Page 29 of Beautifully Damned
I push her out into the hallway, the chair wheels rattling beneath my fingers. She shifts awkwardly, “Actually... I think I can go by myself.”
I lift her up into my arms. She squeals. “Roman!”
“You fainted less than a few hours ago. Sit still.”
She mumbles something about dignity and independence under her breath. I stop just outside the bathroom door, putting her down, but I don’t close the bathroom door. I’m not trying to peek inside, I’m just worried she may slip and hit her head again.
“Roman,” she hisses. “Close the door.”
My jaw tightens. I nod once and pull the door shut until it clicks. After a minute, she comes out.
“I’m done,” she says quietly, not meeting my eyes. She’s flushed, clearly mortified.
I scoop her up again before she can argue. We reach the bed. I settle her gently onto the mattress and sit beside her, unwrapping the sandwich and holding it out to her.
She eyes it suspiciously before grabbing it. “Thanks.”
She takes a big bite, and I can hear her chewing. Her mouth is full when she speaks again.
“You’re doing it again.”
I frown. “Doing what?”
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sniffing bread.”
My ears burn. I’m not sure why that makes me feel so... caught. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.
“I wasn’t sniffing anything,” I snap, even though I was. Every goddamn day since she got here.
“Personally, I like the smell of vanilla more. Or oranges. If we’re talking food,” she says cheekily.
I run my tongue over the inside of my cheek, annoyed by the warmth crawling up my neck.
“Eat your sandwich,” I mutter.
I shove off the bed, needing distance. Air. Sanity.
?Chapter XIX?
AYLA
The moment we step inside the mansion, Elena is waiting by the stairs, arms crossed, eyes darting between my bandaged head and Roman.
“Bozhe moi,” she breathes, hand flying to her chest. “You are okay,da? You not… broken?”
“I’m alright,” I say, though my voice comes out thin.
“You hungry? I make something. Soup? Or something sweet?”
“I’m okay, really.”
She doesn’t look convinced. Her eyes flick to Roman, who’s walking off, not saying a word. Elena sighs under her breath, muttering something in Russian that I don’t understand. Then, she leans closer.
“You want speak… in private?”
I nod, wanting to hear what’s brewing in her head. Outside, the air is much colder than it was during the day. I sink into the grass, a little scared to be out this late in a place where wild animals may be roaming free. The miles and miles of trees look even scarier in the night, like devil hands beckoning a person to their demise. Elena sits next to me, pulling her skirt down over her knees.
“Pakhan,” she starts slowly, “he… different with you. All of us see this.”
