Page 91 of The Payback

“You want to know me? Beyond what we already share?”

I nod, his hand still threaded through my hair, making my movements jerky and uncoordinated. He’s given me glimpses over the past few weeks, and every single one makes me crave more. We’ve been married for a few months now, our relationship beginning as a marriage of convenience and duty. But as time passes, I grow increasingly attracted to Dimitri. He’s dangerous, brooding, and mysterious, but beneath that hard exterior lies a man I’m desperate to know.

“Fine.” He stands and guides me up with a gentle hand.

He lets go and heads towards his office area. I trot behind him, unsure where we’re going or what he’ll show me. He lifts the painting on the wall and presses that little bronze button I fiddled with months ago, and there’s a soft sound.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I can’t help but feel a growing sense of anticipation.

“Follow me.” He rounds the corner and leads me towards the room where he tortured Alexei. The inside is dark, and I can barely see more than a few inches before me. The soft-yellow lights from his office do nothing to penetrate the space before me.

“What is this, Dimitri? Is this where you kill me for being half an hour late?”

His deep chuckle skitters across the room, and I fold my arms over my chest. The lights flick on, and I blink against the sudden brightness.

When things come into focus, I gasp at the sight before me, taking my first deep breath since he told me to crawl to him. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Canvases and paintings are stacked against the walls, and the air is thick with his secrets. I’m about to uncover another layer of Dimitri, and he’s willingly showing me—inviting me—into his sanctuary.

“What is all of this?” I ask, unable to take my eyes off the hundreds of canvases before me.

“This is my studio,” he replies, his voice low and filled with a hint of something I can’t quite place. “It’s where I spend my time when I’m not working or with you.”

I can’t help but feel a sense of awe and amazement at the artwork before me. This is something he’s never shown to anyone. Though Nik knows of this room, so maybe my assumption is wrong.

The pain and anguish in the work are evident, and when I finally tear my gaze from the canvases lining the walls in haphazard piles, I meet his eyes. They’re complex and unflinching as he watches me take in bits of his soul expressed only through his brushwork. It’s as if he’s waiting for me to judge him based on this. But it does the exact opposite. That little puddle of feeling Dimitri has evoked within me has grown into a well. Endlessly deep and dark, without hope of ever crawling out of it.

I move closer to the easel in the centre of the room. It’s turned the other way, and I see Dimitri flinch out of the corner of my eye as I round the room’s centrepiece. I take a deep breath, unsure of what awaits me, as I let my eyes trace the painting. This one makes him feel unsure of himself, and I want to know why.

The colours are dark, almost black, but with tinted hues shining from within, and they seem to swirl together in a chaotic mess in the background. But as I take in the work, I can see the outline of a figure not yet completed in the centre of the painting—a figure that looks strangely familiar wearing a dress I loved.

“Dimitri, is this me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He steps up behind me, his breath hot against my ear. “Yes, dear wife. It is.”

From the bottom edge of the canvas, four hands are reaching for my likeness, as if crawling out of the depths of hell, the straining evident in the muscles and sinew Dimitri has expertly painted.

My heart races as he wraps his arms around me, his body pressed against mine. His breath warms my neck, and I know he can feel the effect he’s having on me.

“Dimitri, this is incredible,” I say, my voice filled with awe and admiration. “I had no idea you were an artist.”

He pulls away from me, stepping back to survey his work. “It’s something I’ve always kept to myself,” he says. “It adds no value to my life and my role.”

“It sounds like you’re quoting someone,” I murmur, unable to move my gaze from the tempest before me.

“My father.” He shrugs. “There is a time and place for everything, Eleanor. But in this life, in my current position, there is no time or place for joy. Not yet, anyway.”

I’ve been here for months, and having only experienced his true self twice is disheartening. There’s a vulnerability in his voice, a sense of raw emotion I’ve only ever heard when we were in the kitchen and he told me about his mother. At this moment, I realise just how much we’ve been missing in our marriage.

We’ve been so focused on our roles in the undercover operation, our roles as husband and wife when we are around others, that we’ve forgotten to truly connect on a deeper level, even when all signs pointed that this was where we were always headed. I can’t deny that fact anymore, even when I’ve been batting away thoughts of it for months now.

As I study the painting before me, the tension grows. It’s as though the artwork reflects the passion that’s been building between us, a passion that’s been hidden for far too long.

“And the hands?” I ask quietly, not wanting to break the spell we’re under.

“Mine and Nik’s.” There is no accusation in his tone. No reprimand. Just facts. “I see how he looks at you. He breathes in sync with you when you’re in the same room. His eyes track your every movement, and there is a history between you I cannot compete with. You have known each other for years, or at least some version of each other. You may be mine, Eleanor. But you’re his too.”

I turn to face Dimitri, my heart pounding in my chest. “Dimitri, I...” I don’t know how to respond. So instead, I change direction. “I had no idea you felt this way about me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s been clear he sees me as someone he’s attracted to, but this all speaks to something deeper, something we’ve both been avoiding.

He steps forward, his hand reaching out to caress my cheek. “Eleanor, I’ve been hiding my feelings for far too long. I’ve been raised to do that—conditioned to, even. It isn’t easy to undo the lessons drilled into me since my birth,” he says. “I want you, and I need you. But more than that, neither of us deserves you. But maybe between us, Nik and I could try. I’ll only ask one thing of you. Do not give up on him. Please. He’s lost so much in his life, and I have caused his most recent pain with my suspicions, which I will remedy. The fact of the matter is, he needs you more than I do. So if it comes down to it, I want you to pick him.”

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