Chapter 13: Beautiful Scar: Chapter 13

“Delivery for you.” Vito stands a few respectful feet away in the hall and gestures toward the stairs. Two big, burly guys are lugging a brand new couch wrapped in protective blankets toward the landing.

“Can they leave it out there?” I whisper to him, heart beating quickly all of a sudden. I really don’t like the thought of two strange men coming into my space. I can barely stand having Vito around, and he’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.

“I doubt you can move it,” he whispers back, eyebrows raised. “Do you want to go into your room? I’ll personally supervise them.”

“I think that would work.”

He nods seriously. “Very good. Go ahead. I have more packages for you as well, but I can manage to bring them up. I’m not that old.”

I grimace, guilt hammering me. This poor man is going to lug my decorative vases and stupid vintage trinkets up those steps with his bad knees and aching back. All because I’m too crazy to come out and help.

I’m about to tell him I can handle it when the two delivery guys come toward us. I give Vito a pathetic, thankful smile and run the hell away.

I slam the bedroom door shut and collapse into bed.

I’m so freaking weak, and I hate myself for it.

Why can’t I just be normal? Those two moving guys aren’t going to hurt me in my own freaking house, not with like ten guards lurking around nearby. Tigran probably searched everyone for weapons straight down to all their cavities before letting them inside.

What’s wrong with me?

I’ve been asking myself these questions for years. I didn’t want to be like this. Back when I was younger, I thought I’d outgrow it. Maybe one day I’d get over the fear, face the world, and start being a normal human being.

It never happened. Instead, I’m just a pathetic creep.

A weird little hermit, afraid of her own shadow.

I hear the movers talking to Vito in the other room. They’re bumping around, probably rearranging things to fit the couch and getting rid of the old one. I curl into myself, struggling against the panic knowing that there are big, strange men lurking in my private room, and that’s when I smell it.

The pillow Tigran used the night before.

It still smells like him. Vaguely, but definitely there. Spicy and masculine. A strange sense of calm lowers over me as I pull the pillow to my chest and hug it tightly.

What the hell is happening right now?

I’m spooning the pillow like it’s my arranged husband, and somehow, it’s keeping my panic attack at bay. All because it smells like some guy I was forced to marry.

I close my eyes and steady my breathing. Somehow, thinking about the way Tigran held me after we had sex makes my heart rate slow down. I had expected him to get the hell out of there after doing his duty. I assumed he’d fuck me without much concern for my pleasure or anything like that, come inside me, and then disappear. Simple and workmanlike.

Instead, it was intimate. It wasn’t at all what I expected.

His mouth. His skin. His cock between my legs. My moans, my orgasm.

His arms around me until I fell asleep. He was gone when I woke up hours later just before dawn, but his side of the bed was still warm, like he imprinted himself on my sheets.

How the hell did any of that happen?

There’s a knock at my bedroom door. I yelp and sit up, only realizing after a beat that I don’t hear voices or movement anymore.

“Dasha, they’re gone.” Vito’s voice in the hallway. “I’ll bring up your other packages if you’d like.”

I leap out of bed and toss the surrogate Tigran pillow away, feeling foolish and silly. I yank the door open and face the old, smiling man.

“I’ll come down and help.”

His eyebrows lift. “That’s not necessary. Really⁠—”

“I’m not going to let you strain yourself just because I want to redecorate my room.” I march past him and stop when I catch sight of the couch.

It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted. Gray fabric with big comfy pillows in a mid-century style. The kind of couch that looks good but will also feel like a freaking cocoon when I burrow into it.

“A nice choice,” Vito says, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m sure Tigran will like it as well.”

Color fills my cheeks. I raise my chin, straightening my spine. “Assuming I ever let him in my room.”

Vito laughs and shakes his head. “Modern marriages. I’ll never understand them. Are you coming? Don’t feel obligated, my dear.”

