"I love you." The words come out raw and startling, stripped completely bare. "I love you, Svetlana. I love you and our baby, and I would burn the whole world down before I let anyone hurt you again. Do you understand that? Do you understand what you mean to me?"
I'm sobbing now, my whole body shaking with it. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I made you work so hard. I made you prove yourself over and over, and you lost your finger because of me, and?—"
"No." He pulls me against his chest, his good arm wrapping around me and holding me tight. "No, Svetlana. Don't apologize. Don't you dare apologize. I deserved it. I deserved every second of doubt, every wall you put up, every time you pushed me away. I hurt you. I hurt you so badly, and I needed to prove that I would never do it again. That I would spend the rest of my life making sure you never felt that pain again."
"But your finger?—"
“—is nothing." He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes fierce. "It's nothing compared to losing you. It's nothing compared to what I put you through. If this is what it took to prove to you that I love you, that I choose you, that I will always choose you—then it was worth it a thousand times over."
I can't stop crying or shaking. All I can do is hold onto him and let the weight of everything—the fear, the relief, the love, the guilt—wash over me in waves.
"Is this enough?" he asks, and there's something in his voice that makes my heart crack open. "Have I proven it to you? That I love you? That I want you? That I'm yours?"
"Yes." The word comes out broken, barely audible. "Yes. God, yes. You didn't have to—you shouldn't have had to?—"
"But I did." He kisses my forehead, my temple, my tear-stained cheeks. "And I would do it again. I would do worse. Because you're mine, Svetlana. You're mine, and I'm yours, and I will never let you go. But I don't want you to stay just because I won't let you leave. I want you to stay because you want to. Because you choose me the way I choose you.”
I look up at him, at the man who has hurt me and saved me and loved me and sacrificed for me. This man who gave up a piece of himself to prove what I mean to him. This man who is looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
"I already have," I whisper. "I chose you when you kissed me and we ended up in bed again. I choose you, Kazimir. I choose you and I love you and I won’t ever try to run away again."
He leans in and kisses me, gently, but it feels as desperate as any other kiss we’ve ever shared. His good hand cups my cheek, holding me there, and when he pulls back, his eyes are wet.
"Let's go home," he says quietly.
We go back to his apartment. There’s no sign of what happened to Artem—Ilya must have sent cleaners. Kazimir looks at me as we step inside.
“Is this okay?” he asks worriedly. “After what happened… I would understand if you don’t want to be back here.”
I shake my head. “You’re here with me. It’s fine. I want to be here. At least until we find a place of our own.”
I see his face brighten at that, at the casual mention of our future, proof that I’m not going anywhere. That I truly have chosen him.
"You should rest." His voice is soft and full of concern. "The doctor said?—"
"I know what the doctor said." I turn in his arms, looking up at him. "But I don't want to rest yet."
His eyes darken, understanding flickering in them. "Svetlana?—"
"I need you." The words come out raw, full of desire. "I need to feel you. I need to know this is real. That we're real. That we're safe."
He studies my face for a long moment, searching for something. Then he nods, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Okay. But we go slow. And if anything hurts, if you need to stop?—"
"I'll tell you." I turn my head, pressing a kiss to his palm. "I promise."
He scoops me into his arms and I don’t protest, curling into his chest. He carries me into his bedroom this time, a room I haven’t been in, with a massive king platform bed in the center of the room and a huge window overlooking the city. He sets me down and faces me, his hands gentle as they frame my face. "Are you sure?" he asks. "We don't have to?—"
I kiss him, cutting off his words. "I'm sure. I need this. I need you."
He kisses me again, deeper this time, his good hand sliding into my hair. His injured hand hangs at his side, and I'm careful not to jostle it as I press closer to him.
We undress each other slowly and carefully. Every piece of clothing that falls away reveals new bruises, new marks from what I've been through. Kazimir's jaw tightens each time he sees one, his eyes going dark with rage and guilt.
"Don't," I whisper, placing my hand over his heart. "Don't blame yourself. I'm here. I'm alive. That's what matters."
He nods, but I can see the need to protect me warring with the knowledge that he can't change what's already happened. What happened isn’t something we can heal from immediately, but in time, we’ll be okay. We both will.
When we're both naked, he guides me to the bed, laying me down carefully. He hovers over me, his weight supported on his good arm, his eyes searching mine.
