I remove the pearl necklace and earrings and leave them with the garments on the bench. I’ll send them to my forensics expert to see what he can learn. Maybe we’ll find a clue that will help to solve the mystery of Tatiana’s disappearance.
I unclasp her mother’s necklace next and let the chain slip through my fingers, dropping it on top of the ruined dress. Tatiana’s neck is covered in streaks of dirt. I don’t want the necklace to be in the way when I clean her.
Once she’s naked, I step back to take her in. She’s denied me this up to now, refusing to show me her body. I told her I wouldn’t force her. I wanted her to come to me in her own time, but the circumstances are exceptional.
Looking at her, I marvel at the sight of the soft curves I know by heart. I’ve memorized every dip and valley with my hands and my lips. I’ve imprinted every perfect line that defines her shape in my mind.
Yet there are small changes hinting at the time I’ve lost with her. Her hips are softer, and her breasts are fuller. Faint stretch marks run over her stomach. Knowing that she grew our baby in there, they make her all the more precious to me, all the more beautiful. The fact that they’re a novelty to me confirms that it’s been too long since I’ve seen her like this, spread out on my bed with nothing to hide her from me. But I don’t take satisfaction from finally getting what I wanted, not under these conditions.
Focusing on what’s most important, which is taking care of her, I dip the sponge in the warm water and begin to wash her. I work meticulously, starting with her shoulders and arms and working my way down her legs to her feet. Not wanting her to be cold, I pat her dry and cover her with the clean towels as I advance.
When I’m satisfied that not a mark is left on her front, I gently turn her onto her stomach.
What in the name of Jesus?
Fuck.
Jumping to my feet, I almost knock the bowl with the water over. The sponge drops from my hand, falling somewhere on the carpet. I stare at the sight in front of me, rage of the likes I’ve never felt building like the mothers of all tsunamis inside me.
Tatiana’s back is a roadmap of scars, each crisscrossing line drawing a history of what could’ve only been excruciating pain.
Reaching out with a trembling hand, I trace the silvery, embossed scars that run from her shoulders to her waist. There are too many to count. They run into one another, on top of each other. This is why she wouldn’t undress in front of me, why she refused to let me see her naked.
The notion that she thinks she has to hide this only adds to the fury that rages inside me. The thought that someone did this to her makes my vision go from bright burning red to pitch fucking black. I swear I’ll find the son of a bitch and kill him with my bare hands.
Bending down, I press a soft kiss on her shoulder right over the healed marks. “I’ll fix this too, Tatiana. I swear that to you.” Balling my hands into fists at my sides, I bite out a vow. “I’ll make them pay if it’s the last thing I do.”
Chapter
Ten
Dante
* * *
Tatiana lies vulnerable and still in my bed, her eyes closed and her soft lips slightly parted. When the doctor returned, he treated her wounds and put her on an IV drip with electrolytes.
As long as she remains stable, she can recover at home instead of in a hospital. I want her to be here when she wakes up, with people she loves at her side—Jasper and Noah. Plus, she’s safer in my house, which is nothing less than a fortress.
I stand at her side where I’ve taken up a position since I’ve dressed her in a soft nightdress, unable to tear my gaze away from her or make my feet move. I can’t stop looking at her pale features and the bluish shadows under her eyes that are reflected in the hollows of her cheeks as questions keep on running through my mind.
What’s the meaning of those scars on her back? They look like the work of a cane or whip. Who would do something like that to her?
Where was she during the past five days while I turned the city upside-down looking for her? What the fuck happened to her?
Whatever it was, it must’ve caused her great shock if she asked for a woman who’s dead. The thought drives me to madness. The fury I barely contain threatens to break through the thin surface of my calm, demanding retribution.
Soon.
I’m not going anywhere until I’m certain Tatiana is fine. Not knowing what she went through is eating me alive. Yet I don’t have a choice but to be patient. I won’t know more until she’s awake.
Taking my wife’s small hand in mine, I study the broken skin on her knuckles. The doctor disinfected the cuts but didn’t bandage them. They’ll heal faster, left open. I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss each one of her fingertips. The ring I put on her slender finger weighs in my hold.
Turning her hand over, I press a tender kiss on her palm. If I’m hoping for a flutter of her eyelashes or a twitch of her fingers, for any small reaction, it’s futile. She remains still, only her chest rising and falling with her even breaths. My anguish won’t subside until she opens her eyes and tells me in her own sweet voice that she’s all right.
Emily enters the room, carrying a neat pile of folded clothes sealed in a plastic bag. I asked her to stay at the house while Tatiana is recovering, partly to help with the housekeeping and partly to take care of Noah when I’m with Tatiana. I trust Emily with my family. She’s always been fond of Tatiana. Jasper has been great, but she needs a break.
I consider asking Emily about the scars on Tatiana’s back, but if she knew anything about them, she would’ve mentioned the cruel torture to me. If Tatiana didn’t want to show me that map of agony, it’s because she considers the matter private. Respecting that, I keep my mouth shut.
