My Rival, My Temptation - Chapter 19: Chapter 19
You are reading My Rival, My Temptation, Chapter 19: Chapter 19. Read more chapters of My Rival, My Temptation.
Katherine’s POV
Since Nikolai was practically strong-arming me into going to this mysterious meeting, I decided I was going to make sure both of us were uncomfortable. If I had to suffer, so would he. Call it petty, call it immature; I called it marriage.
I’d carefully selected my outfit with one goal in mind: maximum chaos. A bright yellow shirt that practically screamed for attention and was cheerful enough to burn retinas, paired with an orange mini skirt so short that if I so much as sneezed, my ass cheeks would be international news. Red heels added the perfect touch of impracticality, while my equally red handbag completed the look. My hair was twisted into a messy bun, a few stray curls falling around my face, and I kept my makeup minimal. No foundation. No mascara. Just a swipe of lip gloss and my freckles in all their glory.
If Nikolai wanted to parade me around today for whatever reason, then fine. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to have any say in how I was paraded.
I couldn’t help my excited giggle as I hurried down the stairs, already picturing his face when he saw me. I wasn’t disappointed.
He was leaning against the hood of the black car parked out front like a dark, brooding god, arms crossed over his chest. The sunlight caught on his dark hair, giving it an almost blue sheen, and the crisp lines of his shirt made him look like he belonged on the cover of a magazine titled Men Who Could Ruin Your Life and Look Good Doing It.
For a moment, I stood out of sight, just watching him. He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Just stood there, effortlessly perfect in his outfit that fit him like sin, his wild curls giving him that delicious “I don’t give a damn” look that was probably illegal in several countries.
I hated that Nikolai Alexander Volkov was easy on the eyes. Wicked men like him deserved to look like their actions.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into view, waiting for him to notice.
His eyes found me almost immediately, and for a moment, I swore the earth stood still.
His expression didn’t change at first. His icy blue eyes swept over me once, slow and deliberate, and then, there it was. The twitch. The slightest shift in his features. His jaw tightened. His nostrils flared. And for the briefest moment, his gaze dropped to the hem of my skirt and his lips parted but no sound came out.
I grinned. Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
“Dear husband,” I called sweetly, swaying my hips as I approached. “I’m ready.”
Leonid, already seated in the passenger seat, turned in his seat and did a double take. His mouth twitched like he was holding back laughter, but his eyes betrayed him. “Are you certain?” he asked, voice laced with disbelief.
I arched a brow. “Positive.” Then I turned back to Nikolai, who was still watching me with that unreadable expression.
I waited for him to say something, to order me to go back and change but his next words caught me off guard.
“Seven minutes, when I gave you just five.” His voice was quiet. Calm. Deceptively soft. “I expected better, kiska.”
“I never agreed to go.” I retorted, feeling my face heat as his gaze dragged over my outfit one more time and I pulled open the backseat door, rolling my eyes at him. “But apparently, consent is optional in this marriage.”
“Da,” he murmured as he slipped through the other door and settled beside me, his scent curling through the air; dark, rich, and undeniably him. The space between us shrank, charged with tension that made me want to jump out through the window. “You’re learning fast.”
The car ride was quiet. Well, as quiet as it could be with Viktor behind the wheel, weaving through the streets like we were in a fast and furious movie.
I folded my arms and stared out the window, determined not to ask where we were going. Not that I wasn’t curious; I was. Desperately. But I could feel Nikolai’s eyes on me, his stare like needles piercing my skin, and I knew that if I so much as opened my mouth, he’d pounce on the opportunity for conversation and turn my curiosity into another game that I’d inevitably lose.
So instead, I bit my tongue and kept my eyes glued to the scenery.
When the car finally rolled to a stop, I blinked at the tiny, unassuming café tucked between pastel-colored buildings. It looked more like the kind of place where sweet old ladies knitted scarves and gossiped over scones, not the setting for whatever sinister meeting Nikolai was dragging me to, because I had no doubt that my dearest husband wasn’t here for gossip and scones. I frowned.
“This is the big meeting?” I asked, arching a brow.
Nikolai smirked, the kind that practically oozed condescension, and leaned over, opening my door like he was doing me some grand favor. “Looks can be deceiving.”
I sighed, sliding out of the car with a click of my heels against the ground and followed him into the shop. The café was eerily quiet. No music, no guests and not even a bored barista pretending to wipe down the counter. Just the soft hum of the espresso machine in the background, like it was trying to fill the silence.
Nikolai strode past the empty tables without a glance, moving with that quiet confidence that said he knew where he was headed, while I moved awkwardly behind him. He didn’t even hesitate as he pushed open a door marked Privato.
I didn’t know a a lot of Italian… okay I didn’t speak the language but at least I knew that the word above meant ‘Private.’
I…hesitated.
In every movie I’d ever seen, nothing good ever happened in the private room. Nothing. Private rooms were for mafia deals, unsanctioned surgeries, and very bad fights.
My husband, for all I knew, wasn’t in the mafia. Secondly, he didn’t look like he was sick and needed surgery (which was quite sad), which left me with the last option. A bad fight, perhaps.
