Painted Scars (Perfectly Imperfect #1)

Chapter 9

I cock my head to the side and regard the big canvas in front of me. Too bright. Grabbing the palette, I use the brush to mix more black with the pale gray, and then start adding sharper shadows.

Four pieces are done and waiting to be sent to the gallery. Ten, when combined with the six I sent before my life took such a drastic turn. I have five more to finish by the end of next week to make my deadline for the exhibition. They would have to wait, though, because I decided to work on the big guy next. Usually, I finalize all the standard pieces first and work on the main piece last. Not this time. Looks like Roman not only managed to mess up my head but also my creative process.

I haven’t seen him much the last two weeks—usually only in the mornings, before he goes downstairs to his office to do whatever mafia crime lords do, and in the evenings when he returns for dinner. I make sure to drop by his office at least twice a day, always at the most inconvenient times. Often, there has been someone else inside with him. On my way there and back, I wander around the house, rearranging potted plants and paintings or doing similar idiotic stuff. Other than that, I spend most of my time in the suite, which has left me a lot of time to paint.

Yesterday, Maxim came by to give me a quick newbie-friendly course on planting the bugs. I expected it to involve wires and sneaking around with a screwdriver, unscrewing vents, and placing small microphones inside. Instead, he gave me a few black plastic things that looked like phone chargers, only without the cables. All I had to do was get into a room and plug it into a socket not in plain sight. Scary. The moment he’d left, I walked through the whole suite twice, checking every socket.

Today, I’m still fighting a lingering urge to look at every outlet I pass.

Lowering the brush, I take a few steps back and regard my big baby with a huge grin on my face. Yup, that’s perfect. Carefully, I turn the painting so it faces the wall instead of the door, in case Roman comes in. He never comes into my room, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful. I don’t want him to see the big guy before the exhibition, which is why I decided to work on it in my room instead of beside the big bookshelf where I work on my other pieces.

I check the clock on the nightstand, then look at my reflection in the mirror. I’m covered in black and red paint up to my elbows, and I have several gray and red splotches all over my shirt. Some on my face too. My delivery will be here shortly, I should probably change and wash my face and hands before going downstairs to wait for them.

I’m on the phone with Mikhail, who is giving me the report for the last shipment, when there is a knock on the door and Dimitri enters the office.

“I’ll call you back,” I tell Mikhail and cut the call.

“Some stuff arrived for Nina Petrova,” Dimitri says and looks at me pointedly.

“So? Tell some of the men to take them to the east wing.”

“What should we do with the lamps?”

“What lamps?” I ask, and then I remember.

Shit. I put my elbows onto the desk and press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Big? Gold with black?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Fourteen,” he deadpans.

“Fourteen lamps...” I sigh. “Put them into the library for now.”

“Alright. What about the animal?” he asks, and my head snaps up.

“What... animal?”

“Small. Black. It’s in a carrier so I’m not sure what it is. Looks like a dog, but it sounds strange.”

I grab the phone and call Nina. “Did you seriously order an animal online?”

“Excuse me?”

“Dimitri says there’s a dog that came with your decoration stuff.”

“Oh, that’s Brando. I’m coming right down.”

I stare at the phone in my hand. Brando. I’m going to kill her.

* * *

At the front door, I park my wheelchair at the top of the stairs and regard a bunch of boxes in different sizes covering half of the driveway. On the side, fourteen transparent rectangular boxes are lined up in a row, each with a wide gold ribbon tied around it. All of them hold the same lamp, the ugliest things I’ve ever set my eyes on.

Nina runs out of the house, dashes down the steps, and stops at the dog carrier that has been placed on one of the boxes. She opens the carrier, takes out a scrawny dog the size of a small cat and starts cooing to him.

“What’s that?” Dimitri asks.

“A Chihuahua.”

We watch Nina rummage through a few boxes, keeping the dog in the crook of her left arm. She takes out a leash from one of the boxes, clasps it to the collar, and sets the dog down. It starts running around her legs, letting out strange hamster-like barks.

