Page 36 of Thorns of Love
Her body slumped and I scooped her up. The fire surrounding the car spread.
“We have to go,” I ordered. “The car is about to blow.”
We all rushed towards our respective vehicles. Mine was parked right next to Marchetti’s, and as Boris opened my door, Marchetti’s voice stopped me.
“Are you sure it’s smart to keep her alive?” he asked, his voice casual. “I don’t doubt she meant her vow.”
In that very moment I realized, even if she worked with Adrian against me, I’d protect her.
Life without her would be abhorrent.
A warm body pushed into me, almost snuggling, and pulled me out of the memories. I watched her, taking in her soft features when she slept. Her full lips were relaxed, a small smile on her lips almost as if she was happy.
Was she happy?
It was hard to tell with Tatiana. She was a contradiction through and through. Strength and kindness. Rebel and diplomat. I intended to dissect every single inch of her and understand everything that drove her.
Her flushed cheeks tempted me. I loved seeing that color against the paleness of her skin. The scent of roses became a permanent association to her. It no longer represented betrayal. It no longer represented my mother.
Only Tatiana.
Since my mother’s betrayal, the boy was forced to grow up and become a man. Truthfully, I wasn’t ready but the choice was taken away. One thing I had that my father didn't have was a cool head. I lacked the irrationality and impulsiveness of my father.
Until Tatiana.
My eyes traveled over her soft curves. My child grew within her belly. That alone drove my dark obsession into madness.
Taking a soft strand of her hair between my fingers, I inhaled it like it was my own aphrodisiac. The scent of roses slammed into my lungs and carved a permanent place there. Her and our child would forever be part of me.
Ourchild.
Simple two words, but they had the power to make me and break me. There was only one other statement that would hit me as hard.
Hearing Tatiana utter those three little words that made the world turn.
THIRTEEN
TATIANA
Bright light filtered into the room, a streak of white reflecting against the snow waking me from my deep sleep. I checked the time against the red digits of the clock and was shocked when I noted the time.
Eleven A.M.
But then I remembered. I was in Russia. It always took me several days to adjust to the time difference. Unlike my brothers.
I rolled onto my back, every muscle in my body sore, and reached for Illias, only to find an empty bed. The sheets were cold. I sighed, slightly disappointed. But then, I’d wager that Illias wasn’t a man to lounge in bed for half a day.
Sighing, I stretched out my hands and studied the ceiling. The same one that royalty studied for centuries. How many princes and princesses stared at the same ceiling?
Excitement rushed through me. I couldn’t wait to explore the castle.
I jumped out of bed, then headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, I was dressed in a La Perla bra and panties and a white wool dress. Slipping on a pair of black Chanel flats, I made my way out of the room.
The castle was quiet. The chill in the air present.
It didn’t matter how many fires burned and how good the central heat system was, there was no warming up a Russian home. Especially one this size. I’d experienced that in our own home in Siberia. Even in Russian hotels. It was just the way it was.
I slipped through the corridor, studying the paintings. Aivazovsky. Repin. Malevich. Only to finish it with Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Monet, and…