I glanced over my shoulder. Viktor had stayed behind in the car, Leonid was standing outside the entrance, and the café was still suspiciously empty. My pulse ticked up. Was this it? Was this the part where my new husband finally offed me? Honestly, if he hadn’t killed me after sneaking off to party last night or after the pool party this morning, I thought I was in the clear. But maybe that was all part of his master plan; lull me into a false sense of security, then dispose of me.
Well, the joke was on him. I wasn’t going down without a fight. Or at least a very loud, dramatic scream that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I asked, only half-joking as I remained by the door.
Nikolai turned, one brow arched, amusement glimmering in those sharp blue eyes. “If I wanted you dead, lyubimaya, I wouldn’t have married you.”
“How comforting.” I scowled but stepped inside anyway.
The door clicked shut behind me, and I swear the temperature dropped a few degrees. The room we emerged in was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of coffee and something faintly metallic. A single, long table stretched across the space, polished to a high shine, while mismatched chairs sat ominously around it. The walls were lined with vintage photographs and shelves stacked with dusty books; very cozy murder den chic.
Nikolai moved ahead, his long strides carrying him toward another door at the far end of the room. I followed, heels muffled against the worn wooden floors, nerves tightening with each step.
I stole a glance at him, taking in the rigid set of his shoulders, the smooth lines of his suit, the slight furrow between his brows. He hadn’t spoken we passed the door that was labeled private, and the silence was starting to make me twitchy. Was he nervous? Annoyed? Secretly plotting my demise?
“So…” I cleared my throat, hating how small my voice sounded. “If this is a murder plot, I’d just like to say that I’m worth more alive. I can cook…sort of. And I’m very entertaining when drunk.”
Nikolai didn’t slow. “You cannot cook to save your life, Ekaterina. You forget who you’re talking to.”
Well, damn him for being right about that.
Great. Just great.
We reached another door, and Nikolai pressed his palm against a panel on the wall. There was a soft click, and the door slid open with a low hiss, revealing a dimly lit staircase leading down into…darkness. Because of course there was a creepy basement. Why wouldn’t there be a creepy basement?
I stared down the stairs, then back at Nikolai, who just gestured for me to go first. I let out a breathless laugh. “Right. Ladies first. Chivalry isn’t dead, just me, apparently.”
His lips twitched, but he said nothing.
I glanced back at the staircase and muttered a soft prayer under my breath. Dear God, if I survive this, I promise to stop day-drinking and maybe even call my mother more often. Amen.
Then, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, I descended into the darkness, half expecting to meet my doom at the bottom.
D
If this was my last night alive, at least I looked colorful.
Since Nikolai was practically strong-arming me into going to this mysterious meeting, I decided I was going to make sure both of us were uncomfortable. If I had to suffer, so would he. Call it petty, call it immature; I called it marriage.
I’d carefully selected my outfit with one goal in mind: maximum chaos. A bright yellow shirt that practically screamed for attention and was cheerful enough to burn retinas, paired with an orange mini skirt so short that if I so much as sneezed, my ass cheeks would be international news. Red heels added the perfect touch of impracticality, while my equally red handbag completed the look. My hair was twisted into a messy bun, a few stray curls falling around my face, and I kept my makeup minimal. No foundation. No mascara. Just a swipe of lip gloss and my freckles in all their glory.
If Nikolai wanted to parade me around today for whatever reason, then fine. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to have any say in how I was paraded.
I couldn’t help my excited giggle as I hurried down the stairs, already picturing his face when he saw me. I wasn’t disappointed.
He was leaning against the hood of the black car parked out front like a dark, brooding god, arms crossed over his chest. The sunlight caught on his dark hair, giving it an almost blue sheen, and the crisp lines of his shirt made him look like he belonged on the cover of a magazine titled Men Who Could Ruin Your Life and Look Good Doing It.
For a moment, I stood out of sight, just watching him. He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Just stood there, effortlessly perfect in his outfit that fit him like sin, his wild curls giving him that delicious “I don’t give a damn” look that was probably illegal in several countries.
I hated that Nikolai Alexander Volkov was easy on the eyes. Wicked men like him deserved to look like their actions.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into view, waiting for him to notice.
His eyes found me almost immediately, and for a moment, I swore the earth stood still.
His expression didn’t change at first. His icy blue eyes swept over me once, slow and deliberate, and then, there it was. The twitch. The slightest shift in his features. His jaw tightened. His nostrils flared. And for the briefest moment, his gaze dropped to the hem of my skirt and his lips parted but no sound came out.
I grinned. Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
“Dear husband,” I called sweetly, swaying my hips as I approached. “I’m ready.”
Leonid, already seated in the passenger seat, turned in his seat and did a double take. His mouth twitched like he was holding back laughter, but his eyes betrayed him. “Are you certain?” he asked, voice laced with disbelief.
I arched a brow. “Positive.” Then I turned back to Nikolai, who was still watching me with that unreadable expression.
I waited for him to say something, to order me to go back and change but his next words caught me off guard.
“Seven minutes, when I gave you just five.” His voice was quiet. Calm. Deceptively soft. “I expected better, kiska.”
