Ava
I wave goodbye to Tyler as she settles Oliver and Emma into the backseat of the sleek black car that came to pick them up.
She waves back at me, offering me one last smile before she closes the door. Their car pulls into the driveway, its red taillights glowing in the dim evening light, and I stand there, arms wrapped around myself, watching as it disappears into the night.
The living room is empty when I step back in. Kat and Ivan had retired early to bed and Nikolai had gone to put Kira to sleep shortly after I escorted Tyler outside.
My footsteps echo off the walls as I make my way to the Kitchen and when I step inside, I drag my gaze along the stacked plates sitting on the sink and the empty glasses right beside it.
The party lasted longer than planned; normally, I could easily get a staff member to help clean up, but most were off duty, and those who weren’t were too busy tidying up the party decorations.
Seeing no other option – or maybe I was just looking for a distraction – I decided it’s better to take care of it myself. I move towards the sink and turn on the faucet. I watch the water rush into the basin, but unfortunately, the noise does little to drown out the string of thoughts swirling in my head.
Nikolai trusts you.
Ivan’s words couldn’t be any more frustrating if they tried.
Why would he trust me?
I didn’t deserve his trust, especially when I knew I’d just end up breaking it.
He’s been nothing but nice to me these last few days and yet here I was hiding things I know I shouldn’t be hiding.
I had to tell him.
I had to tell him the truth before…
He was going to find out eventually and maybe if I told him, I could convince him to spare my father.
I could tell him that my father wasn’t the person he thought he was, and I knew this because…
“What are you doing?” The sudden voice cuts through the quiet. A gasp rips from my throat, and the glass in my hand almost slips. I catch it just in time, heart slamming against my ribcage.
What the…
I turn sharply toward the doorway – and sure enough, there he is.
Nikolai.
My husband stands with his shoulder leaned casually against the doorframe of the kitchen entrance. His arms are crossed over his chest and the corner of his mouth tipped upwards questionably.
The faint shadows of the kitchen light catch the hard lines of his face and faint stubbles dusting his jawline. His eyes are what startles me though and not the way my skin longs for the touch of his growing beard.
My God, this man was beautiful.
Devastatingly handsome, in a way that felt almost unreal.
I could look at him all day, if I could.
No wait, I actually did.
After Ivan Left, I spent the remainder of Kira’s birthday party watching him like the creepy little stalker that I am. The way he laughed when Kira insisted on shoving cake into his mouth. The way he crouched down to help her unwrap her presents with that rare softness in his gaze. The way his eyes would flicker to me when he thought I wasn’t looking. It made me feel warm and restless all at once – like my skin was too tight, but in a good way.
In the best way.
I swallow hard, pulse pounding in my ears as I turn back towards the sink, “Washing dishes,” I reply, picking up the sponge that had fallen when Nikolai’s voice ripped through my thoughts, “What does it look like I’m doing.”
I feel him behind me in an instant. And then I feel his body lightly brush up against mine as he stands just inches away from me. This feels … weird.
My body was reacting to him, and it wasn’t like he’d touched me. He only brushed me. Lightly. So why then why was my heart so fucking loud?
“I thought we had people for that?”
I shrug, gripping the sponge tightly and watching as the soapy water spill over my fingers.
“I thought it would be quicker if I did it.”
It was partly true, but also a lie.
I hated doing the dishes, and he knew it because I avoided them as much as possible. Hated how pruney my fingers got after soaking in water for only a couple of minutes. I hated the way leftover food clung stubbornly to the plates and somehow infiltrated my fingernails when I wasn’t looking.
I wait for him to leave and when he doesn’t I ask, “Is Kira asleep?”
My little girl had spent the entire afternoon having the time of her life. She was already showing signs of sleep before Oliver and Emma left and when I picked her up and handed her over to her father, she’d given me a sleepy smile while muttering something along the lines of best party ever.
“Out like a light,” He replies softly and I feel his fingers trace lightly on the back of my neck as he gently pushes my hair over my shoulder.
Now, that was most definitely more than a brush.
“I want to thank you,” he murmurs, finger dipping low.
I glance over my shoulders at him, “Thank me? For what?”
“For convincing me to throw Kira a birthday party. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy before and that’s all because of you and for that, I think you deserve my gratitude.”
A strange warmth spreads through my chest at his words.
“I don’t think I deserve all the credit.” I say scrubbing the edge of the glass harder, “That barbie doll you got her was the real star of the show,” I finish and he chuckles lightly, the sound easing some of the tension in my shoulders.
“Maybe,” he says. “But the doll didn’t plan the party. It didn’t stay up all night hanging decorations or making sure all her new friends made it today.”
I pause, my fingers stilling around the glass. “How do you know I stayed up all night?”
“I pay attention.”
Of course he did.
“But still, I can’t take all the credit. You were the one who had to let complete strangers wander about your place. I’m sure that wasn’t easy for someone as prickly as you.”
He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Prickly?”
I shrug, rinsing the glass under the tap. “If the shoe fits”
“I’m not that bad.”
“You’re right. You’re worse.” He huffs out a breath – something between a laugh and a sigh. It’s funny how easy it’s become to talk to him like this. There was a time I thought him terrible and would’ve rather died than be in the same room as him.
But now… things were different.
“How about we call it a team effort, then?”
“Sounds good to me,” I reply, and then almost immediately I feel the soft press of Nikolai’s lips against my skin.
