Fuck.
It took all of his energy to not wince with every step he took. He had to make a conscious decision to not limp as he crossed the room to head for the bathroom. The pain hadn’t been so bad yesterday because he kept going on pure adrenaline. Nothing more. Too damn much had happened in the span of twenty-four hours for him to even process, let alone physically.
Now that the adrenaline had worn off, and what he was left with was a torn and broken body. Covered in dark bruises that ached at the sight alone, especially around his wrists where Maxim had notched the rope and chain, he eyed his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
It looked as bad as it was.
But hell.
He’d looked worse.
However, his injuries were the least of his concerns. Nothing was bad enough to keep him in bed currently, and he certainly wasn’t dead. That counted for something. It was almost noon when he caught sight of the clock in his room. Half the day had already passed with him prone on his back. He needed to make sure Karine was okay more than he needed the aches and pains to settle.
Splashing his face with water in the connected bathroom, he surveyed the current version of his reflection. At different angles, he hardly recognized himself. Between the bruises, the exhaustion in his eyes, and even his beard that was becoming more unkept by the day, he looked sick.
More than tired.
Getting himself involved in this shitshow was taking its toll—physically and mentally. And yet, there was no way for him to untangle himself from it when the more prominent concern on his mind revolved around the woman sleeping somewhere in his apartment and less on the pallor coloring his skin.
Karine didn’t have a single clue about what was really going on here—at least, not the full scope of it. Her father had forced her on him, yes, through an agreement Roman really couldn’t back out on, all things considered. But that didn’t mean she understood any of it. There was no turning back now.
Maxim made the bed.
Roman laid down in it.
• • •
It didn’t take long for Roman to find Karine. She apparently hadn’t bothered with a bedroom, instead opting to sleep on a chaise in front of the glass wall. The shutters hadn’t even been pulled to keep the bright afternoon light from pouring in on her face. Not that it mattered. Nothing disturbed her sleep.
One thing to be thankful for, he supposed.
Given that Masha was nowhere in sight, he assumed that she had utilized one of the bedrooms unlike Karine.
At least, she had found a pillow and a blanket to make herself comfortable on the chair. Although, could she really have been comfortable spending the whole night there? It wasn’t like the firm chaise had any kind of give to it when it came to rest.
If she had spent the night there, actually. He supposed the events leading up to their arrival at the apartment would be enough to keep anyone up for a while. God knew he hadn’t heard a fucking thing to say otherwise once his head hit the pillow.
Masha assured him Karine would be fine before he went to bed. He’d trusted her only to say she wasn’t comfortable enough with New York City to do anything but stay right where she was, and keep an eye on Karine.
Which was all he needed.
Just long enough to sleep ...
Roman didn’t want to think about what else Karine might have done to pass the time if she hadn’t slept the night and morning away like the rest of them. That would just end up fucking with his head, and she was there.
Right there, in front of his face.
Fine.
That’s what counted.
Roman, ready to turn on his heel and head back to the bedroom where he could at least do something productive—like fix the way he looked—but something made him pause. A notebook peeked out from underneath the pillow where Karine rested her head. His spine straightened. It wasn’t a sketchbook, but that didn’t mean anything. He bet Katee could draw on anything she found to do the job.
His next breath came slow, and deep.
What had he got himself into?
What’s it fucking matter—here you are.
Yeah.
Standing next to the large metallic slab at the other end of the room—the counter to his kitchen islands—he turned his gaze away from a sleeping Karine and that notebook. For a second. Long enough to clear his head and attempt to appreciate the fact he was home. He’d been very specific with his interior decorator when he knew the place would feature the marble and black brick. He wanted an industrial vibe where it could be fit in. Something to suit what he did for a living, to make him feel like he was back at the loft over the garage.
His first home that he kept—one that actually felt like his. In a way he couldn’t really explain. Call it nostalgia.
From his position leaning against the counter, he could still see Karine’s slender body gently rising and falling underneath the blanket in the corner of his eye. Even making himself stare elsewhere did nothing for what his mind seemed to want. He was struck by how innocent she seemed while she slept—how vulnerable and fragile she was to anyone who might want to do her harm.
As she slept, she reminded him of the Karine he first met. The lost, beautiful woman who carried a starry daze in her eyes and confusing words on the tip of her tongue. The one who had instigated their night together, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and courage. All at the same time.
Roman was only starting to realize that Karine was just one part of her—the one he initially felt an urge to protect, the one he wanted to keep safe from Dima. He didn’t think it was by accident that he came upon Karine as she was first, and not the versions
