CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Twelve hours later, Gustav shows Everly into the study. I don’t bother to stand, mostly because my pride is damaged.
As she walks to me, I study her intently, taking in every nuance—from the hitch in her gait to the gauze wrapped around each wrist. My gaze lingers on the bruise marring her smooth cheek. A part of me wants to go to her and examine her wounds again. But I know that would be a waste of time.
“Did you not see the clothes I had brought up for you?” I ask.
She’s wearing my robe, the sleeves turned up several times. Her bare feet peek from the bottom hem as she walks. In any other situation, I would find her charmingly seductive.
“Sorry I took over your bedroom,” she says, her eyes dull as she avoids answering my initial question. “I didn’t know.”
“No worries. I slept elsewhere,” I say from my spot in the club chair by the massive window. I glance at the garden, at the maze I have never walked, and take another shot of vodka. “Shall I pour one for you?”
“Pass the bottle,” she orders, and I hold it out to her.
Our fingers touch, and sparks ignite at contact. I want her. I fucking need her, but I know without a doubt, I can’t have her.
She takes a long drink, coughs, and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. I hold out my glass and she refills it, then takes the seat across from me.
The robe parts as she crosses her legs, baring soft, slender thighs. I’m grateful there are no bruises there, unlike on her upper arms and along her cheek. Damn you to hell, Viktor.
I clench my glass and hear a crack.
“I swear to God, Roman, if you break that thing and start bleeding, I will hit you with this bottle. I am done with blood. Done.”
My gaze jerks to her face—there’s no give, no equivocation in her eyes. Her cheeks are rosy from anger and good vodka. But she is still far too pale. Forcing myself to ease up on the glass, I gesture to the plates of food on the table beside me. They are close enough for her to reach.
“I thought you might be hungry.”
“Did you make all this yourself?” she asks, picking up a small sandwich.
“No.” I set the glass down. “My staff did.”
She takes a bite and closes her eyes. “Too bad you couldn’t have been this honest with me before we got on a plane.”
“My deception was necessary to keep you alive.”
Her eyes open. “While I don’t like it, I get that you had to lie to me to protect your identity. But what I don’t understand is why you lied to me about how you felt.”
I dig my fingers into the leather arms of my chair. “What happened between us was real.” But it can never happen again. I must distance myself as much as possible, until everything has played out and I can return her to the States.
“So you say.” She takes another drink, her throat working as she swallows.
My jaw works. “It’s the truth.”
“So you say,” she repeats.
I try a different tactic. “Is there anything you would like to know about me?”
She lets out a hmmpf. “The first thing that comes to mind is how many other women have you done this to.”
“You’re the first.”
Her eyes widen fractionally, and then narrow to green slits. “So you—”
“I swear to God, Everly, if you say that one more time, I’m going to bend you over my knee and spank you. I’m done with your anger, however righteous.” I lean forward, but to her credit, she doesn’t shrink from me. Not at all. A bit of pride swells inside my chest. Viktor has not permanently damaged her spirit. Lowering my voice, I say, “I want you to understand. I want you to know the truth. But it’s hard, damn it.”
“How so?” she asks, her face expectant and skeptical.
Standing, I walk to the fireplace and begin to pace, my hands laced behind my back. “The only time I’m allowed to be completely honest, to be myself, is in my head. That’s it. Every honest thought, every bloody word is censored before I speak.”
I pause and look at her. “Until you, that is. You came into my shop with your smiles and laughter…and hope for something I could never fully have.” I slam my hand down on the mantel of the fireplace. “Bloody hell, woman. You fucking ruined me.”
Everly stands up and for a split second, I think she’s leaving the room. Instead she walks to me, her steps unhurried. She touches my arm and the muscles bunch up. “You weren’t the only one who was ruined. You weren’t the only one who was given hope.”
Turning, I cup her face in my hands, willing her to understand. “I never meant for this to happen, and not because there’s something wrong with you. Because I’m not the kind of man you deserve.” Though I’d break every single bone of the next man she welcomes into her bed. I know what’s good for her, but I’m a selfish bastard. Actually, I’m just a bastard raised by an entire band of bastards.
She licks her lips, and I inch closer, dipping my head.
“Roman—Nikolai, I—”
“The name you feel most comfortable saying is the one I will always answer to,” I say against her skin.
“What I said earlier, when we got here, about not wanting you…”
I nod, afraid to break this spell we’re both under.
“I lied.” Slowly, her robe begins to open, and then slide down her shoulders.