Page 94 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
“One of us?” Tears glisten on her eyelashes when she peers at me.
“You became one of us when you slid that ring onto your finger.”
Her smile is back, and my chest swells with love for her. The monitor registers it too, beeping rapidly.
“About that. You never did come back with the bottle of champagne.”
“I got waylaid.” I lean forward and kiss her on the lips. “But I haven’t forgotten.”
The door opens then, and a nurse pokes her head inside the room. She smiles when she finds me sitting up in bed and enters the room, reflexively reaching for the thermometer in her pocket to take my temperature.
“How are you feeling?”
“Never better.”
“You’ll need to convalesce for a while.” She looks at Cartier. “I’m telling you because I know that he won’t listen.”
“Got it.” Cartier watches her run through the regular checks, pulse, temperature, blood pressure, her expression unreadable.
When the nurse has finished recording my vitals on the chart at the foot of the bed, she studies Cartier. “Have you?—”
“I’m fine.” Cartier cuts her off. “Is there any news on Ivana?”
The nurse smiles. “She just got back from surgery an hour ago. That’s what I came to tell you. The next twenty-four hours are critical, but she’s a fighter.”
Tears streak Cartier’s cheek, and I squeeze her hand.
“Can I go see her?” she asks.
“I’m coming with you.” I’m already swinging my legs over the side of the bed and tugging the drip tube from the back of my hand.
“You’re not going anywhere.” The nurse comes back and stops me before the tube is fully released. Our eyes meet, and I see in her expression that she’s testing how far she can push me before I rebel and discharge myself. “Not without this drip. Not unless you want me to extend your recovery period.”
I dazzle her with my usual disarming smile and congratulate myself when I see her visibly soften. “You’re the best—” I check her name badge “—Dasha. I’ll take the drip along with me.”
She crosses the room, hovers by the door, and turns around to address me. “This doesn’t mean that you’ll get out of here any sooner.”
We findIvana in intensive care, connected to multiple machines supporting her body until she is stable enough to exist without them. Her skin is still ghastly pale, fine blue veins visible beneath the surface.
She doesn’t stir when we enter.
Cartier takes her hand and shivers at the cool touch of Ivana’s skin. “Do you think she can hear us?” she asks. “She never regained consciousness before she went down to surgery.”
“I’m sure she knows that we’re here.”
I sense Cartier’s uncertainty. There’s a whole lot more that she wants to say, and it hits me like a sledgehammer that I was unconscious for fuck knows how long, and anyone could’ve gotten to her without me knowing. My chest feels as if it’s going to cave in with the force of this lost period of time.
This isn’t how we do things.
“Who was with you?” The question sounds gruff, which wasn’t my intention. “Did my bodyguards stay with you while I was in surgery?”
Her smile softens the anxiety raging through me. She’s here. She’s alive.
“They’re here, Andrej. The hospital is crawling with bodyguards discreetly keeping their distance. But there was no way they were going to keep me away from you and Ivana.”
Relief washes through me, and my body has no choice but to steel itself for this lifetime ride we’re on. Because I’m never letting this woman out of my sight again.
The steady rhythm of the monitors surrounding Ivana’s bedside settle around us like a flimsy blanket.
