Chapter 16
Roxy
"You have two more pills to take, Yuri," I say, approaching his bed.
His face is pale, an IV drips into his right arm, the left one is in a cast, but he's awake.
I didn't stop him from calling the police. I knew whatever details he could give them wouldn't help catch his attacker. All Yuri remembers is getting out of his car in front of his apartment building, and then everything went black. The man never spoke, but Yuri said he seemed young somehow.
But that's impossible. This man was an adult twenty-two years ago. He has to be well over fifty. The contradiction just gives me a splitting headache because, again, some of the details from that night are so hazy.
"They taste like vinegar," he replies, grimacing.
"Yuri...they could taste like eggs left out in the sun, and you'd still take them. Your mother will be here in two hours, and I don't want her to find you haven't taken your medication," I say, crossing my arms over my chest to show the discussion is over.
"I've gone from one dictatorship to another," he mutters, but he complies and takes the remaining pills.
I walk to the window and notice a light drizzle has started.
Even though it's only three in the afternoon, the sky is overcast and dreary, making the street dim, but I can see Damien in the parking lot.
For the past three days, ever since I talked to Luna and Roman, he's been present just about everywhere I've gone.
I don't know how the hell this man finds time to run his organization when he's always following me.
"Tell Mom I don't want any more natto," Yuri mumbles, starting to doze off.
His pillow is crooked, his neck bent at an unnatural angle, so I go over to fix it. Gently turning his head, I adjust the pillow and take a step back. I don't know which of the dishes his mother brought was the natto, but if it was those fermented soybeans, I completely understand.
I quickly jot down "NO NATTO" on a small note and leave.
"You don't have an umbrella," Damien says as I practically run toward him.
I don't. This morning, my car decided it was the perfect time to start making sounds like a machine gun. I want to believe the universe isn't trying to kill me, but I decided to be cautious. Which meant my umbrella got left behind.
He walks toward me, takes off his leather jacket, and holds it over my head. I don't get a chance to thank him before his eyes travel over me—my gray wool coat and ankle boots—and then to his motorcycle.
"Damn it," he says, slightly agitated as he pulls out his phone.
For a few seconds, I watch how unsettled he is, and for some reason, my hand settles on his free one. I don't know who he's trying to call, but he seems too worried.
"It's okay, I can call a cab to your place. Your bike doesn't look like something I'd climb onto in my right mind," I say with a laugh.
"Oh, I assure you, you'd climb on," he says, a smug grin spreading across his face, and I can't help but roll my eyes.
"You won't see me hopping on that thing anytime soon, don't worry."
"Never say never," he says with a wink.
I don't know why I didn't think about transportation.
We were supposed to go to his place today so I could see the wedding location.
We decided there's no more suitable venue than his home.
The Council will be pleased, and it's small enough to limit access to no more than fifty people, so everyone is happy.
"I told you I can get a cab. It’s perfectly fine. Don't bother calling someone," I say, a slight tremor in my voice as the rain starts to soak through my clothes.
"It's not fine. My wife will not be taking some shady cab," he says angrily, and my mind gets stuck on the word "wife."
It rolled off his tongue so naturally, so simply, as if we were a real couple about to get married, and I feel my cheeks flush. Even though Damien has always given me pet names, "wife" sounds important. It sounds like someone you truly care about, someone you would move mountains for.
It takes him twenty seconds to bark out a few orders, during which he leads me toward the hospital entrance, where an awning offers shelter from the rain.
My trembling worsens. Maybe it’s my flushed cheeks, or maybe my brain has frozen over from accepting that word so easily.
All I know for certain is the feel of him stepping behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, enveloping me in a safety that feels both inevitable and intoxicating.
And I shouldn't want to lean back into him as much as I do.
"Just give me a few minutes where you don't fight me on this," he whispers close to my ear, and I swallow the lump forming in my throat.
I don't answer. I just let myself lean back against him, lacing my fingers with his, and accept that I've had a few nightmarish days and need a moment of peace.
I could scream and deny so many things out loud, but deep down, I know this is one of the few moments my mind hasn't been racing a hundred miles an hour, searching for answers.
Who is the man who keeps looking for me? Why didn't he speak to Yuri? How am I going to manage being a mob boss's wife?
I feel his lips at the base of my neck, and an involuntary shiver runs through me.
"Damien…" I want it to sound like a warning, but it comes out as just a faint murmur.
"I don't know how I'm going to survive having you this close," he whispers like a confession, and I close my eyes.
You'd have to be blind not to see the attraction between us, but you'd have to be insane to encourage it.
We are the perfect recipe for disaster. He'll surely find another "attraction" when this temporary obsession with me evaporates.
And it will, just like it did with all my exes when they realized there was nothing special about me, nothing out of the ordinary, like they believed at first.
And I'm far too thirsty for affection, too starved for love, to easily get over the inevitable moment it happens.
Because that's my story, isn't it? To be interesting enough to attract attention but never special enough to be kept.
To be that fascinating chapter in someone's life but never the whole book.
And my desperation for affection, this constant hunger to be loved, makes me even more vulnerable to the disappointment that will follow.
Among Damien's many businesses, Luna told me he owns an exclusive club where he extracts information for blackmail. She didn't have to give me details for me to imagine what goes on in there, and I almost grind my teeth. I recognize the feeling at the root of these thoughts: jealousy.
Images of Damien with other women flash through my mind like a bad movie: kissing him, pressed against him, him giving them that smile that has become the best part of my day.
I tense up, and I know he notices the shift in me. Above us, rain patters on the metal roof, punctuated by muffled voices from inside the hospital.
"I don't want you to have a mistress while we're married. It's only for six months. You can resist without—"
Before I can finish, he turns me around and cups my face in his hands. There's vulnerability in his eyes and a trace of anger, mixed with something else that glitters. Something I can't quite place.
"Do you really think that with you just a few feet away I could want anyone else? Do you think there's any woman in this world who could draw my eyes away from you?" he asks, his voice betraying the anger and disappointment that I would even suggest such a thing.
Even though all my exes proved I have an expiration date, my life went on after them. But I know that if I were to lay my soul bare for Damien and he betrayed me, I would never recover.
He calls me his little sun, but I don't think he realizes he's the fire that's keeping me alive right now. And I have a feeling it's going to be damn hard to live in the cold after knowing such warmth.