“Let Varya know about the dog. She’ll be very... excited. Send someone to buy some dog food,” I say and turn to head back to my office.

I spend an hour walking Brando through the house and garden, so he could get the feel of the space. He’s a bit jumpy because of all the new people, but he finally settles down into his bed in the corner of my room and goes to sleep.

Passing the kitchen, I grab an apple from the bowl and head to my workspace by the library. There are still several more hours left of natural light, and I plan on using them to work on the remaining five pieces for my exhibition. I should probably call my manager, to tell him to send the courier for the finished paintings. Mark likes having as many of them as possible a few days before the event so he can organize the photographer and catalog printing.

I pull my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and give Mark a call while I rearrange the finalized pieces along the big window.

When he answers, I chirp into the phone, “Hey, love.”

“I know that tone,” he groans. “You’re behind schedule again.”

“Of course, not. I would never do that to you.”

“Damn it, Nina. How behind are you?”

“A few days. But the big guy is done. I have five left. Can you send someone for the others? I’ll send you the address.”

“You moved?”

“Yup. Long story.”

“Will you be able to finish on time?”

“I’ll try my best, babe.”

There is some grumbling, and a sigh. “Send me a photo of the big guy.”

“I’m not sending you a photo, you will have to wait and see for yourself, Mark. Bye.” I put the phone back in my pocket and reach for one of the blank canvases.

“Who the fuck is Mark?”

I jump and spin around to find Roman glaring down at me.

“Why do you call him babe?” he demands. “And what kind of photo are you sending him?”

I blink at him and take a bite of my apple. “My pimp. All of us girls call him babe. And I’m sending a photo of my boobs.”

He narrows his eyes on me but doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Roman. Mark is my manager and the owner of the gallery where I’m having my exhibition. He wanted photos of the paintings.”

“Why do you call him babe?”

“Everybody calls him babe. Including his husband.”

Roman’s stance visibly relaxes, and his eyes lose their murderous gleam. Is he jealous?

“Can I see the paintings?” he asks.

So, it looks like we’re just going to ignore his strange behavior. Works for me, because I don’t want to dwell on the fact that I like the idea of him being jealous.

“Yes,” I reply. “Just don’t touch, some aren’t dry yet.”

Roman approaches the canvases and regards each one for a few moments until he stops in front of the newest one. “Is that... Igor?” He points the tip of the crutch toward the painting.

“Yes.”

“Why does he have a megaphone instead of his head? And is that... a dead chicken under his arm?”

“You are extremely perceptive, Pakhan .”

He looks at me over his shoulder and smirks. “And where is my painting? You promised me your self-portrait.”

“Naked one. I remember. It’ll have to wait; I need to finish the remaining exhibition pieces. Or I could do my self-portrait as one of those, I’m sure the critics will love it.” I shrug. “We might need to add an ”eighteen plus” label on the—”

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to wait.”

“I’ll wait.” He turns and looks me over. “Are you hungry?”

His change of subject catches me unprepared. “A little.”

“Let’s go out for a lunch.”

I take Nina to a posh restaurant downtown, and we spend almost two hours there. She describes what she has planned for the exhibition, and I let her talk while watching her—her smiling eyes, the way she waves her hands in front of her face when she’s excited, or how she leans forward, whispering in a low voice when she gossips about her colleagues who share the gallery. She must be aware that no one could hear her, the place is only half full, and none of the tables close to us are taken. Still, she keeps her tiny hand over her mouth, chatting about walking in on one of the other artists as she was groping the guy from finance behind the gallery floor.

There have been a lot of women in my life, but with Nina in front of me, they all just fade away. We never even kissed properly, other than for the sake of the show, but I don’t remember ever being this drawn to someone. It’s like she bewitched me.

“What’s the deal with the dog?”

“I borrowed him from my aunt.” She grins and takes a sip of her wine.

“You borrowed a dog?” I stare at her.

“Technically, I offered to watch him for a few weeks. That should be enough time for him to do his part.”

“And that would be?”

