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Dimitri Belikov was a God.
That’s what she’d been told. She’d scoffed, dismissed the absurd exaggeration as it had slipped past Mason’s lips. But some part of her had been curious.
When she trained with him, he didn’t seem like much. He seemed boring. “Run laps”, “twenty push ups”, “punch this bag”, “show me your stance”… She’d been banking on the God that Mason had promised with awe in his voice and admiration in his eyes, and what she got was a stoic coach running her ragged with the most basic of exercises.
At last she convinced him - she was worthy of his time, worthy of his wisdom, and worthy of his right hook, hurtling at her face like a freaking semi-trailer. She was worth the investment.
And that was when Dimitri started to look like a God.
Pushing his good looks aside, Rose held her mentor in high regard. She found herself putting him up on a pedestal, convinced that there was nothing in the world this incredible man couldn’t do if he set his mind to it. She believed, like all of the other novices, that Dimitri was untouchable.
But he wasn’t. Realising that had been a slow and painful process, but Rose found that when it was over she loved him more for it. She knew him better than anyone - she slept beside him every night, listened to him talk about what frightened him, what angered him, and more agreeably, what overjoyed him.
Of all people, Rose Hathaway should have known that Dimitri was not a God.
And she did. She did know that. Most of the time. But sometimes she found herself mesmerized by the effortlessly lethal way he moved. Sometimes, she was captivated by the peaceful beauty of his face while he slept. Sometimes, she was awestruck by the way he easily charmed someone she thought could only benefit from a good ass-kicking.
It was only a tiny, tiny part of her, but sometimes…
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