My Rival, My Temptation - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading My Rival, My Temptation, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of My Rival, My Temptation.
Katherine’s POV
My mother’s arms were around me before I could take a single step toward the exit.
“Oh, my darling girl,” she sighed, squeezing me so tight I could barely breathe. “You were beautiful, absolutely breathtaking.”
I barely had time to react before she pulled back, holding my face between her hands, her manicured nails cool against my flushed skin. Her gaze, however, was anything but calm. It was full of warning, brimming with unspoken instructions, the way only a mother could manage.
“And now, you must listen to me, Katy,” she continued in a hushed yet urgent voice, as if we were discussing state secrets. “You are no longer a spinster anymore, so you mustn’t act like one. And you must do everything your husband tells you. You must also make sure that you call me if you have any questions about marital life.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, she’d say that.
Plus who called a twenty three year old a spinster? Only my mum.
“I’m not going away forever, Mother,” I muttered, managing a small, strained smile. “It’s just a honeymoon.”
A honeymoon I didn’t even want.
I hadn’t even fully processed the fact that Nikolai and I were married now or that we supposed to leave tomorrow for a week long honeymoon m. If it had been up to either of us, we would’ve skipped it altogether. And for once, we had actually agreed on something (not counting opposing the marriage because he later betrayed me and agreed with our parents).
Something that was almost impossible whenever the two of us were involved.
But, as always, Sergei Volkov had the final say. And apparently, my father-in-law was determined to make this marriage seem as real as possible.
Or maybe, like my own parents, he was deluded enough to believe that sending us off on a romantic getaway would somehow change the nature of this arrangement from what it was; a business venture to a real matrimony.
Or worse, maybe they were already hoping for grandchildren.
The thought made my stomach twist.
“I know, but still.” My mother sighed, smoothing down the fabric of my dress as if I were a child again. “This is your first night together as husband and wife.”
I didn’t miss the implication in her tone.
God, not this.
I just nodded, not about to argue, even though I had no intention of “obeying my husband” in any capacity. All I wanted was to get out of this reception, out of this dress, and as far away from Nikolai as physically possible.
From across the room, I caught sight of Lena. She was watching me with a worried expression, her arms crossed as if waiting for me to finally crack under the pressure.
I made my way over, and before I could even say anything, she pulled me into a tight hug.
“I still can’t believe you went through with it,” she whispered in my ear.
I let out a laugh, because it was either that or cry. “Neither can I.”
Lena pulled back, her sharp brown eyes scanning my face. “Text me.”
I nodded. “I will.”
With one last squeeze of my hand, she let me go, and I took that as my cue to leave before someone else tried to offer me unsolicited marital advice.
A car was already waiting at the curb, the headlights casting shadows across the pavement.
One of the bodyguards moved ahead to open the car door for me.
Another thing to get used to.
My family name had always meant privilege, but marrying into the Volkovs meant a whole new level of wealth and power—one that required bodyguards to follow my every move.
I slid into the car, sinking into the leather seat. The moment I did, I felt his presence beside me.
Nikolai was already inside, his posture relaxed, one arm draped lazily over the back of the seat. His tie was slightly loosened, the top button of his crisp white shirt undone. He looked at me with a brow raised, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement.
“How’s married life treating you so far?” he drawled.
I exhaled sharply. “Do we really need to talk?”
He tilted his head, watching me with the same detached curiosity he always did. “No, but I like watching you squirm.”
Asshole.
I turned my gaze out the window. “I don’t mind the silence.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “So eager to get to our hotel room then, aren’t you?”
That caught my attention. My head snapped back toward him.
He smirked again, clearly pleased with himself for irritating me.
I narrowed my eyes. “You—”
“Relax, solnishko,” he murmured. “It was just an observation.”
I ignored him.
The ride was mercifully short, and soon we arrived at one of the most luxurious hotels in the city. Owned by the Volkovs.
