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“Please,” I beg. “Don’t throw him over! He’s my brother. He’s all I have left of my family. He—” A hiccup cuts me off.
Pavel gives me an unreadable expression, the wildness fading back into steadfast control. And then he’s just Pavel again. He turns to Jonas and then lifts him up, pinning him to the rail without tipping him over.
“If it weren’t for your sister,” he growls. “I wouldn’t have even bothered with threats, Jonas. You’d be a puddle of blood and bones on the street were it not for her.”
He grabs my brother by the collar and yanks him into the penthouse. I scramble after them, hoping I don’t have to convince my husband to take it easy on my asshole of a brother. At the door, Pavel calls for Volodya and kicks Jonas to the ground.
Pavel grabs Jonas’s face and spits, “If you ever come back unannounced, the deal is off.”
The front door slams shut, breaking me out of my trance. It’s like I’ve left my body and nothing remains but the steady pound of my stress hangover, nausea, and the pang of unacknowledged hunger.
Right. I never ate a damn thing.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time for that. I’m a trembling mess when Pavel returns to the den. He takes a step toward me, causing me to leap back.
And I don’t miss the hurt on his face when it happens.
“Rodnaya,” he whispers softly. “Are you all right?”
God, that voice, that smooth tone is so full of the promise of comfort.
Can I trust it?
He takes a tentative step toward me. When I don’t retreat, he closes the space between us and cups my face lightly. I wince, my cheekbone screaming for relief.
“It’ll bruise without ice,” he says like he’s read my mind. “Come on.”
Seconds later, I’m in the en suite bathroom. I avoid the mirror, hoping my appearance isn’t too disappointing for him. But instead of the critical Pavel who typically appears when I’m not regal enough for him, I get the caring Pavel. The one holding an ice pack to my cheek. The one grabbing concealer from my makeup bag. The one brushing my hair to fix it.
And before I can lean into it, he’s heading toward the door. “I’ll have Viktoria bring you something. You look haggard.”
“Okay.”
“We caught someone at the art gallery,” he says. “I should go down to check—”
“Don’t. Please.”
He’s as shocked as I am that those words spilled from my mouth.
But I don’t take them back.
And he doesn’t leave.
He bows his head slightly and gestures to the chaise lounge near the door. I nod, cringing at the ache in my skull. At this point, my headache is splitting my head open and spilling my brains everywhere. I don’t know how I’m still standing.
I sit awkwardly, my limbs unsure how to place themselves. He’s so perfectly poised, and I’m just a tattered rag doll with a bruise on her face.
There’s enough space between us to be comfortable. I fix my cardigan and try not to think about how the thighs of my jeans are cold now from spilled tea. “Jonas is just…concerned.”
I can hear Willow now:Christ, are you really still making excuses for him?
“That’s a fucked up way of showing concern,” Pavel bites. He clears his throat and then asks in a softer voice, “Has that happened before?”
What good is it to lie to Pavel? He’ll figure out the truth no matter what. I lower my head and reply, “Yes.”
“How many times?”
My jaw aches as I try to count.
