Nikolai 2 (Her Russian Protector #6)

by Roxie Rivera

Uncrossing her legs, she stood up and walked toward me. Standing beside me, she peered at my reflection in the mirror. Her head tilted to the side. "You look different."

  "Different? How?" I pretended I didn't know what she meant.

  She shrugged and fluffed the ends of my hair so that they curled around my bare shoulders. "Brighter? Warmer? I don't know. It's hard to explain." Her smile turned mischievous. She gestured to the swell of cleavage the structure of the dress emphasized. "And look at these!"

  "What about them?" I self-consciously tugged up the front of the dress, but Erin clicked her teeth and tugged it right back down.

  "They're magnificent." She grinned impishly. "I think it's good that you're filling out a little. You're not running as much so it's probably hard for you to burn off all that caviar and those ridiculously delicious and calorie heavy desserts you're eating during Sunday dinner at Samovar."

  "Something like that," I agreed.

  My phone started to ring, and Erin stepped into the dressing room to pick it up. A photo of Lena and Yuri from their recent trip to Disney World lit up the screen. The pair were wearing mouse ears and hamming it up for the camera. Erin swiped her finger across the screen and answered. "Erin Markovic, fashionista, party planner and accountant extraordinaire speaking. How may I direct your call?"

  Smiling at Erin's silliness, I studied my reflection and decided I would need to pair the dress with pretty jewelry. I had a pair of heels in my closet that would look nice. Knowing Erin, she would try to pressure me into the closest shoe department regardless.

  "No, no, I got her into a black dress. It's gorgeous. No. Strapless. Mmmhmm." Erin picked up the one-shouldered dress. "No, this store runs true to size. This one fits Vivi so it's Thumbelina tiny, but I saw a size eight and a size ten on the rack. I can grab either one for you. The ten? Okay. Yeah. Here she is."

  I accepted my phone from Erin who whisked away the one-shouldered dress and gestured toward the front of the store. I nodded at her and slipped back into the fitting room to change back into my skirt and top. "Hey, Lena! How is Austin?"

  "Hot," she replied matter-of-factly. "But the hotel is nice and the offices we're working out of are in an interesting area. This new fracking client Ty recently acquired is in all sorts of trouble. I had hoped this would be a one day deal, but I'm going to be lucky to get out of here by Sunday afternoon."

  I winced in sympathy. "That sounds stressful."

  "I keep reminding myself that it's better to be stressed and busy than sitting around in our Houston offices without new clients or work. Hang on a second." A chair squeaked and high heels tapped against wooden floors. A door whined as it closed. "Speaking of clients," she said, "I was going to touch base with you tomorrow, but I had a weird phone call this morning. I think it's something we should discuss now."

  "Oh?" I put the dress back on its hanger.

  "Are you alone?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  Lena hesitated, and my stomach knotted with anxiety. She never hesitated. Ever. "Look, I know we've talked a little bit about the…complications…of your personal life. You know I've done everything I can to make sure that you aren't bombarded with questions about your dad, your juvie history or Nikolai."

  "I know you've tried," I assured her. "And I've accepted that some parts of my history were going to be too juicy for journalists to ignore."

  "Which is exactly why I was up front about some of the bigger, juicier parts to shield more sensitive aspects." She didn't have to elaborate on what those sensitive aspects might be. She meant Nikolai and his rumored bratva connections. "I've been upfront about your dad's, you know, shenanigans and his fugitive status, but this is different. I don't want to cause problems between you and your husband—"

  I stopped dressing and pressed the phone against my ear. My heart fluttered in my chest. "Lena, whatever it is, just say it."

  "Last week, I had a question from a journalist about a woman named Tatiana Filiopova."

  My breath caught in my throat.

  "Her name sounded familiar so I checked the invite request sheet. There's a Tatiana Melnikova on the list twice. I thought the reporter had gotten the name wrong until I spoke with Yuri last night. I had to pry it out of him, but he finally told me that Tatiana Filipova was Nikolai's fiancée. He told me that she disappeared eight years ago and that everyone assumed she was dead."