“Good.”
A strangled yelp escapes me at the contact before I can stop it. My spine stiffens and I jolt forward. The glass slips from my hand and clatters loudly into the sink. It doesn’t break, thankfully, but the sound echoes throughout the kitchen.
Nikolai pulls back slightly, shoulders vibrating with a laugh. Heat creeps up my neck and I shoot him a glare from over my shoulder.
“I think I should take care of the dishes,” he says, voice rough with amusement, “before you hurt yourself.”
I spin around, my body twisting as much as the tiny space between him and the sink allows me to.
“I think that is a fantastic idea.”
I wipe my hands on one of the napkins and hop onto one of the empty stools.
Nikolai assumes my position, taking care of the dishes with an ease that seems unprecedented.
His broad shoulders flex under the thin fabric of his shirt as he scrubs a plate, rinsing it off before setting it down in the drying rack. The domesticity of the moment feels surreal, and I have to remind myself that this man is just as dangerous as his ability to wring a plate dry.
It takes him approximately ten minutes to finish the dishes and another five to load them into the dryer. I watch him tidy up the kitchen and when I try to help, he stops me with a single hard look before picking right back up again.
When he’s finished, he washes his hands and dries them off with a rag and then comes to stand in front of me.
My legs involuntarily widen to make room for him and he slips in easily between them.
“Are you hungry?” he says, more like an observation than a question. “I didn’t see you eat at the party”
“I wasn’t hungry then”
He raises a brow, “And now”
As if on cue, my stomach picks that exact moment to growl. Loudly.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment and I press a hand to my stomach as if that would somehow manage to drown out my discomfort.
I tilt my chin at Nikolai, whose lips twitch with an amused smile as he stares down at me.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Asshole.
He turns toward the fridge, pulls it open and scans the shelves with the same intensity he uses when he’s handling business. He returns seconds later with a slice of Kira’s birthday cake and a fork and sets the plate down in front of me.
“I figured you could use something sweet after standing on your feet all day.” He says, placing a hand on the counter.
My heart trips over itself and I narrow my eyes at him, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I don’t recall seeing you eat at the party either”
I pick up the fork, and stab into strawberry flavoured goodness . The sweetness melts in my mouth as soon as it touches my tongue. It tastes absolutely divine and I let out an involuntary moan at the taste. When I open my eyes again, Nikolai is watching me intently.
Confused, I ask, “Is there frosting on my face?”
He shakes his head no, but doesn’t shift his attention away from me. I take another bite and then another.
I think I’m going to need another slice.
“This is so good. You should try it.”
Nikolai’s lips curve into a slow, almost wicked smile. “Are you offering to feed me, Solnyshko?”
Was I?
“I’m simply offering you a taste of this perfectly wonderful cake. Now If you don’t want it,..” I begin, moving my plate away, “That’s perfectly fi…” a hand comes around my wrist, prevents me from moving my plate any further.
“I want it.”
Oh God.
My stomach plummeted. Were we still talking about cake? His eyes drop to my lips, confirming my suspicion and something hungry flashes in them.
My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest that I’m sure he can hear every beat. He takes one step closer and then another until he is once again situated between my legs and I forget how to breathe.
“I’m waiting,” he muses, and it’s only then I realize that his hand is no longer around my wrist.
I brink rapidly. Was he expecting me to feed him?
The look on his face told me the answer.
I slowly grip the handle of my fork and stab the utensil into the cake, breaking off a small piece and lift it towards his mouth. He leans in, parting his lips and taking the bite straight from the fork. His eyes never leave mine, all the while his lips wrap around the steel and for some reason, that makes what we’re doing seem hotter than it is.
I try not to notice when his tongue flicks out briefly to catch the last bit of frosting from his top lip and fail miserably, which causes him to smirk.
“Good?” I ask, my voice sounding a tad bit breathless even to my ears.
He hums low in his throat, tilting his head slightly as if he’s considering it. “Sweet,” he says slowly, licking his bottom lip. I catch the movement with my gaze, lapping up each swipe of his tongue like the horny psychopath that I am.
Something shifts between us and my breath hitches in my throat. The air fills with unspoken tension and if I were to tilt my head just a little, I would be able to taste just how sweet the cake was on his lips.
This is it. A tiny voice whispers in the back of my head. Tell him. Tell him now before he moves away. Tell him now before it’s too late.
He cups my face tenderly and I find myself leaning into his touch. He was always so gentle with me.
“Nikolai…” I start, but my voice falters. I have no idea how to explain to him what I’ve done. What I’d really done.
“What is it, Solnyshko?” he asks softly “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
Tell him.
Tell him the truth.
Do it now.
Do it now before it’s too late.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
So instead I say, “Nothing.”
He hums thoughtfully, drawing me closer by the nape of my neck. His lips hover over mine, almost touching, and a sharp intake of breath escapes me before I can stop it. His mouth is so close I can taste it.
My pulse races and my body hums to life where our bodies almost press together.
“I really want to kiss you now, Solnyshko?” he warns, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers skating down my spine. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I don’t
Darting my tongue over my bottom lip, I let out a shaky breath. His eyes are almost completely hooded now. He studies me for a long moment, those sharp green eyes of his, searching my face for something – I have no, I idea what it is – but he must see it because the next second his lips touch mine and I absolutely melt.