4. Nina
NINA
Morning arrives, and for about four seconds, I don’t remember where I am.
Then I do.
The ceiling is high and unfamiliar, the sheets are better than any I’ve ever owned, which feels like a personal insult, and the light coming through the curtains is soft and warm.
I lie there and take stock. I’m in a house I did not choose. I’m married to a man I did not choose. My passport is somewhere in this building and not in my hands. My editor wants something by Monday.
It is Sunday.
I get up, shower, and stand under the water longer than necessary because it’s the one thing in this room that belongs to me, and I’m going to hold on to it for as long as the hot water lasts.
When I get out, there are clothes on the chair by the window that were not there when I went in.
Someone came into my room while I was in the shower.
I stand in my towel, look at the chair, think about it for a moment, then get dressed because the alternative is standing in a towel, being angry, which is satisfying and useless in equal measure.
The clothes fit. Of course they do.
I call Sofiya from the window seat with my knees pulled up, and she picks up before the second ring, which means she has been awake for a while.
“Are you okay?” she says immediately.
“I’m in a house with better sheets than God and no passport. How are you?”
A pause. “I’m at Alexei’s.”
I wait.
“Nina.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You’re saying everything.”
“I’m completely silent. I’m the picture of a woman who is not pointing out that you accidentally got the love of your life out of the worst day of both of our lives.”
She makes a sound that is half laugh, half something more complicated. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“You got married yesterday against your will.”
“And you’re at Alexei’s at”—I check the time—“eight forty-seven on a Sunday morning. We’ve both had a big weekend, Sofiya.”
She laughs properly then, the real one, and I close my eyes for a second because I have missed that sound in a way that living in the same city as someone does not actually fix.
She asks me again if I’m okay, and I tell her I’m figuring it out, which is true enough, and she tells me to call her if anything happens, and we hang up, and I sit at the window and look out at the grounds.
Figuring it out. From inside a house like this one. Sure.
Downstairs is large and quiet, and Nikolai is at the head of the dining table with coffee and a newspaper, which feels deliberately domestic in a way I find irritating.
He looks up when I walk in. He doesn’t say good morning.
I don’t say good morning. I pour coffee and sit at the opposite end of the table, and we occupy the same room in the way of two people who have decided, without discussing it, that the next move belongs to the other one.
I last only eleven minutes.
“I want my passport today,” I say.
He turns a page. “Good morning.”
“I want my passport, and I want to know what the internet situation is in this house.”
He looks up with the expression of a man extending more patience than he extends to most people, and wants credit for it. “Eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
I reach over and take a piece of toast from the rack in the middle of the table and bite into it without breaking eye contact, and he goes back to his newspaper, and I eat my toast in furious silence, and the morning continues.
He comes to my room at noon.
He doesn’t explain why. Just walks in and stands in the middle of the room. I close my laptop and stand because I’m not having this conversation from a seated position.
“The passport,” I say.
“Nina.”
“Don’t do that. You don’t get to say my name like that and still have my passport in a safe.”
“I’m not keeping it from you permanently.”
“Then get it out of the safe.”
“When I’m confident you’re not going to do something we’ll both regret.”
The sheer completeness of that sentence stops me for a second. “Your confidence. That’s what we’re waiting for?”
“Largely, yes.”
“I’m a person. I’m not something you acquired and get to manage on a timeline that suits you.”
“You’re my wife.”
“Under duress.”
“You said the words.”
“I was coerced.”
“You were circumstanced.” He takes a step forward.
I don’t move back because there’s a bed behind me, and moving back would mean something I’m not prepared to mean.
“I knew who you were before yesterday. I know what you’re capable of.
I’m not asking you to be less than that. I’m asking you for three days.”
“Three days of what?”
“Of this.” He looks at me. “Of figuring out what we are before you blow a hole through it.”
The room is quiet. He’s close and still and looking at me in the way he has been looking at me since the church, like he already knows something I haven’t caught up to yet, and I’m angry and I’m tired and I’ve been in this house for less than twenty-four hours and he’s standing close enough that I can smell him and none of that is helping me think clearly.
“You think three days fixes anything?” I snap at him. “You think you can drag me into this house, take my passport, and I’ll just sit quietly like a good little wife?”
