55. Skye
SKYE
I woke up with a foggy brain and hazy memory. My body ached and the exhaustion was heavy but sweet. I blinked against the sunlight streaming through the windows, reaching for Nikola but only finding cold sheets.
I sighed.
It had been the same for the past week. We’d make love all night, but I’d wake up alone.
It was getting old.
Sitting up, I pulled the sheet to my chest and glanced around the spacious master bedroom. Cream elegant walls filled with paintings of historical New Orleans buildings, a sophisticated leather sofa, a nightstand, rich Persian rugs.
Wrapping the sheet around me, I swung my feet onto the plush rugs and padded toward one of the two doors. One led into the master bathroom and the other into the gym, where I found Nikola.
My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him dressed in gym shorts and nothing else. Nikola’s body was a work of art. Renaissance artists would have given their souls away to sculpt his body to be gawked at for all eternity. Too bad I was too selfish to allow anyone else to see him like that.
My eyes traveled over his inked body, sculpted chest, and six-pack abs.
I always thought him the most beautiful man alive. The scars he wore didn’t take away from it, neither did his legs. He was always and would always be the most beautiful man to me. After the past month, more so than ever.
We’d settled on a wedding date. April 9th in Trieste.
Until then, we’d stay here.
We filled our days with work, preparations, and trips to the beach just to catch the sunset. Our evenings were filled with midnight swims and our nights with sweaty sheets, writhing bodies, and passion that could even burn the sun itself.
But there was something still bothering Nikola. It started and ended with his therapist, who had resorted to calling his cell phone now.
As if sensing my eyes on him, Nikola stopped his workout and lifted his head.
Our gazes met.
“ Good morning .” I waved, clutching the sheet to my chest to cover my nakedness.
He lowered his weights, then used his upper body strength to shift himself into the wheelchair. The sight didn’t bother me, but the knowledge that he was in it because of me did. Nikola had always been so active that I couldn’t even fathom how painful this limitation was.
He wheeled himself over until he came to a stop in front of me. “Did I wake you up?”
I shook my head. “ No .”
He tugged on my sheet and I bent my head. Nikola pressed his mouth to mine for a hard kiss. When he pulled back, I was panting.
“What do you want to do today?”
“ Don’t know. ” I lowered to my knees, used to craning my neck to look at him. “ Nikola, why don’t you ever sleep in ?”
A shadow passed his expression and he signed while uttering the words, “I have my routine.”
I released a deep breath. “ I know, and your exercise is important, but couldn’t you sleep in one morning so we can wake up together ?”
He cupped my face into his big palms. “I’ll sleep in every day during our honeymoon. I promise.”
We’d learned a lot about each other during the past few weeks, and despite the tragic way we ended up in this situation, I counted it as a blessing. It was good for both of us.
Funny, you could know a person your entire life, but then learn a whole new side of them when you lived together.
For example, I’d never realized—until now—how routine-driven Nikola was.
He rose early, exercised, then showered, only to eat breakfast while he worked before breaking for lunch.
He also attended his physical therapy sessions, and lastly, his and my least favorite, phone calls from his therapist. He didn’t want to talk to her, but she kept calling.
Unlike Dr. Freud who had helped me, this therapist, Dr. MaryAnn Spot, was totally unhelpful.
I made a mental note to talk to Isabella about it, because I didn’t think that woman was good for Nikola. Not that he talked to her much. From what I gathered, he only sat there and let her yap, and he did it only to keep his mom happy.
“Do you have physical therapy today?” I asked, although I already knew.
“Yes, at two p.m. Want to come with me?”
I smiled. “Sure, why not, but while you’re doing that, I’ll run a few errands if that’s okay.”
He nodded. “Make sure you carry the knife Sasha gifted you.”
Thirty minutes later, I was showered, dressed in jeans, a pink top, and pink pumps, ready to get the day going.
Dr. MaryAnn Spot.
I stared at the golden plate with the list of credentials.
It took me a bit to find this place, leaving me with fifteen minutes to spare before Nikola was scheduled for a session here right after his physical therapy, which meant I didn’t have much time.
