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I hope she won’t run off screaming upon seeing me, because I will be chasing.
“Now, let’s clear up a few things,” Mikhail says. “You touch my wife again, in any way, I cut off your hand. I hear you speak badly about her, I cut out your tongue. You dare to even think about hitting her ever again, I cut off your head. Am I clear, Bruno?”
Mikhail turns his gaze toward me, looks down at my hand on the work surface, then tilts his head to the side, offering me his chin. Slowly, I reach out and brush away the remnants of the flour using the back of my hand, taking slightly more time than necessary.
The neural pathways in my brain must have snapped and rearranged themselves, because in that instant, I decide I’m done. My issues with skin contact can go fuck themselves. I grab Bianca’s hand, pull her to my side, and wrap my arm around her. Not close enough. She’s not close enough. I tighten my arm around her and stand with her back plastered to my front. The pressure in my chest eases. That will do. I don’t need a shrink to interpret my actions. When a man has already lost all he’s held dear, it’s normal for him to become slightly unhinged and scared it may happen again.
If I was a better man, I’d send her away, annul the marriage, and set her free. I guess I’m a bad man, though, because I don’t plan on letting her go.
He crosses his arms, places his fist over his mouth, shakes his head, and then bursts out laughing. It’s rich and throaty, and I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s so beautiful when he laughs.
“Ty luch solntsa v pasmurnyy den’, Bianca,” he says into my lips, kisses me again, and slowly lowers me to the ground.
“The way you look at my Bianca. Like you would lay your body over a field of burning coals, so she could cross it without burning her feet.”
“Because I am in love with you. Every part of you. Your grumpy personality included. Fucking deal with it.”
“Ya lyublyu tebya vsey dushoy, solnyshko,” he says into my ear. “Ya ne pozvolyu nikomu zabrat’ tebya.”