I like my water scalding hot, and with my mood being extra diva-like this morning, I’ve gone over my allotted four-minute time slot. I’ve also glammed myself up, hopeful silky-smooth legs and gleaming skin will add to the seductive sparkle in my eyes.
“Would you care to join me for a mid-morning shower?”
After opening the shower door, releasing the fog making my head extra woozy, I lock my eyes with Dimitri. He has his shoulder propped up on the doorjamb. Unlike when he left our room in the early hours of this morning, his jaw is tight, and the veins in his hands are bulging like he’s open and closed them multiple times since we parted.
“Is everything okay?”
Concerned by his quiet, I shut down the faucet, shove my arms into my hideous Fran Drescher-inspired dressing gown Dimitri packed for me, knot the cord into place, then float to his side of the room.
Well, I really shouldn’t say float. I stumble like a newborn foul, suddenly fretful by his glare. He’s only stared at me like this twice before. The first time was when he had a gun held at my head, and the second time was mere minutes before he forced me to hold a gun to my mother’s head.
“What did my mother do?” If it’s anything close to the horrid thoughts in my head, I don’t know if I can pardon her again. She killed her own flesh and blood. She should have never come back from that. The only reason she has so far is because I’m too much of a chicken to make her pay for her injustices. I agree with Dimitri, insolent people should be punished, but it’s hard when the person deserving of your fury is your parent.
I stop seeking answers from Dimitri’s eyes when he says, “I need you to get dressed and come with me.”
The dread his words were soaked in scorches the back of my throat. It has me more worried than the anger pumping out of him. “Can we please not do this again. If you believe my mother needs to be punished, punish her. I won’t hold it against you, I swear.”
“Your mother isn’t the issue,” Dimitri replies in a cool, calculated bark.
Even with his vacillating anger wanting me to call a timeout, I can’t help but ask, “Then who is?”
It feels as if more than water circles the drain when Dimitri mutters, “You are.”
“Me?” I touch my chest like I’m five. “What did I do?” I swallow to soothe my dry throat before confessing to something that’s been burning a hole in my heart the past sixteen-plus hours. “If this is about the mark on Fien’s arm, that wasn’t from me.” I cringe, hating my inability to lie. “Well, it could have been me, but it wasn’t on purpose. I had to get her away from Maestro before he fell on her.” When confusion crosses his features, I try to settle it. “Maestro is what the women called one of the head guys in Rimi’s crew. He was taken down while he had Fien clutched under his arm. I had to grab her to pull her out of the line of fire. I never meant to hurt her, Dimi. I swear to God.”
My confession soothes the deep groove between his brows, but it doesn’t fully eradicate it. “I still need you to come with me. I’m out of my depth, and I have no fucking clue who’s holding my head beneath the surface.” His voice comes out composed but with a hint of anger.
Happy he’s endeavoring to curb his dominance and eager to have him forgetting the worry his comment etched his face with, I nod before making a beeline for the bag resting by the door. I selected an outfit before I entered the bathroom, but Dimitri’s wavering personalities ensures I’ll need a jacket. He truly is one of the hardest people to read. For all I know, my lips could be about to turn a shade of blue.
Once I’ve dressed under Dimitri’s watchful gaze, I follow his somber walk up a glamorous staircase. I’m hopeful his dour mood is because he kept his distance while I was getting dressed, but something tells me it’s much bigger than his inability to keep his hands to himself.
It’s obvious he isn’t in the mood for chit-chat, but my Nanna always said my inquisitiveness would get me in trouble. “Did you see Fien this morning?”
Dimitri hums out an agreeing murmur before gesturing for me to enter a corridor before him. Since it’s lined with exquisite antiques, we can’t walk side by side. Dimitri’s shoulders are too wide for that.
“And what about Audrey? Have you seen her today?” The jealousy in my voice can’t be helped. Audrey is a beautiful woman, she is also the mother of Dimitri’s child, so I have a lot to be jealous about. Dimitri spent the night with me, in my bed, but he snuck out in the wee hours of this morning like he didn’t want anyone to know where he was.
That stings. Not a lot, but enough to make me feel a little sick to the stomach.
I can’t tell if his murmur is a yes or a no this time around. It appeared more a growl than a hum like he’s more frustrated than pleased his wife was resurrected from the dead.
With his moods a little hard for me to read, this is the last thing I should say. “If you have time today, I’d like to sit down and discuss what happened at Dr. Bates’s office… T-t-the pregnancy test.” I bite the inside of my cheek, loathing the stutter of my words.
I wish I could keep our conversation on the back burner for months, but that would be wrong for me to do. He has a right to know what happened to our child as much as he has the right to mourn the loss with me.
A tangy copper taste fills my mouth when Dimitri replies, “We can do that now.”
“Oh… okay.” I follow him into a room at the end of the hallway, grateful our talk will be in private.
I barely make it two steps into the dimly lit space when I’m tempted to walk right back out of it. We’re not alone as first thought. Smith and Rocco are here as is Audrey’s best friend, India. Then there’s a man in a white doctor’s coat standing next to an identical lot of equipment that soared me too great heights four nights ago before it all came crashing down.
“What’s going on?” I choke out, almost stuttering.
When my question falls on deaf ears, I shift on my feet to face Dimitri. His expression is as cold as his icy blue eyes. He knows I’m keeping something from him, but instead of asking me what it is, he’s gone down his usual route.
He wants to torture the truth from me one painful memory at a time.
Although my anger is brewing, I try to keep things amicable. “Can I please speak with you alone? This is a conversation that needs to occur between us.”