“Try to stop me,” I grumble at him, marching past and into the hall. I get ten steps before I realize I have no clue where I’m going. “Er, uh, where does the mail…?”

He beams and gestures for me to follow. “Right this way.”

“It’s a big house,” I mumble at him as we head down the back steps together.

I brush my hands on my pants and admire my work.

New paintings on the wall. Little trinkets on the shelves. Books lined up, some with sprayed edges, others with pretty covers, ordered by color. A little splash of rainbow in an otherwise gray-and-gold scheme.

It’s nowhere near finished, but it’s finally beginning to feel like my own.

Like it’s my actual home.

Not identical to the way it was back in my father’s house, but still, all mine.

Pride fills me for a moment. Today was a good day. I did hide from strangers earlier, but I worked up the courage to help Vito carry my packages upstairs, and I even said hello to the guards when we walked past them.

It only made me want to scream and hide a little bit. Great progress!

As I start thinking about what I’m going to do for the rest of the night—mind-rotting amounts of Instagram scrolling seem most likely—there’s another knock. I figure it’s Vito with a package we missed, but when I check, there’s nobody in the hall.

And when there’s another insistent knock, I realize I’m at the wrong door.

Cold fear fills my stomach as I drift into the hall. It stares at me, the portal into his room, with all that baggage.

Is he really here for more already?

My heart starts beating quickly. Am I allowed to turn him down? What happens if I try and he doesn’t like that? I’m still sore from last night, and while I like that he’s already thinking about me again, I’m not sure I can handle him splitting me in half so soon.

I need a little recovery time.

My hands tremble slightly as I grab the knob. Do I let him down lightly? Should I just tell him off?

I keep my chin high and my back straight, hoping my prim armor will let him know that tonight is not the night.

Except when I see him leaning casually against the wall, a hungry little smile on his lips, all my excuses fail me.

He’s so beautiful. I don’t even know how I handle myself when he’s around. That mouth, those hands. It’s even worse now that I know what he can do to me if I just stop being so stinking uptight and give in to what I really want.

A little lust and slutty behavior can go a long way.

But I can’t bring myself to cross the line. Instead, I quickly look down at the floor, trying to make myself seem small and meek.

“Not tonight,” I whisper, moving from foot to foot, an embarrassed flush rolling down my spine. “It’s just, I’m still sore, and⁠—”

“Are you hungry?” he asks before I can keep babbling and spill my guts more.

I’m so mortified I can barely think straight. What is with this guy? Whenever Tigran’s around, it’s like my vision goes blurry and my skull’s dense mud.

“Kind of,” I admit before looking over my shoulder. I can see a narrow strip of the wall and a bookshelf, but not much more. “But my place is a mess—” Not really true; it’s more that I’m not ready to let him see it.

I want my living area to be just mine for now.

“You can come to mine, or we can go down to the dining room.”

The idea of going in there, where he controls everything, or even downstairs makes my stomach churn. I quickly shake my head. “I’m sorry. I know it’s pathetic, but I can’t.”

“Don’t say that.” His tone is sharp, and it surprises me. He’s glaring now like I did something to piss him off.

“What? Sorry?”

“And stop apologizing.” His eyes hold mine, sharp and intense. His arms are muscular and tense like he’s frustrated. “You aren’t pathetic, Dasha. Stop thinking about yourself that way.”

“Sure. Right.” I take a step back. “I’m going to run away now.”

“Dasha—”

But I whirl and disappear into my room.

God, what is wrong with me? I grab the Tigran pillow, his smell beginning to fade completely, and hug it tightly. Why can’t I just be normal for once? Today was a lot—helping Vito, the movers, fixing my place up—and the idea of going anywhere to eat with my husband just sounds like a nightmare. I couldn’t handle it, so instead of being open and honest about what I need, I ran away like a sad little child.

“Terrible,” I mutter to myself. “Just freaking terrible.”

How am I supposed to handle this arrangement if I can’t even talk about dinner with my husband?