“Well, you know how dogs are always running around the house, getting into rooms, and hiding there. Brando loves that, so I guess I will be chasing him around the house quite a lot in the following days. Who knows where he’ll end up?” She grins at me. “Maybe even in Leonid’s room at some point.”

I laugh and shake my head at her idea. “You are a dangerous woman, malysh .”

“What does that mean?”

“ Malysh ? It’s an endearment. It means little one.”

She tilts her head to the side and the corners of her lips curl upward in a small smirk. “Well, as I already said, most people are little compared to you, Roman.”

The waiter comes to fill our drinks. When Nina takes her glass, I notice that her wedding ring is rather loose, reach out, take her hand in mine, and inspect the ring. “We should get this resized.”

“Don’t bother. The engagement ring is keeping it in place. It’s durable by the way. I spilled some paint over my hand the other day and had to scrub it, it didn’t even get scratched.”

“It’s rather hard to scratch a diamond.”

Nina looks at me, blinks, then looks down at the ring like it’s going to bite her. “This thing is real?”

“Of course, it’s real.”

“Shit!” She flattens her hand and stares disbelievingly at the two-carat princess-cut diamond. Her mouth opens and closes without words. Then she covers the ring protectively with her other hand and leans toward me. “Can I swap it with one that has glass instead?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“You are not wearing a glass ring. End of discussion.”

She scrunches her nose and mumbles something that sounds like “add devil’s horns,” but I probably misheard because it doesn’t make any sense.

“Let’s go home,” I say and reluctantly let go of her hand. “We can watch a movie.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“I’m done for today. You?”

“My pimp is going to kill me. I’m already behind, but a movie sounds nice.”

After we get back, I take a quick shower, change into leggings and an oversized T-shirt, and head to the kitchen to prepare popcorn. Roman apparently loves orange juice, he drinks liters of it, so I squeeze a few oranges for him and take it to the living room.

He is already there, sitting with his arms over the back of the sofa, his right leg stretched out in front of him with the heel propped on the table.

“You look strange in casual clothes.” I place the bowl and the juice on the table, and nod toward his sweats and T-shirt.

“Oh? How so?”

“I don’t know. Less pakhan -ish, I guess.” I shrug and drop down on the sofa next to him “What are we watching?”

“I don’t care. Move over.”

I move to the corner, and Roman lies down on the sofa, places his head in my lap, and closes his eyes.

“Does your leg hurt?”

“Yes,” he says, but there is a slight delay in his reply.

“Are you lying?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. His eyes are still closed, but the corners of his mouth lift a bit.

“Oh yes, you are lying.” I bend down slightly. “You just want me to pet you.”

He opens his eyes and reaches up to tuck one of the strands that escaped my ponytail behind my ear. “Yes,” he says and closes his eyes again.

I take a deep breath, trying to control my racing heartbeat, and then bury my fingers in his hair. We stay like that, him lying on my lap and me petting him, in front of a turned-off TV until a phone ringing somewhere in Roman’s room breaks the silence.

“Shit,” Roman groans and sits up.

“I’ll get it.” I stand and hurry into his room.

When I come back, Roman is looking at me with strange intensity, but I shrug it off as one of the many strange looks he’s been giving me lately, and offer him the phone. He reaches for it, but instead of taking it, he closes his hand over my forearm and pulls me toward him. The phone is still ringing, but he doesn’t let go of my forearm, drawing me between his legs. His other hand reaches up and rests at the side of my face, his thumb caressing my cheek.

“Roman?” I ask in a small voice, “What are you doing?”

“Answering the phone.”

“It stopped ringing.”

“I know.” His hand slides down my forearm and pries the phone from my fingers.

“Roman?”

“Yes, malysh ?” He throws the phone to the side, and it slides along the polished floor all the way to the bookshelf.

My breathing quickens as I raise my arms and wrap them around his neck, then lean into him so that our lips are only millimeters apart. He doesn’t take his eyes from mine, and the way he’s looking at me does strange things to my insides.

“Are you trying to kiss me, Roman?” I whisper into his lips.

“I might be,” he says.

“There is no one around to see us.”

“Exactly,” he whispers and touches his lips to mine.

