Chapter 70
DRASKO
“It was a bad idea not to go to a hospital or call for a doctor,” Grace said as she cleaned Drasko’s wounds that very night.
Her hair was still a mess. Her singed dress and the rest of her clothes were in a heap on the floor. Wearing only her undergarments and camisole with a little bloodstain on the fabric from where Uriah’s scalpel had grazed her, she looked every bit like an angel who had fought her way through hell.
She had told Drasko what had happened.
He had sworn he would find Uriah in hell when he died.
“I’d rather you stay with me for a while,” she cut off his threats.
Their bedroom was dim and smelled of ashes. Drasko’s own clothes were in the same pile on the floor. He sat in his undergarments on the chair as Grace stood between his legs and carefully inspected his burn wounds.
She had insisted on doing it herself. And now he watched her with silent admiration, unable to look away. The worst was behind them, and she was his, so very his, for so very long, he hoped.
The diamond game seemed a distant affair. So did the fire. Only its pungent scent that saturated the air was a reminder of what it had taken for them to be here, with no threats to their future.
“Did you know that Nina finally pulled off her skirt?” Grace said with a smile.
“She did what?”
Grace chuckled. “When you left this morning, Nina and I were on our way to Rivka’s.
We didn’t take more men. We thought we’d come back to the house right away.
Then three of Uriah’s men surrounded us.
I don’t think they expected Nina to fight back.
And she pulled off her skirt—poof!—like those vaudeville performers.
” Grace laughed. “She’d told me so before, but I didn’t believe her.
She does, indeed, wear those long black bloomers under her skirt.
And her hat never fell off her head when she fought the men.
Can you imagine? She looked like some sort of fantasy hero when she kicked the men around like they were tin soldiers.
She made truly bizarre sounds, too, like forced gasps. And then…”
“Then?”
“Then more men came,” she said sadly. “They drew guns on her. While I just stood there…”
“That’s why you have her. She is meant to guard you, Grace.”
“She does. Thank you for that.”
He nuzzled the thin strap of her camisole over her shoulder.
Grace smiled, not stopping what she was doing. “Hold still, please.”
He didn’t listen, kissed her collarbone, and rubbed his nose against it.
“Patience,” she said, chuckling, and added, “husband.”
Slowly, he slid his hands to her ribs, tracing her delicate silhouette. “I can’t.”
He kept placing little kisses over any bare skin he could find, as she laughed through her nose.
“I’ve decided on the names,” she said.
“What names, darling?” He tilted his head at her.
“Our children. Eva and Bron.” She bit her lip, carefully cleaning his wounds. “Do you like the names?”
Was there anything he didn’t like about her? Was anything better than a promised future with her? A whole life!
He couldn’t stop looking at her, remembering. All those years of angst, of grieving her loss, then finding her again and protecting her from her past. Falling in love with her, despite trying not to. Keeping their past a secret, despite knowing that she deserved the truth.
And now she was telling him she wanted a future, had thought about it, dreamed about it…
“Do you like them?” she asked quietly.
His eyes misted with tears. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “Yes, darling. Anything you want.”
Her slender fingers weaved into his hair, the gentlest touch yet. She kissed the top of his head.
“You saved my life,” he said. “No getting rid of me now. You are stuck with me for life.”
“Well, I can be resourceful when I am set on an idea.”
“Of us?”
“Of Eva and Bron.”
He laughed, lifting his head and meeting the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.
But her laughter died out. Her chest rose as she took a deep breath, her gaze on him luminous with love.
“When I first saw you, years ago, I was scared,” she said, resting her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes roamed his face. “When I married you, I was furious that you didn’t give me a choice or let me pretend I had one.”
His heart answered with a knowing beat—she was repeating his words from yesterday.
“When I first called you a tyrant, I lied. When you first had me, I was ashamed. Ashamed that I wanted more and was afraid to admit it. And I resisted you for as long as I could, because the day you said, ‘the road from hate to love is a dark one’ you were right. I thought the day I married you was the darkest in my life. Though I never hated you. Never! But I cannot remember the moment when I fell in love with you. Until the road with you by my side was blinding, with so much light. And I wanted to dissolve in it. Was scared that it would burn me, for I didn’t know if you felt the same or if I was just a tool for some wicked revenge. ”
He shook his head. “No…”
“I know.” She nodded. “I love you, Drasko.”
She was love. She always had been and would continue to teach him what true love was.
“No matter what happens, Grace, and where life takes us, every minute with you is the biggest privilege and blessing, worth going through the worst pains.”
She sniffled. “You will make me cry.”
“I will shut up.”
She kissed him. “Please, do. No more tears.”
He smiled, his heart ready to burst. “No more tears,” he whispered.
And for the first time, Drasko did not feel hate for the man who had put them through so much pain. Drasko felt like mourning him. With all his power and wealth, Uriah had been the poorest man alive. He had never known the biggest blessing—love.
Love was true power.
Love was patient, surviving decades.
And love was hurried, demanding it all in one night.
Love was pain at the brief thought of what could’ve happened to Grace.
And it was happiness when she cupped Drasko’s face, ever so gently, and kissed his worries away.
Those who lived through it all understood that love was their soul, woven into the core of who they were. Perhaps, it grew old and quiet with age, but it echoed on the lips of their children who carried it on.
