Chapter 10 Marlena
The Kensington estate was exactly what I expected: old money.
We drove through iron gates that probably cost more than most houses, up a tree-lined driveway that seemed to go on forever, until a massive Georgian mansion appeared like something out of a period drama.
"Smile," Nikolai said as Anton opened the car door. "And don't mention anything you heard last week about mergers."
"I wasn't planning to." I said.
"Good." His hand found my waist as we walked toward the entrance. "The Kensingtons are... traditional. They value discretion and proper breeding. Don't give them ammunition."
"Ammunition for what?" I asked.
"For deciding you're not good enough." He looked down at me, his gray eyes unreadable. "Which they already think, by the way. So prove them wrong."
Great. No pressure.
Catherine Kensington greeted us at the door, looking immaculate in a cream silk blouse and pearls that probably had their own insurance policy.
"Nikolai, darling." She air-kissed both his cheeks. "And Marlena. How lovely to see you again."
The 'lovely' sounded like she'd swallowed glass.
"Thank you for having us," I said, channeling Patricia's media training.
"Of course. Richard is in the study with drinks. Vivienne should be down shortly." Her smile sharpened. "She's been so looking forward to tonight."
I bet she had.
The interior of the house was museum-perfect. The furniture was antique, there were oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors and fresh flowers arranged with mathematical precision.
Everything screamed: We've had money since before your family existed.
Richard Kensington stood by a marble fireplace, whiskey in hand. He nodded as we entered.
"Volkov. Miss Rousseau."
"Mrs. Volkov, actually," Nikolai corrected smoothly. "We're engaged, remember?"
"Ah yes. How could I forget?" Richard's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Congratulations again. Though I must say, it was quite sudden."
"When you know, you know," I said, repeating the line I'd been trained to say.
"Indeed." Richard handed Nikolai a whiskey. "Champagne for the lady?"
"Thank you."
The champagne was probably worth more than my monthly rent in Brooklyn. I sipped it carefully, hyperaware of every movement.
"So, Marlena," Catherine settled into a wingback chair like a queen on a throne. "Nikolai mentioned you're a curator. Where did you study?"
Here we go.
"Paris, actually. At the Sorbonne." The lie came easily now. I'd practiced it enough. Patricia would be proud.
"The Sorbonne." Catherine's eyebrows rose. "How impressive. And your family? Are they in the arts as well?"
"My mother was an artist. My father... he wasn't around much."
Technically true. Viktor had been very not-around. He was the real definition of a deadbeat dad.
"I see." Catherine's tone suggested she saw quite a lot. "And your mother, is she –"
"Dead," I said flatly. "She died when I was sixteen."
The room went quiet.
"My condolences," Richard said finally.
"It was a long time ago."
Nikolai's hand found mine, squeezing once. He was playing his role perfectly, providing fake support.
"Dmitri would have liked her," Richard said suddenly, looking at Nikolai. "Your father always appreciated people with spine."
I felt Nikolai tense beside me.
"My father appreciated many things," he said carefully. "Not all of them legal."
Richard laughed. "True enough. Those were wild days, weren't they? Before everything went to hell."
"What happened?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Three pairs of eyes turned to me.
"You don't know?" Catherine looked genuinely surprised. "About Dmitri Volkov?"
"Marlena and I don't dwell on the past," Nikolai said coldly. "It's irrelevant."
"Hardly irrelevant," Richard countered. "Your father built half of what you have now. The connections, the network –"
"Built on blood and extortion," Nikolai cut in. "Yes, I'm aware."
The tension in the room was suffocating.
"Dmitri was in business with some very dangerous people," Richard continued, ignoring Nikolai's glare. "Viktor Rousseau, for one. Though I suppose that partnership ended badly for everyone involved."
I nearly dropped my champagne glass.
Viktor Rousseau. My father had been in business with Nikolai's father.
"Richard." Catherine's voice was sharp. "Perhaps we should discuss more pleasant topics."
"Of course, of course." Richard waved his hand dismissively. "Ancient history. No need to drag up old ghosts."
But it was too late. My mind was racing. Nikolai's father had worked with Viktor. They'd been partners. And then what? What had happened to destroy that partnership?
What had happened to destroy both their families?
"Dinner is served," a butler announced from the doorway.
Thank God.
The dining room was even more oppressive than the study. A table that could seat twenty, set with china so delicate it looked like it might shatter if you breathed on it.
I was seated between Nikolai and an empty chair.
"Vivienne will be joining us shortly," Catherine said, noticing my glance. "She had a... prior engagement."
Translation: she was making an entrance.
