I blow out a breath. “No. It’s just… Being here with you has been healing. I feel safe. Protected. I’d feel that way even if you hadn’t killed those men.”
“I guess it was a waste of time then,” he mutters.
I lift myself up on my elbow and look down at him. “It wasn’t. Because even though I feel safe here, I know now how far you’ll go to protect me. I’m grateful for that, Mikhail. No one has ever cared about me enough to bother.”
He’s been staring up at the ceiling while I talk, taking my gratitude reluctantly. But suddenly Mikhail jerks off the bed.
“I killed a few assholes,” he snaps. “Don’t read so much into it.”
The whiplash is jarring. I watch him retreat into the bathroom—retreat from me—and I can’t do anything to stop it. The confession I’ve been holding tight for days feels pat