“I never agreed to go.” I retorted, feeling my face heat as his gaze dragged over my outfit one more time and I pulled open the backseat door, rolling my eyes at him. “But apparently, consent is optional in this marriage.”
“Da,” he murmured as he slipped through the other door and settled beside me, his scent curling through the air; dark, rich, and undeniably him. The space between us shrank, charged with tension that made me want to jump out through the window. “You’re learning fast.”
The car ride was quiet. Well, as quiet as it could be with Viktor behind the wheel, weaving through the streets like we were in a fast and furious movie.
I folded my arms and stared out the window, determined not to ask where we were going. Not that I wasn’t curious; I was. Desperately. But I could feel Nikolai’s eyes on me, his stare like needles piercing my skin, and I knew that if I so much as opened my mouth, he’d pounce on the opportunity for conversation and turn my curiosity into another game that I’d inevitably lose.
So instead, I bit my tongue and kept my eyes glued to the scenery.
When the car finally rolled to a stop, I blinked at the tiny, unassuming café tucked between pastel-colored buildings. It looked more like the kind of place where sweet old ladies knitted scarves and gossiped over scones, not the setting for whatever sinister meeting Nikolai was dragging me to, because I had no doubt that my dearest husband wasn’t here for gossip and scones. I frowned.
“This is the big meeting?” I asked, arching a brow.
Nikolai smirked, the kind that practically oozed condescension, and leaned over, opening my door like he was doing me some grand favor. “Looks can be deceiving.”
I sighed, sliding out of the car with a click of my heels against the ground and followed him into the shop. The café was eerily quiet. No music, no guests and not even a bored barista pretending to wipe down the counter. Just the soft hum of the espresso machine in the background, like it was trying to fill the silence.
Nikolai strode past the empty tables without a glance, moving with that quiet confidence that said he knew where he was headed, while I moved awkwardly behind him. He didn’t even hesitate as he pushed open a door marked Privato.
I didn’t know a a lot of Italian… okay I didn’t speak the language but at least I knew that the word above meant ‘Private.’
I…hesitated.
In every movie I’d ever seen, nothing good ever happened in the private room. Nothing. Private rooms were for mafia deals, unsanctioned surgeries, and very bad fights.
My husband, for all I knew, wasn’t in the mafia. Secondly, he didn’t look like he was sick and needed surgery (which was quite sad), which left me with the last option. A bad fight, perhaps.
I glanced over my shoulder. Viktor had stayed behind in the car, Leonid was standing outside the entrance, and the café was still suspiciously empty. My pulse ticked up. Was this it? Was this the part where my new husband finally offed me? Honestly, if he hadn’t killed me after sneaking off to party last night or after the pool party this morning, I thought I was in the clear. But maybe that was all part of his master plan; lull me into a false sense of security, then dispose of me.
Well, the joke was on him. I wasn’t going down without a fight. Or at least a very loud, dramatic scream that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I asked, only half-joking as I remained by the door.
Nikolai turned, one brow arched, amusement glimmering in those sharp blue eyes. “If I wanted you dead, lyubimaya, I wouldn’t have married you.”
“How comforting.” I scowled but stepped inside anyway.
The door clicked shut behind me, and I swear the temperature dropped a few degrees. The room we emerged in was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of coffee and something faintly metallic. A single, long table stretched across the space, polished to a high shine, while mismatched chairs sat ominously around it. The walls were lined with vintage photographs and shelves stacked with dusty books; very cozy murder den chic.
Nikolai moved ahead, his long strides carrying him toward another door at the far end of the room. I followed, heels muffled against the worn wooden floors, nerves tightening with each step.
I stole a glance at him, taking in the rigid set of his shoulders, the smooth lines of his suit, the slight furrow between his brows. He hadn’t spoken we passed the door that was labeled private, and the silence was starting to make me twitchy. Was he nervous? Annoyed? Secretly plotting my demise?
“So…” I cleared my throat, hating how small my voice sounded. “If this is a murder plot, I’d just like to say that I’m worth more alive. I can cook…sort of. And I’m very entertaining when drunk.”
Nikolai didn’t slow. “You cannot cook to save your life, Ekaterina. You forget who you’re talking to.”
Well, damn him for being right about that.
Great. Just great.
We reached another door, and Nikolai pressed his palm against a panel on the wall. There was a soft click, and the door slid open with a low hiss, revealing a dimly lit staircase leading down into…darkness. Because of course there was a creepy basement. Why wouldn’t there be a creepy basement?
I stared down the stairs, then back at Nikolai, who just gestured for me to go first. I let out a breathless laugh. “Right. Ladies first. Chivalry isn’t dead, just me, apparently.”
His lips twitched, but he said nothing.
I glanced back at the staircase and muttered a soft prayer under my breath. Dear God, if I survive this, I promise to stop day-drinking and maybe even call my mother more often. Amen.
Then, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, I descended into the darkness, half expecting to meet my doom at the bottom.
D
If this was my last night alive, at least I looked colorful.
End of My Rival, My Temptation Chapter 19. Continue reading Chapter 20 or return to My Rival, My Temptation book page.