7. Veronica
7
VERONICA
One week later…
E lena’s car pulls up in front of the hospital.
“There she is,” she says brightly as she climbs out, striding toward me. “The great survivor. You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”
I snort, despite myself. “I prefer blowing men to popsicle stands. They pay for dinner first.”
“Just as cold inside though.” She chuckles, but her gaze flits over me, scanning for signs of weakness. I’m sure she sees them all—the stiffness in my walk, the way I press my arm to my ribs, the dark circles under my eyes that no amount of concealer could ever hide. But she doesn’t comment on it, and for that, I’m grateful.
“I will miss the gourmet Jell-O,” I add dryly as she takes my bag from me and places it in the trunk. “Two flavors available for the discerning diner. Slop or bilge for madam?”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure Dmitri can get hold of some bilge,” she says with a grin, opening the passenger door and gesturing for me to get in. “Slop’s been out of stock for a couple of days though. Will shit do?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
I lower myself into the seat, a sharp pain flaring in my chest. I wince. Elena notices, of course.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I snap, harsher than I mean to. Her expression doesn’t change, but guilt creeps in anyway. I rub my temples, forcing a softer tone. “I’m fine, really. Just tired.”
She slides into the driver’s seat, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye as she starts the car. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you’re okay when you’re not. It’s me, Veronica. You don’t have to perform.”
I stare out the window, my fingers curling into the leather seat. “It’s not a performance,” I mutter, but we both know it is. Humor is the mask I wear, the shield I use to keep people at arm’s length. If I can make them laugh, they won’t see how broken I really am.
Elena doesn’t push, and for that, I love her. Instead, she eases the car into traffic, the city blurring around us as we head toward her mansion.
The silence between us is comfortable, or at least it would be if my nerves weren’t fraying at the edges. “You lost your rental,” she says after a while. “Sorry.”
I shrug. “Hated that place anyway. Needed an architect to redo the whole building. Do you know one?”
She grins. “I haven’t even started the course yet. Give me time. How come you haven’t asked about any of your stuff?”
“Because lovely woman that you are, I’m betting you got it out of my apartment and put it in storage before the lease ran out.”
“Nope.”
“Oh.”
She laughs. “Put it in Dmitri’s place. It’s all there waiting for you.”
A yawn escapes me that I can’t stop. “Thanks.”
“You’re still not sleeping, are you?”
“Nope.” I fold my arms across my chest, leaning my head against the cool window. “Insomnia’s a great companion. Always there to remind you of all the crap you don’t want to think about.”
She frowns. “Have you told the doctors? Maybe they can?—”
I interrupt before she can get any further. “Elena, I’ve been loaded up on enough meds to knock out a horse. None of it works. I close my eyes, and it’s Marco’s face I see. Every damn time. Stops me in my tracks.”
Her hands tighten on the wheel. “He’s not going to hurt you again. You know that, right?”
I don’t answer, because how can I? Marco may not be here, but his shadow still lingers, stalking me in the quiet moments, in my dreams, in every sharp corner that feels like a trap.
We drive for a few minutes in silence until I notice something—a black sedan trailing us a few cars back. My pulse spikes, and I sit up straighter, gripping the edge of the seat. “Elena,” I whisper. “We’re being followed.”
She glances in the rearview mirror, then back at me, her expression calm. “Relax. It’s one of Dmitri’s guys.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they follow me pretty much everywhere. Now, the medical team are getting set up in the staff quarters, 24 hour standby. Slightest problem, you press the button by your bed and they’ll be straight there.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“And Dmitri’s paid your hospital bills.” She wags a finger at me. “Don’t thank him. It’ll just piss him off. Now relax, we’ll be there soon and then you and me can get a pizza and I can tell you how this pregnancy is going. Newsflash, nothing exciting is happening at all.”
“Can’t wait to hear more.” I give her a wink. “You’d never find me shacked up and married to some Russian psycho.”
“Give it time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She grins at me. “You’ll see.”
The moment I step into the mansion, I feel like I’ve walked onto the set of a period drama. Everything is polished marble, gold accents, and ceilings so high I hurt my neck to look up at them.
“This place must have its own ZIP code,” I mutter, my voice laced with sarcasm.
Elena chuckles beside me, nudging my arm lightly. “It’s not that big.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Elena, the house I grew up in could fit in this entrance hall. Twice.”
She laughs again, the sound warm and genuine, but there’s an edge of concern in her eyes as she watches me. I know she’s looking for signs that this is all too much for me. And honestly? She’s not wrong.
My chest feels tight, and I don’t know if it’s the lingering ache from my injuries or the sheer weight of stepping into a world so completely foreign to me.
“Come on,” she says, taking my hand and gently pulling me further inside. “Let me show you around.”
The tour is a blur of grandeur. The dining room could seat an army, the kitchen looks like it belongs in a five-star restaurant, and the gardens outside are so perfectly manicured they don’t seem real.
And then we reach the library.
I stop in the doorway. The room is enormous, the walls lined with dark, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that seem to stretch into infinity.
A massive window lets in a flood of natural light, illuminating rows of plush armchairs and heavy oak tables. It’s warm and inviting, the kind of place that I could happily die inside.
“Heaven exists,” I whisper, stepping inside and running my fingers over the spines of the books. “And it’s here.”
She smiles, leaning against the doorframe. “I thought you’d like it. My favorite too.”
“Like it?” I turn to her, my eyes wide. “Just leave me a pillow, a blanket, and some snacks and I’ll die happy.”
I run over to the nearest armchair and sink into it. “Oh my God.”
She grins at me. “You sit and read. I’ll go get the snacks.”
I’m back in the water, the freezing river dragging me under.
My lungs burn as I struggle, my vision blurring, and then… strong arms pull me to the surface.
A man’s arms. His grip is firm but somehow soft and caring, his dark eyes piercing as he stares down at me.
“Don’t fight this,” he whispers, his voice deep. A Russian accent. “You’re safe.” The words wrap around me like a blanket, warm and soothing.
Suddenly we’re in bed. His bed. His hands trail over my skin, his touch igniting heat within me. I feel safe, yes, but also something else. Something so much more. His lips trace kisses over my bruises, moving lower, pushing my legs apart…
I wake with a start, my heart racing, my breath coming in short gasps. A book has fallen into my lap. I whip my head around. The library.
I must have fallen asleep.
The man from the dream lingers in my mind, his face vivid and unshakable. My core throbs with need as I try to push the images out of my mind.
A dream. That’s all it was. Just a dream.