Page 48 of Beautiful Scar

“You can come to mine, or we can go down to the dining room.”

The idea of going in there, where he controls everything, or even downstairs makes my stomach churn. I quickly shake my head. “I’m sorry. I know it’s pathetic, but I can’t.”

“Don’t say that.” His tone is sharp, and it surprises me. He’s glaring now like I did something to piss him off.

“What? Sorry?”

“And stop apologizing.” His eyes hold mine, sharp and intense. His arms are muscular and tense like he’s frustrated. “You aren’t pathetic, Dasha. Stop thinking about yourself that way.”

“Sure. Right.” I take a step back. “I’m going to run away now.”

“Dasha—”

But I whirl and disappear into my room.

God, what is wrong with me? I grab the Tigran pillow, his smell beginning to fade completely, and hug it tightly. Why can’t I just be normal for once? Today was a lot—helping Vito, the movers, fixing my place up—and the idea of going anywhere to eat with my husband just sounds like a nightmare. I couldn’t handle it, so instead of being open and honest about what I need, I ran away like a sad little child.

“Terrible,” I mutter to myself. “Just freaking terrible.”

How am I supposed to handle this arrangement if I can’t even talk about dinner with my husband?

He’s wrong. I really am pathetic.

After a while, there’s another knock. I pull myself from the bed, exhausted and beyond run down. The knock comes again, harder and louder this time. More like a banging. “I’m coming,” I say wearily and open it a crack.

Tigran’s body fills the frame. “I have food,” he says.

“I told you?—”

“We’ll eat here. You on your side of the door and me on my side. Vito made grilled cheese.”

I stare at the little slice of Tigran’s face. He seems almost angry for a moment before our eyes lock and he softens. Did he seriously go downstairs, get me some comfort food, and bring it up to make sure I eat? All while somehow respecting my insanity?

It’s a good compromise. And it’s honestly really touching.

“Okay,” I say and push the door open.

“Okay,” he says and places a tray down on the threshold between our two spaces. He sits with his back against the wall, and I sit with my back against the opposite. “I can get you something else if you want.”

“No, this is actually perfect.” My stomach rumbles as I take a plate. The grilled cheese looks perfectly brown and melty. There’s even a little red wine, which I decide to pass on—just in case I’m already pregnant.

We eat in silence for a little while. It’s strangely comfortable, and I was actually starving from putting my living room together. If I’m going to get pregnant soon, I need to make sure I keep my strength up. That’s something pregnant women do, right?

“It’s funny how much I don’t know about babies and pregnancy,” I say out of nowhere, not sure why I’m voicing it out loud.

Maybe I’m more comfortable with him than I realized.

“You’ll learn,” he says. “My brother, Arsen, and his wife had a little baby boy named Roman. He’s a whole lot of trouble, but I love the little demon. They had no idea what they were doing at first either. But it works out somehow.”

“Are you close with them?”

“Arsen and I grew up together. We’re about as close as brothers can be.”

“I’m jealous. I’m close with my brother too.” I look down at my plate, thinking about Evan.

A wave of homesickness washes over me.

“We can bring him here for a visit if you’d like.”

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