A Bride for Kolovsky

by Carol Marinelli

  She could feel him watching her, sensed his irritation, and her blue eyes jerked up from the mirror. ‘What?’

  He shrugged and looked away before he answered. ‘I don’t like vanity.’

  ‘I’d suggest that you do!’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You’ve dated enough vain women,’ Lavinia pointed out. ‘According to my impeccable sources.’

  ‘Five-dollar magazines?’ Zakahr was derisive, but still he was intrigued. Lavinia wasn’t remotely unnerved by him, and it was surprisingly refreshing. ‘Are you always this rude to your boss?’

  ‘Was I rude?’ Lavinia thought about it for a moment. ‘Then, yes, I suppose I am. You wouldn’t last five minutes in this place otherwise.’ She was annoyed now—he just didn’t get it. ‘And it has nothing to do with my being vain—this isn’t me!’ Lavinia said. ‘This is me at work. Do you really think the Princess wants someone greeting her in jeans with oily hair?’ She was on a roll now! ‘And another thing—while by your calculations I was five minutes late, I was actually fifty-five minutes early. Most people start work at nine. And because work insists I look the part, when I got to work I ensured that I did,’ she concluded, snapping closed her lipgloss as the driver opened the car door. Then, having said her piece, she suddenly smiled and did what Lavinia did best—got on with the job. ‘Let’s go and meet the Princess!’

  Zakahr had realised back at the office that it would be extremely offensive for him not to greet the royal guests, and he was more than a little grateful to his dizzy PA for her strong stance. Because it wasn’t just the Princess—the King himself was here. Zakahr quickly assessed that one bad word from this esteemed guest and even the great Kolovsky name would be dinted.

  Zakahr swung into impressive action—greeting the guests formally in the VIP lounge, and immediately quashing any disappointment that neither Nina nor Aleksi was here to greet them. Lavinia was very good at small talk, Zakahr noted, back in the limousine. She chatted away to the shy Princess and her mother, and very quickly put them at ease. And every layer of lipgloss, Zakahr conceded, was merited—because it was clear the royal family expected nothing less than pure glamour, and Kolovsky could deliver that in spades.

  ‘The team are so looking forward to finally meeting with you,’ said Lavinia now.

  She was nothing like the pale, wan woman who had stepped into his office this morning. She was effusive, yet professional, and as they stepped out of the limo it was Lavinia who paved the way, speaking in low tones to Zakahr about what was taking place.

  ‘We take them through to the design team now.’

  The King remained in the car, his aides in the vehicle behind, and they all waited till they had driven off before the colourful parade made its way to the centre of Kolovsky. Every door required more authorisation, but then they were in.

  ‘Thank you.’ Zakahr was not begrudging when praise was due, and as they left the Princess in the design team’s skilled hands he thanked Lavinia. ‘It would have been unthinkable of me not to greet the King!’

  ‘I know!’ She gave him a wide eyed look. ‘They don’t normally come—the men, I mean. Lucky!’

  He didn’t know why, but she made his lips twitch almost into a smile. He contained himself as Lavinia showed him the wedding displays, all locked behind glass and beautifully lit. She headed straight for the centrepiece.

  ‘This,’ she said, ‘is the one they all want. The Kolovsky bridal gown.’ He stared at it for a moment. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Lavinia pushed.

  ‘It’s a dress,’ Zakahr said, and Lavinia laughed.

  ‘It’s the dress! It was supposed to be for the Kolovsky daughter, or one of their son’s brides—well, that’s what Nina and Ivan intended.’ She didn’t see his face stiffen. ‘It’s the dress of every woman’s dreams,’ Lavinia breathed, peering closely and steaming up the glass as she did so. ‘It actually is,’ she added. ‘I dreamt about this dress long before I ever saw it.’

  Zakahr was not going to stand there and engage in idle chit-chat about a wedding dress, and without a word he walked off. But she caught up with him, trotting along to keep up with his long strides, and—annoyingly for Zakahr—carrying on with her incessant chatter.

  ‘I used to fall asleep dreaming about my wedding, and I swear that was the dress I was wearing—it really is the dress of dreams.’

  ‘You fell asleep dreaming of your wedding?’ They were in the lift now, and he couldn’t keep the derisive note from his voice.

  ‘I was eight or so!’ Lavinia shrugged, then coloured a touch as his eyes assessed her.

