Page 81 of The Lies Between Lovers

“I can look after myself, thanks. I’m a grown wom—”

“Vera.”

The gruff, low grumble of her name came out like a warning, and he meant it too. The way she quieted, and a heat crawled up her cheeks told him that she hadn’t missed it.

Good.

He also understood why she felt the way she did. It wasn’t like he’d allowed her to leave his home feeling particularly happy. The last morning she spent with him had been terrible for more reasons than just the migraine that unfortunately pulled him out of what might have been a good dream.

After all, he’d been sleeping naked next to her. What else would he have been dreaming about?

“I can’t remember,” he said, then. “Did I say something terrible?”

Probably.

He usually did at the very worst of it.

“Mean,” Vera returned. “Some mean things, maybe.”

“It makes me furious in a way I don’t think I can explain. I get to feel normal for just long enough to almost forget I even felt any pain in the first place.” Numbed out from Vicodin and too many glasses of vodka; too comfortable in the length of time between one scattered migraine and the next. Vaslav leaned forward on the rocking chair, clasping his hands between his widened knees over his black slacks. “And when it comes back like that ... it’ll happen again. I can’t promise it won’t. The ... saying terrible things, yes, but you should know it’s not your fault that I say them. Ever. I don’t say them or mean them because there’s something wrong with you. I do it because there’s something wrong with me, Vera. Not just the migraines ... with me.”

For a long while, she said nothing. All he heard was the soft swallow of her throat while her profile stared down at her suddenly still hands.

It was the best—and most honest—apology he could offer without saying sorry. Sorry meant very little to him when it usually just meant someone was also asking for the person who had been hurt in the first place to forget what they just did.

“Or you didn’t want me to see you that way again,” she muttered.

Vaslav hesitated only briefly before replying, “It can be both.”

A scoff echoed from the bed. “Of course.”

“I like that line, kisska. It feels like mine now.”

“Hmm.”

He let her fall back into that quiet place, but Vera didn’t stay there long before she glanced his way again.

“What?” he asked.

“You paid Feliks to fire me.”

He didn’t expect to hear the thickness in her words—emotion coating her tone like a weight of burdens had just been placed into her hands. She truly was too precious for him. A human with a soul that wasn’t rotted like his, and with a heart too willing to serve and please. She tended to get her feelings hurt more often than not, and he wasn’t exactly the type to soften the blow. Yet, he almost wished he could.

For her, at least.

“You were quitting anyway,” Vaslav replied.

She just blinked at him, unmoved by his frank response.

“Really, Vas?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Really, what?”

“It doesn’t matter that I was quitting. You didn’t need to give Feliks seven trillion reasons to prove how useless I was to him.”

“Don’t you mean how valuable?” he asked quietly.

Vera’s gaze narrowed.