Chapter 17 Marlena
"I know," I whispered against his mouth.
Then I kissed him again, harder this time, pouring everything I couldn't say into it.
Nikolai made a sound low in his throat – something between a groan and surrender – and his control shattered completely.
His hands moved from my hair to my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. My back hit the window, the cold glass a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against mine.
I gasped at the sensation, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees weak.
God, when was the last time anyone had kissed me like this? Like I was something worth consuming?
Never. The answer was never.
His hands roamed up my sides, fingers tracing the boning of my corset through the silk. Every touch left fire in its wake. My skin felt too tight, too hot, like I might combust from the inside out.
I tugged at his tie, pulling it free and tossing it somewhere behind us. Then his collar, fumbling with the buttons until I could slide my hands inside his shirt.
His skin was warm, solid muscle beneath my palms. I felt his heart racing, as fast as mine.
"Marlena," he breathed against my neck, his mouth trailing down to my collarbone. "Are you sure –"
"Don't," I cut him off, my fingers threading through his hair. "Don't ask me that. Not now."
His teeth grazed my shoulder, and I arched into him, a sound escaping my throat that I didn't recognize.
His hands found the buttons on the back of my dress – dozens of tiny pearl buttons that had taken someone twenty minutes to fasten this morning.
He made quick work of them, his fingers surprisingly deft.
The dress loosened and cool air hit my overheated skin as he slid it off my shoulders, inch by agonizing inch.
Then he just stopped.
His hands went still on my bare shoulders, his breathing ragged against my neck.
"Nikolai?" My voice came out breathy, desperate.
"I can't." He stepped back abruptly, and the loss of his warmth felt like a physical blow. "I can't do this."
Confusion and arousal warred in my foggy brain. "What? Why –"
"Because you'll regret it." He ran both hands through his hair, messing it up completely.
"Tomorrow, when you're thinking clearly, you'll regret this. Regret me."
"I won't –" I tried to say but he cut me off.
"You will." His voice was firm, but his eyes – God, his eyes were conflicted in a way I'd never seen.
"And I won't be that for you. I won't be another thing you hate yourself for."
I stood there, my wedding dress half-off, my body still thrumming with need, and I wanted to scream, or maybe cry or both.
"So what now?" I asked, my voice cracking. "You just stop? Leave me like this?"
"I'm getting us a drink." He moved to the bar, his movements stiff. "Something stronger than champagne. To clear your head."
"I don't want my head cleared."
"Too bad."
He poured two generous glasses of whiskey and returned, pressing one into my shaking hands.
I wanted to throw it in his face.
Instead, I drank.
The whiskey burned going down, harsh and grounding. I took another sip, then another, letting the fire spread through my chest.
Nikolai moved to the windows, putting distance between us. Smart. If he'd stayed close, I might have done something stupid.
Something more stupid than I'd already done.
I pulled my dress back up, holding it against my chest with one hand while I drank with the other.
The silk felt wrong now. Everything felt wrong.
The city glittered below us, millions of lights that could have passed for stars.
"The last time I saw Luka before he got really sick," I heard myself say, my voice distant, "we went to Coney Island."
Nikolai glanced at me but said nothing.
"It was his idea. He'd been feeling tired for weeks, but the doctors kept saying it was just stress. Just exhaustion." I took another drink. "He wanted one normal day. One day where we weren't worried about bills or medicine or what came next."
The memory played behind my eyes like a film reel.
"We rode the Cyclone three times. He threw up after the second time but insisted on going again." A broken laugh escaped. "He ate two hot dogs and cotton candy and got sunburned because he refused to wear sunscreen."
My throat tightened.
"On the subway home, he fell asleep on my shoulder. And I remember thinking –" My voice cracked. "I remember thinking that he felt lighter. Like he was already disappearing."
The tears came without permission, hot and fast.
"Two days later, he collapsed at work. The ER doctor said his white blood cell count was through the roof. Stage three lymphoma. Aggressive. Fast-moving." I wiped my face with the back of my hand. "And all I could think about was how I'd wasted that day at Coney Island. How I should have taken him to the hospital instead of pretending everything was fine."
Silence filled the penthouse.
I waited for Nikolai to say something. Anything.
Comfort me. Tell me it wasn't my fault. Offer some meaningless platitude about how I couldn't have known.
Instead, he just stood there, glass in hand, his expression unreadable.
No comfort. No reassurance.
Just cold, distant observation.
"That's it?" I laughed bitterly. "Nothing?"
"What do you want me to say?" His voice was flat.
"I don't know. Something human, maybe."
"I'm not good at that."
"No shit."
I drained my glass and moved to pour another.
The room tilted slightly, but I ignored it.
Nikolai didn't stop me. He didn't say anything.
Just watched with those grey eyes that gave nothing away.
We drank in silence.
Me at the bar, staring at my distorted reflection in the crystal decanter.
Him at the window, looking out at a city he'd conquered.
Two people who'd just kissed like their lives depended on it, now existing in separate universes.
The whiskey made everything fuzzy.
The sharp edges of reality blurred into something more bearable.
"I should go to bed," I said finally, setting down my empty glass.
"Probably."
I stood, and the world lurched sideways.
My hand shot out, gripping the bar for support, but my legs had turned to water.
"Marlena –"
Nikolai's voice sounded far away, muffled like I was underwater.
The room spun. Once. Twice.
I saw him moving toward me, concern flashing across his face, but it was too late.
The floor rushed up to meet me.
Then everything went black.