  ‘You don’t dream of it now?’ Zakahr checked, and he watched her ears pinken a fraction.

  ‘Sometimes I do.’ She shocked him with her honesty. ‘Then the alarm goes off and it’s back to the real world.’ She gave him a little wink as the lift door opened. ‘Or I hit the snooze button.’

  Was she being deliberately provocative? Zakahr couldn’t be sure, and it irked him. There was an edge to Lavinia—an openness that was inviting, a smile that was beguiling—and yet there was a no-nonsense element to her too, almost a wall. The combined effect, he reluctantly admitted, was intriguing.

  ‘We have much work to do,’ Zakahr said as they reached the office suite. ‘We’ll start the one-on-one interviews tomorrow, but this afternoon I will address everyone—liaise with HR, but I want you to arrange it.’

  ‘It’s not possible,’ Lavinia told him. ‘People have meetings scheduled, and there are—’

  ‘Anyone not present has effectively handed in their notice.’ He cut her off mid-sentence. He would accept no excuses, and Lavinia’s lips pursed as he left her no room for manoeuvre. ‘Just do as I ask.’

  ‘The thing is—’

  Zakahr halted her. ‘The thing is I am in charge now. Whatever your relationship with your previous boss— disregard it. When I say I want something done, it is not up for negotiation.

  ‘Which night do we dine with the King?’

  ‘Wednesday. But I don’t do dinner.’ Lavinia shook her head. ‘They only trust me with the occasional airport run.’

  ‘Well, for now you do the social side of things too,’ Zakahr said. ‘You have a promotion.’

  ‘I don’t want it,’ came her immediate response.

  Lavinia loved her job—she’d vied for pole position with Kate at times—but she didn’t actually want to do Kate’s work. And it wasn’t just the fact that she wasn’t remotely qualified. There was Rachael, her studies, Nina—just so many demands on her time right now it really was an impossible task.

  ‘You will be remunerated.’

  ‘It’s not about money,’ Lavinia said. ‘I’m busy…’

  ‘Too busy to work?’ Zakahr frowned. ‘I’m not offering you a promotion—I am telling you that I need a PA, and you either step into the role or I will have to consider my options.’

  ‘You’ll fire me?’

  ‘If I don’t have a PA what is the point of employing her assistant?’

  She felt the knight sweep towards her. Click-click: he knocked away her pawn, and of course it was checkmate. But instead of saying nothing, instead of pleading her case, Lavinia refused to give him the satisfaction. Rather, she blinded him with a smile and accepted defeat with grace. ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘Pardon?’

  She loved that she’d confused him. ‘I’d love to accept the role, Zakahr.’

  ‘Good. Move your things out to the main office,’ Zakahr said. ‘Then go through your diary and cancel your social life.’ He was completely immutable. ‘For now your time is mine.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  LAVINIA had never worked harder in such a short space of time.

  Firing off e-mails, replying to e-mails, then resorting to repeating—not quite verbatim—Zakahr’s warning, she sent a final e-mail with the word ‘COMPULSORY’ in capitals, and a little red exclamation mark beside it—though she did wrangle from an unwilling Zakahr exclusion for Jasmine’s design team. Then s
he cleared the main function room of a group of sulky models and designers who were trying to prepare for a photoshoot for the sulkiest of them all—Rula, a stunning redhead who was to be the new Face of Kolovsky. Finally checking the PA system, Lavinia had done in an hour what it would take most a full day to achieve.

  Not that Zakahr thanked her as she raced back to her office to collect her bag. He merely glanced up as he came in.

  ‘Everything’s in place.’ Lavinia spritzed her wrists with perfume. ‘I’ll be back before two.’

  ‘Back from where?’

  ‘Lunch!’ From his expression she might just as well have sworn. ‘I’m surely entitled to a lunch-break?’ In support of her argument, Catering wheeled in a sumptuous trolley of delights for Zakahr, but it did not appease him.

  ‘We will work through lunch,’ Zakahr said. ‘Come and eat with me.’

  ‘I really can’t,’ Lavinia said. ‘I’ve got an appointment. A doctor’s appointment.’ She ran a hand over her stomach and Zakahr pressed his lips together.

  She knew every trick, he realized. Knew with just that fleeting gesture no man would pry into women’s business—and Lavinia was certainly that: a woman.

  ‘Sorry!’ Lavinia added.

