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I roll my eyes. God, this is painful. “Come on, Pyotr. Give me something to work with.”
“What? Reading is a hobby. It exercises the mind, keeps you sharp.”
“I saw your piano at home,” I mention quickly. “Do you play?”
“Used to.”
“Why’d you stop?”
Pyotr ignores me, tapping away at his email.
“Is it because of your hearing?” I ask on a whim.
Thiscatches his attention. He glares at me, equal parts angry and surprised. “What?”
I bite my tongue.Crap. That was shitty. What if he’s sensitive about it? “Nothing,” I say hastily, hopping off the edge of his desk.
Before I have a chance to slip away, Pyotr grasps my hand. He’s so gentle it takes me by surprise. The steady warmth of his fingers sends a delightful shiver racing up my arm and down my spine.
“You should know,” he grumbles.
“You don’t have to, Pyotr. It’s not my place—”
“You’re my wife. You of all people should know.”
I swallow, a curiosity blooming across my chest as I await his response.
“I’m deaf in my right ear,” he says matter-of-factly. “And I’m… losing my hearing in my left.”
I can tell this is a big deal for him, judging by the crinkle of his brow and the conflict etched into his features. “How many people know?”
“Just you. Well, and my doctor.”
For some reason, this revelation makes me feel…special.
“How did it happen?” I ask softly. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but…”
“It’s alright.” He’s still holding onto my hand, tracing the lines of my palm with the tips of his fingers. “I’ve never been able to hear in my right. I noticed it when I was a boy. It got harder and harder to hear, until one day, I just didn’t. I never told my family because I was too young to understand it wasn’t normal.”
“So it’s a condition? Like hereditary or something?”
“No one else in my family has a hearing problem,” he says with a shrug. “When I was older, my mother realized I couldn’t hear properly and took me to the doctor. I have what’s called conductive hearing loss. It’s irreparable.” He smirks. “And I enjoyed target practice as well as loud concerts, so that didn’t help.”
“Seriously? You shoot?”
“Yeah. I don’t take part in the Bratva business, but it was important that we all knew how to shoot.” He looks into my eyes. “Have you ever shot a gun?”
“Once or twice. I’m not any good.”
He nods understandingly. We’re part of the same world, after all, one where danger lurks around every corner and survival is a skill taught at an early age. I never thought about it that way before, but at least we have that in common.
“Well,” he says, “then you know guns are fucking loud. And the rock concerts even louder. My left started to go a few years ago.”
I feel compelled to reach out. I slowly lift my hand, moved by some invisible force I can’t hope to understand, and tenderly caress his left cheek. Pyotr’s stubble is rough beneath my fingertips, the hard line of his jaw guiding me up to his earlobe. I am mesmerized, intrigued by our proximity. Time doesn’t make sense. These precious few seconds feel as though they last an eternity, giving me the chance to truly take him in.
Is it weird that I like the strong bridge of his nose? And why do I enjoy the dip of his cupid’s bow? And how did he get that light scar just above his brow? These little details fascinate me. When I first laid eyes on him, I thought he was nothing more than a statue. Now that I’m up close and personal, I can see the man hiding beneath it all.
“Your turn,” he says after a moment, his voice a low rumble.
