Page 99 of Beautiful Scar

“Nonsense. We both know Tigran would murder you if he saw you leave your post, remember?” I glance up at a camera in the corner of the hall and give it a little wave. I blow a kiss and wink. “Now, take the Advil and finish off that water, will you?”

“All right, Mrs. Sarkissian,” he says, smiling as he downs the pills and chugs the water. “You’re too kind.”

“Just trying to take care of you unruly bears.” I walk off, whistling to myself, and stop in the kitchen to get a little bowl of pretzels for Samos. He gets cranky if he doesn’t eat, and he’s in the last couple of hours of his shift, which means the only thing standing between me and a giant grumpy guard is a little blood sugar.

I make the rounds, checking in on the men to make sure they’re doing okay. Most of them don’t need anything, but they’re happy to chat. Tigran runs a very tight household, especially now that security’s been ramped up. Nobody gets within ten paces of the house without a dozen alerts going off and at least five different armed and trigger-happy men watching them.

At first, I hated it. All these strangers lurking. But this is part of the promise I made at Vito’s gravesite.

I swore I’d open myself to the world.

It’s big and vague, kind of on purpose, since that gives me wiggle room. Watched a nature doc? Open to the world. Smelled a new candle? World, fully freaking opened. But once I started coming out of my shell a little bit and explored the house more, I found that it wasn’t all that bad.

And most of Tigran’s men are nice guys. Well, maybe not nice, but they’re overly respectful and kind, probably because they all know Tigran would brutally beat them otherwise. For a week or two, I saw them only as terrifying statues, but more recently I’ve been going out of my way to get to know them.

Tigranhatesit. He wishes they were all mute and castrated, which is dumb. I keep reminding him that his men are more likely to give up their lives for me if they also like me, but he thinks they should be willing to die no matter what.

I’m a realist, I guess.

And I like hearing their stories. There’s Jacob with his sick mom and bratty girlfriend. There’s Seb and his three pit bulls. Erik’s got a gambling addiction and is always placing bets on his phone. Davit likes watercolors and also murder.

They’re a bunch of interesting gentlemen.

When I’m back in the kitchen, I hum softly to myself until the camera in the corner beeps. The red light turns green, and the lens moves slightly.

“Hello, darling,” I say, smiling up into its ever-present eye. “Hope your job’s going well. I’m just here slaving away for you in the kitchen.” I sigh and pretend to wipe my brow. “While you’re out… I don’t know… selling drugs or killing people or whatever you do.”

The camera keeps on staring.

“You’ll be happy to hear that I haven’t retreated into my room for more than an hour all day.” I press a hand to my belly, smiling slightly. “Little baby’s been quiet too, but we both know they’re thinking about you, just like I am. You’d better be home soon because dinner’s going to be ready in an hour. And oh, please let Grigor have a stool. And tell the men they can call me Dasha. And no, none of them acted remotely inappropriately, so please don’t come storming in here and start screaming at everyone again. I’m your wife. We get it.”

My phone vibrates with a text.

Tigran: Youaremy wife, little kitten, and I will not let the fucking world forget it.

“So dramatic,” I murmur just loud enough for him to hear.

Another half hour passes. I finish up the potatoes, cook some vegetables, and pull out the chicken to rest as the front door opens. I hear a shuffling of boots as the guards all straighten up and pretend like they weren’t slouching or resting on thejob, and Tigran stomps into the kitchen, sweeping me into his massive arms and landing a possessive, powerful kiss on my lips.

“If I didn’t have a fucking Irishman to kill, I’d never leave you alone, not for a single fucking second,” he snarls, running fingers through my hair.

“Then aren’t we glad you do?” I smile sweetly at him and bite his lower lip when he dares pout. “Stop it, we both know I’m happier when you’re home.”

“Better be.” He moves a hand to my belly. I’m used to him touching me there all the time at this point. The man’s insatiable, and not just for vigorous and dominant sex.

He’s also obsessed with this baby.

“They’re thinking about you,” I say, looking up into his face. I obviously don’t know that, but he loves hearing it.

His eyes seem to sparkle with pure joy. “You really mean that?”

“I can feel it. Our baby loves you.”

“I already love them too,” he whispers, and his eyes meet mine.

They hold my gaze for a few beats longer than necessary, and I feel my heart flutter.

“Well, we should eat,” I say, flushed with excitement and flustered. Even after a couple of months with him, Tigran still makes me feel this way.

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