Page 198 of Ruins
Before I can gather myself, he’s carrying me out of the library. I stammer, “I... I’m not hiding.”
He says nothing, just holds me tighter.
When we reach our bedroom, he sets me down gently, but instead of stepping back, he studies me, his stormy eyes filled with quiet determination.
“Then let me see you, Vasilisa. All of you.”
His words aren’t a demand. They’re a plea. A request for trust. And it shakes me to my core.
My throat tightens as he takes my hand, leading me into the bathroom. He turns me toward the mirror, standing behind me, his presence solid and unwavering.
“I’d never force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” he says solemnly, his gaze locked on mine in the reflection. “But, Dea, I want to love you completely... and that includes loving every part of your body.”
My heart pounds so hard I swear he can hear it. His words unsettle something deep inside me, something I don’t know how to face.
I meet his gaze in the mirror and immediately shift under the weight of it. The heat in his eyes, the way he looks at me like I’m something worth cherishing—it’s too much.
I drop my head. “You don’t have to say that.”
His hands tighten on my waist. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I know I’m not your type.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. The second they hit the air, I regret them.
Santo’s eyebrows raise, his expression equal parts amused and exasperated. He grips my shoulders and turns me to face him fully.
“Says who?” His voice is low, edged with something I can’t quite place.
I blink at him, caught off guard. “Cassandra said she wasn’t surprised we were arranged because I’m not your type.”
A flicker of irritation passes over his face.
“Cassandra’s known me a long time,” he says, his voice darkening. “She knows who I’ve been seen with. That doesn’t mean it’s the only thing I want.”
I huff softly, not ready to let him dismiss this so easily. “Rachel?”
“Never been with her, never will be with her. We established that.”
“You wanted me to eat more,” I point out, regretting the words as soon as they leave my lips.
Santo furrows his brows, his confusion clear. “Because you were going to eat an apple after skipping breakfast. That’s not enough for anyone, Vasilisa.”
I roll my eyes, frustration bubbling over. “It’s not just that. You’ve said it more than once.”
“When?”
I glare at him, crossing my arms. “Right before you left, when I was eating fruit for breakfast. And on our first date—we shared a charcuterie board, and you told me I should eat more.”
Santo blinks at me, exasperation flickering in his expression. “A charcuterie board doesn’t feed anyone. That’s snacks, not a meal.”
“There werethreeother appetizers on that table, Santo.”
“That’s still not dinner. It’s not enough,” he counters, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to keep his patience.
“Enough foryouor enough for me?” I ask, tightening my arms around myself.
His gaze darkens—not with anger, but something else entirely. “Enough for a human being,” he says simply.
“Oh my gosh,” I groan, throwing up my hands. “If you’re just going to have an excuse for all of my feelings, why should I even try?”