And fifteen minutes later, she did.
Vivienne swept into the dining room like she owned it – which, technically, she did. She wore a red dress that hugged every curve, her blonde hair cascading over one shoulder.
She looked like a goddamn movie star.
"Sorry I'm late." She didn't sound sorry at all. "Work ran long."
"Vivienne works in philanthropy," Catherine explained. "She chairs several charity boards."
"How noble," I said.
Vivienne's eyes locked on mine. "Someone has to care about the less fortunate."
The barb was clear. I was the less fortunate she was referring to.
Dinner was excruciating.
Seven courses of food I barely tasted, while Catherine asked invasive questions disguised as polite conversation and Richard drank too much whiskey and kept bringing up "the old days."
And Vivienne. Fucking Vivienne.
She touched Nikolai's arm every chance she got. She laughed at things he didn't say and made constant references to their shared history.
"Remember that summer in the Hamptons, Nikolai? When we sailed to Montauk?"
"The gala where you bid on that awful sculpture just to make me laugh?"
"That restaurant in Paris you always loved? I was there last month. Still as perfect as ever."
Each comment was a little knife, carefully aimed.
I know him. I have history with him. You're just a placeholder.
Nikolai remained cold and polite, but he didn't stop her.
By dessert, I wanted to stab someone with my fork.
"So, Marlena," Vivienne said sweetly. "How are you adjusting to Nikolai's world? It must be quite overwhelming, coming from... where was it? Brooklyn?"
"I'm adjusting fine."I said.
"Are you?" She tilted her head. "Because this life – Nikolai's life – it's not for everyone. It takes a certain... breeding to navigate it properly."
"Vivienne," Nikolai's voice held a warning.
"I'm just saying." She smiled innocently. "Some people are born to this world. Others are just visiting."
"And some people," I said carefully, "mistake familiarity for ownership."
Catherine's fork paused midair.
Richard coughed into his napkin.
Vivienne's smile froze.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I met her gaze steadily. "Just because you've been around doesn't mean you belong. Not anymore."
The table went silent then Nikolai's hand found my thigh under the table, squeezing hard enough to bruise.
But his voice was smooth when he spoke. "I think we've all had enough wine for one evening."
After dinner, Catherine suggested the ladies retire to the salon while the men had cigars.
I would have rather chewed glass, but I followed Catherine and Vivienne to a sitting room decorated in shades of cream and gold.
Catherine excused herself to "check on something," leaving me alone with Vivienne.
Perfect.
Vivienne poured herself a brandy and turned to me. The fake sweetness was now nowhere to be found.
"Let me make something very clear," she said. "Nikolai was mine first. And he'll be mine again."
"He doesn't seem to want you." I told her.
"He doesn't know what he wants." She stepped closer. "You're a distraction. A phase. Something new and shiny to play with until he gets bored."
"You sound bitter." I said, in a sweet tone.
"I sound realistic." Her eyes glittered with malice. "Do you really think he loves you? You, some nobody from Brooklyn with a fake background and a dying brother?"
My blood ran cold. "How do you –"
"I know everything about you, Marlena. Your mother in prison. Your forgeries in Paris. Your brother's cancer." She smiled cruelly. "Did you think Nikolai was the only one with resources?"
"Stay away from my brother."
"Or what?" She laughed. "You'll do what, exactly? You have no power here. No connections. You have no protection except what Nikolai gives you."
"He won't let you –"
"He won't even know." She leaned in close. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to disappear. Quietly. Take your money and your brother and vanish. Because if you don't –" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'll make sure everyone knows what you really are. A forger. A criminal. Someone who married Nikolai Volkov under false pretenses."
"You can't prove that." I met her icy gaze.
"Can't I?" She pulled out her phone, showing me a photo.
It was me in Paris in the underground gallery, mid-forgery.
My heart stopped for a moment.
"Where did you get that?" I asked, trying to keep my voice smooth like I was not affected.
"Does it matter?" She pocketed the phone. "I have evidence of every crime you've ever committed. And I will destroy you with it if you don't leave."
"Nikolai won't believe you."
"Won't he?" She tilted her head. "He married you for a reason, Marlena. And I promise you, it wasn't love. So ask yourself: when I show him proof of what you really are, whose side do you think he'll take?"
Before I could respond, Catherine returned.
"Everything all right, ladies?"
"Perfect," Vivienne said brightly. "Marlena and I were just getting to know each other better."
Her smile was poison and I realized, with sinking certainty, that I was trapped – not just by Nikolai.
But by everyone in this goddamn world he'd dragged me into.