Page 71 of The Bratva's Arranged Virgin Bride
“What is it?” he asked.
I shook my head, still unable to find words. “Just a little off-kilter,” I said.
He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. I shrugged my arms into the sleeves of the robe and tried to move past him for that coffee that might make everything fall into place. He threw on a pair of jeans and caught me before I was out of the bedroom.
“Stop, Nat,” he said. There was no denying that tone of voice. “I think I know.”
“You do?” I asked.
He nodded, looking wistful. “I could tell you forever how much I love you, but would you believe it?”
Hearing him say it shook me. The words just rolled off his tongue like everything else he ever said to me. Just words, possibly more lies.
Running his hands down my arms, he took my uninjured hand in his. “Come with me.”
Confused, and thinking maybe we should probably be hashing this out, I followed him as he strode with purpose, out of the bedroom and down the hall. Stopping in front of a closeddoor, he turned the knob and pushed it open, motioning for me to go in.
Was I being relegated to a guest room again? After giving him a questioning look, he nudged me through the door. It was empty, but the sun streamed in through several tall windows, shining off the highly polished wood floor. Kolya took my shoulders and turned me slightly to the left, and I gasped.
The profile portrait that we’d both started, which had only been a few hasty splashes of paint, was set up on an easel, wreathed in that perfect morning sunlight. It was finished now, and it took my breath away with how beautiful it was. Did he really see me that way? My heart swelled, but it still hung heavy in my chest.
“Kolya,” I started, but he gripped my shoulders again, turning me to face the opposite direction.
Hanging on the wall, in a new and elaborate gold frame, was none other than my treasured painting. The one he flippantly told me he sold, along with all the leftovers from our scam. My breath hitched, and I took a step forward, my vision getting blurry with tears.
“Did you really think I could sell the most brilliant piece of art I’ve ever seen?” he asked.
“You knew it was mine?” I asked, breathless with happiness. It was like seeing an old friend I thought I had lost forever.
“Of course,” he answered. “I know your style, and I know how you hide your initials.” To prove it, he strode forward, honing in on one of the tiny flower petals where the NP curved along the edge. “You need to be more proud and scrawl your full name along the bottom of your paintings from now on.”
I tore my eyes away from it to turn to him, my mouth hanging open. He couldn’t have surprised me more, or given me anything better. He opened his arms.
“I couldn’t have gotten rid of it,” he said, his dark eyes searing into mine. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Nat. But still not as beautiful as you.”
Everything stopped being muddy, then. Everything became crystal clear, and it was as if I could finally relax after holding myself ready for disaster for months. Everything was fine now. I forgave him with all my heart and stepped into his arms.
He said my name, and the sound of it sent a ripple through me as I tipped my head back to look into his eyes. I recognized the look in them and pushed myself up on my toes. Leaning down to meet me, our lips touched.
Sighing, I melted against him. His hands roamed down my back, holding me tight against his hard body. I reached to wrap my arms around his neck, to bring his head closer to mine, to deepen our kiss. My hand was still wrapped with a washcloth, and he pulled away, taking it and looking at it with a frown.
“Your hand,” he said.
“It’s fine.” I shook the cloth away to show him the bleeding had stopped.
He still frowned, reaching for my head, his hand resting gently at the base of my neck. “Your head.”
“Also fine.”
With a low growl, he kissed me again, still holding back out of fear of hurting me. All my aches and pains had receded into the far distance, and all I could feel was his warm palm against the back of my neck, his chest brushing against mybreasts, and his mouth claiming mine. I wanted more, so much more. How long had it been? A week? Less? Much too long. All that not getting along and not trusting each other had to go.
It was in the past, where it was going to stay.
Wrapping my leg around him, I pulled myself closer, feeling the stiff bulge pulsing against the front of his jeans rub against my belly. I moaned into his mouth.
“Kolya,” I said, feeling airy and weightless in his arms.
“Whatever you want,” he said, going back to kissing me.
