Page 87 of Beautiful Ruins
“He sounds parasitic.”
“That’s a polite way of putting it.”
She clicked her tongue softly.
“Well, by leaving him, you’ve upgraded significantly.”
My cheeks warmed slightly at that, so I changed the subject.
“What about the tall Russian who keeps popping in like a bad rash?”I asked her.
Tone blinked.Then she smirked.
“Oh,” she said with relish.“That imbecile.”
I laughed.
“Yes.That one.”
She leaned back in her chair, clearly amused now.
“I met him while he was bleeding out on the ground with two busted kneecaps.”
I stared at her.
“Excuse me?”
“My wonderful cousin shot him.”She seemed to be enjoying retelling the story too much for my liking.
I blinked again.
“Shot him?”
“Yes.Quite dramatically, too.It was all very messy.”
“And then?”
“And then,” she continued, ticking off fingers, “one cousin shot him, another saved him from certain execution by refusing to let him die, and yet another—me—stitched him back together like a very expensive, very irritating patchwork project.”
I stared.
“You stitched up a Russian criminal your cousin shot.”I felt like I had to clarify that point.
“Yes.”
“And he just… comes over now?”
“Like a stray cat that refuses to acknowledge it was once nearly euthanized,” she replied dryly.
I laughed despite myself.“He seems harmless enough.”
“He is.When he’s unconscious,” she said.“But he’s actually arrogant and obnoxious.I really don’t know how he’s managed to stay alive this long.”
I shook my head, smiling.I leaned forward slightly, genuinely curious now.
“How did you get into medicine?”
She paused, considering.
