Of course, he’d refused to let her go in alone until he’d checked the stalls to make sure no one was hiding in there and planning to strangle her, à la Copycat. Violet was a little ashamed to admit she was grateful to Nikolai for that. She’d had an irrational fear of public bathrooms—and Harry Connick, Jr., if she was being honest—since 1995 because of that movie.
But when she was done and headed back out to say goodnight to Dalia, it wasn’t Nikolai she found waiting for her in the hallway right outside the ladies’ room. Violet tried valiantly to keep all the ugh off her face as she gave him a polite nod of acknowledgement and attempted to brush past him.
Darren, clueless as ever to social cues and graces, it would seem, grabbed her wrist. “Violet, I’m so glad you came. I’ve been wanting to apologize for how things went down between us for a long time.”
Violet swallowed her first-instinct reply of “Oh, you didn’t ever go down on me, remember? That was my sister’s thighs I found your head between when I got up for a glass of water that night,” opting instead for a simple, “It’s all ancient history, Darren. There’s no reason to apologize now.”
“It’s not like an apology from a sister-fucker like you means shit anyhow,” Dalia said, elbowing them out of her way as she stumbled into the bathroom. And with that, she lifted her middle finger in Darren’s direction, then kicked the bathroom door shut behind her.
Well, guess there’s not much more to say than that, is there?
Violet gave Darren’s shoulder a pat, congratulated him on his marriage one last time, and turned to go. But once again, he didn’t take the hint and his grip on her wrist tightened.
“No, I mean it, Vi,” he said, giving her a sad-eyed look that reminded her of Antonio Banderas’s character in Puss in Boots. “I was so wrong to betray you like that.”
Yes, you were. “Really, Darren, I’m over it. No worries.”
He let out a deep breath and smiled. “I’m so glad. I just hate thinking you might still be hurt about us, you know? It makes me feel awful.”
And I’d just hate for you to feel awful about potentially hurting me, now, years and years after you fucked my sister.
Self-absorbed prick. Had he always been this much of an asshole and she’d just overlooked it?
Violet smiled politely and again attempted to pull her wrist out of his grip. Again, he didn’t let her go.
He glanced at her cleavage again, then down at the floor. “Well, I just…this is awkward for me. But I guess I’ll just say it. Vi, honey, what the hell are you doing with that guy?”
Violet let her polite smile dip. “What do you mean?”
“Vi,” he said again, leaning forward, “You being with someone like him…does this have anything to do with me marrying Rosie?”
Violet felt a frown line grooving its way across her brow. Had she had too much to drink? Was that why his words weren’t making any sense? “I don’t understand, Darren.”
He shook his head. “This guy isn’t right for you, Vi. A security guard? Come on, you can do way better than that and you know it. He’s so far beneath you. I have to wonder if you’re just…if you were just desperate or something because of the wedding.”
This must be what an aneurysm feels like, Violet thought. One minute you’re completely fine, and the next, something in your head is quite literally exploding. “You think I can do better? You think I’m desperate? You think he’s beneath me?”
He winced at the bite in her tone. “I just still care so much about you, Violet. I only want what’s best for you.”
The smile that stretched across her face at his words felt so brittle she was sure it was going to crack at any moment. “Well, Darren, it’s terribly kind of you to be so concerned about me, but there’s no need. You know why? As it turns out, my love life is no longer any of your business.”
Darren gave her a sad smile and a little nod. “It’s my loss.”
Ugh. Gag. This time, she tugged hard enough on her wrist that he had no choice but to let her go. He held his hands up in surrender under the weight of the glare she hit him with.
“It’s just that…how well do you know this guy, Vi?” Darren added, giving his head another sad shake. “I don’t trust him. There’s something shifty about him.”
She spluttered. “There’s something shifty about him? Him? You think there’s something shifty about him?”
He opened his mouth to say something else, but she cut him off. “You want to know what I know about him? Fair enough. For starters, I know he’s not fucking my sister. That’s a huge plus in my book.”
