A tear slid down my cheek, followed by another. They were hot; they burned my eyes as he spoke.
“My mom never came back out.” Slowly he got up and walked over to the desk and pulled out a black blanket with a white horse sewn onto it.
And next to the horse were the initials VP.
He was so young. So brave despite being afraid. My heart broke for him. The blanket was tarnished, half-burnt.
“I was broken that day, like glass shards that refuse to fit after being dropped over and over against the concrete.” He sighed and tucked the blanket back inside the desk and made his way back over to me. “And now, here we are.”
“Did you have any family left?
“Only the man who tried to kill me,” he whispered.
“Who’s that?”
“Andrei Sinacore-Petrov.”
I covered my mouth with my hands. “God, you must hate him.”
“I tolerate him,” he said through clenched teeth. “Mainly because now that I’m older, I know he’d been given misinformation by someone.”
“Who?”
“You want to know all my secrets then?”
“You’re my husband.”
“Yes.” He smiled sadly. “I am.”
“Who was it?”
“It was old information, from an old source, one he had at one point trusted. All of the Russian mafia did. You know her as Mil De Lange. Your father, however—”
“—won’t even mention her name in front of me,” I finished.
“Yes.”
“Did Andrei take you in then?”
He snorted out a laugh. “Hell, no. And since then, he has apologized, but it was my fault. I shouldn’t have made my mom cry, I shouldn’t have made her go back and get a stupid bl—”
My kiss silenced whatever else he was about to say.
His lips were plump, smooth, as they slid against mine. I moved to straddle him, and he let me, and everything about it felt familiar.
Maybe because we’d kissed last year.
Maybe because even then, he was mine.
His hands ran down my back, holding me prisoner as he deepened the kiss, tasting my tongue with his in a way that drew me closer to him, made me want more as I dug my fingers into his hair.
It was so soft.
My fingers found the edge of his mask, but he jerked back, chest heaving. “Let me be selfish for two more days before you do that.”
“Because everything changes when the masks are gone,” I said softly.
“Everything.” His throat moved. “Because it has to.”
“Okay, Valerian,” I whispered. “The mask stays on for two more days, and then no more hiding.”
“Is that what you think I’ve been doing?” he rasped, his eyes searching mine.
“You tell me.”
“I wish I could.” He looked away. “It’s getting late, I have a busy day tomorrow, and I know you’ll want to visit your family again.”
“Take it off,” I found myself saying before I knew what was happening.
He went still. “What do you mean take it off?”
“At least the evening, I want to do something. This is the part where I ask for your credit card and make sure that you really are rich enough to have one without a limit.”
He snorted out a laugh. “Are you buying a country?”
“Could I?”
“The Petrov accounts have been unfrozen for two weeks—last I checked we were at seven billion, so yeah, you probably could.”
“Two billion,” I repeated. “Wow, and I thought my dad was rich.”
“He is.” He chuckled. “Then again, when you deal drugs…”
“Dad doesn’t deal drugs.”
“Okay, not hard drugs, but he does own at least a dozen dispensaries.”
“That’s what I call smart investing.” She winked. “Credit card.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet that looked new, not worn, which was weird.
He slid a black AMEX card from the inside and handed it to me. “Try not to bleed the Family dry, all right?”
“Trust me.” I smiled.
“I do.” He pressed a kiss to my mouth. “I have no choice.”
“We always have a choice.” I shrugged.
“No.” His eyes were haunted. “We really don’t.”
I was about to ask another question, but he pressed a finger to my lips. “You should sleep.”
“Are you sleeping with me?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.” I started fidgeting immediately.
He shook his head. “How about I lay with you until you fall asleep?”
“I would like that.”
“If you’re really good, I’ll even read you a story.”
“Which one?” I grinned as I hopped off his lap. He grabbed my fingertips and kissed them.
I swayed toward him.
“The Polar Bear King, it’s a Nordic fairy tale about a king who’s trapped as a bear during the day, but every night during a certain time of the year, he can visit his bride as a man, as the man he truly is.”
“Do you imagine yourself as the polar bear?”
“No.” He sighed like he was disappointed. “I’ve always been and always will be, the wolf.”
Chapter Thirteen
Reflection shows me lies—but truth is no better because those words will burn, will scar forever. Reflection shows me what must be done—but the strength to grab the knife hasn’t been won. Blood drips from the tip as I watch him die, and a cruel smile passes my lips because I’m the reason why. —Valerian Petrov