Shyly, Grace bit her lip. “I want every night with you, husband,” she said, caressing his shoulders. “And mornings. And days. And?—”
“You can have every minute of my every day,” he breathed against her lips, “and I will still feel like I don’t have enough.”
“I love you,” she whispered and kissed him. “I love you.” She kissed him again. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
And he drowned in her love.
Between her kisses, he studied her face, every inch of it familiar yet new. Once, he’d promised her that he would show her the world and surround her with love. He had promised her she would be a queen. And now she was, his queen.
He brushed his fingers over the ashes on her camisole.
She looked down at the dirty fabric that he touched. “I look awful, don’t I?”
“You do.” He nodded.
“Huh?” She gave him a shocked stare.
“This thing covers too much,” he explained, grinning, and slid the straps off her shoulder, letting the garment fall to the floor. “You look so much better without it.”
The blush on her cheeks deepened. And then, keeping his hands off her became impossible.
He kissed her, pulling her flush against him.
“I am afraid I will hurt you,” she murmured, trying not to touch his burn wounds.
“Then you shall have to do the work, darling.”
He carried her to the bed, already eager to give her instructions, show her what to do, and see how far she would go this time.
She smiled between his kisses, that shy smile that made him weak with desire.
“Teach me how to leave you wanting more,” she whispered. “So you never get tired of me.”
He loved her—how naive she was about his feelings, even more so about his patience with her. He had none. Not anymore. Not when she was so naked, so eager, so his.
“I don’t need to teach you, Grace.” He stroked her shoulder. “I want more all the time.”
“I will not let you out of this bedroom for days, Mr. Mawr,” she said softly, for the first time threatening him with a good time, her hands already more daring than they had ever been.
“Don’t mistake me being injured for being weak.” He grinned. “I will wreck you, Mrs. Mawr.”
“I’d like that.”
Rakshasa roared in triumph as Grace straddled him, taking charge, so unbelievably confident that it took his breath away.
And then it took away his sanity as she shifted lower, kissing down his body, her hand bravely stroking his hardness.
And his dignity as her mouth took over where her hand had just been, and he moaned loudly under her lips, certain that he would walk through another fire and jeopardize his life if that was what turned his shy wife into a passionate lover.
She was making love to him. And he let her do what she wanted, instructing and guiding her, so aroused by his little lessons that he reached the intended destination in record time.
And then, despite the burns that stung his skin, he showed his wife his own idea of a symphony, with all its movements, allegros and andantes, trills and glissandos, until her body sang for him.
He kissed and worshiped and cherished her.
Breathless afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, not bothering to cover themselves. Grace stretched her arm under his pillow, resting her head on it when she suddenly crinkled her brows.
She pulled her hand from under the pillow, a letter in it, the one he’d left there this morning.
“Another secret?” She gave it a curious glance and handed it to Drasko.
He shook his head. “It was for you. When I didn’t know how the day would end.”
Her smile waned, but she opened the letter.
“ It is you, Grace. It has always been you ,” she read out loud and paused, her eyes on the letter, her chest rising slowly in a deep inhale.
“ The threads of time brought us together. We were bound by destiny. I never told you enough times how much I ached for you.” She paused again and pursed her lips.
“But I hope this leaves you knowing that I was always yours, in love, in hate, in sickness. Even in death,” she read in a voice that grew shaky.
“There is a beautiful word in Sanskrit—Samsara. It means rebirth. In another life, I will find you again. I will always find you, meri jaan . ”
Tears pooled in her eyes when she met his gaze.
“Was that supposed to be a goodbye, Drasko?” she whispered. “This morning? You knew?”
He wanted to kneel before her, realizing the power of being capable of doing so for love, the one thing that the dead man had never understood and hadn’t counted on.
“Don’t you dare,” Grace whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Don’t you dare ever say goodbye to me.”
“Come here,” he beckoned her and kissed the tear off her cheek, then planted little kisses on her forehead and eyelids. “I’ve got you, and I’m never letting you go.”
She cupped his face. “You are a magnificent man, Drasko. With a beautiful heart. It’s mine because my own heart will simply not survive without yours.”
He stroked her hair. “You are my heart’s keeper, Grace. My heart’s Maestra.”
There were a hundred ways he could phrase it, and it wouldn’t be enough to explain what she meant to him.
She settled in his arms and drew invisible patterns on his chest, humming something barely audibly. She was happy—Drasko knew that hum.
“I am sorry it took me so long to tell you all the truths, Grace. With time, you will know them all. Soon, I’d like to take you to the beautiful land that raised me.”
“The country that gave birth to me, too.”
“Yes. And I’d like you to meet my family, Asha and Rupesh. The man who made me think differently than Uriah and the woman who, a long time ago, was the only mother you ever knew.”
“I would love to. I want to see the world with your eyes.”
She smiled mischievously.
“What is it?” He nudged her.
“It’s no wonder you were a thief, Drasko darling. A shameless thief.” Her smile widened. “You stole my heart, and I didn’t even notice.”
He laughed and drew her into him for another kiss.
He was yet to spend a whole day in bed with his wife. That was a gift, indeed.
He closed his eyes and listened to her peaceful breathing, catching her little sighs and tiny movements.
And he listened to Rakshasa, then smiled and hummed one of Grace’s songs.
For the first time in years, Rakshasa was quiet.