Page 52 of The Lies Between Lovers

“In a minute.”

Vera pulled the cloth away to check the cut, and when she was satisfied that it wasn’t going to continue bleeding, she tossed it to the sink. “Well, if you’re not going to let me move, then can I finish shaving you?”

Something electric hummed under the surface of his skin at the very idea of her doing such a thing, and he liked it entirely too much. The woman didn’t know it—couldn’t possibly—but she was playing with fire. Refusing him one minute, and asking to serve him the next. She was only cementing the choice he’d made about her even more.

“Finish shaving me,” he replied. “After you kiss me.”

She squirmed under his constant, unwavering attention where she was stuck between his body and the sink, but stilled when her top two teeth dragged over her lower, plump lip.

“Why do you even want another wife?” she asked him instead.

“You haven’t asked me that yet. I was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with you.”

“Don’t be mean. I’m asking now.”

“But why?”

The sweetest knot formed between her brows, and a pink hue colored her cheeks.

“What is it?” he pressed, really curious now.

“Did you love her—Irina?”

“Entirely. Too much sometimes.” Maddeningly. “Until the very end.”

Vera’s shoulders deflated a bit but she laughed, too. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“I don’t understand what that has anything to do with—”

“I couldn’t imagine losing the love of my life, and thinking it was possible to find another. Which leaves me to think I’ll always be second best to a woman who isn’t even alive because something tells me that you’re not looking to fall in love with me.”

Then, she shook her head. “I’m not sure I want to be the companion of a man who can’t really be mine beyond the things he can make my body do.”

“You’re the only one between us who has said any of those things like they were true, Vera.”

Cocking his head back a bit so he could really stare down on her, Vaslav was taken back to the night before when Igor called to explain that Vera had asked to go to the hospital, and he was complying with the request whether or not his boss approved. Vaslav hadn’t even been surprised. A lonely girl wanted to ease the final hours of an equally lonely old man who had been one of her few friends.

Vaslav didn’t even consider arguing with Igor over where to bring Vera at that point. It was his greatest fear, but he couldn’t tell anyone as much.

To die alone.

Like he was.

Like I am, he thought.

Nobody would really care. Once he was gone, that would make life far easier for the people who wouldn’t miss him. His mother. The men and organization he controlled. Even the city and country that had spent an exorbitant amount of money trying to lock him away forever. It was no wonder that people tried to help him into an early grave. It was a gift they couldn’t wait to unwrap. How long could a child stare at a piece of candy before they snatched it up while their mother’s back was turned?

“The fact you’ve taken so long to say differently,” Vera said, smiling a little, “tells me a lot, Vas.”

“Life has taught me that love is just a small part of a larger picture.”

“Insignificant?”

“Wouldn’t you think,” he returned easily, “but no. Even the smallest inch on a portrait can be slaved over by the artist who painted it more than any other piece of his art. Maybe that same inch is admired the most by the people lucky enough to view it after it’s finally finished.”

Vera’s hand trembled when his thumb stroked along her pinky clutched to the edge of the sink. That same quiver couldn’t be detected in her voice. “And you’re saying what—that your story isn’t done being painted?”

Apparently not.