“Get in,” he says. “And warm up.”
He turns to leave.
“Wait.”
I don’t know why I say it.
He stops.
I’m shaking again. My teeth are chattering. My swimsuit is cold against my skin, salt-stiffened and clinging, and I should let him leave so I can break down in private like a normal person with a healthy sense of self-preservation.
But I don’t want him to leave me by myself with my thoughts.
“Stay,” I hear myself say. “Please. Just stay with me.”
He looks at me.
The steam is thickening between us, blurring his edges. It makes him look less like a monster and more like a man. A man with tired eyes and salt in his hair and my lipstick still smeared on his mouth.
And he stays.
We step into the shower together. Hot water hits my frozen skin, and I shiver at how good it feels.
I stand there under the spray and let it wash away the salt, the fear, and the memory of Don Leo. Slava is beside me, waterstreaming down his brow. For a long moment that’s all we can do: just stand and let the water pour over us without a word.
Finally, I find my voice. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is.”In ways you can’t even imagine.“I shouldn’t have—I was reckless. I was stupid.”
“Bella.” His hands frame my face, tilting it up toward his. Water streams down between us. “This isn’t on you. I brought you there. I put you in danger.”
“I lied.” The words come out before I can stop them.
He goes still.
“Nico didn’t invite me,” I continue, because apparently my survival instincts have taken the night off. “I made it up when you asked me if I was fucking him. I was mad at you, and I wanted to piss you off.”
Something flickers in his gray eyes. I wait for his rage and his coldness—for the monster I know and hate to re-emerge.
But he just exhales slowly. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“How can it not matter?”
“Because that’s all in the past, and because you’re alive.” His thumb traces my cheekbone, achingly gentle. “Nothing else matters except that. Not even your lies.”
I stare at him. But he’s wrong. The past has this terrifying ability to reach back and touch you in the present in the worst possible way. He has no idea what I’ve done. And I have no idea what the consequences of my actions will be.
The guilt is choking me. It’s wrapping around my throat andsqueezinguntil I can no longer breathe.
Unable to meet his eyes, I look down at his scarred and inked body.
“What would you do if I betrayed you?”
The question falls out of my mouth like a stone.
Slava’s hands take my chin gently and tilt me up until I’m looking at him now. “Why are you asking me this?”
