Speaking of—Rem traces his hand down my left arm until he finds my fingers, lifting them to his mouth, a mischievous smile curling his lips as he nips my calloused skin. “You’ve practically worn these to the bone.”
“Hardly,” I protest with a laugh. I relax deeper into his embrace, relishing the liquid lave of his tongue across the deep grooves the strings have worn into my fingertips. It doesn’t matter how exquisite the instrument, practicing multiple hours a day is going to leave marks.
“You’re red here, too.” Rem drops his attention to the underside of my neck, the patch of skin rubbed raw from the violin’s chin rest. His lips are a tease, barely there, yet I can’t muffle the moan his touch provokes. I tighten my grip on the arm he’s anchored around my waist and wonder if there’ll ever come a time when being touched by Rem doesn’t make my pulse skitter and my body go soft and needy.
I can feel him grin when my voice comes out raspier than usual. “Life leaves marks. Some are just more visible than others.”
Reflexively, Rem’s hand wanders to my side, his fingers tracing over the fully healed bullet wound hidden beneath my clothes. I study his face in the mirror’s reflection. His eyebrowsare pinched, gaze a million miles away. He’s taken to touching me there more and more often, that tiny patch of puckered skin drawing him like a lodestone. Most of the time I don’t think he knows he’s doing it. A skim of his palm when he walks by. A press of his fingers as we lay twined together in bed, sleep a heartbeat away.
The wound is completely healed. Has been for weeks. I don’t feel any pain. It really was a simple graze, my initial reaction exacerbated by the shock of everything else that was happening. But the more often Rem seeks it out, the more disturbed his expression gets.
“Hey.” I jostle him with my hip. He looks up, eyes finding mine in the reflection. “I’m okay, you know. No permanent damage done. Not from the gunshot wound or the knock to the head. I feel good, Rem. You don’t need to keep worrying about me.”
I expect him to dismiss my reassurances with a grunt. To pretend he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Butterflies somersault in my stomach when his expression intensifies. Behind me, his shoulders stretch past mine for what looks like miles, his characteristically black-clad form exceeding the limits of the mirror’s frame. That predatory air of his is fixed firmly in place; I don’t think he could soften it if he tried. But there’s a wariness to him that I’ve never seen before, and it makes me instantly alert.
“Rem? What is it?”
“I’m just wondering?—”
I try to pivot in his arms so we can talk face-to-face but he just holds me tighter, his chest an iron wall against my back.
“Wondering what?”
“Do you regret it—meeting me?”
My eyebrows jump to my hairline. I look at him with total astonishment. “Do I regret meeting you? Are you seriously asking me that?”
He wants to look away, to shield himself from whatever answer he’s worried I’m going to give but, despite his unusually flushed cheeks, he keeps his gaze locked on mine. “I just have to wonder if you’d have been better off far, far away from this world, this life, from me. Living a life that’s more normal, safer.”
“I’ve lived normal. It’s really fucking overrated.”
Rem grimaces. “I’m serious, Lena.”
“So am I.” I twist against Rem’s grip until he gives in, loosening his arm so I can turn to him. Palms against his chest, I look up at him. “If I hadn’t met you, I’d be dead. We both know it. You saved me, again and again. So, no. I don’t regret meeting you. Not for one second.”
“But that’s just it—you didn’t have a choice. I never gave you a choice. Not about any of it. This marriage, this life, us.”
Rem’s eyes are so dark, storm-tossed and fathomless. Even now I want to dive headfirst into them, to get lost in him forever.
I don’t respond right away. Not with words. Instead, I undo the top buttons of his shirt, methodically exposing the skin I’m meticulously mapping to memory.
There’s a one-inch scar below the hollow of his throat. I kiss him there.
The tantalizing whirl of black ink that curls up from his chest. I lick it.
The tendon that tightens at the base of his neck. I bite.
Rem groans, part arousal, part pain. I nuzzle into him, relishing how solid he is.
When I look up, I let the love I feel for this man flood my features. The intensity of it is overwhelming, near blinding, and I swear Rem blinks. “You really want to know what I think?”
He nods.
“I think fate was never going to give us a choice. One way or another, we were going to find each other. My mother, your uncle—our lives were intertwined before they even began,always destined to cross.” I give him a small smile. “Sure, I could’ve done without some of the drama, betrayal, and bloodshed, but I believe you were always going to find me. That we were always going to find each other. And given the near-death experiences of our first few weeks together, I’m so grateful we survived long enough to get here. Together, in love.”
Rem’s been holding his breath. One second, two, then he lets it out on a rush of feeling. “In love.”
I kiss his chest again, lips lingering as I wrap my arms around his neck. “Head over heels. Irrevocably. Absolutely no choice in the matter.”
