Page 63 of Kept in the Dark
“You want a truce,” I repeat flatly. It’s muffled by his chest, but I can’t seem to move my cheek from the relief this skin-on-skin contact is providing.
“Yes, I want a truce.”
I shake my head slightly. “You threatened me.”
“You broke my nose.”
“You chased me into a frozen pool.”
“You ripped open my wound.”
I rear back, just so he can see me scowl at him. How dare he have equal and opposite things to be upset about?! “You shoved me into the trunk of a car!”
“You kicked me in the face.”
“Trunk of a car,” I repeat. “Forhours. It was freezing in there, and I was panicking, not knowing what was happening or where we were going. I thought you wanted to… I thought you were going to kill me, Dimitri.”
He winces. “I acted rashly. You called the police, and I did not have time to explain everything to you. If the police had come…” he trails off.
I stiffen against him because now I can’t help mentally finishing that sentence for him. Would he have killed them to defend himself? I know they have guns and receive some combat training, but… frankly, up against Dimitri, I wouldn’t put my money on the cops.
I shake my head. “You could have stopped somewhere and let me out.”
“You would have run. Youdidrun. I could not risk anyone seeing.”
A frustratingly fair point.
“I had no intention of hurting you, Nicole. I do not. I will not. Fight me however you like—try to kick me, punch me, or stab me if it makes you feel better… I may restrain you so you do not harm yourself, but I will not return the blows.”
Realization slowly sinks in. In our long list of crimes against each other, mine are the only violent offenses. He hasn’t retaliated physically against me in any way, and he’s actingconcernedabout me. He’s trying to warm me.
If I were ready to condemn him over a single overheard conversation, shouldn’t I be willing to absolve him after he shows me that I’m mistaken?
“Okay, truce,” I agree. “I believe you don’t want to hurt me.”
He starts stroking my hair again. I almost stop him, anxious about a man’s lack of awareness about texture and tangles, but relax when I feel that he’s avoiding the knots and not making them worse. It is oddly soothing.
“I’m sorry I attacked you,” I tell him after a moment. “I promise I didn’t mean to hit your injury.”
“Did you mean to break my nose?” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice.
“Yes,” I confess, taking after his blunt honesty. I’m smiling a little, too, and grateful that he can’t see it. “And I’m sorry for that, too.”
There’s a long pause that feels almost light in contrast to the weight of the situation. It shifts slightly when he sighs, “After last night, I thought we… You believed I would kill you, Nicole?”
I can tell he’s hurt, but he’s trying not to be obvious about it.
I wish I could be annoyed about that, but I kind of know how he feels. My own emotions are welling just behind my eyelids, and if I cry, he’s not allowed to see that, either. With a sigh of my own, I tuck my chin and press my cheek harder to his chest.
“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute—”
“You are not wearing shoes. Or anything, for that matter.”
My heart thumps hard twice against my sternum, a pitiful, too-tired-for-arousal response from a too-cold body. “Metaphorical shoes,” I correct. “It means try to understand my perspective. I was alone, trapped on a boat, when I can’t swim, with a man who can hit a bullseye with a knife while on a rocking surface with his eyes closed. That man, who’s told me repeatedly he’s not a good person and who tried to rid me of any way to communicate by throwing my phone out the window, sneaks away to have a secret conversation about taking care of witnesses to a murder he committed.”
I let that hang in the air between us. He’s gone rigid against me.
“So, yes, Dimitri. I was afraid. I didn’t want to think you’d kill me, and I knew there was a chance I was misunderstanding. But there was also a chance I was right, so I figured I was definitely safer on my own.”
