34. He Belongs in a Museum

Laura - Paul’s villa
My heart is in pain. I should be proud of how human I am, but instead, I feel foolish. What did I expect? To be able to tryst with him without any strings attached? That's not how it works.
I can't help but think about him as I pace across my room. His mood swings irritate me. He follows me to the cemetery and says all those beautiful things. Then he pushes me away, booting me with three words I don't understand yet. "Not like this."
Then he comes after me on my date with Bogdan. His heart beats faster every time he’s near me. When he kissed me, it wasn’t an act. That kind of passion and desire, no one can fake. As I remember everything, my strides increase and my nervousness reaches new peaks.
The last several days have been filled with extreme highs and lows. What awaits us in the future? I ask this, reminding myself that I'm not the kind of woman who sits around and waits for things to happen to her. I need to understand where Paul and I stand. He's giving me confusing signals, pushing me away, and then tightening his grip on me. I despise uncertainties.
Darting outside my room, I realize I don’t know which one is his. In my madness, I push open all the doors, one by one.
I know one might expect me to be cool-headed and calm, considering I’m a strigoi and all. I don’t know how the others do it, but I haven’t learned such a skill. Acting based on impulse and instinct is something I have had since I was a normal girl, and I don’t plan on giving up on anything that makes me feel human.
I need him to tell me what "Not like this" means. His words are deeply etched inside my soul, and I need a conclusion to that night.
I barge into each room without knocking. I won't stop until I find him. As I burst into the last room at the end of the hallway, I cease my search. My charge abruptly grinds to a stop as I come upon an unexpected, enticing vista.
Paul is standing in front of a wide window, staring out into the night sky. The drapes are open, enabling the moonlight to shine on his chiseled face.
Freshly out of the shower, wearing only a white towel around his hips, he’s too enticing for me to be able to look away. His wet skin shines under the cold glow. The sight of his broad, bare shoulders makes my faux heart beat faster, but I force myself to remain calm.
He remains stunned with another towel in hand that he was using to dry his hair. In an effort to look him in the eyes, I try to focus on his face. I’m almost there when something else draws my attention.
A drop of water slithering down his neck and down his chest mesmerizes me. It leaves behind a wet trail across his magnificent pectoral and then over his perfect abs. I swallow, unable to stop myself from following its path till it reaches the towel's edge. Involuntarily, I picture my tongue sliding along that same route on a delicious and gentle descent.
This time, I fight back against my impulses. They want me to go at him, yanking away the towel that stands between me and what I desire. I can slip and let him take me if I awaken his passion once again. But if I do this and give in to my urges, the sea of questions and unsaid things between us will remain the same, driving me crazy.
I shake my head, shattering the fantasy. Perhaps Alisa's companionship is too much for me, and her way of being is beginning to rub off on me. I look Paul in the eyes. His right brow is elevated, and his lips twist in a sneer. Yes, of course he spotted me staring.
Raising my chin, I ask, “Why did you leave me like that last night?”
He blinks in surprise a few times, then sighs. “I wasn’t expecting you to barge into my room to ask me that. I thought it was obvious enough.”
“Not for me. Spell it out.”
Paul comes closer, tossing the towel he used on his hair to the bed. "You were a virgin. I wouldn't have behaved that way if I had known. I must take responsibility."
I huff, not being able to believe he’s such a naive gentleman. Beatrice was right. His place really is in a museum.
"Is that why you rejected me?"
“Part of it, yes!
"I wasn't a virgin!" I yell it in his face. Then I sigh and continue at a lower volume. "And I'm still a virgin!"
He raises an eyebrow in an invite for me to elaborate.
"If you're desperate for an explanation, here it is: my wounds heal. My hymen repairs itself every time someone deflowers me. Strigoi magic. My wounds heal more slowly since I don't consume blood. As a result, it takes me roughly 24 hours to regain my virginity." I take a glance at the clock on his nightstand. "I'm guessing I'm fully recovered by now. Do you want to take a look?"
Immediately, I wish I could take back the last part. He irritates me so much that I end up saying strange things that I wouldn't normally say.
Paul moves in closer and extends his hand near my face. His fingers hover in the air for a few moments before he lets his arm fall to his side.
“I didn’t want to force myself on you. Not like that, not with the wolves hearing us downstairs, not compelled by traditions. I want you, but...” His voice trails off.
A soft stillness envelops us. I watch him swallow. Even his neck is gorgeous.
“But?” I ask in an attempt to force him to open up.
“But you’re a strigoi,” he murmurs under his breath.
His words piss me off.
"And you're a wolf. Do these things truly define who we really are as a person? Is that all that matters to you? Because I can't change what I am. Can you?"
Paul doesn’t answer, just looks down, his gaze pinned to the floor.
I don’t need this kind of bullshit. After a rapid pirouette, I exit the room, slamming the door behind me.