Page 15

Dimitri Volkov

Camilla’s misery wafts from her every move as she forces herself to her feet and stumbles to sit at the foot of the bed. I long to pull her into a hug and cease her trembling but cannot risk sending her into another panic attack.

When she glances up at me, her brows pull together in a scowl.

My sinuses throb and fresh warmth trickles down my chin, but she didn’t break my nose.

If I were a lesser man, she would have shattered my face with her vicious blow, but after innumerable hits over my lifetime, it’ll take much more than a sunbeam’s elbow to hurt me.

I smirk as I recall her ferocity but fall somber when I remember the blind panic in her expression.

“Stay there,” she commands.

Like a hound eager for a treat, I stay frozen in place as she staggers into the bathroom and returns with an icepack and a damp washcloth.

She stops a few steps away from me and considers her options before offering them to me on outstretched palms. I accept them and wait for her to lift her head before I thank her.

She nods and limps back to the bed. As I wipe the blood from my face and pinch my nose, she sits in silence and traces the strap of the ice pack on her arm.

“I can’t get pregnant,” she says without preamble.

Confusion sweeps through me. This is not the topic I was expecting.

“My trauma from the attack led to an infection and I didn’t go to the hospital until it was too late. They surgically removed my right ovary, my left fallopian tube, and over seventy percent of my uterus,” she announces to her lap.

A million pounds settle onto my shoulders as I accept a mere glimpse of her emotional agony. My fury rises to lift the weight higher over my head. I long to catapult the pain back onto the men who hurt her.

“Look at me, Camilla,” I growl.

She takes a deep breath before lifting her head. The sadness in her burnt-umber eyes flays me alive.

“I do not need a broodmare.”

Her brows rise in shock at my choice of words.

“I need you, so?lnyshka . Only you,” I declare.

She shakes her head and opens her mouth as though to refute me.

“Only a woman as fierce, stubborn, and resilient as you could survive being my wife, partner, and mother to the children I already have,” I say.

She searches my face and blinks once. Twice. A third time.

“You have children?” she says in the most emotionless voice I’ve ever heard from her.

“ Da . Two boys and a girl,” I say.

She takes a deep breath.

“You have two boys and a girl.”

Concern seizes my chest as she parrots my words back to me. Her expression gives none of her thoughts away. As the seconds pass and she remains unaffected, fear sneaks into my heart.

“You have two boys and a girl, but your wife is dead,” she says.

I place the washcloth and ice pack on the dresser, needing my hands free.

“Da, so?lnyshka ,” I confirm.

When her eyes finally focus on mine, the fury swimming in her gaze steals my breath. I long to push her down onto the bed and worship her with my hands and mouth.

“The way you talked about her and the bandages, I thought she was pregnant with your first child when she died,” she rages.

“I was terrified you’d hate me when you found out I can’t give you children, but you already have three kids?

And you want me to be their stepmom? How old are they?

Who is with them? Why wouldn’t you just tell me—”

“Breathe, so?lnyshka ,” I murmur.

Unable to hide my mirth, I smirk and lean back on the dresser, propping my elbows behind me on the top.

“Yes, I want you and only you to be their new mother. No one else will do. Artur is eight, Maksim is six, and Zoya is three. They are at my family’s manor in Russia. You will meet them when you go there. I will—”

She holds up her palm to stop me and drops her head into her other hand.

“Hang on. I need a minute,” she demands.

I give it to her. My fear of her rejecting me because I lied by omission fades away as she meets my eyes again.

“I’m still broken, you know that, right? I can’t give you… things,” she says.

“I will never demand more than you’re ready to give. I will always keep my promises,” I vow.

She nods and winces when she settles her bruised arm back into her lap. After a sigh of frustration, she pulls the ice pack off her arm and struggles to her feet. I shift forward to help her, but she sends me a withering glare and shakes her head.

“I’ve caused enough chaos today, so I’ll finish treating my wounds on my own,” she says.

I rise from my slouch.

“Camilla,” I warn.

She lifts a brow in a haughty expression.

“I failed to protect you. Let me treat your bruises,” I say.

I have never pleaded in my life, but I come close in this moment. Her self-disgust angers me, but the misery and loneliness in her eyes aches deep in my chest.

She shakes her head and exclaims, “I gave you a bloody nose!”

I smile in vicious satisfaction at her outburst. She cares for me, even if she will never admit it.

