Page 122 of Marrying My Ex's Brother
Yaromir leans close to him. “If you look at her too long, I will notice. If you speak to her without permission, I will notice. If you touch her again, I will remove the hand.”
Dmitri says nothing. For once.
Yaromir releases him, and Dmitri nearly falls, catching himself on the counter.
Dmitri’s eyes flick to me. There’s anger there. Humiliation. Something ugly and wounded. But he doesn’t move toward me.
“Clean yourself up,” Yaromir says to Dmitri. “Then leave before I change my mind.”
He walks out.
I stand frozen for one second.
Then I follow him.
The corridor outside is empty except for Viktor near the end, facing away, making sure it stays that way. He glances once at Yaromir’s hands, then at me, then looks forward again.
Yaromir keeps walking.
“Wait,” I say.
He doesn’t stop.
“Yaromir.”
This time, he stops. His back is to me.
I walk around him and stand in front of him.
His hands are at his sides, blood dark across his knuckles and fingers. His jaw is tight. He doesn’t look at me at first. He looks past me, as if he’s still holding something inside himself by force.
I reach for his hand.
He pulls it back. “Don’t.”
I look up at him. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s not all mine.”
“I can see that.”
His mouth tightens.
There’s a small side room near the corridor, probably used by staff. I push the door open and step inside. “Come here.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
“Anya.”
“Come here,” I repeat.
For a moment, I think he will refuse.
Then he follows.
The room is narrow, with a sink, folded linen, and cleaning supplies hidden behind a cabinet. I turn on the tap and take a clean cloth from the shelf.