He goes slowly at first, like he’s savoring me, but then his arms close around my back and he leans back onto the cushions, taking me with him. The way this man kisses should be ruled as hazardous to mental health, and prohibited. It feels like a hurricane is sweeping me off my feet, scrambling both my body and mind. I reach down with my hand, grab a fistful of his T-shirt and start tugging it upward. Roman breaks the kiss and removes his shirt at the same time I drop mine on the floor. While he’s removing his sweats, I unclasp my bra and get rid of my leggings and underwear, and then climb onto his lap. His hand comes to the back of my neck, and he crashes his mouth to mine again.

I can’t stop touching him, his chest, his face, his cock which is already fully erect. Roman slides his hand between our bodies and I feel his fingers start teasing my clit.

“So wet,” he whispers in my ear and thrusts one finger inside of me.

I almost come on his hand right then and there, and I probably would have if he didn’t remove his finger, making me growl in frustration. It isn’t about his finger, though. It’s about him. Roman Petrov, the man who will be my doom. Call it a premonition or an instinct—doesn’t matter. I know he will destroy me because one look from Roman turns me on stronger than any other man before him has done with his cock.

“If you don’t get inside me right this moment,”—I take a handful of his hair and squeeze—“I’m going to murder you, Roman.”

His hands slowly travel down my chest and ribcage until he reaches my waist. Lifting me, he positions me above his cock, those devilish eyes never moving from mine, even for a second.

“Your wish is my command, Nina,” he says and thrusts inside me.

I moan and hear him groan at the same time. He’s too big but, dear God, it feels so good. I bury my nails into his shoulders as I spasm around him while he pounds into me. It’s madness and I scream, not giving a fuck if anyone hears us. Roman groans my name and, a moment later, comes inside me. Perfection.

Roman’s hand traces patterns from the top of my neck and all the way down to my ass, then backtracks upward. I’ve been lying sprawled over his chest for at least five minutes, but I can’t make myself move.

“Nina? Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “But I’m not moving. I like it here.”

“I like having you here as well, malysh .”

* * *

I wake to the sound of a fast tapping noise coming somewhere above my head. I stretch a little and open my eyes to find myself lying on the sofa with a pillow under my head and a blanket covering me from neck to foot. The lights are off; the TV in front of me is on, showing a news channel, but the sound is muted. The tapping sound stops and, in the next moment I feel fingers combing through my hair. I tilt my head up and find Roman sitting at the end of the sofa next to my head. His hair is wet, and he has the laptop on his lap.

“You fell asleep on me earlier,” he says.

“What time is it?”

“Half past seven. I told Varya that we’ll have dinner here when you wake up.”

“Sounds good.” I stand up, clutching the blanket around me. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“All right. I’ll tell the kitchen to send the dinner up,” he says and returns to his typing.

I pivot and head toward my bedroom, feeling slightly awkward with the whole situation. We had sex. Where does that put us now? It’s not just a business arrangement anymore, is it? Should we ignore the fact that we had sex and pretend it never happened? I’m not sure I can do that because, to be honest, I don’t want to. We will have to talk about it. I might be a fan of a shove-problems-under-the-carpet approach, but I don’t think there is a rug large enough for it this time.

After my shower, I march back into the living room, intent on discussing the new situation with Roman, only to find him in his wheelchair, fully clothed, and putting on his wristwatch.

“What’s going on?”

“Something came up. Don’t wait up for me,” he says, and before I can object, he’s gone.

I stare at the door, then walk to the other side of the room where the big window overlooks the driveway. There are three cars parked in front, with four of the security guys waiting next to them. A couple of minutes later, Roman, Maxim, and Kostya come out of the house and get into the cars, followed by a few more security guys. And then, the cars leave.

Valentina brings the dinner sometime later, but I leave it on the dining table, hoping Roman will come back soon. He doesn’t, so around ten, I eat a few pieces of cold grilled fish and some salad. I put the leftovers into the fridge and watch some TV. Every fifteen minutes I get up and look out the window to see if the cars are back. Around midnight, I decide to call it a night.