His cheeks flushed, but he acknowledged, “True, but—”
“You know what else I know about him?” she said, injecting as much shut the fuck up into her tone as possible. “I know that he’s honest and smart and funny and so damn sexy it hurts to look at him sometimes.”
“Well, I—”
“I’m not done. I also know he’s the type of man who’d take a bullet for me. Who’d die before letting anything hurt me. So when you say I can do better?” She let out a short, angry bark of sarcastic laughter. “I say there is no one better than Nikolai Aleyev. You, asshole, are not even fit to breathe his air.”
Dalia shoved the bathroom door open and let out a huge burp before saying, “Amen, sister.”
She gave Violet a palm-stinging high-five before tottering back to her table.
The interruption helped Violet rein in her anger somewhat. At least, she was starting to get it under control until he said, “God, Vi, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get angry like that before. It’s so fucking hot.”
That’s when Violet actually started to feel her blood boil. It pounded through her veins with an unnatural intensity, making a roaring noise in her ears. Her entire life—a life spent doing the right thing, being the mature, responsible adult in the room, being in charge, being the cool, collected one in a crisis—flashed before her eyes. When did she get to be the emotional one? When did Violet finally get what she wanted? Her right eye twitched and her hands clenched into fists.
Right in this moment, that’s when. Today. Fucking today.
“Well, if you liked that, you’re going to love this,” she growled.
With that, she drew back her arm and threw her first-ever punch at someone.
And she was feeling pretty good about it, if she did say so herself…until Nikolai caught her fist a split second before it connected with Darren’s nose.
“I can’t let you do that,” Nikolai said calmly.
“Oh, come on,” she whined. “He deserves it! Did you hear what he said to me? About you?”
He nodded. “Yes, he deserves it, and yes, I heard every word. But I can’t let you punch him like that.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I know violence isn’t the answer, and punching someone in the face isn’t a mature response, but—”
Nikolai lifted her still-clenched hand and said, “If you hit him like this, with your thumb tucked inside your fist, you’ll really hurt yourself. Your thumb will snap like a twig.” He pried her hand open, then curled her fingers closed again with her thumb on the outside. “There. That’s how your fist should look when you throw a punch.”
She blinked up at him. “You mean…you don’t want to stop me?”
He snorted. “I did stop you. I stopped you from breaking your thumb. Now, when you throw your punch, turn into it from your hip. Like this.” He pulled her fist forward with one hand, and twisted her hip in the same direction with his other hand. “That way, you’re putting all your weight into the punch. And don’t just stop when you make contact. Imagine you’re trying to punch through his nose. Really follow through, yes?”
Darren rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. We both know she’s not really going to—”
Violet threw her punch. She did exactly what Nikolai said, and when her fist connected with Darren’s nose and she felt bone and cartilage snap under the pressure, it was indescribable. The power, the release of ang
er, the feeling of hurting someone who’d hurt her…it was the best damn thing she’d felt in a long, long time.
“Ow! You broke my nose!”
“I did,” Violet whispered, marveling at the blood now trickling down the front of his dress shirt. She whirled to face Nikolai. “I did it!”
She’d been wrong, she knew immediately. Punching Darren wasn’t the best feeling she’d had in a long time, because the proud smile Nikolai was giving her blew that feeling out of the water.
“That was beautiful, kotehok,” he murmured, his accent thicker than usual. “Absolutely perfect. Just like you.”
And that’s when all the fear and confusion and anxiousness she’d been carrying around with her evaporated completely.
It was time. She’d been a damn fool to wait as long as she had.
“I want you,” Violet blurted out before she could lose her nerve again. “I don’t care about the past. I don’t care about the future or the death threats or anything else. I just want you. Tonight. Now.”
Not exactly an elegant speech, but apparently it was good enough for Nikolai. His green eyes immediately darkened, crackling with heat.
