He frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I might hurt you.”
I pouted. He laughed.
“All right, just a few minutes. Don’t want the nurse to throw me out.”
That made me laugh, then I started coughing, which led to my head pounding. I still couldn’t believe I had a hole in my skull and a titanium plate. This made me laugh again.
Kirill climbed in behind me and draped an arm over my stomach. “Why are you laughing?”
“Metal on my skull.”
“I hardly think that’s funny.” Even without seeing his face, I could picture him scowling judging by his roughened voice.
“More stubborn.”
He breathed a laugh. “Please have mercy.”
We cuddled for a while. I was feeling better. I really wanted to go home. Home. “Kirill?”
“Hmm?”
“Jigsaw puzzle?”
“You want the jigsaw puzzle we had in the cabin?”
“Want to complete.”
“You shouldn’t exert yourself.”
“Stronger.”
He kissed the side of my head. “We’ll see what the doctor says, all right?”
“K.”
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
Lucy
“I wantedto visit you so badly, but I didn’t want to run into anyone from the bratva.”
Chloe was sitting across from me in a booth at Jabbin’ Java.
“I’m just so glad Kirill finally allowed me to leave the house.” I was released from the hospital two weeks ago. As if he didn’t have an organization to run, my husband ran my recovery like a general would rule his regiment. He’d been strict with all my therapy, down to my nutrition. And if it wasn’t enough that I had to swallow all those disgusting green shakes he had Sorcha make, he’d called Renz to make sure I was served only non-caffeinated, nutritionally dense drinks.
My cousin strode out of the kitchen and set a red-purple concoction in front of me. It was served in a tall, shapely glass used for craft beer.
“What’s this?” I eyed the drink suspiciously.
“Beets and berry juice,” Renz said. “Kirill wanted me to make spinach-and-kale mush, but no way was I serving that to you, you poor thing.” He ended with a chuckle.
I tentatively sipped the drink. It was delicious. “This is sooo good.” I sighed apologetically. “I’m so sorry Kirill has you making this stuff.” I glanced at the busy café full of Manhattanites trying to beat the lunch rush.
“He’s concerned.” My cousin’s eyes searched my face. “I saw you at the hospital during your coma. We were scared for you, cuz. Kirill was a simmering, broody rock in the corner. He didn’t talk, but there was no question he was in hell.”
My heart clenched. I knew this. Even while I was irritated at Kirill for treating me like glass, I found it endearing. “Can you send the recipe to Sorcha?”