Nikolai moves closer. My back hits the edge of the bed. There’s nowhere left to go. His eyes stay locked on mine, dark and calm in a way that makes my stomach twist.
“I’m not asking you to be quiet, Nina. I’m asking you to stop lying to yourself about what is happening between us.”
“Between us?” I laugh, but the sound comes out sharp and nervous. “There’s nothing between us except the fact that I hate you.”
He reaches out and grabs my chin with one hand. His grip is firm. I can’t pull away. His thumb presses just under my lip.
“Liar,” he says quietly.
Then he kisses me.
His mouth crashes into mine, hard and demanding.
No softness at all. His tongue pushes past my lips, and I taste coffee and heat.
I bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to hurt.
He growls low in his throat and kisses me even rougher, like my bite only makes him want more.
My hands come up to push him away, but instead, my fingers curl into his shirt and yank him closer. I hate that I do it.
He kisses like he owns me already. Deep and wet and angry. My heart pounds so loud it drowns out everything else.
I rip my mouth away, breathing fast. “Get the fuck off me.”
“No.” His voice is rough now. He grabs the front of the blouse he bought for me and yanks hard. Buttons fly across the room and scatter on the floor. The fabric rips. Cool air hits my skin.
I glare up at him. “You asshole.”
He shoves the torn blouse down my arms and throws it behind him.
His hands are not gentle. He pushes me back until I fall onto the mattress.
I land on my back, chest heaving. Before I can sit up, he is over me, knees on either side of my hips.
He catches both my wrists in one big hand and pins them above my head.
I twist and pull, trying to break free. “Let go of me right now.”
He doesn’t let go. With his free hand, he shoves my skirt up to my waist, bunching the fabric around my hips. His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, and he rips them down my legs in one quick motion. The lace tears. He tosses them aside.
I’m bare now from the waist down. The cool air hits my pussy, and I feel how wet I already am. Shame burns hot across my face and neck.
“Look at this,” he says, voice low. His fingers slide through my folds and spread the wetness. I jerk hard against his hold. “So fucking soaked. You’ve been like this since the church, haven’t you? Fighting me with your mouth while your cunt drips for me.”
“I hate you,” I spit at him.
He pushes two thick fingers inside me without any warning. I gasp loudly, my back arching off the bed. He curls them right away, stroking that sensitive spot inside that makes my thighs shake.
“Say it again,” he orders, pumping his fingers slowly at first.
“I hate you,” I moan. My hips start moving against his hand even though I tell them to stop.
He adds a third finger and fucks me harder with them. The wet, slick sounds fill the room. His thumb finds my clit and rubs tight, fast circles. Pleasure shoots through me so strong my eyes roll back.
“Oh fuck…” The words slip out before I can catch them.
He leans down close to my ear. “That’s right. Let me hear how much you hate me while I finger this greedy little pussy.”
I bite my lip hard, trying to stay quiet, but he curls his fingers again and hits that spot perfectly. A loud moan breaks out of me.
He keeps going, faster now. My wrists strain against his grip. My legs shake. The pressure builds so fast it scares me.
“I’m close,” I pant. “Nikolai… fuck…”
He pulls his fingers out suddenly. I whimper at the empty feeling.
Before I can curse him, he moves down my body. He grabs my thighs and spreads them wide apart. Then he lowers his head and licks me.
The first long stroke of his tongue goes from my entrance all the way up to my clit. I jolt like electricity ran through me.
“Shit!” I cry out.
He doesn’t stop. He licks me again and again, flat and slow at first, then faster. When he reaches my clit he sucks it into his mouth and flicks his tongue over it. My hips buck up against his face. I grab his hair with both hands, pulling hard.
He groans against my pussy, and the vibration makes me moan louder. He pushes two fingers back inside me and fucks me with them while his mouth works my clit. Sucking. Licking. Eating me like he can’t get enough.
I’m losing control. My moans come faster and louder. “Oh god… right there… fuck…”
He sucks harder on my clit. His fingers thrust deep and fast. The orgasm hits me like a wave, and I come hard, crying out as my pussy clenches around his fingers again and again.
My thighs shake around his head. He keeps licking me through every pulse, drawing it out until I’m panting and twitching.