“It’s about damn time,” he growled, grabbing her hand and dragging her to the door like the place was on fire.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Rose hissed, grabbing Violet’s wrist. “You think you can act like that, ruin my day, hit my husband, and just walk away?”
Nikolai let go of Violet’s hand and moved to position himself between them, but Violet stopped him. She was still riding high on the thrill of letting her mask slip for a time. It’d felt so good that there was no way she was going to miss the opportunity to say a few things to her sister. “I’ve got this.”
“Quickly,” he urged, his expression hovering somewhere between irritated at the interruption and desperate to leave.
Violet totally understood the urgency.
She turned back to her sister. “Rose, you’re my sister and I love you.”
“You can’t just—”
Violet laid her index finger over her sister’s lips. “I’m not done, sweetheart. You’re my sister and I love you. But I don’t like you at all. You were a rotten little girl, and you’ve grown into a petty, spiteful, hateful woman. And when your looks go, you’ll be nothing but a bitter old hag, and I don’t want to see that happen to you.”
Rose sucked in an outraged gasp and flushed a shade of red Violet thought might have even been deeper than the hue of her Versace. In her head, Violet heard Mr. Burns from the Simpsons saying, “Excellent,” while tenting his fingers devilishly. That voice—and her desire to get out of this pit of despair and have some real fun with Nikolai—urged her on. “You’re also a selfish, jealous, conceited, bratty…” she trailed off, searching for the right word.
“Twatwaffle?” Nikolai suggested helpfully.
Violet grinned at him before turning back to her sister. “Twatwaffle,” she finished with a flourish. “And your husband was hitting on me and staring at my cleavage. So, good luck with all that. Hope you get it all straightened out. See you at Christmas.”
And with that, Violet grabbed Nikolai’s hand and pulled him out the door.
“I thought you punching Darren was the hottest thing I’d ever seen,” Nikolai said as he held the car door open for her. “But that was…” he trailed off, shaking his head.
“Fuck hot?” she suggested.
“Yes,” he agreed immediately.
“Good. I’ll pay dearly for that when my mom hears about it, but it was totally worth it.”
Chapter Nineteen
Traffic laws—and possible a few land speed records—were broken as they tore out of the reception hall’s parking lot and began the long drive back to Violet’s apartment.
Nikolai grabbed one of her hands, dropped a kiss on her knuckles, then laced his fingers through hers. He rested their linked hands on his thigh and kept his other hand on the wheel. “Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me everything I’ve always wanted to know about you.”
Violet didn’t need any further clarification. She already knew what he wanted to hear. “My public mask,” she whispered.
He side-eyed her, almost as if he didn’t believe she was really going to tell him anything, but kept his mouth shut, giving her only a quick nod.
She shifted in her seat so she could watch his gorgeous profile while she spoke. God, how had she resisted him this long? She’d been such an idiot.
“My father died when I was ten,” she began, shocked to find that such an old memory still had the power to cause her pain. “Heart attack.”
Nikolai’s fingers tightened on hers, offering silent support.
“He’d been the breadwinner for our family,” she went on. “My mom stayed home to take care of me and my sisters. We didn’t have much money before he died, no insurance or anything, and after he was gone…well, things got worse.”
Violet gave Nikolai the Cliff’s Notes version of her childhood in the months after her father’s death. They’d lost their home, lived in the family Buick for a few weeks, and eventually found their way into a homeless shelter where a few good Samaritans helped her mother put together a resume and nail down some job interviews. Her mom was smart and hardworking, and it didn’t take long for her to get an administrative job with a small law firm in Hell’s Kitchen.
They were out of the homeless shelter and in a new apartment close to her mother’s office a few weeks later. They were so lucky. Violet could still remember the tiny bedroom she’d shared with her sisters, and how when she’d first seen it, she’d asked her mother if they were rich now, because that tiny little apartment that smelled of old takeout Chinese food, was practically a Beverly Hills mansion compared to where they’d come from.