Everytime I thought I could escape that name, I was reminded of how much influence they had in Boston.
I stepped out first, not waiting for the bodyguard to open my door, eager to escape the confined space of the car.
The moment the hotel room door shut behind us, I let out a slow breath.
Finally. Away from the reception. Away from the stares. Away from my mother’s endless advice about how to be a good wife.
I kicked off my heels, sighing in relief. My feet ached from standing for hours, pretending to be the picture of a happy bride. Now, I just wanted to shower, change, and collapse into bed—preferably alone.
But when I turned around, my steps faltered.
The suite was…decorated.
Rose petals scattered across the floor, leading to a massive bed draped in silk sheets. A bottle of champagne sat chilling in a silver bucket, two glasses placed beside it. Dim lighting cast everything in a warm, intimate glow.
I stared at it, then slowly turned to Nikolai. “Did you do this?”
He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth tilting in amusement. “Do I seem like the type to arrange something so romantic?”
No. Definitely not.
I snorted. “Not a chance.”
Nikolai smirked. “Exactly.”
I turned back to the room, ignoring the way my pulse skipped when he loosened another button. My mind screamed at me to focus on the real issue—the fact that there was only one bed.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?”
He glanced at me, then at the bed, before rolling his shoulders. “The bed, obviously.”
I crossed my arms. “And where will you be sleeping?”
He smirked. “The bed, obviously.”
I scowled.
“Don’t tell me we’re expected to—”
“Share?” Nikolai finished, voice laced with dry amusement. “Unfortunately, ryzhen’kaya, it seems so.”
I stiffened. My fingers twitched before they lifted to my hair, curling a strand around my finger. “What did you just call me?”
He’d also called me something in Russian in the car, and it heated at my nerves when he spoke in a language that I couldn’t understand.
His smile deepened. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
That only made me more suspicious.
I watched him roll up his sleeves, revealing forearms dusted with light hair, veins prominent beneath his skin. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he enjoyed making me watch.
I shook my head and crossed my arms. “There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same bed as you.”
He exhaled, as if he found this conversation tedious. “If it were up to me, I’d be in a separate room already. But the guards will report back to my father, and he expects us to share a bed like a real married couple.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course he does.”
Nikolai leaned against the dresser, watching me. “It’s just a bed, Covey. Don’t be so chicken.”
I sighed. “Fine. It’s just a bed. I don’t even find you attractive.”
Nikolai stilled.
Then, slowly, he turned to face me, a slow, wicked smile curling at the edges of his lips.
“Oh?” he murmured.
Something about his tone sent a shiver down my spine.
He took a step forward. I instinctively took a step back. Then another. And another.
Until the back of my legs hit the bed.
I barely had time to react before I lost my balance and landed on the mattress with a soft thud.
Before I could scramble away, he leaned down, his arms bracing on either side of me, caging me in. He wasn’t touching me, but the warmth of his body seemed to fill the space between us, stealing the air from my lungs.
His gaze swept over my face, slow and assessing, before settling on my lips. “Are you still unaffected, ryzhen’kaya?”
A traitorous shiver ran down my spine.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Nikolai leaned in slightly, his breath fanning against my skin. His voice dropped, rich and teasing. “Are you scared I’ll touch you?”
Before I could even process an answer, his phone rang.
The sharp sound broke the spell instantly.
I shoved at his chest–not that I could move him much–but he stepped back, pulling out his phone.
I took my chance and darted into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
My face burned as I pressed my back against the cool wood, my heart slamming against my ribs.
And before I could stop myself, I pulled out my phone and typed ryzhen’kaya into Google.
The translation popped up immediately.
Little Red.
I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching before I lifted them to my red hair again, twisting a strand absently as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, cheeks still flushed.
No.
I was not going to let Nikolai get under my skin.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, gripping the edges of the sink.
I needed to get through the night. And the week in Italy.
Then, when we were back in Boston, we could go back to our separate lives.