* * *

The sound of car doors slamming and shouting wakes me. I jump out of bed and dash through the suite to the big window. Two of the cars are back. Most of the doors are open, and the last few men are coming inside. Two of them support the third between them, practically dragging him up the stairs.

Shit. I run back into my room, pull a hoodie and sweatpants over my pajamas, and rush toward the big stairwell.

There is no one in the hall. I turn around and notice blood splattered on the white marble floor, creating a path toward the right hallway, in the direction of the kitchen. I follow the red spots along the corridor and find the kitchen doors wide open. Urgent voices and commotion blare from inside.

My blood runs cold at the sight of Varya hunched over Kostya. He is sprawled on his back on the big island in the middle of the kitchen, with Maxim holding a bloody rag to his side. One of the security guys comes running and places a box with medical supplies next to Kostya’s head and then switches places with Maxim, who goes to the sink and washes his hands with mad speed.

They are all shouting in Russian, and I don’t understand a thing they’re saying, but the sight speaks for itself. Something went wrong. And where the hell is Roman?

Two more security guys burst into the kitchen with a short bony man carrying a doctor’s bag. The doctor heads to the sink, and like Maxim, starts scrubbing his hands. They don sterile gloves and approach Kostya, who is pale, but conscious and panting. The doctor takes a look under the rag and prepares the needle and thread, while Maxim cleans the cut.

Footsteps approach from behind me, and the last of the security guys come into the kitchen with Roman wheeling in after them. A sigh of relief leaves my lungs when I see he’s unharmed, and I lunge toward him.

“Jesus, Roman!” I whisper, grab onto his face with both hands, and kiss him. It’s an angry kiss, but it still feels good. “What happened?”

“There was a slight disagreement with our supplier and things got out of hand.”

“Kostya?”

“A knife slash on his side. He’ll live.”

I turn to look back at the island where the doctor seems to be finishing sewing Kostya’s side. Maxim is placing an IV needle in his arm, while Varya holds up the bag of fluid.

“Should I help with something?” I ask.

“No, let’s go upstairs. Varya and Maxim have it under control, and the doctor will stay the night.”

* * *

“Is it always like this? Deals going wrong, people getting stabbed or shot?” I ask as we enter the suite. I’m still shaking. “Or cars getting blown up?”

“Not always. But it happens.”

My throat has gone dry. How can he be so calm? In the kitchen, I grab a glass and pour cold water from the fridge. “That’s fucked up, Roman.” I shake my head and gulp down the water, wishing it was something stronger. “Your world is seriously fucked up.”

“There is nothing I can do about it, Nina,” he says.

Yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at things. I should go back to bed but I’m too agitated, so I walk across the living room and stand at the window overlooking the driveway. The cars are gone. One security guy is standing on the side in front of the main door, a gun on his belt. Another one is patrolling the grounds toward the main gate, and this one has a rifle across his back. It looks like everything is back to normal in Roman’s world.

I hear Roman approaching as he comes to stand behind me. His crutches enter my field of vision on either side while he hunches over me and places his chin on the top of my head. I’ve never felt so petite compared to him as I do with his huge body plastered to my back, but there is no panic. I guess all the adrenalin cured me of it.

“Where are we now, Roman?”

“What do you mean?”

“We had sex,” I say, watching the man patrolling the grounds. “It wasn’t something we planned for, you know. Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know, malysh . Where would you like to go?”

“I’m not sure.”

There is silence while we both watch the night, its darkness broken by numerous lights set up around the lawn.

“It’s late,” Roman says and places a kiss on my shoulder. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Which one?”

“Well, I’ll be in mine.” He kisses the side of my neck. “And you can choose which one it will be for you. Your bed, or mine.”

He leaves me standing at the window to consider his parting words. I know what I should do - go to my room and forget what happened on the sofa altogether. It would be the wisest choice. In fact, it should be the only choice.

I guess “wise” isn’t in my cards. I turn around and head into Roman’s room.

I watch Nina’s sleeping form snuggled under the blanket, her hair tangled and sprawled across my pillow. The sight of her there, in my bed, makes a strange warm feeling fill my chest.

