Page 72 of Beautifully Damned
I used to be brave enough to risk it anyway. Not anymore. Not since I became the Pakhan’s bride.
So whatever Roman’s feeling now—whether it’s love or guilt or some dangerous mix of both—it doesn’t matter. I’m done.
With my throat tight and my vision blurring, I set the roses down and head for the garden. Roman trails me all the way to the garden, his steps so close I can hear the shift of gravel beneath his shoes. The fountain is quiet except for the soft trickle of water, and I lower myself onto the stone ledge, my fingers skimming the cool surface. He sits beside me.
I can’t help remembering the time we both fell into this fountain. My lips twitch, but the smile is slow, faint, and more sad than sweet.
“Didn’t you like the flowers?”
Something in his tone reminds me of a boy hoping for approval, but I don’t have the energy to pretend. I lift one shoulder in a shrug.
“You lit up when Emir brought you a single bouquet. I brought you hundreds,” he says, almost pouting. “Why don’t you look happy?”
I let the silence sit for a moment before deciding not to dance around the truth. “Because I can’t tie you to anything that feels like happiness, or safety, or home.”
He flinches like I slapped him, but I keep going.
“I was willing to give you my heart. You said you’d try. And I believed you. Then I woke up to a wedding where my family and I were humiliated in front of the entire city, where the world suddenly knew exactly what I’d given you. After that, my family cut me off like I’d never existed. You lit the match that blew up my life, then called me a pawn without honor.” I wipe at the tear threatening to escape.
“I’m sorry.” His gaze drops to the ground.
“Revenge clouded my judgment. But none of what we shared before was fake. Not one moment. You’re the only person I’ve ever let see me.”
“I know,” I say quietly, because it’s true. “That’s what made me love you. But, Roman…” I shake my head. “You aren’t capable of love.”
His eyes snap up, sharp and quick. “And if I was?”
For a heartbeat, I let myself touch his cheek, my fingers memorizing the curve of bone, the faint roughness of stubble. “A man who can burn a woman after sharing his nights, his secrets, his laughter—he doesn’t know what love is. Whatever you think you feel for me… it isn’t that.”
I drop my hand and look back at the rippling water.
“What if I could change?” he asks, almost frantic. “What if I already have?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, my shoulders sagging. “But I doubt it. You’ve filled me with nothing but doubt and fear. I can’t look at you and see anything else.”
“That’s why you stabbed me? When I tried to touch you?”
The memory makes my stomach turn. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yes. I’m sorry for it, but yes. When you touch me, I remember everything that came after—the destruction, the way you left me standing in the ashes.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Why?” My voice hardens. “Since when does the Pakhan of the Bratva get to be sorry?”
“I don’t have an answer. All I know is… I felt things with you I haven’t felt in years. Maybe ever. The pull when you touch me. Jealousy that makes my blood boil. Panic when you’re hurt. Terror when you’re gone. And when I thought I’d lose you—” His voice breaks. “Madness. The kind that makes you want to burn down the whole city just to get you back.”
His words heat my skin, crawling up my neck and into my ears. Once, they would have been sugar to me. Now I know how dangerous sugar can be.
“Is that love?” he asks softly, almost afraid of the answer. “I don’t know what love feels like. Maybe Mikhail came close. But no one else.”
Inside me, my heart and my mind start their old argument.
“When I found you with those dogs, when you didn’t wake up right away… I knew if you left me, I’d become something even worse than I already am. You’re the only one who’s made my chest feel like it’s not made of stone. I’m so stupid for not acknowledging it sooner, little angel. But please, you’d have to teach me what love is. You’d have to show me what it feels like. So tell me—what else could this be?”
It sounds like love. It feels like love. And if I were still the girl I used to be, I might believe it. But I’ve already bet my heart on him once. I can’t do it again.
I force my voice steady. “It’s fascination, Roman. Nothing more.”
?Chapter XLVII?