I didn’t know what I thought I’d accomplish by coming here, but I hoped that maybe Dr. MaryAnn needed a chance to understand Nikola better. I didn’t like the toll the sessions took on him.
Every time he finished, he’d shut down and call himself a cripple. Unlike my sessions with Dr. Freud which helped me feel better, Nikola’s sessions with Dr. MaryAnn were making him feel worse.
And that just wouldn’t do.
I knocked and opened the door. It wasn’t as if I could hear if someone invited me in.
I found Dr. MaryAnn, a woman of maybe forty years old, standing by her window and watering her plants.
Our eyes met and her brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I’m not taking any walk-ins.”
It was then I realized my rookie mistake. I was deaf . How in the fuck would I talk to this woman if she didn’t know ASL? I mentally slapped my forehead.
Instead, I shut the door behind me, fished out my phone, and pulled up my notes app, then started typing.
I’m here to talk to you about Nikola Nikolaev.
I showed her the message and her whole face scrunched with distaste.
Her thin lips moved and I read her lips. “That boy belongs in prison, or even better, six feet under.”
My jaw dropped while I stared at the woman.
Anger bubbled inside me, but I ignored it as I pounded hard on my phone, typing my next message.
Why don’t you refer him to another therapist? Or better yet, stop calling him?
I was tempted to shove the phone into her face, but I didn’t. Instead, I maintained my composure.
“I know better than to get on the wrong side of the Russian mafia.” I stared at the woman who seemed oblivious. “But I have a plan.”
My brows furrowed, then I typed: A plan?
She pinned me with a look. “Who are you, anyhow?”
My sixth sense flared and I opted for a vague answer. Mafia is dangerous and you don’t want to mess with them.
Her expression twisted. “They blinded my boy. My poor boy.”
Huh?
The woman wasn’t making any sense. I typed a message in my notes and showed it to her. Who are you talking about?
“My son. He hurt my boy. That devil beat my son in a club, rendering him blind,” she said, tugging on her hair while her expression was full of malice.
“ Which club ?” I signed, but her confused expression reminded me she couldn’t understand me, so I typed it up.
“At some exclusive club in Connecticut where my boy touched his girl.”
My brows furrowed before I jotted down the only club name I knew in that part of the country.
Revelation?
“Yes,” she cried. “It’s not my boy’s fault he needs that stuff.
He didn’t mean to hurt girls. He was getting better.
” It would seem Dr. MaryAnn should have been providing her therapy sessions to her own son, not Nikola.
“My son was just doing what an old woman, The Duchess, asked of him. He needed help, but instead, that devil scorched my boy’s eyeballs. ”
Understanding dawned on me. It was that man who kissed me forcefully at Revelation. Was he working with my great-grandmother? For fuck’s sake, would her malice follow us forever?
I needed to tell Isabella this woman was cuckoo and had to be removed from ever speaking with Nikola again. In fact, she shouldn’t be counseling anyone in her state.
“But mark my words, that gimp will die, and I hope whoever shot him gets another chance,” she continued, oblivious to my thoughts. “This world would be a better place without people like him and his family. Hell, I might do the world a favor and do it myself.”
Red misted my vision and I had to take a second to swallow down the burning rage that rushed through me, pulse drumming in my neck. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, but I couldn’t find the will to forgive or forget.
There are two types of sinners in this world: those who sin with their hearts and those who sin with the intent to destroy. This woman was the latter.
She was hurting Nikola instead of helping him. Letting her live would be a mistake. The kind that would come back to haunt us, and I couldn’t allow that.
I walked over to the door, locked it, and then headed toward her.
Oblivious to my fury, the woman continued. “That might keep the gimp away this time, but he’ll be back.”
She went to stand by her desk, opened a drawer, and I never saw her next move coming. She was gripping a gun barrel with shaky hands, waving it around like a madwoman.
I couldn’t latch on to her words. Red marred my vision and blood drummed in my veins. I blinked once, twice, until her next words registered. “I’ll kill the cripple Nikolaev.”
Reaching into the back pocket of my jeans for the knife, I opened the blade and threw it across the room.
Just the way I learned with Sasha.