Chapter 19 Marlena
Sunday brunch at the Kensington estate was a performance in passive aggression disguised as civility.
Crystal champagne flutes caught the morning sunlight. Fresh mimosas appeared the moment your glass neared empty. The spread looked like something out of a magazine.
I was sitting beside Nikolai, his hand resting possessively on my thigh under the table, while Vivienne held court at the other end.
She looked radiant in white linen, her blonde hair catching the light as she laughed at something Marcus said. All her movements were done to draw attention and to remind everyone, especially me, that she belonged here in a way I never would.
"Tennis after brunch?" Catherine suggested, her smile sharp. "The courts are perfect this morning."
I'd never played tennis in my life but of course I agreed.
An hour later, I stood on pristine clay courts in borrowed tennis whites, racket in hand, trying not to embarrass myself completely.
Vivienne served with the ease of someone who'd spent summers at country clubs since birth. The ball flew past me before I could react.
"Fifteen-love," she called out sweetly.
Nikolai, playing as my partner against Vivienne and Marcus, moved behind me. His hand found my waist.
"Relax," he murmured near my ear. "Bend your knees. Watch the ball."
His breath on my neck made concentration impossible.
We lost spectacularly.
Vivienne's smile was triumphant as we shook hands at the net.
"Better luck next time," she said. Then, quieter, just to me: "Walk with me? Girl talk?"
I glanced at Nikolai, but he was already deep in conversation with Marcus about something business-related.
"Sure," I said, though every instinct screamed danger.
We walked toward the rose garden, away from the others. Vivienne linked her arm through mine like we were old friends.
"I owe you an apology," she said.
I nearly tripped. "What?"
"I've been hostile. Territorial. It's not your fault Nikolai moved on." She stopped by a trellis covered in white roses. "But there are things you should know. About him. About us."
"Vivienne, I don't think–"
"We were engaged." She said it simply, watching my face. "For three years."
The words hit like ice water.
Nikolai had never mentioned that to me. Not that I'd asked about his past endeavours though.
"I didn't –" I couldn't finish the sentence.
"No, of course you didn't know. Nikolai doesn't talk about his past." She pulled out her phone, swiping through photos. "Here."
The first image showed Vivienne and Nikolai at what looked like a charity gala. His arm around her waist, her hand on his chest. They were both smiling.
Not the cold mask he wore now, he had a real smile
"That was two years ago," Vivienne said. "We'd just announced our engagement."
She swiped again to another photo. Nikolai was kissing Vivienne's temple. Her eyes was closed and peaceful.
"And this was at his penthouse. The same penthouse you're living in now."
My stomach twisted.
She showed me more photos. Vacations in the Maldives. Christmas at Aspen. New Year's Eve at Times Square.
.
Three years of a life Nikolai never mentioned.
"What happened?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
"He ended it." Vivienne's eyes shimmered with tears. Real or performed, I couldn't tell. "Six months before your wedding. He just... walked away, without a reason or an explanation. After three years, he just said it was over."
She tucked her phone away, looking at me with something like pity.
"Whatever he told you about why he married you? Whatever story he fed you with,” Her voice dropped. "It's a lie, Marlena,”
The words burrowed under my skin, finding every doubt I'd been trying to ignore.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you deserve to know what you're dealing with." She touched my arm gently. "Nikolai Volkov uses people. He's brilliant at it. Makes you think you're special, that you matter. Then he discards you when you're no longer useful."
"You think that's what he's doing with me."
"I think you should ask yourself why a man who was engaged to me, someone from his world, who understands his life, suddenly married you instead. A nobody from Brooklyn with a fake background and a dying brother."
Each word was a calculated strike, hitting exactly where I was most vulnerable.
"You don't know anything about me," I said, trying to sound stronger than I felt.
"I know enough." Her smile turned pitying. "I know you're temporary. I know whatever game he's playing, you're a pawn. And I know that when he's done with you, he'll throw you away just like he did me."
She walked back toward the courts, leaving me standing in the rose garden with my world tilting sideways.
I found Nikolai in our room an hour later, on his phone, pacing.
He looked up when I entered, his expression shifting to concern.
"Where have you been?"
"Talking to Vivienne." I closed the door, leaning against it. "Interesting conversation."
His jaw tightened. "About?"
"Your engagement. The three-year relationship you forgot to mention."
He went very still. "She told you."
"Showed me photos too. Very convincing ones." I moved into the room, anger replacing the shock. "Were you going to mention it? Ever?"
"It wasn't relevant."
"Not relevant?" My voice rose. "You were engaged, Nikolai. For three years. To her. And you didn't think that was worth mentioning to your actual wife?"
"You're not my actual wife. This is a contract."
The words stung more than they should have.
"Right. A contract. Like your engagement to Vivienne?"
"No." His voice was hard. "Nothing like that."
"Then explain it to me." I stepped closer. "Tell me what made that relationship different from ours."
"I don't owe you explanations about my past."
"The hell you don't! I'm living in your home, wearing your ring, playing the perfect wife for your business arrangements. I think I deserve to know if I'm just the latest in a long line of strategic partnerships."
"It wasn't like that –"
"Then what was it like?" I was yelling now, months of confusion and fear boiling over. "Why did you end it? Why did you marry me instead? What the fuck am I really doing here, Nikolai?"
"You're here because Viktor is your father!" He shouted back, closing the distance between us. "Because marrying you was the only way to draw him out of hiding. Because you were perfect bait and I needed you more than I needed Vivienne."
The confession hung in the air, raw and brutal.
"Bait," I repeated numbly. "That's all I am."
"That's all you were supposed to be." His voice dropped, something desperate creeping in. "But it's gotten complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"You know how."
"Say it," I demanded. "Stop hiding behind contracts and arrangements. Tell me the truth for once."
We stood inches apart, both breathing hard, the air between us crackling with tension that had been building for weeks.
"The truth?" His eyes burned into mine. "The truth is I can't stop thinking about you. About that wedding night. About waking up with you in my arms. About every goddamn moment you smile or laugh or look at me like maybe I'm not completely irredeemable."
My breath caught.
"The truth is you've fucked up my entire plan," he continued, his voice rough. "Because I was supposed to use you and feel nothing. But instead I'm lying awake at night wanting you so badly I can't think straight."
"Nikolai –"
"And the worst part?" He laughed bitterly. "You probably still hate me. Still see me as the monster who blackmailed you. And you're right to. Because I am that monster. But it doesn't change the fact that I want –"
I kissed him. I cut off his words with my mouth on his, pouring every confused, angry, desperate emotion into it.
For a second, he froze.
Then he kissed me back with a ferocity that stole my breath.
His hands fisted in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss. I grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him closer.
This wasn't like the wedding night. That had been champagne and desperation and wanting to forget.
This was rage and confusion and want so intense it felt like burning from the inside out.
He backed me against the wall, his body pinning mine, and I arched into him, gasping when his mouth moved to my neck.
"Tell me to stop," he growled against my skin.
"No."
"Marlena –"
"I don't want you to stop." I pulled his face back to mine. "I want you to finish what we started. I want –”
He kissed me again, swallowing my words, his hands roaming over my body like he was trying to memorize every curve.
My fingers found the buttons
of his shirt, fumbling them open with shaking hands.
"We shouldn't do this," he said, even as his hands slid under my dress.
"Probably not."
"You'll hate me more tomorrow."