Page 36

Looking at the wound is easier than looking at him. “The hospital charity gala. The one with the champagne tower nobody touched because everyone wanted to look expensive, not drunk.”

He follows my fingers as I clean the skin. “Go on.”

I clean the incision with sterile saline and blot the surrounding skin dry. “You stood beside me while men with private jets congratulated themselves for paying for two ventilators, and you asked why I looked angry.”

His brow pulls in. “You said you were deciding who deserved anesthesia.”

I look up so quickly, my hair slips over one shoulder.

A piece of the night has come back to him, and I hate how much hope it gives me.

I pause with the tape between my fingers. “You remember that?”

Alexei presses his thumb into the mattress. “I do.”

I return to the dressing because my hands need something useful to do. “You gave me Alexei, and I gave you Vera. Neither of us offered more.”

His eyes narrow as he searches the memory. “We left before midnight.”

I tear open fresh tape. “You said conversation had become dishonest.”

One eyebrow lifts. “You told me I was overconfident.”

I smooth the dressing over his skin. “You were.”

Alexei tilts his head. “Were?”

I press the final edge down. “Don’t push your luck.”

A slow breath leaves him as he watches me. “What else?”

The question hurts, but I keep my voice steady. “In the hotel, you asked before you touched me. Every time. You remembered what I liked after hearing it once, and you treated every answer as if it mattered.”

His breathing changes beneath my palm.

I secure another strip of tape. “You made me feel like the only woman in Moscow, then morning came, your men called, and you left for some Bratva emergency.”

The last strip sits crookedly. I smooth it down before he notices.

“Surgery called me back before sunrise,” I add, keeping my attention on the dressing. What I don’t say is that I spent the next four years wondering whether either of us would’ve stayed.

Alexei curls his fingers against the mattress. “I didn’t choose to forget you.”

I flatten the dressing a little more than necessary. “You did it anyway.”

He glances toward the scars along his side. “Blood loss has taken pieces of several years.”

I step back enough to see his face. “That should comfort me?”

He looks at me as if comfort never entered his calculations. “No.” His hand closes over the blanket. “It’s the truth.”

I pick up the support bandage. “You watched me that night as if you planned to remember everything, and now you look at me like I’m a problem in a file.”

Alexei reaches for the end of the bandage. “You’re definitely a problem.”

I pull it out of his hand. “Good answer.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “A complicated one.”