Chapter 7 - Nikolai
I sigh, pushing my plate away. The pasta, meatballs, and salad on my plate lie mostly untouched, my appetite gone. Anoushka's seat across from me remains empty, the embroidered napkin folded neatly beside it.
The butler informed me she was eating in her room tonight since she was feeling exhausted after the day she had.
Again.
This is the fourth night in a row she's requested dinner in her room. Five nights ago, she joined in for dinner because she’d invited Pippa and Lev over, too. I scrub a hand over my face, irritation simmering in my veins. I'm trying here, damn it. Offers for movie nights, dinners, gifts… but she continues to avoid me like I'm the fucking plague.
She barely acknowledges my presence, her eyes avoiding mine as she slips out the door every morning. I can't help but feel frustrated by the distance between us. We're married, but it's like we're strangers living under the same roof.
It’s been two weeks, and I hardly ever see her. She still insists on keeping separate bedrooms, and hasn’t even ventured into seeing mine yet, though I offered to give her a tour of my wing and wanted to make her feel comfortable to enter any part of the home. I introduced her to an interior decorator to see if she’d like to spruce up the place or create a new room for herself or us even, but she never followed up.
Unacceptable. This isn't what I signed up for when I agreed to marry the little minx. I wanted a wife, not a ghost.
I shove away from the table and stalk to the kitchen, dumping the remains of dinner in the trash. The ceramic plate shatters against the bin, shards skittering across the tiled floor. I breathe through my nose, struggling for control.
I need to talk to her. Tomorrow, hell or high water, we are going to have a conversation. I head to my room alone, the weight of loneliness heavy in my chest.
***
The next morning, I wake up early and get dressed. On the way down, I stop outside Anoushka’s room.
“Anoushka?” I knock on the door. “Open up!”
Just then, one of my men patrolling the hallways overhears me.
“Boss,” he tells me. “She left for the day already.”
I frown and nod in acknowledgment. When I go downstairs, the housekeeper rushes to bring out the breakfast.
“Leave it, Maria,” I tell her. “I’m heading out straight away.”
***
Once in the car, I instruct my driver to head to the Zolotov headquarters. When the guard told me she’d left for the day, I didn’t need to ask where for. I’ve had surveillance on Anoushka, along with the other Zolotovs, for over a year now, and I know that Anoushka is always out with her family or a selected handful of friends.
At this time of the day, there’s only one place she can be.
We pull up outside the office, and I stride right in. Here, I feel momentarily lost when I enter the elevator, realizing that while I know Boris’s floor, I don’t know where Anoushka’s office is. After confirming with the people next to me, I exit on the fourteenth story and ask around until I reach her office.
Outside, a secretary sits.
“Hello,” she smiles at me. “Do you have an appointment with Ms. Zolotov?”
“Is she in a meeting?” I ask abruptly, annoyed with the interruption.
“No,” the secretary says. “But you need to have an appointment.”
I need to have an appointment? Someone needs to send her staff a goddamn memo.
Without saying another word, I stride past the secretary and barge open the door. Inside, Anoushka looks up from her desk, the annoyance at being interrupted now replaced with surprise and mild… rage?
Her blue-green eyes dart arrows at me as she stands to face me, placing both hands on her desk and leaning slightly forward. “What the hell, Nikolai?”
In this moment, I can’t help but notice just how damn sexy she looks. She’s got on an emerald green silk button-down blouse tucked tight and neat into an A-line pencil skirt. She doesn’t notice, but the top button threatens to break open. I avert my gaze away from that dangerous neckline, when I hear the secretary’s whiny voice behind me.
“Miss. Zolotov,” she pants, catching up. “I tried to stop this man—”
“She’s Mrs. Orlov to you now,” I bark at the woman and notice Anoushka frown. “And I am her husband. Mr. Orlov.”
The woman gasps, cheeks reddening as she looks between Anoushka and me.
“Oh dear,” she mumbles. “I… I’m so sorry Ms… Mrs… ”
“Leave us,” I command, without bothering to look at her, my eyes still glued to my wife.
I hear footsteps, and the door clicks shut behind her.
“I’d rather appreciate it if you didn’t barge into my workplace and bring such chaos in your wake,” Anoushka hisses at me, sitting back down in her seat.
“Oh really?” I ask, sauntering over and bending over the desk, glowering at her. “And I’d rather that the people you worked with know who you’re married to!”
Anoushka narrows her eyes at me, her jaw clenched in frustration. “You have no right to come here and cause a scene, Nikolai. This is my workplace, my sanctuary.”
She pushes back her chair, standing up to face me directly, her height not quite matching mine, but her fiery demeanor making her seem taller. “What do you want now?” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.
I lean closer and bend lower until my lips threaten to almost graze against her. She, however, doesn’t shift back, her pride too large to show weakness.
“What do I want? I want a wife who acts like one,” I almost whisper. “I want a partner who doesn’t treat me like an inconvenience.”
For a few moments, there’s an intense silence, and then, she pulls away. She slams shut her laptop and steps away from her desk. “You know what, Nikolai?” she says, walking past me. “I really have to work, and if you’re not leaving my office, I sure will.”
I watch, exasperated, as she strides out of the office. But little does she know that this conversation isn’t quite over. I’ve caught up with her antics by now. It’s her pattern to run, and run, and run. But this time, she’s cornered.
I catch up with her, and walk stride for stride, her quick pace just a simple breeze for my legs.
“Please, Nikolai,” she bristles. “We can talk later tonight.”