He’s wrong. I really am pathetic.

After a while, there’s another knock. I pull myself from the bed, exhausted and beyond run down. The knock comes again, harder and louder this time. More like a banging. “I’m coming,” I say wearily and open it a crack.

Tigran’s body fills the frame. “I have food,” he says.

“I told you⁠—”

“We’ll eat here. You on your side of the door and me on my side. Vito made grilled cheese.”

I stare at the little slice of Tigran’s face. He seems almost angry for a moment before our eyes lock and he softens. Did he seriously go downstairs, get me some comfort food, and bring it up to make sure I eat? All while somehow respecting my insanity?

It’s a good compromise. And it’s honestly really touching.

“Okay,” I say and push the door open.

“Okay,” he says and places a tray down on the threshold between our two spaces. He sits with his back against the wall, and I sit with my back against the opposite. “I can get you something else if you want.”

“No, this is actually perfect.” My stomach rumbles as I take a plate. The grilled cheese looks perfectly brown and melty. There’s even a little red wine, which I decide to pass on—just in case I’m already pregnant.

We eat in silence for a little while. It’s strangely comfortable, and I was actually starving from putting my living room together. If I’m going to get pregnant soon, I need to make sure I keep my strength up. That’s something pregnant women do, right?

“It’s funny how much I don’t know about babies and pregnancy,” I say out of nowhere, not sure why I’m voicing it out loud.

Maybe I’m more comfortable with him than I realized.

“You’ll learn,” he says. “My brother, Arsen, and his wife had a little baby boy named Roman. He’s a whole lot of trouble, but I love the little demon. They had no idea what they were doing at first either. But it works out somehow.”

“Are you close with them?”

“Arsen and I grew up together. We’re about as close as brothers can be.”

“I’m jealous. I’m close with my brother too.” I look down at my plate, thinking about Evan.

A wave of homesickness washes over me.

“We can bring him here for a visit if you’d like.”

I look back up at him. “You’d do that?”

“For you, I would.” He stares at me, his face showing nothing. Cold and beautiful. Almost uncaring. And yet his offer is so kind, and I hadn’t even asked for it.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, quickly looking away again.

“I want you to be happy here. Even if you’re leaving at some point, this is your home until then.”

Right. The deal. Get knocked up, pump out a baby, peace the heck out. He makes it seem so simple.

“You’re sure it’s okay if, you know, tonight we don’t⁠—”

“Last night was your first time. You need to recover. You can have a couple nights off.”

I grin slightly. “Thanks, boss. You’re so generous.”

“But don’t let it get to your head. I’ll expect you to work extra hard when you’re ready.” He’s grinning too.

“Here’s me thinking you were supposed to be the hard one,” I blurt out, then I quickly cover my mouth with my hands, holding back a bubbling laugh. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Tigran gives me a genuine laugh. I like that on him. He grins and leans forward, casually patting my foot like it’s a totally normal thing for us to do. Like he always touches me. “Look at you and your filthy mouth. You’re making dirty jokes now. I’m very proud.”

“It’s your fault. All that stuff you said⁠—”

“You’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?” His grin turns pointed as his laughter fades.

“Absolutely not.” I turn my chin. “A lady would never.”

“Pisik, the filthy little woman I fucked into submission last night was far from a lady.”

I snort and cover my mouth again. He smirks back, eyes bright and shining with amusement.

Is Tigran actually kind of funny? I mean, that was really hot, but I’m pretty sure he’s just teasing.

I didn’t even know he was capable of that, and I like it.

“All right, boss, I’m changing the subject before you make me choke on this divine grilled cheese. Tell me about your life here. Who are your friends? What were you like growing up?”

I figure we might as well get to know each other since we’re stuck together for a while. It might even humanize him a little bit. Turn him into more than just a sexy, scary monster in a hot suit.

I’m feeling loose and chatty. He has that effect on me for whatever reason.

