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The image of Diego Rivera touching Angelina with his meaty hands fills my mind, and the familiar buzzing sound starts filling my ears. “Did he do anything?”
“No, he didn’t do any . . . Sergei?”
Her hand grips my forearm, and it grounds me a little. My demons are somehow afraid of scaring her, so they withdraw when she is near.
“Sergei, look at me.”
A touch of her warm palm brushes my neck, then my face.
“Please don’t zone out on me. Sergei?”
I blink, and Angelina’s face is in front of mine, her palms pressed to either side of my face and her big dark eyes staring into mine.
“Are you back?” she whispers.
“I’m back.” Fuck. I close my eyes. “So, what now? Do you plan on leaving?”
I’m not letting her go even if she says yes.
“Your pakhan said it would be wise if I wait until we see how the situation with Diego plays out.”
“Good. You’re staying here.”
“You’re not sick of me usurping your room yet?” She smirks.
“Nope.” I take her hand and lead her to the house. “Let’s see what crap Albert has prepared for lunch.”
Chapter 10
I look up from the book I’ve been reading to follow Sergei with my gaze as he takes a change of clothes from the closet and goes into the bathroom. The sound of water running reaches me a minute later. The other bedroom must not have a bathroom. I try to remember if I’ve ever seen him go in there and can’t.
Placing the book on the nightstand, I get off the bed and head out of the room, walking around Mimi, who is sleeping in the middle of the carpet. The door on the other end of the hallway is unlocked, so I open it and look around the almost empty space. There is a dresser on one end, two mismatched chairs in the other corner, and a pile of boxes near the window. No bed. A military green sleeping bag is spread out on the floor, with a folded blanket and a pillow placed atop it.
I go back to Sergei’s bedroom and lean against the bookcase, facing the bathroom door and waiting for him to emerge. The water shuts off, and the door opens. Wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, Sergei exits while drying his hair with a towel.
“Where have you been sleeping since I’ve arrived?”
He stops midstep and looks at me. “In the other bedroom. Why?”
“There’s no bed there. You’ve been sleeping on the floor this whole time?”
“It’s a nice floor. I’ve slept in worse places.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.
“You can’t sleep on the floor in your own house.” I sigh. “Do you want me to look for a hotel?”
“You are not going to a hotel. You’re staying right where you are.”
“But . . .”
“No buts. You’re staying put.”
“Then, I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs.”
He takes a few steps until he’s standing right in front of me, puts his finger on my chin, and tilts my head up. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, Angelina. And don’t worry, I don’t sleep much.”
“How much is that?”
“Three hours. Maybe four.”
