“Y-you know what I mean.”
Suddenly something scary unfurled in the depths of his gaze. “This is about what Popov said to you, isn’t it?” When her gaze wavered, unable to bear the brunt of his incensed one, he rasped, “Hell, Anastasia, just tell me what he said.” When she hesitated, his eyes grew beseeching. “It was clearly about me and I have the right to know what it is, if only to tell you my side of it, whatever it is. I already promised you I wouldn’t retaliate.”
Knowing there was no way she could still hold out now that he’d put it that way, she reluctantly, haltingly told him.
“It was silly to react that way, but it did remind me that this artificial bubble you’ve created for me has nothing to do with your real life. You’ve interrupted it to come to my rescue, to stay by my side. But you now have to go back to your...”
She faltered as that terrifying thing in his eyes expanded, like a dragon unfolding its wings and preparing to spew fire.
It was more frightening that he sounded totally calm when he said, “That miserable piece of scum. I’ll make him pay for that.”
That had her pouncing on him, grabbing his arms in alarm. “No, Ivan, you promised.”
His face looked again as demonic as it had when he’d been defending her and Alex, vanquishing their attackers. He gently unhooked her spastic fingers from his flesh, pulled away. “If I’d suspected he’d told you anything like that, I wouldn’t have promised to spare him. This changes everything.”
“No, Ivan, just let him be. It’s not like he was trying to stir up trouble. What he said was the vodka talking. But then it’s only expected for a man like you to have—” unable to say the word mistresses again, she just shrugged, her shoulders so taut they almost cramped “—you know.”
That seemed to pour fuel on his terribly calm, and more terrifying for it, wrath. “A man like me? Do you or Popov or anyone else even think you know what kind of man I am? And it’s only expected that I have mistresses? In the plural? At once? Do you think I have them all lurking around, on hold, while I play house with you? Or maybe I put you in bed at night and go make the rounds of my stable of kept women? Or worse, I have a harem all in one place as Popov suggested, to observe my convenience?”
“That isn’t what I thought, Ivan, what upset—”
Her words choked off. Though there was much she didn’t know about him, there were some things she was sure of. Beyond knowing that he had his own brand of unwavering integrity, he had this aloofness, this fastidiousness about him. What he’d just suggested, what translated Mikhail’s comment in jarring detail, couldn’t have any basis in fact.
She kept staring at him helplessly. Before she found the words to tell him her conclusion now, to beg his forgiveness for jumping to the wrong one before, Ivan’s simmering gaze cooled down until self-reproach took over his expression.
“I’m sorry I overreacted.” Though his voice remained as calm as before, it was now devoid of that dangerous viciousness, filling instead with entreaty. As she felt horrible that he was the one apologizing he made it even worse by adding, “I’ll give Popov and his partners an in-depth interview to make up for the way I behaved tonight.”
“That’s great.” She breathed in relief, glad for them, though it only made her more chagrined at how she’d behaved, how this had developed. “But I’m the one who overreacted, Ivan—”
His hand rose, interrupting her. “And you had every right to. You have no reason to trust me, Anastasia, with the way I left you in the past. What I do now doesn’t erase it, doesn’t exonerate me. I just never want you to be upset, never again, and certainly never on my account.”
“Trust doesn’t even factor into this, and it wasn’t why I was upset. You had a life before you came saving mine, and it would have been only natural if you had—”
“I didn’t, Anastasia. I had no mistresses.”
“Please, just let this go, Ivan.”
“No, Anastasia, I need you to know this. I had no mistresses, in the plural or in the singular, not even one-night-stands.” His gaze lowered for a moment before he raised it back to hers, showing her inside him, the endlessness of his dark, tormented loneliness. “I’ve had no one since you.”
Six
Anastasia felt her heart, the whole world, grind to a halt. What Ivan had just said...
I’ve had no one since you.
The words sank in her mind, each one making no sense individually. Together they made even less sense.
She replayed them again and again, examining them for something she’d missed, or misunderstood. But there was nothing hidden or vague. He’d just said these words as clearly as could be.
He hadn’t had sex with any other woman since her.
Then everything started to spin in a vortex of questions and confusions, a dozen hows and whys flying about around an epicenter of incredulity.
She felt as if everything inside her had been scattered in disarray, her whole belief system and rationalizations in shambles.
If he’d left her, but had never sought another... If he’d kept an eye on her, but had never come back... If he’d come back only in her extreme need, remained with her, but still wouldn’t be with her fully...
What did it all mean?