  She didn’t hang around for his reaction. Instead she darted out to the lift, just a little bit breathless at her lie—because if Zakahr knew where she was going on her lunch-break he’d do more than sack her. It was, she knew, the ultimate treachery. He’d go ballistic if he knew where she was heading.

  But she couldn’t not go.

  ‘Hi, Nina.’

  Nina didn’t look up—she was talking to herself in Russian—but Lavinia hugged her. Trying to keep the shock from her voice, she chatted away—except Lavinia was shocked. In a couple of days the other woman had surely aged a decade.

  Nina had somehow got through her son’s wedding. On day leave from the plush psychiatric hospital, and sedated from strawberry-blonde head to immaculately shod feet, she had worn a smile and a fantastic Kolovsky dress, and with Lavinia’s help had managed to get through the service. But clearly the public effort had depleted her.

  Her hair hung in rats’ tails, her nail polish was chipped, and there was no trace of make-up. The silk she usually wore was replaced by a hospital gown, and all Lavinia knew was that Nina—the real Nina—would absolutely hate to be seen like this.

  ‘I’m going to do your hair, Nina,’ Lavinia said, rummaging in her locker and finding some hair straighteners. ‘And then I’m going to do your nails.’

  Nina made no response. She just sat talking in Russian as Lavinia smoothed out her hair. Only when Lavinia sat and worked on her nails did Nina speak in English—the questions, the statements, always in the same vein. ‘He hates me. Everyone hates me.’

  ‘I don’t hate you, Nina,’ Lavinia responded, as she always had since the day the news had hit.

  A terrible day that was etched for ever in her mind.

  Aleksi had returned from his accident to find Nina had taken over, and a terrible struggle for power had ensued. Nina had taken advice from Zakahr, who from afar had fed her ideas that would make huge profits but, as Aleksi had pointed out, would also cause Kolovsky’s demise.

  Then Zakahr had swept in, and for Aleksi realisation had hit: the man toying with Nina was actually his brother.

  Lavinia could still recall the moment Nina had found out that Zakahr was her son. She had held Nina as she’d collapsed to the floor while Aleksi had told her in no uncertain terms of what Riminic, the child she had abandoned, had endured in the orphanage, and then in graphic detail what the runaway teenager had gone through to survive on the streets.

  ‘They will never forgive me.’ Around and around Nina went.

  ‘Your family just need some time to process things,’ Lavinia said patiently. ‘Annika has been in to see you, and Aleksi has rung from his honeymoon. I know Levander has been in touch from the UK, and Iosef has been in to see you.’

  ‘They are all disgusted with me.’

  Lavinia let out a breath and focussed on painting a middle nail. Sometimes she truly didn’t know what to say. ‘They need time,’ she said.

  ‘I had no choice,’ Nina pleaded, but Lavinia would not be manipulated. She was used to her mother’s ways, and in a lot of things Nina behaved the same.

  ‘There are always choices,’ Lavinia said. ‘Maybe you made the best decision you could at the time.’

  ‘I should have tried to find him,’ Nina said, and Lavinia, who never, ever cried, felt her eyes suddenly well up.

  The nails she was trying to focus on blurred, and for a moment she couldn’t answer—because, yes, Nina should have tried to find him. And, yes, when they were so rich and powerful, surely, surely she should have tried to find her son. And it dawned on her, fully dawned, that the brooding, closed-off man she had met this morning was actually the baby Nina had abandoned.

  ‘Why didn’t you?’ Lavinia couldn’t stop herself from asking. ‘Why didn’t you even try?’

  ‘I saw how everyone hated me when Levander came to Australia—when they found out I knew his mother had died, and that Levander had been raised in Detsky Dom orphanage…’

  Lavinia blew her hair upwards. Nina was getting more and more indiscreet, and the rumour that had quietly blown through Kolovsky—that Nina had known all along—was, to Lavinia’s horror, confirmed.

  ‘Levander wasn’t my blood, and still they hated me. I couldn’t face it if they knew there was more—that I had left my own son too.’

  ‘Well, you have to face it.’ Lavinia bit down on the sudden white-hot fury that shot through her. ‘You have to face it because the truth is here.’

  ‘Does he ask about me?’ Nina begged. ‘Does Riminic ask about me?’

  ‘Nina…’ Lavinia shook her head in exasperation. ‘He doesn’t have a clue that I know who he really is—to me he’s Zakahr Belenki, someone Kolovsky was doing business with, and he’s taken over now that Aleksi is working solely on the Krasavitsa fashion line and you are not well. That’s all he thinks I know.’

