CATALINA
I steppedout of the shower, feeling refreshed for the first time all day.
A quick check on my gunshot wound had told me it was healing nicely. All that would be left would be a cool-looking scar. Or, at least, cool, in my opinion. And what was more, it was a scar I got saving someone I loved.
Wrapping the towel around my wet hair, I stopped in front of the window, watching all the lights surrounding the Strip. My eyes focused on the Eiffel Tower.
The door to my room opened, and in the glass’ reflection, I could see Mikhail walking in.
He paused once he had the door closed behind him, his eyes focused on me. I didn’t think I was breathing as my eyes fixed on him, only letting out a small exhale when he took that first step toward me.
Then another one.
And another, until he was standing fully behind me.
He wrapped his arms around my middle, and I tilted my head to the side as Mikhail’s lips descended onto my neck, sucking softly, almost in the exact spot Nikolay had marked me with a hickey.
“Bedtime, kotyonok.”
I let him pull me toward the bed. I took off the white robe I was wearing, leaving me in nothing but a pair of panties and a big T-shirt I’d stolen from one of their bags.
His heated gaze tracked my every movement. I pretended not to notice, pulling the covers back and getting in.
I turned to him and watched him strip out of his clothes until he was in just his boxer briefs. He didn’t say anything as he walked to the bathroom. Moments later, the faucet turned on.
I listened as Mikhail got ready for bed, letting the sound of something so mundane comfort me in a way I hadn’t felt since the moment I woke two days ago, before we left for Vegas.
Moments later, he came out, his face and upper body wet, water droplets running down his skin.
I licked my suddenly parched lips. Mikhail’s blue eyes took on a thrilling light as his lips formed around a small smile.
He got under the covers with me.
We were both on our backs, looking up at the high ceiling of the hotel room. I focused on one indented spot in the plaster on the ceiling, thinking.
“We’re heading off to Utah tomorrow. Then we’re going home. And you’re going to tell us what’s wrong.”
It wasn’t a question but a demand for me to tell them all my problems. Did he think my telling them my problems would help? That they could solve them for me?
I didn’t know.
I nodded.
His hand reached out and grabbed mine under the sheets. I took in the feel of his warm skin.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice gruff sounding from disuse.
He let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t know, baby.” He turned to me. “What would you do if you were me?”
I kept my gaze on the ceiling. I swallowed before I spoke. “If I had a chance to see my mom again, I wouldn’t hesitate. I would give anything to feel her hug me one last time.”
I blinked away the moisture.
“I’m sorry, kotyonok. I’m sorry about all the shit you had to go through with your father.”
“Yeah, me too.” I hesitated. “Why do you hate him?”
I knew he did. Like Damien, Father had done something to Mikhail. A part of me didn’t want to know.