Beautiful Beast - Page 105

“Are you mad at me?”

“I can’t be mad at you when you’re in a hospital bed with tubes and shit sticking out of your body.”

“Those will come out. Eventually.” His chest rises with a deep breath. “Maybe you’ll contemplate slicing my throat when they do.” He takes my hand and moves it to his crotch. “See? Just thinking about it makes me hard.”

“Jesus, Rafael.” I snort through the tears.

“Please don’t cry, vespetta.”

“You almost died because of me. Again.” I brush my palm down his forearm, right over the daggers and snake tattoo. “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

Anger flashes across Rafael’s face. He grabs my wrist, glaring at me. “Is that why you came back?” His voice is low, the tone infused with menace. “Because if it is, you can leave right now.”

I lean down until the tip of my nose touches his. “No. I came back because I’m in love with you.”

“Why? How could you be in love with a manipulative son of a bitch like me?”

“You are a manipulative jackass. And I love you despite that quality. Or, maybe, because of it. Because you care. Even when you say you don’t. You care deeply about the people in your life. Your men. Your brother. Me. I adore the fierce protectiveness that practically radiates from you, even when you try to mask it as something else. You’re willing to wade through a sea of dead bodies to safeguard the people you care about.”

I reach out and sweep back a few strands that have fallen over his face. Rafael watches me without blinking, his eyes sharp and assessing.

“The sheer force of your will and unrelenting determination that made you who you are leaves me in awe,” I continue. “And your stubbornness . . . It’s an entity of its own. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man as bullheaded as you. It’s rather sexy, you know?”

Tilting my head, I brush my nose against his. “I’m in love with you because no one else makes me feel the way you do. Cherished. Loved. Special. And it has nothing to do with the lavish trinkets you bestowed on me. Rather, it’s the sticky note drawings you left me. The stolen figs. The scratches from the poisonous shrub, all because I asked you to save that stupid cat.”

“You were extremely persistent,” he says in a raw and raspy voice.

“Yeah, that’s the only reason you did it.” I smile. “You make me feel worthy. And competent. Only when I’m with you, Rafael, I do not need to prove myself. My whole life, I’ve been hearing how beautiful I am, as if I’m some expensive piece of furniture. Pleasing to the eye, but easily forgotten when the viewers move on to the next room. Only once have you called me beautiful, and yet, you make me feel like I am, every single day. Not on the outside, but within.”

Rafael takes my chin between his fingers. The corner of his lips tilts into a barely-there smirk. “Are you fishing for compliments now, Vasilisa?”

“Maybe?” I sniff.

“You are so beautiful, that every time I’m with you, I have the urge to pinch myself to prove you’re real.” He pulls my face closer to his. “And you’re pretty on the outside, too.”

Something between a laugh and a whimper escapes me. Setting my palms on his cheeks, I slam my mouth to his. “I will never forgive you for letting yourself get shot. And I’ll never forgive my father.”

“Don’t be so hard on him. I would have done the same in Roman’s place.” He bites my lip. “Does he know we’re married?”

“Nope.”

“I’m sure he’ll be beyond thrilled.”

“He’ll grumble a bit, but—”

“WHAT?!” A loud male yell explodes outside the room. “That ??????? made my little girl MARRY HIM?”

The door flies open with such force that it slams into the adjacent wall, and my father steps inside. Irate doesn’t even come close to describing the look on his face. Unbridled rage. Savage indignation. His breathing is deep and slow. A sound akin to a bull’s snort leaves his chest with each exhale. The picture is made more perfect by the way his nostrils flare with each gasp.

“You!” he roars. “You scheming”—inhale—“lying”—inhale—“stealing . . . motherfucker.”

“Roman!” My mother’s squeal erupts somewhere behind him, and, a second later, she squeezes between my father’s body and the doorframe. Then, she presses her palms to his chest. “Leave them alone!”

“I’m going to kill him!” Dad yells while Mom tries to push him out of the room. “I’m going to skin him alive and hang his hide over my office window as a curtain!”

“Don’t mind him,” my mom chirps, grinning at us over her shoulder. “He’s just really excited about the news and can’t find words to express his happiness. Aren’t you, kotik?”

“I won’t be using a knife, oh no,” the pakhan keeps roaring while Mom maneuvers him backward. “I’ll use a fucking potato peeler. You’re going to make amazing burlap drapes, De Santi! And every time your remnants rustle in the breeze, I’ll remember your screams of agony!”