  ‘He is beautiful, yes?’ Nina said. ‘How could I not see he was my son? How did I look in his eyes and not recognise him?’

  ‘Maybe you were scared to,’ Lavinia offered. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. She was loath to leave her because at least Nina was talking now, but she had no choice. ‘I have to go, Nina.’

  And then, in the midst of her devastation, as always Nina remembered.

  ‘How is your sister?’

  Lavinia toyed with whether to tell her or not. She had always confided in Nina, but now it just didn’t seem the right time.

  ‘She’s doing okay.’

  ‘She likes kindergarten?’

  ‘She does,’ Lavinia said quietly, thinking of Rachael’s serious little face—a guarded face that rarely smiled. She was reminded of Zakahr.

  ‘You keep fighting for her.’

  Nina stroked Lavinia’s cheek, and Lavinia truly didn’t get it. She had seen the worst of Nina—had heard her bitch and moan, had worked alongside her even as she tried to have Aleksi ousted. With all the shame of her past—the fact she hadn’t fought for her own son—there was so much to despise, and yet Nina could be so kind.

  ‘Give her my love.’

  ‘I will.’ Lavinia stood up. ‘I’d better get back.’ She really had better get back—hospital visits didn’t really squeeze into lunch-breaks, and she’d have to run through the car park to make it back to the office.

  But as she raced out of the lift she saw Zakahr had beaten her to it.

  ‘How was the doctor?’ he asked.

  ‘Not great.’ Lavinia put on her best martyred face, but instead of being cross with her Zakahr actually wanted to laugh—she was such an actress.

  ‘Poor you,’ Zakahr said, and she caught his eye, not sure if he was being sarcastic—not sure of this man at all.

  He unsettled her.

  All morning he had unsettled her—in a way very few
did.

  She would not be intimidated. Lavinia utterly refused to be. Only it wasn’t just that—it was the lack of roaming in those eyes, the stillness in him as he looked not at her, not through her, but into her that made her breath quicken, made the ten-second lift-ride down to the main function room seem inordinately long. And when the lift doors opened she forgot to step out.

  ‘After you,’ Zakahr said, when she had stood for a second too long.

  And because Zakahr didn’t know the way to the stage entrance Lavinia had to lead, awkward now, with him walking behind.

  ‘Hopefully everything’s in place…’ She hung back a touch and walked in step with him, tried to make small talk. But Zakahr, of course, didn’t engage in that.

  Lavinia was just a little impressed with what she had achieved—and just a little praise would have been welcome. Effectively the place had been put into lockdown, and now, as they stood in the wings, instead of models and the new season’s display, it was Zakahr Belenki who was the star of the show, with wary, disgruntled staff waiting to hear their fate.

  He wasn’t in the least nervous, Lavinia realised, as he leant against the wall reading e-mails on his phone while the head of HR read out his credentials to the tense audience. Even Lavinia had butterflies on his behalf, yet Zakahr was as relaxed as if he were waiting for a bus.

  ‘Hold on a second…’ She put her hand up to correct his tie, just as she would have for Aleksi, just as she would have if Nina had had a strap showing as she was about to walk on. But on contact she immediately wished that she hadn’t. The simple, almost instinctive manoeuvre was suddenly terribly complicated. She felt his skin beneath her fingers, inhaled the scent of him as she moved in closer, the sheer maleness of him as she moved his tie a fraction to the centre and went to smooth his collar down.

  His hand shot up and caught her wrist.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Zakahr was the least touchy-feely person on the planet. Flirting, unnecessary touching—he partook in neither. Lavinia seemed a master at both.

  ‘Sorry!’ His reaction confused her. There had been nothing flirtatious about her action, but Zakahr seemed less than impressed. ‘Sheer habit,’ Lavinia explained. Only her voice came out a little higher than normal, and her breath was tight in her chest as those eyes now did roam her body. His hand let go of her wrist, but instead of dropping to his side, the warm, dry hand slid around her neck. Lavinia stood transfixed. For a second she thought he was going to pull her towards him—for a full second she thought she was about to be kissed—but instead his fingers stole down the nape of her neck to the tender skin there, tucked in a label he couldn’t even have seen beneath her thick blonde hair. And then he mocked her with a black smile. She could see the flash of warning, and she could see something else too—the danger beneath the slick surface of him.