“Warren’s here.” I place a light kiss on her shoulder. “I’ll be in the gym.”

“Have fun,” she mumbles into the pillow and continues sleeping.

Smiling, I get into my wheelchair and leave the room. She needs her sleep; we can continue where we left off later.

When I finish with my therapy session, Nina is still asleep, so I take a shower and go downstairs to my office. Maxim is already waiting for me, and by the look on his face, he has nothing pleasant to say.

“You need to invite the Albanians over, Roman. Soon.”

“Not happening.” I wheel myself behind my desk, power up my laptop, and start rummaging through the papers on my desk.

“I think you should reconsider.”

“I am not in a mood for entertaining Albanians.”

“We need them as partners; you know that. You haven’t met with them for months.” He sits in the chair opposite of me and leans forward. “They need to be assured that everything is in order.”

“They are getting more money than in previous years, so I don’t see why they would be concerned.”

“If they don’t feel we are invested as partners, they might turn to someone else, Roman. The last time I saw him, Tanush mentioned approaching the Italians. He put it as a joke, but he is thinking about it.”

“Perfect. Just what I need.” I toss the pen onto the papers.

Maxim leans back and crosses his arms. “So, who are we inviting?”

“Tanush and his wife. I think he’s on the fifth one now. And Dushku and his wife. That’s it.”

“What about Hajdini?” he asks.

“No. He and Dushku are not on speaking terms lately. I don’t need bloodshed.”

“Alright. When?”

“Nina has her exhibition next weekend, so it’ll have to be this Saturday.”

“I’ll let Tanush know.” Maxim smiles. “Varya will be thrilled; she just changed the rugs.”

“I’ll tell her it was your idea. Especially if it does end in bloodshed. Tanush might be a little hostile anyway, so make sure the men know.”

Maxim rises an eyebrow. “Why? You two were always on good terms.”

“We were on good terms, before I said I had no intention marrying his daughter when he offered a few months ago.”

Maxim lowers his head and regards me over the rim of his glasses. “And you are only telling me this now?”

If it was anyone else questioning my decisions, it wouldn’t have ended well. Maxim, however, is the only person other than Varya I trust unconditionally. He was a father figure in a way my own never was. “I didn’t find it important at the time.”

“He inquired about Nina.”

I look up at him. “And what did he want to know?”

“He asked if she was as beautiful as rumored.”

That slimy bastard. “And what did you say to him?”

“I told him he can decide for himself when he sees her.”

“Good. How is Kostya?”

“Lost some blood, but nothing serious. He’ll be up and running in a few days.”

“Keep him off for at least a week. Ivan can take over his duties till then. Make sure the doc comes to check up on him once a day until Monday.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Go home. Rest. You spent the whole night watching over Kostya. I’ll have Varya take over.”

When Maxim leaves, I call Nina. “Are you awake?”

“I am now.” She yawns.

“Get ready and meet me downstairs in an hour. We have to go shopping.”

“Oh?”

“I’m having some business partners coming over on Saturday for dinner. You need a dress.”

“I definitely don’t need another dress. I purchased enough clothes to last me two lifetimes last week. Vova barely managed to get everything into the car, and I don’t have any space left in the closet. There are at least ten dresses that I haven’t even worn.”

“You said you are an impulse buyer.”

“That doesn’t equal hoarder, Roman.”

“We’re still buying the dress.”

“You like throwing the money away? Is that some kind of compulsion? You can tell me, you know.” She giggles.

No, I don’t think I can tell her how much I enjoy buying things for her. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Hey, I need to walk Brando. He’ll pee on the floor.”

“Ask Olga to walk the beast.”

“I’ll tell Brando you complimented him.”

“You can also tell him that if I catch him chewing my laptop charger again, I’ll be making you slippers out of his hide.”

“Oh my God!” She bursts out laughing. “The big bad Pakhan just made a joke. Are you feeling alright?”

I smirk. “One hour, Nina.”

After cutting the line, I immerse myself in the reports Mikhail sent, as well as the plans for the next week’s shipments. Thoughts of a certain black-haired woman prevent me from concentrating at all.

