Painted Scars: An Opposites Attract Mafia Romance (Perfectly Imperfect Book 1)
Painted Scars: Chapter 7

When we return from our shopping tour, the marriage official is already waiting for us in the living room of Roman’s suite. The marriage license signing is highly anti-climactic. The guy says his thing, while Varya and Maxim act as our witnesses. A couple of yesses and four signatures later—Roman and I are husband and wife. I can’t believe I got married in a pair of jeans I’ve owned since my freshman year of high school. It was one of the most bizarre things I have ever experienced. The rings are a nice touch, though. I don’t know how Roman managed to replace the wedding rings so fast. He probably went to a jewelry store while I was waiting with Vova and Dimitri in the car. I also got a second ring – a thick white gold band with a pale rock in the middle, which I suppose should pose as an engagement ring. It’s probably fake, because the real deal would cost a fortune. I like it anyway.

After they leave, Roman takes his laptop, says he has work to do, and locks himself into his room. He doesn’t even come out to eat the lunch Varya brings.

I put my new clothes into the wardrobe, and finish one painting before my inspiration dries up. Now, I’m getting royally bored. Maybe I should order some stuff and start redecorating the house as planned. Maybe some lamps. I sprawl onto the sofa and close my eyes.

“Lamps. I love lamps. The bigger the better. Gold, with big black lampshades. And tresses,” I mumble to myself. “They’ll bring in the sophisticated look, so I will put them everywhere. The staff is going to hate those things. They’re hell to dust and—”

“No lamps.” I hear Roman’s deep voice coming directly from above me, but I just smile and continue, keeping my eyes closed.

“And my husband hates my lamps. But he knows he has zero interior design knowledge, and because he’s so crazy about me, he decides to leave my lamps in peace. All fourteen of them.”

I open my eyes and replace Roman bending over me, his eyes narrowed. He’s in his wheelchair again. Strange. He usually uses crutches when he’s in his rooms.

“Decided to finally get out of your cave, I see.” I cock an eyebrow.

“You should get dressed. We’re going down for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Slutty, serious, or something in the middle?”

“Middle will work.”

“Damn, I wish you picked slutty.”

Roman

My fucking knee has been acting up again. It happens every once in a while. I took some painkillers this afternoon and spent the rest of the day working from my bed, hoping it would help. It did, but just barely. I hate this chair, but the thing that bothers me more than the chair itself is Nina seeing me in it. She’s nothing to me. We have a limited-time deal, and then she’ll be gone. Still, it bothers me.

The door to her room opens, and when Nina comes out, the room starts pulsating with energy. She’s wearing tight black jeans and a yellow silky blouse, paired with heels in the same color. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail that falls down her back. Nina normally doesn’t wear makeup, and I like that. She doesn’t need any. But tonight, she must have decided that this is a special occasion, because her lips are deep red, and she did something with her eyes to look even more cat-like. Funny thing, I miss her nose ring.

“Ready?” I ask.

“As much as I’ll ever be. Lead the way, husband.”

* * *

When we enter the big dining room on the first floor, everybody is already seated and chatting. The moment they notice us, the chatter dies and they all stand up. The tension is so thick, you can cut through it with a knife, so I decide to get to the point right away.

“This is my wife, Nina Petrova,” I declare.

Everybody stares at me, and then their gazes move to Nina.

“Hi!” She smiles and waves.

Nobody comments. Good.

“We had a municipal wedding this afternoon, but decided to delay the church wedding till summer. Nina wants to have an outdoor ceremony.”

“Yes. It will be by the lake.” She kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you for humoring me, honey.”

“I know this is a bit sudden, but it doesn’t change things. If anyone dares to disrespect my wife, they will not like the consequences.” I make sure to pin every man sitting at the table with my gaze until I come to my uncle. “Doesn’t matter who they are. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Pakhan,” everybody says in unison.

“Nina, you already know Maxim and Dimitri,” I say, and they nod. I turn my gaze to the other side of the table next.

“This is Leonid, my uncle.”

I watch for his reaction, but Leonid is far from stupid. He nods, his face a perfect mask of politeness, but there is no missing the evil glint in his eyes.

“On Leonid’s left, Mikhail, the brothers Ivan and Kostya, and Sergei. On Dimitri’s right are Yuri, Pavel, and Anton. These are my closest men, and I trust them with my life. And from now on, with yours as well.”

Nina turns toward the men at the table. All of them fist their right hand, hit their chest in unison, and nod while she watches them with wide eyes. Her face is controlled, but from her stance and the way she’s squeezing my forearm, I know she is in a bit of a shock. As it appears, my little flower didn’t understand what exactly she’s gotten herself into before tonight.

“Let’s eat,” I say and nod to Varya who is waiting by the door. She motions with her hand to Olga, Valentina, and Galina to bring the food.

The dinner passes as I expect, mostly in silence. Every few minutes someone throws a quick look in Nina’s direction, which I’m sure she notices but pretends not to. And Nina is very good at pretending, almost disturbingly good. I was expecting her to overdo it, act out too much, giggle. There is none of that. She leans closer between bites to ask something, and touches my hand every now and then. Everything seems so genuine that even I, knowing it is all for show, replace it hard not to believe in her act.

“I changed my mind,” she whispers in my ear and breaks my train of thought. “We’ll keep this table. It’s monumental.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

“But the drapes will have to go, honey. That shade of brown is so depressing. My fengshui guru says we should always throw out the things that depress us.”

The sound of her voice is completely serious, her face a picture of perfect sincerity, but her eyes are laughing at me. I lean toward her.

“Then we’ll burn them,” I say and kiss her.