Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
I wonder if he’s holding anything back and what he could be holding back.
“We were going to kiss.” I turn to the window, unable to stand his gaze when I’m asking these questions. “Just to be clear?”
He laughs softly, tinged with darkness. “Yeah, we were. We still are.”
“But the moment sort of got ruined?”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Sort of.”
The revelation bounces through me, as we continue driving, adding to the confusion.
I want to cry for Uncle Nick and scream in joy at the admission he just said.
Us.
Something deep within shimmers and pulses, my core aching in celebration.
“You didn’t finish what you were going to say,” I mutter. “Back at the house.”
“We made a deal. I remember.”
Another pause lengthens, but it’s not awkward. It’s one of our pauses during which we can simply be. We don’t have to try, not with each other.
It’s an amazing thing. It’s unbelievable, honestly, how comfortable I feel with this man. And uncomfortable at the same time, on-edge when I reflect on the conversation we’ll need to have.
If he wants to do more than kiss.
Eek.
I feel a collision of shame, and I cringe at myself.
Eek because Uncle Nick was beat up, and he’s in the hospital.
“I joined the Bratva to help my mother,” Damien says, his voice cold.
Or no, not cold. It’s more like he’s making it tough so he doesn’t have to face the full force of what he’s saying. It’s like he’s shielding himself from it.
“My dad was never much help. He was a low-level Bratva member, which was how I joined life. But he never helped Mom. He didn’t pay for her medical bills, anything like that. I was working as a courier at thirteen to pay her way. Then Dad left – he lives on the West Coast now – and it was just Mom and me. I did my best, but cancer got her.”
“Oh, Damien,” I whisper, tears pooling in my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
He swallows, his throat shifting. For a second, I think I see a spark of vulnerability enter his expression; his eyes turning glassy.
But then he sighs.
“It is what it is,” he says. “It happened a long time ago. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”
“How are things with your dad?” I ask.
“Fine,” he says. “We talk sometimes. I forgave him years ago. A thing like that, holding onto it, can eat a man up.”
I make to move, then I hesitate, leaning away.
Damien watches the little show with a questioning smirk on his lips, his eyebrow raised. “What was that?”
“Do you mind…maybe…or would it be weird?”
“Would what….”
He cuts himself short, nodding. He knows what I’m asking – what I’m unable to come right out and ask.
Unbuckling his belt, he moves to the center seat, raising his arm and wrapping it around me. I gratefully collapse against him, clinging onto his waist and pressing my cheek against his pounding rock-solid chest.
His scent and his presence envelop me, beckoning me to sink deeper into the embrace. I cuddle closer, part of me able to forget about the huge messiness of life when we’re pushed up together like this.
“My mom died giving birth to me,” I murmur. “I always wish I’d known her. What was yours like, Damien?”
His fingers slide through my hair, the tickling patterns unbelievable even as he makes them, convincing me I must be experiencing some sort of super-vivid hallucination.
Damien Dovlatov is touching me, holding me.
“She was a lovely woman,” he says, a new warmth to his voice. “She was funny and smart. She loved to paint. She was anxious too, Liliana. So scared of life. She didn’t handle illness well, but it’s not her fault. She tried. She really did try.”
His voice shakes toward the end.
I shuffle even closer, wishing I could melt into him.
“I’m sorry. I know you did your best.”
“It’s all we can ever do.”
He places his hand on my shoulder, pulling me somehow closer. It’s like he wants the same melting I do, the same disappearing from the magnitude of everything.
“Do you think….”
Shut up, I warn myself.
“What?” he asks.
“You’ll still want to….”
He laughs, complicated feelings clashing in the noise. “Kiss you? Nothing could stop me. But I can’t do it here, not now.”
“Why?”
He pauses, then his voice gets even huskier than it was a second ago. “Because I won’t be able to stop. You’re too beautiful, too sexy.”
“This feels like a dream,” I say. “You, saying this to me. It’s not a joke, is it?”
My thoughts scatter.
I wonder – not for the first time – if I should’ve kept my thoughts to myself. Am I revealing too much vulnerability?
Now my mind spins to sickening possibilities, like Damien saying all this is a trick. Maybe Uncle Nick isn’t even in the hospital. Maybe this whole thing is a twisted setup.
“I’d never do that,” he growls. “And especially not to you. No, Liliana, this is real.”