Epilogue
Two months later
“You are not coming with me to buy the wedding dress, Roman.” I glare at him from the other side of the kitchen, my hands on my hips.
“I will be outside the changing room. I won’t look, but I will be there.”
“No,” I say.
“Yes.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“There is nothing ridiculous about my fear for your safety. I still can’t forget the day when the bastard that Leonid hired tried to kill you. You have no idea what that one hour of not knowing if you were hurt or dead did to me. I will not go through that again.”
He comes in front of me, scoops me up with his arm around my waist, and deposits me on the counter. It has become my favorite spot.
“Show off.” I reach out and squeeze his rock-hard biceps.
“You love when I do that,” he says and stands between my legs. “And it saves me from straining my neck.”
I feel his hand at the back of my knee, then traveling up along my thigh to my panties. He places his cane onto the counter, and then his other hand slides under my skirt.
“I will be late for the fitting.”
“They will wait,” he whispers in my ear, and suddenly I hear the fabric of my panties tear.
“I will have to find the architect who calculated the height of this counter...” He reaches for his belt, unclasps it, and starts unbuttoning his pants. “And I will tip them well.”
“How well?” I smile, hook my legs around his waist, and take a hold of the counter edge.
“Extremely.” He grabs my butt cheeks and buries himself in me with one thrust.
* * *
“Roman,” I say an hour later. “I want to try again.”
His hand stills in my back. “No.”
We’ve been trying to get over my fears and, it seems we were getting somewhere. Having him hold my wrists doesn’t trigger me anymore. We tried that first. However, when we tried having me lying on my back, we hit a dead-end. Whenever Roman tried to lay above me, even without actually pinning me with his body, I would freak out. It was tearing me apart from inside. I wanted to feel his body covering mine so much, but my mind always processed the situation the wrong way. I don’t know what to do to make my fucked-up brain “un-fuck” itself.
I raise my head and look him in the eyes. “Please.”
Roman’s hand cups my face, his gaze burning into mine, and I see it in his eyes. It’s bothering him, too.
“Do you have any idea what it does to me, feeling you go still with fear beneath me, watching the panic in your eyes? It guts me every time. Please don’t ask me to keep hurting you. I can’t bear it.”
“Just one more try,” I beg, working to keep the tears from falling. I love him so much, why can’t my stupid brain understand that he’d never do me harm.
Roman sighs and kisses my forehead. “Okay.”
I turn on my back, take his hand and place it on my stomach where he starts caressing my skin. Carefully, Roman moves his right leg over mine, and gets closer until his chest and stomach are plastered to my side.
“All good?” he whispers, and I nod.
Slowly, he rises on his elbow and places his other hand on my other side. I take a deep breath and watch him as he moves to a position above me, supporting his weight on his elbows. My breathing quickens and I see him go still. He will pull away. I see it on his face. No. I will not let this absurd fear rule me anymore.
I reach with my hand, noting the way my fingers are trembling, and place it on his cheek. “I need you to talk to me, baby.” I have to make my brain understand it’s Roman.