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She blinked her eyes open and stopped flailing only long enough to realize that she was being dragged from the other men’s arms and back into Nicholas’s—and that he was pulling her back indoors.
She clung to his neck and squeezed her eyes shut again as he hefted her easily up in his arms, one arm under her back and another underneath her legs. Finally she felt the air around her change. Tears squeezed out of her eyes and she buried her face in his chest.
Peripherally she heard a voice—a voice she now absolutely hated.
“Well holy shit, I guess you weren’t kidding.” Papa laughed. “I guess it’s good you know your bitch won’t ever run away from you.”
She was jolted as Papa Dimitri clapped Nicholas hard on the back.
“Fine, I’ll let you out of your duties tonight. You can take the bitch upstairs and get to your honeymoon activities early. I’ll just have to drink twice as much whisky in your honor. Oh don’t look so sour, Antosha,” he spoke to one of the other men who followed them back in. “The banshee bloodied your face fair and square. It’s your fault if you can’t keep a bitch in check.”
Sloane clenched her hands, squeamish with the thought of having their blood underneath her fingernails. She knew she’d scratched them. The whole episode made her feel nauseous.
“To the club!”
In less than a minute, all the noise was gone and it was silent in the kitchen. Sloane still clung to Nicholas’s neck and he didn’t put her down. Instead, she was soothed by the rhythmic movement of him walking. He didn’t let her down when they got to the elevator, when they stepped on, or after they got off again and he walked down the long hallway back to his room.
He opened his door with his keycard and carried her over the threshold. Only once were they inside and the door closed behind her did he dip his forehead down to hers. “I’m so sorry for that, honey. I had no idea he would—” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he squeezed her tighter to him. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
He finally set her back on her feet once they were at the sink in front of the bathroom. She stood, feeling a bit shellshocked as he turned on the water and tested it for warmth. Only once he was satisfied with the temperature did he tug her right hand forward. He squeezed foaming soap that smelled surprisingly good and gently washed first her right hand, and then her left. As he washed her left hand, his fingers toyed with the gold ring on her fourth finger before going back to gently washing each of her fingertips.
It was only here, after the rush of adrenaline and panic, that she began to shake. And not just shake, but completely shudder.
She stayed silent as Nicholas urged her arms up and then peeled the skimpy white so-called “dress” off over her head and tossed it to the ground. He tugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes and led her to the bed.
She immediately started shaking her head. “I can’t— I’m not going to—”
But he cut her off with a shake of his head. “No. Just sleep.”
She breathed out a huge sigh of relief and didn’t complain when he pulled back the covers on the queen-sized bed. She even felt comforted when she climbed in and the sheets smelled like him. And when he climbed in after her, she was glad to have his warmth beside her.
Tomorrow she might feel entirely differently. But tonight, right now she gave herself permission to cling to the only thing that felt familiar. So she cemented her body to his, laid her head on his chest, and let sleep take her as the adrenaline and panic fled her system in a rush.
Chapter 16
Nicholas
Everything that had gone down a month ago on Nicholas’s wedding day had been a shit show.
None of it had gone like he’d intended and even a month later, it didn’t seem like there was any making up for it with his wife.
She was still in bed when he’d left this morning at nine like she always was—pretending to sleep even though he could tell by her breathing that she’d been awake for at least an hour. He wasn’t sure what was worse—the yelling or the silent treatment she’d taken up over the past couple weeks.
He grabbed breakfast at the bakery like most did. No free food was granted except to Papa Dimitri and Alexei; the rest of them had to pay up like any regular customer.
“How’s that woman of yours?” asked Babulya, the woman everyone called grandmother. Nicholas just shrugged as he handed over his money for several coffees and a Khachapuri with cheese. The breaded pastry was always so soft, and the egg and cheese the perfect salty start to any morning. Especially after the silent, frosty exit he’d just left behind in his apartment.