I couldn’t wait.
My mother’s arms were around me before I could take a single step toward the exit.
“Oh, my darling girl,” she sighed, squeezing me so tight I could barely breathe. “You were beautiful, absolutely breathtaking.”
I barely had time to react before she pulled back, holding my face between her hands, her manicured nails cool against my flushed skin. Her gaze, however, was anything but calm. It was full of warning, brimming with unspoken instructions, the way only a mother could manage.
“And now, you must listen to me, Katy,” she continued in a hushed yet urgent voice, as if we were discussing state secrets. “You are no longer a spinster anymore, so you mustn’t act like one. And you must do everything your husband tells you. You must also make sure that you call me if you have any questions about marital life.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, she’d say that.
Plus who called a twenty three year old a spinster? Only my mum.
“I’m not going away forever, Mother,” I muttered, managing a small, strained smile. “It’s just a honeymoon.”
A honeymoon I didn’t even want.
I hadn’t even fully processed the fact that Nikolai and I were married now or that we supposed to leave tomorrow for a week long honeymoon m. If it had been up to either of us, we would’ve skipped it altogether. And for once, we had actually agreed on something (not counting opposing the marriage because he later betrayed me and agreed with our parents).
Something that was almost impossible whenever the two of us were involved.
But, as always, Sergei Volkov had the final say. And apparently, my father-in-law was determined to make this marriage seem as real as possible.
Or maybe, like my own parents, he was deluded enough to believe that sending us off on a romantic getaway would somehow change the nature of this arrangement from what it was; a business venture to a real matrimony.
Or worse, maybe they were already hoping for grandchildren.
The thought made my stomach twist.
“I know, but still.” My mother sighed, smoothing down the fabric of my dress as if I were a child again. “This is your first night together as husband and wife.”
I didn’t miss the implication in her tone.
God, not this.
I just nodded, not about to argue, even though I had no intention of “obeying my husband” in any capacity. All I wanted was to get out of this reception, out of this dress, and as far away from Nikolai as physically possible.
From across the room, I caught sight of Lena. She was watching me with a worried expression, her arms crossed as if waiting for me to finally crack under the pressure.
I made my way over, and before I could even say anything, she pulled me into a tight hug.
“I still can’t believe you went through with it,” she whispered in my ear.
I let out a laugh, because it was either that or cry. “Neither can I.”
Lena pulled back, her sharp brown eyes scanning my face. “Text me.”
I nodded. “I will.”
With one last squeeze of my hand, she let me go, and I took that as my cue to leave before someone else tried to offer me unsolicited marital advice.
A car was already waiting at the curb, the headlights casting shadows across the pavement.
One of the bodyguards moved ahead to open the car door for me.
Another thing to get used to.
My family name had always meant privilege, but marrying into the Volkovs meant a whole new level of wealth and power—one that required bodyguards to follow my every move.
I slid into the car, sinking into the leather seat. The moment I did, I felt his presence beside me.
Nikolai was already inside, his posture relaxed, one arm draped lazily over the back of the seat. His tie was slightly loosened, the top button of his crisp white shirt undone. He looked at me with a brow raised, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement.
“How’s married life treating you so far?” he drawled.
I exhaled sharply. “Do we really need to talk?”
He tilted his head, watching me with the same detached curiosity he always did. “No, but I like watching you squirm.”
Asshole.
I turned my gaze out the window. “I don’t mind the silence.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “So eager to get to our hotel room then, aren’t you?”
That caught my attention. My head snapped back toward him.
He smirked again, clearly pleased with himself for irritating me.
I narrowed my eyes. “You—”
“Relax, solnishko,” he murmured. “It was just an observation.”
I ignored him.
The ride was mercifully short, and soon we arrived at one of the most luxurious hotels in the city. Owned by the Volkovs.
Everytime I thought I could escape that name, I was reminded of how much influence they had in Boston.
