"What does that mean?"
I shook my head, hands on my hips as I scanned the spotless record store. When I looked back, she was watching me. She motioned to her chin, indicating I had something there. I pulled another wipe from the pack and dragged it across the spot. The wipe came away pink.
Peregrine had been a bleeder.
"You don't want to know,maya soloveyka."
"I do."
"It means I had every intention of letting him live until he pulled a gun on me. He made that choice impossible." I paused. "And based on what I saw in his apartment, he didn't deserve tobreathe. You weren't the first woman he put his hands on. You wouldn't have been the last."
She nodded, teeth sinking into that full bottom lip. I tossed the soiled wipes in the trash and approached slowly, stopping on the other side of the counter. I rested my hands on either side of hers. Not touching. But close enough that I could feel her heat.
Anna stretched her pinky out, laying it across my thumb.
When I looked into her eyes, the shock had faded. The fear was gone. All that remained was quiet acceptance. A weight I hadn't realized I was carrying lifted off my shoulders.
"I told my mother Peregrine was violent. The only reason we were ever together was because she thought he was a good match for her campaign. Part of the image she wanted."
"And what image is that?" I asked, turning my hand over so her smaller fingers rested in my palm.
"She said we made the picture-perfect American couple. Right education. Right smile. Right appearance. His father had the right connections too. My mother intended to use him to further her own career." A bitter laugh left her lips. "I guess that was the first time she tried to whore me out."
"You told her he was violent, and she?—"
"She told me not to make him angry. That if he hit me, I should make sure he didn't leave bruises where reporters could see them."
Even now, her mother's cruelty staggered me.
"I guess now I don't have to worry about her forcing me to be with anyone. At least not him. Thank you."
"Wait. You said the first time?" Heat crawled up the back of my neck.
She looked at me with a sad smile. "Earlier today, she came here. She told me she needed you distracted. Said I should fuck you to keep you busy."
I wanted to pull her into my arms, tell her she'd never have to see her mother again. But the counter was in my way, and her fingers were wrapped around my palm. I didn't want to move.
"Is he really dead?"
Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but her tone told me I'd done something right. Even though going after her ex instead of forcing the senator to vote the way I'd paid her to felt like a betrayal of everything I was at the time, I couldn't bring myself to regret it.
Having her look at me like this was worth more than any Senate vote.
I'd made a rash, irrational, emotional decision to go after her ex-boyfriend instead of securing a billion-dollar vote. And I'd do it again without hesitation.
"Why did you do it?"
I knew what she was asking. Did I pursue him because he'd touched something I claimed or was there something more?
I captured her face, tilted her jaw up until those beautiful, stormy eyes locked on mine. "You know why."
Doubt flickered in her gaze. I couldn't blame her. I could hardly believe it myself. Before meeting her, I would have said I wasn't capable of doing something for unselfish reasons. That I'd never put whatever this was over money.
But I had.
Just because it was the first time I felt this emotion didn't mean I didn't recognize it. I saw it every time my nephews looked at their wives. Every time they justified decisions I'd considered foolish.
I wasn't ready to call this feeling love.
