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“Maybe they didn’t do that in the past, but now they’ve changed their minds.”
She shrugs, neither denying nor confirming that option. I opt to not push the idea because it will appear suspicious. It’s the only time I’m glad most of the other men don’t take Rai’s words seriously. They can’t suspect that it’s not the Irish.
“Either way…” Rai continues wiping my skin as she speaks. “Sergei told Damien to prepare for battle. I bet he’s the most ecstatic about this turn of events. You know how he gets when it comes to the word ‘war’.”
“What is your role in all of this?”
“I’m just financing for now. I can’t fully participate.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m taking care of you, genius.”
“You don’t have to take care of me. I have that guard, Peter. Where is the useless kid, anyway?”
“No.” Her tone brooks no argument as her determined eyes swing back to mine. “I will be the one who takes care of you.”
“Do you really want to?”
“I’m your wife. It’s my duty.”
“I didn’t think you took our vows so seriously. Speaking of which, there’s that part that says to love and to cherish.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Well, at least I tried.”
There are still tears in her eyes, and I don’t like it. I don’t like that those beautiful blues are marred with something as painful as tears, because I know Rai’s not the type who would show her emotions to the outside world this easily. She’s not the type who cries just because she feels pain. If anything, she’s the type who would hide her weaknesses with all her might. So the fact that she can’t right now, means those emotions are too strong for her to control.
“I’m in pain,” I murmur.
Her head snaps up from her task and she checks my wound, then my face. “What? What is it? Is there anything I can do?”
I extend my arm on my non-injured side and point at it with my head. “Come here.”
“No. You’re wounded.”
“Come here, Rai.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you close.”
“Why do you want me close?” Her voice is small, as if she doesn’t know how to ask that question.
“Because at the moment when I thought it was the end, that’s the only thing I wanted.”
She doesn’t release the wet cloth as she slowly climbs into my side, carefully trying not to disturb my injury.
Her head lies on my bicep and she watches my face with her hand slung around my abdomen.
For a moment, she stares at me and I stare back. Tear streaks break the layers of her makeup, and she’s still last night’s dress. She really didn’t have the time to leave me if she’s wearing clothes from last night.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“You have another gunshot mark on your shoulder.”
“Have you been touching me inappropriately, Princess?” I tease.
Her cheeks gain a red hue, but she stands her ground. “What are you talking about? I’m your wife—I can’t touch you inappropriately.”
I like how she calls herself my wife. I like how she’s finally coming to terms with that fact.
“I was shot at.”
“You’re lucky to have survived two shots.”
“It’s probably because I had you this time, and that’s why I escaped the afterlife.”
“Stop joking around about death. You were almost gone.”
“I’m right here.”
Her breathing, which was hitched a few seconds ago, returns to normal as she strokes my abdomen. Then, her fingertips slide up my chest to the mark of the gunshot. “What happened?”
I can’t tell her the truth because that will reveal who I really am, but I can at least show her the side of me she has never seen before. It’s so selfish of me to try to keep her close when I know her stance on what I have in mind.
“A long time ago, I was with my friends.”
“Friends?”
“They weren’t exactly my friends, but my colleagues from the assassination organization. In a way, they were like a family to me. It’s somewhat like the brotherhood, only we barely had any loyalty to each other. We just co-existed. The head of the family, whom I considered my godfather, was slipping away from me.”
“Godfather? Is he from the mafia?”
“Sort of. I wouldn’t consider him part of the mafia, but the concept is close enough.”
“Then, what happened?”
“Some rivals in the territory we ruled in London wanted my godfather dead. Of course, I couldn’t allow that to happen, so I took it upon myself to draw out the culprit.”
“That’s how you got shot?”
“That’s how I got myself shot.” Or close enough, anyway. She doesn’t need to know about the details.
“What is the difference between getting yourself shot and being shot?” Her question takes me by surprise. She really focuses on the details others wouldn’t even pay attention to.
“Getting oneself shot means I brought it upon myself.”
“What did you do?”
“I was overprotective of my godfather.”