I can’t remember the last time I wanted to connect with someone in person like this.

And of course, since I’m totally broken in the brain region, I want to connect with a man who does murder for a living.

He tells me about growing up in Baltimore. He alludes to his father and makes it clear that their relationship wasn’t great. He mentions his mother died in childbirth, which breaks my heart.

“I lost my mom young too,” I tell him, shifting closer as I put my plate back down on the tray. I ate everything. I must’ve been hungrier than I realized. “It’s not easy growing up without a mother.”

“Even harder in our world,” he says, watching me carefully, head tilted to the side. His lips are pressed together like he’s considering something. “My older brother, Arsen, runs the family now, but before he took over, our father was a hard-ass. Everything was his way or else. It was more difficult for my brother, but me…”

He trails off and leans his head back, closing his eyes.

“There must’ve been a lot of pressure,” I say softly, trying to imagine what that must’ve been like. I know Evan gets some of that from our dad; he’s expected to take over the business one day in the future. They don’t always agree, but at least Dad hasn’t been an abusive bastard about it.

At least not until recently.

“It’s the nature of our family.” His eyes open again and he’s looking at me with a deep, obsessive intensity. I like that stare. It sends chills down my spine. I picture him between my legs, grinding and growling, his big body dominating mine. It makes me start to rethink the whole night off thing.

“Does it have to be like that though?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Everywhere we turn, we have enemies. There are people who want to tear my family to pieces. The Brotherhood is the pinnacle of power in Baltimore, but it wasn’t always like that. We clawed our way to the top and pissed off a lot of people in the process.”

I look away and remember the blast of the car bomb, the screech of ripped steel, the shouts and alarms. “Is that who tried to kill me?”

“The McGraths,” he says with deep disdain. “They’re a relatively new Irish clan. Their father was a powerful politician who built himself a little criminal empire. When he died ten years back, he left it all to his sons, Liam and Seamus. Liam’s the head of the business while Seamus runs their street-level muscle. Similar to the way Arsen and I split up the Brotherhood.” He shifts closer and puts a hand on my leg. I stare at his fingers, thick and callused and strong, crossing the line into my space. “You don’t have to worry about them,” he says softly.

And I believe him. I don’t know why—clearly someone’s trying to kill me—but he makes me feel this strange sense of safety.

Like he’d die to protect me.

A rush of desire comes over my body. Screw being sore. Let it hurt. I want my husband, and what’s wrong with that? There’s nothing improper about having sex with him whenever I want to. That’s the whole point of marriage, right?

To fuck like rabbits without any shame?

I mean, there’s probably more to it, but right now I’m not thinking clearly.

But before I can open my mouth to invite him into my room, he pushes himself to his feet with a soft grunt.

“Vito tells me you did a lot of work tonight,” he says, gathering up my things. “You left your room to help him carry packages. Thank you for doing that.”

“Oh.” I blink in surprise. “It’s not a big deal.”

“He won’t ever ask you for help, but he’s not as young as he used to be. I really appreciate you, and I’m happy you left your room.” Tigran smiles slightly and turns away. “That’s just between us, by the way. The man still has his pride.”

“I won’t,” I whisper, pulse hammering between my legs.

Why don’t I say it? Why can’t I tell him to come into my bedroom? I know he’d do it—he made it clear that he wants me. Physically, at least. I’m sure if I said I was ready to sleep with him again, he’d throw that tray on the floor, drag me to the bed, and fuck me mindless.

I just can’t do it. I can’t say the words. Please come fuck me tonight, you big scary monster. I’m too embarrassed and weak to open my stupid mouth. Instead, I watch him walk off into his apartment, disappearing around the corner, and then he’s gone.

“Ah, shit,” I groan, bumping my head once against the wall. “Ouch, you idiot.” I get up, close the door, and rub my skull, grumbling to myself.

I really need to find a way to yank the stick from my ass.

Otherwise, I’ll never be able to just ask for what I want.