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She shuts her menu. “I’ll just have a starter.”
Should I make her see a shrink? But what good would that do? If the root of the problem doesn’t change, treatment isn’t going to make a difference. I’m not keen on pumping her full of drugs, either.
Then again, lies or no lies, adoration or hate, I took responsibility for her when I claimed her, and I take my responsibilities seriously.
“Would you like to see a doctor?” I ask.
She flinches. It’s a slight movement, but I miss nothing where she’s concerned. “Why would I need a doctor?” Her tone is defensive.
“You’ve been through a lot.” My gaze slips to her legs that are hidden underneath the table. “Your bruises don’t seem to be fading as fast as they should.” Another observation that’s been worrying me.
“You know what?” She opens her menu again. “I’ll have the escargot for a starter and the salmon for the main course.”
Nice deflection, but that’s not going to work with me. “I’ll call someone in the morning.”
“You’ll be wasting your time. I’m fine.”
“No waste of time.” I give her my most charming smile.
She answers with a look that’s meant to shred me to pieces. “I don’t need a physical evaluation.”
“I wasn’t referring to the physical kind.”
Her eyes widen as she catches my drift. “You want me to talk to a psychologist?”
“A psychiatrist.” In case she needs anti-depressants or something.
“Fuck you, Yan.”
“Careful with the insults. You know where those will get you.”
“Draped over your lap?” she asks scathingly.
“I’m glad you’re still quick to catch on.”
“If I need a head doctor, I’ll tell you.”
“There’s no need to be so defensive. I’m acting in your best interest.”
“Says the man who’s the reason why I’d need a shrink.”
“Mina.” I say her name with enough warning to put a wary look on her face. “I want to enjoy this dinner with you.”
“Then you shouldn’t have brought up a goddamn shrink.”
“I thought you didn’t want to fight.”
“I don’t.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You think sitting in a reclining chair and telling a stranger about our fucked-up situation is going to make me feel better?”
Any other man would’ve felt remorse. Gut-wrenching guilt. But not me. Her resistance only adds to the challenge. “Maybe.”
“No, thanks.”
“How about pills, then?”
“I’m not the pill-popping type.”
“Suit yourself. However, the offer stands.”
She narrows her pretty eyes. “How kind.”
We fall silent when the waiter comes to take our order. I choose the same as Mina. With all my gawking, I haven’t had time to look at the menu, but I don’t want to ask for two more minutes because the men at the bar are unabashedly staring at Mina. I’m suddenly eager to take my woman home. It’s ironic, considering we’re here to escape being home and around Ilya too much. When the guy in the suit gives Mina another long look, I twist in my chair, ready to bash in his face. He catches my eyes and looks away quickly.
Good.
No, fuck that.
I get to my feet.
Mina gives me a startled look. “Where are you going?”
“Stay. I’ll be right back.”
The guy blanches as I advance on him. I stop in front of him and his friend. “Do I know you?”
“No,” he stammers.
“Then what the fuck are you looking at?”
“N-nothing.”
“She’s beautiful, right?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Are you saying my woman isn’t beautiful?”
“Yes, I mean no. Yes, she’s beautiful.”
“Is that what you were looking at?”
He lifts his hands. “Look, man, I didn’t mean anything. I couldn’t help but notice.”
“If you value your life, you’ll look fucking elsewhere.”
His throat bobs with a swallow.
“Got it?” I ask with a cold smile.
“Yes. Yes, I got it.”
“Good.” I pat him on the shoulder none too softly and go back to our table.
Mina watches me with big eyes as I take my chair. “Was that really necessary?”
Our glasses have been filled. I down half of the wine without tasting the Italian bouquet. “Yes.”
Averting her eyes, she rubs a palm over her brow.
“What?” I snap.
She sighs. “Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“You can’t threaten everyone who looks at me.”
Just like that, what’s left of my good humor slips. “That’s where you’re wrong.” I lean over the table toward her. “Don’t let the fact that I’m wining and dining you fool you into seeing this for something it isn’t. Your life is mine. I can do whatever the fuck I want with you or anyone who as much as glances at you. Or have you forgotten?”
Hugging herself, she rubs her arms. “No.” Her voice is soft. “I haven’t forgotten.”
Fuck. I feel like banging my head on the table. She does this to me. She drives me insane. I’m fucking jealous because I’m uncertain of her. Insecure. My head says it’s not her fault, but my anger is too fierce for reason.
Avoiding my eyes, she picks up her glass and takes a sip. She looks at the table centerpiece, at the paintings on the wall, at the other diners, at anything but me. When she starts rubbing her arms again, I get up, remove my jacket, and drape it around her shoulders.
