Page 37 of The Marriage

“Ma—”

“You didn’t answer what I asked. You talked around it. Are you telling me—or not—that she didn’t want to go in there?” Claire demanded, her gaze fiery.

Roman looked his mother’s way knowing his frustration with everyone and everything was undoubtedly written all over his face. He couldn’t be bothered to hide it anymore. Karine as a topic of conversation with his parents was last on his list at the moment. More important shit waited at the top.

What were they going to do about Dima and Leonid? What about the fact that Roman was almost killed by one of the bastards?

Karine was fine.

Or rather ... safe.

It was time to handle business.

“No, I wouldn’t say she was particularly excited about it, but it had to be done,” Roman settled on saying to his mother. “She couldn’t stay at the lodge anymore—hell, look how close Dima came up on me. She couldn’t live here. Where else was she supposed to go? Where was I supposed to take her?”

“Well—”

“I am the only one who is fucking responsible for her. I made a choice, that’s all. I know where she is, I know she’s okay ... and I know they can’t get her there if they don’t know she’s there in the first place. That’s all that matters to me.”

He wouldn’t admit his feelings for Karine. Not openly to his parents—except he didn’t really have to anymore. They knew what this meant.

Claire’s nostrils flared, a sure sign of her disapproval. She didn’t have an answer to his question, though.

He had thought about his actions long and hard already—agonized over his final choice in the short days and hours leading up to her admittance to the Twin Rivers facility in Vegas. If there was any other option for Karine, he would have taken it.

This was it.

At least she was safe.

Roman had to keep telling himself that.

“I hope you’ve explained it to her, and that she understands your point of view here because ... Roman, she was making such good progress. She trusted you.”

His nerves were already pulled taut.

Ready to snap.

Roman just needed a reason.

“I don’t need to fucking listen to this,” he barked at his mother. “I can’t do everything right—I can only get it done, Ma.”

“Don’t you push it,” Demyan growled from behind his desk, a single finger pointed like a gun at his son.

It was a warning Roman knew he couldn’t take lightly. Rubbing his temples with his fingers, he tried to soothe the throbbing ache at the back of his skull.

No such luck.

“What happened to your hand?”

His mother’s horrified question had Roman rolling his eyes and waving the concern off when he replied, “My hand is fine. Or it will be. I’m not sure about the rest of me.”

The silence in the room echoed. Maybe they didn’t know what to say, but he wished somebody would figure it out. He was fucked. In every way possible.

“I married her,” he said.

He had to tell them; planned to, actually. He didn’t mean for the words to just slip out like they did, though.

“You ...” Claire started to say, trailing off as her gaze darted from him, and then back over her shoulder to her husband.