“Like I haven’t heard that before,” I say with an underlying anger bubbling over from all the mornings and afternoons I’ve heard that same line before. Without thinking, I grab her arm and gently hold her in place. She steps back from the shock of my unexpected dominance, her back now against the wall. I place my hands on either side of her so she can’t find a free spot to run away from. She clutches her laptop to her chest, and it takes every bit of honor in me not to let my gaze drop to how her breasts spill out from the top of her blouse with the top button now popped open.
She scoffs, leaning back wholly against the wall. “That’s not how this works, Nikolai,” Anoushka retorts, her voice low but laced with frustration. “You can’t just bully your way in here and throw your weight around because of who you are.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to do, Anoushka? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks now. We are married, for God’s sake. Don’t you think it’s time we act like it?”
“We can’t just act like it!” she protests. “These things can’t be forced, can they?”
With a frustrated growl, I reach out and grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. "No, they can’t be forced. But it is your duty to at least give your husband a chance, Anoushka. To acknowledge him, to be present in this marriage we've found ourselves in.” My voice gets softer now as she stares right into my eyes, her breathing gentler. I release her chin, but she keeps her eyes on mine, her lips parted, almost breathless.
And the truth is, I can't take it anymore. The tension between us is suffocating and electrifying, and I find myself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Our faces are mere inches apart, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.
Anoushka's eyes flicker with defiance, but also something else, something I can't quite place. Her hands tremble slightly as she holds onto her laptop, the only barrier between us. “So… ” she whimpers, her voice choked and throttled. “You want a chance?”
“Without a chance, what else is there?” I murmur, gently reaching over without thought to tuck away a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
She gasps and jerks back slightly, the intensity of our proximity finally breaking through her walls. “Nikolai, we can't just… ” she starts, but I don't let her finish. In one swift movement, I cup her face with my hands and brush my lips against hers, but the moment I do, I step back.
What the hell am I thinking? Going and assuming things like that?
“I… I’m sorry,” I say, watching her carefully to see if I crossed a line. “I didn’t mean… ”
But she places her hands on my arms and leans forward. The next thing I know, I’m leaning in, too, and our lips crash together with a fury from being denied too long. Anoushka's hands find their way to my hair, pulling me closer as if she's been waiting for this as much as I have. The taste of her, the softness of her lips against mine, makes me yearn for more. I slide my tongue between her lips, and she parts her mouth, allowing me a taste of her—coffee and cinnamon. I moan and move my hands behind her waist, gently lowering them until they caress the curves of her ass, and she presses into me, her crotch against mine.
Jesus, I want to slide my hands up her legs, down her thighs. I thrust into her skirt, our clothes an unwanted barrier, and she moans out loud. I’m in half a mind to put her over my shoulder and take her here and now in an empty conference room somewhere when we hear the sound of footsteps rounding the corner.
I immediately pull back. No matter how much I might want this, Anoushka can’t be compromised like this in front of her employees. I look to find Anoushka standing there, adjusting her blouse. Her hair is still a mess when a man walks toward us.
“Anoushka!” he smiles at her warmly and then frowns when he notices her appearance, the smeared lipstick, the wild hair. Then, his gaze shifts to me. “And you are?” he asks, with a slight sneer on his lips.
He looks familiar, and then when Anoushka says his name, “Maximus!” I realize who it is. From all my surveillance on her, this is the employee who I always thought had a thing for her. He brings her coffee, waits outside her meetings, and stays late if she does. He does anything for an extra minute with her, but today, he’s going to learn his place.
I place an arm around Anoushka’s waist and pull her close. She looks up at me questioningly, but I smile at Maximus and extend out a hand—“Nikolai Orlov. Anoushka’s husband. Pleasure to meet you.”
He looks at my hand like it’s diseased, but with Anoushka watching him closely, he sees no option but to give me a half-hearted handshake. “So, you’re the man who forced her to marry you?” he sniggers, thinking he’s cracked a wild joke.
Besides me, Anoushka stiffens. I, however, keep my smile intact. "Maximus, you are sorely mistaken if you believe I ‘forced’ Anoushka into anything," I say, my tone icy despite the neutral expression I maintain. “And had you been here moments ago, you would have seen it for yourself.”
Maximus smirks, clearly not one to back down easily. "Well, well, well," he drawls mockingly. "Looks like the big bad husband is finally here to stake his claim,” he says, eyeing her waist, where my hand rests.
“Maximus!” Anoushka says in a low voice, warning him without being rude.
There’s something about the way his eyes linger on Anoushka’s waist and then graze up her body before meeting her eyes that sets my blood on fire.
With my jaw clenched tightly, I hold back the urge to grab Maximus by the collar and throw him out of the building. Anoushka shifts uncomfortably next to me, sensing the tension in the air.
I pull away from Anoushka and step closer to Maximus until we're almost nose to nose, my gaze piercing through his smug facade. "You seem to forget your place here, Maximus. Anoushka is my wife, and I will not tolerate any disrespect toward her," I growl, every word laced with a warning tone that leaves no room for misinterpretation. “When you imply I stake a claim, you reduce her to an object when, in fact, she’s my wife and not one who can be claimed by myself or anyone else. The next time, you’d remember well to know how to refer to an Orlov.”
And with that, I grab Anoushka’s arm gently and pull her along. “Wait, Nikolai, my work,” she tries protesting.
“We’re getting out of here,” I say, grabbing her laptop so she can keep up, leaving no room for argument as I lead her to my car.