Her mother had laughed a deep, hearty laugh, and with tears in her eyes, she’d replied, “Yes, baby. We have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, and we have each other. There’s no one richer than us.”
But despite their drastic improvement in circumstances, their lives were still far from perfect. Her mother’s administrative job was great, but it didn’t pay nearly enough to cover their living expenses, so she’d picked up a second job at night, waiting tables at a bar downtown.
From that point on, Violet was in charge of the regular household duties—not by choice, but by necessity. Dalia was older, but she was wild. Always breaking curfew, drinking, smoking, boys…name a stereotypical reckless teenager behavior and Dalia was all over it. And Rose was just a baby, which left Violet to take on the role of responsible, serious adult.
“When Rose needed shots and checkups,” she told Nikolai, “it was my responsibility to get her there. When Dalia was flunking math, it was my job to help her study and get her grades back up. When we didn’t have rent money, it was up to me to talk to the building super and get an extension.”
He kept his eyes on the road but frowned severely enough to make her laugh. “It wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounds. There were certainly plenty of kids in the neighborhood who had it worse. But my childhood taught me just how important my mask was for getting what I wanted.”
His frown remained intact. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Dalia was fun and exciting and vibrant, so she got what she wanted by charming people with her personality. Rose was young and adorable, so she got what she wanted using her looks. I got what I wanted by being smart, calm, rational, and professional. By not letting anyone know how I was really feeling about anything. By being in control.”
He let go of her hand to brush his thumb across her cheekbone and she shivered at the gentleness of the gesture. “And the fancy clothes and pulled-back hair complete the mask, huh?”
She offered him a sad smile. “Pretty much. I’ve always had the need to be taken seriously. I needed adults to see me as another adult, even when I was a kid, because I was in charge of my family when my mom was working, which was all the time. And the mask just kind of stuck with me through adu
lthood.” Violet shrugged. “I guess I got used to it. It became comfortable for me.”
“And if you could just be yourself? If you didn’t need the mask anymore? Would you still wear it?”
In lieu of an answer, she pulled the pins out of her hair and ran her fingers through it to fluff it up. She couldn’t help but sigh with pleasure as her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. God, it felt good to get those pins out. Almost orgasmic. Kind of like taking off a push-up bra after a long day.
When she glanced back over at him, he held her gaze longer than was probably a good idea, considering he was driving. But the heat and intensity in his expression was so overwhelming she couldn’t bring herself to care.
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he shifted his gaze back to the road, and he hit the gas, causing the car to lurch forward. She couldn’t help but smile. She completely understood his urgency. If they didn’t get back to her place, if she couldn’t get skin to skin with him soon, she was pretty sure she might actually die from wanting him.
“I’m the first you’ve let see beneath the mask,” he said, his low, rumbly voice causing a thousand butterflies to take flight in her belly.
“Yes,” she whispered. She was showing him pieces of herself, of her history, that she’d never shown to even her best friends and family. It was scary and exhilarating all at the same time.
He nodded, looking lost in thought, before saying, “Tell me more.”
“What else did you want to know?”
“The dogs,” he answered.
Ah, yes, the reason she stopped at the pound every week, spent hours playing with every dog there, but never took one home. “You’ll think it’s silly,” she warned.
She shifted her gaze out the window even though it was dark outside and she couldn’t really see anything, save the occasional blur of lights as they passed through various little towns and pockets of civilization.
“I always wanted a dog when I was growing up,” she admitted. “We could never afford to have one, so I always said that as soon as I was out of school, the first thing I was going to do was adopt a dog. I went to do exactly that—on my graduation day, I stopped at the pound on my way home. And I just couldn’t do it. There’s so many dogs there, and they all have these horrible backstories. They all need good homes, so I can’t ever decide which one to take with me when I leave. I guess I just feel guilty about leaving the others behind. Like I’m letting them down by not choosing them, you know?”
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