“Da, you did. I will take a thousand more to earn your trust,” I say.

She freezes mid step and hugs herself as she turns to face me.

“Stop talking like a crazy person. I’m broken, Dimitri. Everywhere you touch me will send me flying into a panic.”

“Not everywhere,” I say.

She scowls.

I hold out my hand, palm up, but give her the option of saying no.

Yearning fills her expression, but instead of taking what she wants, she studies my face, searching for signs of deceit.

She finds none.

Like a timid ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, she sidles closer and slowly slips her hand into mine, not because she fears me, but because she doubts herself.

Her sigh of relief when she doesn’t lose herself to nightmares fills my heart with pride.

I lead her into the bathroom and lean against the wall, giving her space while still holding her hand.

“Let me help without touching you, so?lnyshka ,” I say.

“How?” she asks.

“Hold your collar out of the way,” I say.

She drops my hand, tilts her head forward, and pulls her shirt down at the back, exposing her nape. I bite back a snarl at the dark bruises and reddened flesh.

She watches out of the corner of her eye as I open a bandage and smear ointment onto the pad. Moving slowly, I lift it to her nape, settle it over the worst bruise, and check her expression before smoothing it down with my fingers.

“Is okay?” I ask.

“Yes, but don’t stay too long,” she says.

Her voice shakes and hands tremble on her collar. I move on to the next bandage and proceed with the same meticulous care, never touching her skin but pampering her as much as she’ll allow.

Once I cover all the bruises on her nape, I slip my hand under hers and lift her swollen forearm parallel with the sink. After squeezing almost half the tube of arnica ointment onto her forearm, I shift my focus to her face and nearly laugh at the disgust twisting her features.

When she reaches over to smear it in, I grab a piece of gauze from the stack and block her with my hand.

Even though the cotton provides a barrier between our flesh—and I keep my touch clinical—a bubble of intimacy forms around us as I spread the ointment over every centimeter of her forearm.

When Camilla’s shoulders relax and she uncurls her fist to flatten her other palm on the counter, delight curls through me.

I grab a self-adhesive wrap from beside the sink and slip my hand out of hers to unravel it. She winces halfway through the wrapping process, so I loosen the compression and trail my fingers over the bandage. She doesn’t stiffen. I smile to myself, thankful for the little signs of progress.

The fact she trusts me this much is astonishing. Moya so?lnyshka is brilliantly resilient.

She sighs in annoyance when I wrap a fresh ice pack around her compression bandage but doesn’t otherwise complain.

I grab her sweater off the floor and shake it out before offering it to her.

She thanks me and slips it on over her head. My cock pulses in my jeans as her breasts lift, but I can’t look away, not even after she settles the hem around her hips.

“My turn,” she says.

I cannot follow her train of thought, not with my mind full of erotic images, but I get the gist when she chooses an ice pack from the counter and studies my nose.

Despite the pain having already faded, I don’t stop her when she shuffles closer and rises onto her tiptoes to press the ice to the bridge of my nose.

She’s impossibly gorgeous up close. Her trim curves tempt me to rest my hands on her hips, but I dare not for fear of sending her into another spiral.

Even if the hug in the jewelry store’s bathroom doesn’t happen again for years, I will do anything to keep Camilla by my side. She is the only one I want to spend my future with.

“Thank you, so?lnyshka . Now we will go marry,” I murmur.

Her eyes widen and pupils dilate as my chest brushes against hers over the unexpected words. She nods and drops to the balls of her feet.

Her breasts flatten against my stomach. I suck down a breath and pray for control as she scrambles backward.

Despite the tightness around her eyes, she doesn’t panic, and a gorgeous blush darkens her tanned cheeks.

When she neither argues nor makes excuses, I smirk and wait until she turns and leaves the room to adjust my hard cock.

I hate jeans. These American clothes must go. I will only wear the best while marrying my wife, even if we aren’t having a ceremony yet.

We manage a quick farewell solely because Camilla’s sister already left to care for her infant, taking her husband and the Mancini’s with her.

Before we leave, Giorgio gives me the name and address of his personal lawyer.

I thank him and decide to take him up on his offer even though my family has a few connections capable of handling such documents.

There’s no reason not to use his lawyer. After the discussion today, it is clear he is ready to protect Camilla no matter the cost.

He won’t need to worry about her anymore. She’s mine.