Page 55 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

“I’m going to put some of this on your scar now, okay?” Vera asked.

There wasn’t a single soul, except for maybe a doctor that he paid to do so, who would touch his face willingly. Not to mention, anyone who would survive doing it. Vera, on the other hand, asked permission like she already knew what his answer would be, but the consent still mattered to her all the same.

“If you want to,” he returned.

“Wasn’t that the point of me getting it in the first place?”

Vaslav didn’t bother to respond to the obvious, and Vera went ahead with massaging the oil into the scar tissue that stretched from his mouth across his cheek. The gristly texture gave the scarring an almost-grotesque appearance when the beard didn’t hide the worst of it, but the woman holding him had never been put off by the idea of touching his face. It was a big part of the reason he didn’t care if she did.

Her thumb worked soothing circles over the scar tissue, back and forth, again and again. He wouldn’t say he particularly cared for the natural smell of the coconut oil, but she wasn’t wrong about it serving the same purpose as a specialty beard oil he liked.

“The itching is better,” he told her.

He could tell by the way her fingers pulled through his trim beard that the oil had softened his facial hair quite a bit, too. His skin around his scar and the flesh inside his mouth didn’t feel so raw. The migraines tended to make his nerve pain far worse.

“I think you’d like it with a bit of vitamin E mixed in the coconut oil,” she replied, and he could hear the smile in her tone. “It would help the scar tissue a lot. I can make some?”

“Well—”

“If you promise to give Kiril a bedroom,” she added quickly.

Vaslav popped one eye open to find a grinning Vera above him. “I already said I would.”

“You didn’t sound serious.”

“I was.”

“About buying the villa beside mine, too?” she asked.

Vas shrugged in her lap. “Yes.”

“That’s a little much, no?”

Ah, she didn’t understand.

To be fair, Vaslav never explained properly, either.

“Vera,” he murmured, settling his aching neck and head back into her lap and sweet touch, “let me paint you a picture.”

“A picture?”

“In your mind.”

“Hmm.”

“Sound more interested,” he muttered.

“I am!”

“Not that interested. With less volume.”

Her tempting fingers scratched under his jaw, but he liked it all the same. “Vas.”

They really did need to work on her patience. He sighed, and even rolled his eyes behind his closed lids. “The villa isn’t about you or even the fact he’s agreed to his job to keep an eye on you. Those are things he’s willingly chosen to do without any expectations beyond what he’s already been given for doing so.”

“Which is what?”

“Basic things that he needed, protection, money. If you want those kinds of details, take it to Igor. I only care about the kid’s loyalty. And so, the villa would be, like the apartment in downtown I bought for him, is what I consider a gift. Of sorts.”