough. I was going around in circles, and it made my head spin. What I needed was coffee, and I tried to sneak out of bed without disturbing Kolya. It didn’t work, and he stirred,holding onto me tighter. I wrestled away from him and forced a smile when he opened his eyes.
Just one look at me, and he knew something was wrong. Something beyond the fact that I was abducted and tortured by his enemy.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice scratchy from sleep, and probably all the yelling he must have done while trying to find me.
I couldn’t hide the conflict going on in my mind, so I only shook my head and looked down at myself. I felt gritty and filthy from being in that dirty shack. Blood stained my hand, and I could feel how matted my hair was, like a paint-stained rag on my head.
“I just need a shower,” I said, completely the truth. Maybe I could sort out my thoughts after I was clean.
He jumped out of bed and cradled me in his arms, scooping me up like a baby. Carrying me into a bathroom that was almost as big as the bedroom we shared at the beach house, I tried to get a look at our new home.
My feet never touched the white marble tile, as Kolya leaned into the massive walk-in shower that could easily accommodate three or more people. Soon, a gentle waterfall of steaming hot water flowed from above, and he stepped into the shower with me.
As the water sluiced over us, he got me out of what was left of my torn clothing. I couldn’t believe I was able to sleep in them, and wanted them tossed in the trash so I never had to see them again. Seeming to read my thoughts, he stepped out, opened the frosted glass window, and tossed them outside.
“The gardener will take care of it,” he said, dripping all over the floor.
As I stood under the soothing spray, he undressed and got back in with me, the sight of him distracting me from the pain in the back of my head. He was a bronze statue of some unknown god, rippling with muscle. I lifted my hands to rest them on his chest, and he took them, bringing them to his mouth. He gently kissed my fingers, frowning at the cut that had opened up again in the water.
Yanking a pristine white washcloth off a nearby rack, he wrapped it up.
“I’m fine,” I said. It barely hurt, and I didn’t think it even needed stitches.
Kolya didn’t believe me. “So you keep saying.”
“It’s true. I’m really fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
He didn’t mean my cuts and bruises. He meant the look I couldn’t hide when he first woke up. I couldn’t hide it now, so I turned away, reaching for the bar of soap. He beat me to it and began to rub it in slow circles on my back. Keeping my head down, rivulets ran down my face, and suds pooled around my feet as he kept washing me. He even ducked down and lathered each of my feet.
On his way back up, he turned me to face him, kissing me gently on the mouth. I wanted this to be the man I married, not the con man who I set out to destroy. Who was I really bound to? This soft and tender man who was gently working shampoo into my hair, careful not to hurt the bump on my head? Or the man who left me with nothing just a few months ago?
By the time I was squeaky clean, my body felt renewed, but my head was as muddled as ever. I stood passively as he patted me dry with a thick, plush towel, part of me yearning to reach for him and forget everything, at least for a while.
That always worked, but right now it didn’t seem like it would be enough. We had crossed some sort of line where there could be no more pretending. With my hair wrapped up in a towel and a fluffy robe draped over my shoulders, Kolya tipped my chin up so I had to meet his eyes.
