I take a few steps back towards the bed. “Already working on it.”
This shifts her expression. “Do you know who it was?”
“No. But I’ll find out. And when I do, I’ll take care of it.”
She looks at me unsteady, probably suspecting what ‘taking care’ means. She slowly nods. But with her eyelids starting to droop, I back away from her.
“Get some rest.”
For once, she doesn’t argue. She slips under the covers and curls up onto her side. Within seconds, her breathing evens out. I turn to head back towards the door, but then, I decide otherwise, dropping into the armchair to watch her sleep. She looks peaceful, her eyes shut softly.
I exhale a breath. I don’t know how to sleep soundlessly anymore. Maybe she doesn’t either. Is it too self-righteous of meto believe that the only reason she can sleep is because I’m in the room with her?
Maybe.
If she’s anything like me—and I know she is after we exchanged family dramas—I bet she sleeps with one eye open every night, on constant guard for danger.
I suck in a breath and continue to watch her. I have my suspicions about who murdered her mother, but it’s for her own good that I don’t tell her—I don’t want her doing anything stupid.
It’s either Aslanov himself or one of his fucking minions.
Then again, I could be wrong.
Sun streams in through the gaps in the curtains, indicating daylight, but like Lauren, I also feel drowsy. I’ve been sleeping more fitfully than usual the past few nights with Lauren here. It’s not the sound of her constant retching that keeps me awake. It’s concern. I can’t bring myself to reach for the earplugs and drown out the sounds of her vomiting, not when Aslanov is looking for her.
But something about being in the same room as her takes the edge off. If anyone wants to try anything, I’ll know about it. And I’ll be dead before I let anything happen to her.
I press my hand to my temple and shut both of my eyes, finally welcoming sleep.
For the first time in a long time, I fall into a dreamless slumber.
Chapter Nineteen
Lauren
Afternoon sun filters in through the curtains, settling on my face and rousing me from sleep.
I yawn. I can’t remember the last time I slept this well, but for once, I feel well-rested. Sensing another body in the room, carefully, I come into a seated position. Relief eases my nerves when I see Nikolai sleeping in the armchair beside my bed.
Immediately, muscle memory kicks in.
What the hell am I doing here?
Why am I not frustrated?
I watch him sleep. He looks different somehow. Less threatening. Peaceful, even. It takes a while for me to put my finger on it. I’ve never seen him in a vulnerable state before.
Sleep has softened his usually sharp features. He doesn’t look like the vicious Bratva lord who denied me entry when I tried to crash my best friend’s wedding or when he saved my life in the alley a few days ago. He looks more like a man, all of his power stripped. A gorgeous man.
He probably wasn’t intending for me to see him in this light. I don’t feel smug about it, though. I feel something else that I can’t quite pinpoint, like a lot of things when it comes to Nikolai Rogov. He’s a mystery, and the way I feel about him is an even bigger one.
My leg going numb, I shift my weight, the sheets rustling as a result.
Nikolai lifts his head from his hands, snapping awake. His eyes are immediately alert, scanning his surroundings. His hands tense into fists, his legs shoulder-width apart like he’s ready to fight.
Jesus.
Upon seeing me, he relaxes his fists, and I see all of the tension drain from his body.
