Page 63 of Imperfect Desires

And the worst part? I still love him. Even now, even after he left. My heart still beats harder when I think about him. My body still aches when I remember his touch.

I swallow down the bitterness rising in my throat.

Viktor hasn’t said much since that night in his office when I revealed the truth. I believe part of him is still processing it, still trying to decide what to do with me. He informed me that the arranged marriage is off. But that doesn’t mean I’m forgiven.

I glance toward Viktor, seated across from me. His profile is sharp under the dim glow of passing streetlights. He appears impassive, his jaw set and his gaze fixed ahead. His bodylanguage feels closed off—like an iron wall. He’s always been adept at concealing his emotions. Yet I know him well enough to notice the tension in his shoulders and the slight stiffness in his mouth. He’s still angry. Still disappointed.

I shift my gaze away. My throat tightens.

The car makes a sharp turn, causing my stomach to lurch violently. My mouth waters, and heat rushes to my face. Oh God. No.

I press a hand to my mouth, breathing through my nose. The nausea strikes hard and fast, like a brutal wave crashing through me.

Not now. Not here.

I grit my teeth and swallow, willing it to pass. The last thing I want is to humiliate myself further in front of Viktor. I’ve already done enough damage.

But the car takes another turn, and my stomach flips. Acid burns my throat. My hand flies to the door handle.

“Stop the car,” I whisper.

The driver doesn’t hear me. My heart slams into my ribs.

“I said stop the car!”

The brakes engage smoothly, bringing the car to a stop at the curb. I shove the door open and stumble out, ignoring the cold bite of the evening air against my flushed skin. My heels click unevenly against the pavement as I make a wobbly dash toward the terminal entrance.

I find the nearest bathroom, slamming the door behind me. The mirror swims before my eyes as I grip the edge of the sink. My knees buckle, and the cold porcelain presses against my forehead as I attempt to catch my breath.

I dry-heave into the sink, my stomach twisting painfully. Nothing comes up—I haven’t eaten since yesterday—but the force of it leaves me shaking and weak.

My breath comes in short, sharp bursts. I grip the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles turn white.

When I lift my head, I freeze.

Viktor stands behind me. His reflection in the mirror is sharp and dark, his eyes narrowed in a way I can’t quite decipher. I quickly wipe my mouth and straighten up before turning toward him.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

Viktor doesn’t speak. He crosses the room with controlled and deliberate movements. Then he does something that nearly knocks the breath from my chest.

He pulls me into a hug. A strong, fierce hug—his arms folding around my back, one hand cradling the back of my head.

My breath stutters painfully. My arms hover at my sides before slowly curling around him.

“How long have you been like this?” Viktor’s voice is low, rough against my ear.

“A couple of weeks,” I whisper.

His grip tightens. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek.

“I didn’t realize,” he says quietly.

I close my eyes. Tears sting the backs of my lids. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Viktor says. He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on my shoulders. His dark gaze sharpens on my face.

“I’ve been… angry,” he admits. “Blinded by it.” His hands tighten slightly. “But I should have seen what this was doing to you.”

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