I stepped out first, not waiting for the bodyguard to open my door, eager to escape the confined space of the car.
The moment the hotel room door shut behind us, I let out a slow breath.
Finally. Away from the reception. Away from the stares. Away from my mother’s endless advice about how to be a good wife.
I kicked off my heels, sighing in relief. My feet ached from standing for hours, pretending to be the picture of a happy bride. Now, I just wanted to shower, change, and collapse into bed—preferably alone.
But when I turned around, my steps faltered.
The suite was…decorated.
Rose petals scattered across the floor, leading to a massive bed draped in silk sheets. A bottle of champagne sat chilling in a silver bucket, two glasses placed beside it. Dim lighting cast everything in a warm, intimate glow.
I stared at it, then slowly turned to Nikolai. “Did you do this?”
He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth tilting in amusement. “Do I seem like the type to arrange something so romantic?”
No. Definitely not.
I snorted. “Not a chance.”
Nikolai smirked. “Exactly.”
I turned back to the room, ignoring the way my pulse skipped when he loosened another button. My mind screamed at me to focus on the real issue—the fact that there was only one bed.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?”
He glanced at me, then at the bed, before rolling his shoulders. “The bed, obviously.”
I crossed my arms. “And where will you be sleeping?”
He smirked. “The bed, obviously.”
I scowled.
“Don’t tell me we’re expected to—”
“Share?” Nikolai finished, voice laced with dry amusement. “Unfortunately, ryzhen’kaya, it seems so.”
I stiffened. My fingers twitched before they lifted to my hair, curling a strand around my finger. “What did you just call me?”
He’d also called me something in Russian in the car, and it heated at my nerves when he spoke in a language that I couldn’t understand.
His smile deepened. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
That only made me more suspicious.
I watched him roll up his sleeves, revealing forearms dusted with light hair, veins prominent beneath his skin. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he enjoyed making me watch.
I shook my head and crossed my arms. “There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same bed as you.”
He exhaled, as if he found this conversation tedious. “If it were up to me, I’d be in a separate room already. But the guards will report back to my father, and he expects us to share a bed like a real married couple.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course he does.”
Nikolai leaned against the dresser, watching me. “It’s just a bed, Covey. Don’t be so chicken.”
I sighed. “Fine. It’s just a bed. I don’t even find you attractive.”
Nikolai stilled.
Then, slowly, he turned to face me, a slow, wicked smile curling at the edges of his lips.
“Oh?” he murmured.
Something about his tone sent a shiver down my spine.
He took a step forward. I instinctively took a step back. Then another. And another.
Until the back of my legs hit the bed.
I barely had time to react before I lost my balance and landed on the mattress with a soft thud.
Before I could scramble away, he leaned down, his arms bracing on either side of me, caging me in. He wasn’t touching me, but the warmth of his body seemed to fill the space between us, stealing the air from my lungs.
His gaze swept over my face, slow and assessing, before settling on my lips. “Are you still unaffected, ryzhen’kaya?”
A traitorous shiver ran down my spine.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Nikolai leaned in slightly, his breath fanning against my skin. His voice dropped, rich and teasing. “Are you scared I’ll touch you?”
Before I could even process an answer, his phone rang.
The sharp sound broke the spell instantly.
I shoved at his chest–not that I could move him much–but he stepped back, pulling out his phone.
I took my chance and darted into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
My face burned as I pressed my back against the cool wood, my heart slamming against my ribs.
And before I could stop myself, I pulled out my phone and typed ryzhen’kaya into Google.
The translation popped up immediately.
Little Red.
I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching before I lifted them to my red hair again, twisting a strand absently as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, cheeks still flushed.
No.
I was not going to let Nikolai get under my skin.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, gripping the edges of the sink.
I needed to get through the night. And the week in Italy.
Then, when we were back in Boston, we could go back to our separate lives.
I couldn’t wait.
End of My Rival, My Temptation Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to My Rival, My Temptation book page.