Oh, shit.
He liked that.
He liked my temper.
I swallowed, and he watched the move.
“I’m not going to fuck my wife when her face is full of bruises, her mouth is covered in dissolvable stitches, and she favors her right side—”
I winced, because I’d tried really hard to cover up that I had a bruised rib.
His eyes narrowed. “You’ll come to learn that too, Inessa. I don’t miss anything. Not a single fucking thing. You’d best remember that it’s not wise to lie to me, as I’ll never forget every word that spills from that pretty mouth.”
Curious, I tilted my head to the side. “Do you have a photographic memory?”
He shrugged. “I’m eidetic, sure. But more than that, I can replay most conversations I have with people like it’s a movie reel.” He removed his hand from my arm, making me instantly miss it when his heat disappeared, and he tapped his temple with his forefinger. “Like I said, I forget nothing.”
“That sucks.”
He snorted. “Yeah, it does, but it comes in fucking handy in my line of work.”
I could imagine.
Blowing out a breath, I turned around, closing the space between us even though that wasn’t my intent.
Staring directly at him, not using the mirror’s reflection, my belly pressing against his, I murmured, “The vows meant nothing to you today, did they?”
“I’m Catholic by force, not by choice. It means nothing to me, but I go through the motions because it’s expected of me.”
I pursed my lips then twisted slightly, and reached for the scissors I’d noticed standing upright in a glass on the vanity.
It was a room made for a man, lined with gleaming, marble sinks that were formed out of the stone, and brushed silver plumbing fixtures that added an elegant twist to the dark space. The vanity mirror was large, about eight feet wide, and ran from floor to ceiling with the vanity hovering in the middle like it was by magic. To the left, a showerhead was stuck in the middle of the ceiling, and to the right, there was a door which I knew led to the toilet as I’d used it earlier.
But the vanity housed several dishes and such that he used to store razors and things, so I grabbed the scissors, which I imagined he used to trim his beard—the beard he’d shaved off today, the faint tan lines on his skin told me that—and opened the blades wide. All along, he watched me. He didn’t move, even though I knew he saw me grab what was, essentially, a weapon.
But there was no worry in his face, no concern. If anything, he was curious.
I raised my hand, turned my palm so it was facing him, and stated, “Your vows don’t mean a thing to me. I’m not Catholic. I’m Orthodox. So I’m going to make a vow you’ll understand.”
His eyes narrowed. “Blood?”
I dipped my chin, and quickly sliced across my palm. Blood instantly spilled, and I let it. This dress meant nothing to me. I had enough pictures to show any little girl I might have in the future, so I allowed the drops to fall, let it stain the expensive couture gown, and whispered, “I vow that I will not betray you…so long as you don’t betray me.”
The addition had him blowing out a breath, but he grabbed the scissors from me and mirrored my action.
Blood spilled once more, more of it staining my dress, and he stated, “If you think I’ve betrayed you, before you think to break this vow, you will talk to me about it first.”
It was interesting he’d sliced his palm before he’d made that statement.
“I don’t want you slicing my throat because you think I’ve done something I haven’t,” he clarified. “Misunderstandings are a common occurrence.”
When I nodded, he reached for my hand and plastered our palms together. Our fingers bridged, blood seeping and surging between them, staining our hands, sinking into his calluses, sliding down my clear skin.
“I vow not to betray you…if you don’t betray me.” He pulsed the muscles in his hand, squeezing then releasing. “Long time since I did anything like this.”
“With your brothers?” I guessed.
He smiled, and I knew he was thinking back to the memory. While it was kind of a curse to remember everything, it had to be cool to never forget stuff like that.