* * *

“How about this one?”

Nina exits the changing room in a little black dress. It has a high neckline with a hem that barely covers her ass. The cut is rather simple; however, the way it molds over her body and hugs her hips, emphasizing her tiny waist, is anything but. Combined with the strappy high heels and with her hair piled on top of her head, the result is devastating, and I find it hard to remove my gaze from her legs and her perky little ass. If she goes out into the street in that thing, she’ll create a traffic disruption.

“We’re buying it,” I say in a strangled voice, “but find another one for the dinner.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” She looks into the mirror and cocks her head. “Is it too plain?”

“I’m not having my business partners ogling my wife’s legs the whole evening.”

“Don’t be a caveman, Roman. It’s not that short.”

“You are not wearing that on Saturday.” Or anywhere else in public, as far as I am concerned.

“Oh, for the love of God. Fine. I’ll go find a potato sack instead.”

I like the potato sack idea. In fact, if I could wrap her up from head to toe, it would make me very happy.

Nina ends up buying a pink midi dress instead, and while I’m not thrilled since that one is low cut and shows quite a bit of leg, it’s much better than the black one. While she’s taking a look at something on the blouse rack, I nod to the shop assistant to pack the black dress as well. After Ivan takes the bags with dresses, I take her to a jewelry store on the ground floor.

“No,” she says when we stop in front of the window showcasing a multitude of necklaces. “I don’t need jewelry.”

She doesn’t need it, that’s for sure. When my little flower enters the room, she shines brighter than any diamond, but Tanush’s and Dushku’s wives will come covered in gold and jewels, and I don’t want Nina to feel like she’s anything less.

“Yes, you do,” I say and take her inside.

She walks around the store, looking over the jewelry showcased in glass cases along the walls, until she comes to stand by the one that contains the most simple necklaces.

“How about this?” She points to a thin gold chain.

I ignore her and wheel myself to the big case on the opposite wall holding the best pieces. When the store attendant sees where I’m looking, he comes running and starts lining up the velvet boxes in front of me.

“I’m not wearing someone’s house around my neck,” Nina whispers in my ear.

“That one.” I point at the set that consists of a necklace and a bracelet in white gold, lined with white diamonds, and look at the store attendant who is beaming at me—his eyes as huge as saucers. “And the matching earrings.”

He nods eagerly and takes out another velvet box to place it next to the set.

“Yes.” I nod. “Let’s try them out first.”

“Please tell me those are fake,” Nina groans next to me, and I can’t help but laugh. “They’re not, are they?”

“No, malysh , they are not fake.”

The attendant unclasps the necklace and comes to stand behind Nina, holding it up with the intention of putting it around her neck.

“Put your hands on my wife,” I tell the idiot, “and you’re losing them.”

The man jumps and takes a step back, almost stumbling over his feet.

“Christ, Roman! What has gotten into you?” Nina stares at me with surprise, then turns toward the sales guy. “He doesn’t mean that.”

“I do. Turn around.” I extend my hand to accept the necklace from the attendant.

After fastening it, I admire how it accentuates her slender neck. The bracelet is several sizes too big; she can probably put both of her wrists through it.

“We need this resized and delivered tomorrow.” I give the bracelet back to the attendant, who nods eagerly, then I turn to Nina. “Do you want to leave the necklace on, or do you prefer they send it with the bracelet and the earrings?”

“I most certainly don’t plan on walking around the mall with this thing on my neck. Can you please take it off?”

While I’m unclasping the necklace, I take the opportunity to run the fingers over the soft skin on her neck and notice her leaning slightly into my touch.

“Let’s go home,” I whisper in her ear. “You can try out those lacy thongs you bought.”

She turns around and looks at me. There is hesitation and concern in her eyes. “What are we doing, Roman? This. You and me. I-I have no idea what to think about all of this.”

“Then don’t think about it. Just... let go. Let the current lead us.” I take her chin between my fingers and kiss her.

“Just let go?”

“Just let go, malysh .”

“Okay.”