She tilted her head back against my shoulder, releasing a string of wild, intoxicating laughs.
I looked at her stunning face in the strobing lights, felt the heat she gave me without reservation. In this moment, all reason turned to ash.
Family pressure, Marchetti's probing, Derek's schemes—all of it meaningless in this instant.
Only her, burning in my eyes.
Chapter Eighteen
Vivienne
Sunlight slammed through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the bedroom carpet, bright enough to make me squint.
Nikolai had left at the crack of dawn to handle some emergency at the docks, and for once, the entire estate had fallen into something that could almost be called peaceful.
Sophia walked in with fresh linens just as I was sprawled—zero dignity—in the dark blue velvet armchair by the window that had been custom-made for me. Minutes later, Mary snuck in with a plate of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls and tea.
"Ms. Cole, you have no idea—old Mr. Volkov called his private doctor the second you and Mr. Volkov left." Mary munched on a cinnamon roll, voice dropping to a whisper, eyes bright as headlights. "The whole estate's buzzing. They're saying the new bride can tear a wolf's hide off with her bare hands."
I laughed out loud and took a sip of tea. "That's ridiculous, Mary. I was just stating facts. And for the record, he provoked me first."
Sophia was methodically polishing the silver by the fireplace. At that, she just quirked her lips. The old woman had been with the Volkov family for thirty years—she kept her words few, but every onehit the mark. "Old Mr. Volkov's been stubborn his whole life, surrounded by obedient sheep. When Mr. Volkov seized power back then, same playbook. Direct. Bloody. Last night's performance? Right up his alley."
I raised an eyebrow and grabbed my leather notebook, scribbling down everything they'd mentioned about the old Volkov family rules and ancient gossip. Pure gold for my serial novel's background material.
"Ms. Cole, what are you always writing in that thing?" Mary leaned over, craning her neck. "Last Wednesday night, I walked past the study and heard typing like a machine gun. Sounded intense."
"Writing a novel." I shrugged, honest. "Making some side cash."
"Ooh! Romance?" Mary's eyes went full sparkle, hands clasped to her chest, drowning in pink bubbles. "Is there a male lead? What's he like? Does he have broad shoulders and abs that make you nosebleed like a Hollywood star?"
My fingers froze. My ears started burning.
My brain reflexively conjured Nikolai's aggressive, tattooed, scarred, powerful body.
"Just a regular fictional character." I tried to cover, guilt written all over me.
Sophia sipped her tea with a knowing look, eyes sliding over my blazing earlobes. She said nothing, but that smile dripped with mockery.
"Speaking of Mr. Volkov, though..." Mary dusted crumbs off her hands and dropped a bomb. "Yesterday afternoon, I saw him alone in the main study, holding that notebook of yours. He sat in that big chair reading it forever, expression scary as hell. I brought in coffee and was scared to death."
My china cup crashed onto the saucer, tea splashing and scalding my fingers. I didn't even wipe it off.
"You're sure it was my notebook?" My voice shot up half an octave, heart doing parkour in my chest.
"Positive, Ms. Cole." Mary thumped her chest. "That pink flamingo sticker on the cover? Only one in thewhole estate."
Shit. Code Red.
I was screwed.
After Sophia and Mary left, I buried my face in my hands and groaned.
What was in my notebook? Besides scraps of mafia rules, everything else was serialized chapters based on Nikolai!
The male lead Aleksei had his exact silver hair and dark gray eyes, the same control issues and sharp tongue. Even our frenzy in the airplane bathroom, the crisis during the territory inspection, last night's blazing entanglement in the car—I'd recorded it all in the bluntest language possible.
And he'd read it. All of it.
