Page 81 of Beautifully Damned
“You need to eat, Roman,” I beg.
“How can I eat when I am nothing? Unworthy of you. Not even man enough to kneel at your feet.”
His voice fractures, and so does my heart.
I switch off the water and guide him back. He strips the last of his clothes without shame, but I look away, covering him with the blanket quickly.
When a knock sounds at the door, I open it, taking the food from Elena, thanking her, and closing the door fast, shutting out the world. I place the bowl by the bed. Before I can coax him, I lift the piece of toast that sits untouched and hold it beneath his nose.
“What are you doing?”
“I know the smell comforts you.”
“I tried, after you left. It doesn’t work anymore.”
“Then what does?”
He buries his face in my hair. A groan escapes him, raw, guttural. “You.”
Guilt tears through me. Did I do this to him? I force myself to push him back and raise the spoon. “Eat.”
His lips twist. “I’m not worthy. I should starve. Starve until nothing remains of me.”
I shiver, whether from wet clothes or his words, I don’t know. “No one deserves starvation. Watching you suffer like this—it destroys me. Please, Roman. Eat.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Horror. “It hurts you?”
“It guts me.”
He only eats then. Spoon after spoon, until the bowl of porridge is empty. His fever softens when I touch his forehead again. His eyes grow heavy.
Just before they close, his lips part. “I more than love you… Ayla. Do you love me?”
My truth slips out before I can stop it. “I do.”
And when sleep takes him, body warm and stomach full, I do the only thing I know how.
I run.
?Chapter LIII?
Roman
Warm touches. The faint trace of flowers. Kisses that taste of heaven. An angel came to me last night. Or maybe I dreamed her, the way fever breeds illusions. I don’t know anymore. My body aches with every breath.
A cool weight presses to my forehead. Hope claws at my chest, and I force my eyes open.
Elena.
The disappointment cuts like knives. Was it all in my head? Ayla whispering that she loved me. Ayla begging me to eat, saying it gutted her when I didn’t. Ayla pressing her lips to mine, soft and trembling.
I choke on the memory. I never knew what love was. But I watched. I saw Bratva men with their wives. I saw my brother with Lola. Always from a distance, disgust curdling in my throat. And as punishment, fate gave me a need so violent it stripped me bare—a need for her that no word—not even love—can hold.
I grip Elena’s wrist before she can press another cloth to my skin. My voice scrapes raw. “Was she here?”
Elena falters, fingers twisting together. “Da.”
I lurch upright, the room swaying. Black spots dance in my vision. I collapse back, breath snarling out of me. “Where is she?”
