Without another word, he reaches over me and pulls down the huge blanket I have folded on the back of the couch. He drapes it over me, and I feel his hands poking at my sides.
He's tucking me in!
"You need rest," he says with finality, those stormy blue eyes looking at me with a calming authority I can't explain. "We can talk more once you've let some of this excitement settle. In the meantime—” he stops himself, glancing around the apartment. "Never mind. For now, you've earned some rest, Katy."
He runs his fingers through my hair, and I find myself smiling despite myself. I force the smile away when I catch it, but I think he notices. He stands up with a wink and heads to the kitchen again, and I let out a deep sigh of relief, letting myself stare at the ceiling and trying to relax as many of my muscles as I can.
A hit man just saved my life. The man who was asking me to be his just yesterday. He nearly killed Oskar and the gang. Hell, he practically had to hold himself back from doing just that. And now he's...he's acting like a nurse?
I turn my eyes down to the bandages around my wrists. They're perfect. Not too tight, just snug and neat, and the ointment under them makes my skin feel cool and soothed, even though I know it'll sting when I wake up.
Wake up. It suddenly hits me how tired I am. This isn't just an exhaustion, though, I feel somehow safe around Ivan.
Why do I feel okay dozing off under this hit man's care?
Because he's still the same gorgeous guy you went home with three months ago, and on top of that, he may say he's a killer, but he's practically a teddy bear around me, I remind myself.
I can't quite tell what Ivan is doing in the kitchen, but I can hear bustling. It's reassuring. Even if Oskar and his goons were to try to come back, Ivan is there.
And after all, he didn't have to come for me today. I don't know how much of what the Russians shouted at each other was true, but somehow, I doubt the mob would have suffered too much if I'd been left to fend for myself at the three's mercy.
Sleep is overwhelming me, fast, and I want nothing more than to just let it. But one thought lingers in my mind while I'm dozing off:
Maybe...maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being Ivan's for a while.
* * *
A gentle prodding at my side and the warming aroma of chicken wakes me up. I clench my eyes as the soreness of my chest hits me next, but they flutter open at the sound of a deep voice whispering over me.
"Katy? No no, careful, don't try to turn yourself yet."
Ivan's warm, smiling face comes into focus, adjusting a pillow that's been mysteriously slipped under my head.
"Ivan?" I've had one of those naps that leaves you more disoriented than anything else, and for a moment, fear swarms me as I remember the events of the day. The next instant, remembering that Ivan has been here the whole time dulls the edge somehow, and despite his protest, I try to pull myself somewhat upright. "What are you...?"
Getting a better look at him, I almost can't believe my eyes.
Ivan has shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing thick, muscled forearms, and more importantly, the powerful hands at the ends of them are holding a large bowl of steaming, delicious-smelling soup. The only thing missing for a perfect hallmark moment would be if he was wearing my apron. Still, I have to put a hand to my mouth to keep my jaw from dropping at the sight.
"I hope you don't mind," he says with a sheepish smile, setting the soup and a napkin down on the coffee table. "I was looking for something to warm you up when you woke, but I came across some ingredients for something a little close to home. It's just chicken soup, but the way my mother used to make it." His smile splits into a genuine grin. "You keep a good stock of spices, so I couldn't help myself. It's been awhile since I've had a chance to make it. Kind of a comfort food."
I'm just stupefied for a few moments, and I pull the blanket a little higher up to my neck. A smile is tugging at my lips. I haven't smelled the aroma of home-cooked food in a long time. Running a club has meant a lot of microwave meals.
A few moments later, the two of us are sitting at opposite ends of the coffee table.
"Ivan, this is incredible," I say between spoonfuls of the broth, and I mean it. The soup warms my whole chest, relieving the soreness in my stomach in a subtle, reassuring way. "I don't know what to say. I mean, thank you!" My eyes meet his a moment, and there's an affectionate glint in his.
"It's not necessary," he says after a mouthful, setting his bowl down. "Katy, I'm sorry for everything this has put you through. Business is business, you understand."
"No, I do," I say hurriedly, biting my lip before proceeding. "There's been something on my mind, and I think this is as good a time as any."