  Lena seemed to be holding her breath. "But I think that's a lie. I think Tatiana Filipova and Tatiana Melnikoa are the same woman. I think she just ran away from Houston, changed her name and started a new career in Hong Kong. That's where I tracked Tatiana Melnikova to," she clarified. "She's in finance there."

  "Lena, please be careful with this." I wasn't going to insult her intelligence by insisting she was wrong. "There's a lot of sticky history here. I don't know all the minute details, but Nikolai was very clear that Tatiana is dead to him. He wants nothing to do with her, and she's not supposed to have anything to do with him."

  "I understand," she assured me. "Frankly, this isn't even the worst or craziest client secret I've had to keep quiet. I hesitated to bring all this up, but I didn't want you to be blindsided by some crazy lady barging into your show claiming to be Nikolai's old flame, you know?"

  "Do you think that's what she plans to do? Show up at the gallery, I mean."

  "I don't know. She submitted a request for an invite through me and Niels, but neither of us gave her one. She has no art connections or press credentials so she wasn't a priority approval. She's on the blacklist now." Lena exhaled noisily. "Vivian, it sounds like she has unfinished business with your husband. Yuri was tight-lipped about their history, and it made me nervous. I got the feeling there's more to that story than he wants me—or you—to know."

  A knock echoed in the background on her end of the call. A moment later I heard the voice of her business partner, Ty Weston, drifting over the line. "Hey, sugar, we need to get moving if we're going to make it out to that location. And, honey, I hope you brought those sneakers I recommended. Those Manolos weren't made for a seventy-six stage frack job."

  "They're Mary Katrantzous, and I don't plan to get out of the car."

  "Really? They're not Manolos? They're gorgeous. Are they comfortable? Because I think Cait would look cute in a pair, but you know how she is about her feet."

  "Ty, can we talk about my shoes and your sister's feet later? I'm sort of on a call here."

  "Oh! Right! Sorry. I'll wait for you in the lobby."

  "Vivi? You still there?"

  "Yes." I adjusted the waistband of my skirt and fluffed the bottom of my blouse.

  "Sorry about that. Look, there's something else you need to know."

  "Okay," I nervously replied at her ominous tone.

  "That journalist who first contacted me about Tatiana called me back this morning. He had some very pointed questions about her, Nikolai and some guy named Evgeni Zhukov. This guy is not a reporter that follows the arts and society scene, Vivi. He's into hard news, financial stuff. I think he's going to dig, and I'm worried you might not like what he finds."

  Refusing to be cowed by a nosy reporter, I mentally shrugged. "I'm not worried. There's nothing for him to find."

  "Are you sure?"

  No, I thought even as I staunchly replied, "Yes."

  "Positive?"

  "Yes." I wasn't. I had no freaking idea what this journalist wanted or how complicated the history was between Nikolai and Tatiana. The addition of a third person to the mix made me extremely nervous. What, exactly, was Nikolai hiding?

  "Well, if you need my help, you call me, Vivian. I'll do whatever I can to protect you."

  "I know you will," I said softly. "You're the best almost-sister a girl could ask for, Lena."

  "Butter me up all you want, but I'm still charging you for my services," she teased with a laugh. "All right. I'll see you on Sunday."

  "Be safe at that frack site."

  "I will."

  We ended our call, and I droppe
d my phone back into my purse. I didn't want to dwell on the what-ifs and maybes. I wanted to enjoy my day with Erin. Everything else could wait.

  "I found the size Lena wanted," Erin said when I emerged from the dressing room. "Do you want to look at anything else in the store?"

  I shook my head. "I'm good."

  "Then let's check out and go find some lunch."

  "Sure. Any ideas where you'd like to go?" I walked beside her toward the cashier.

  She glanced at her watch and made a face. "Well, every place in town is going to be packed, but that new last name of yours should get us a table anywhere we'd like."

  "Maybe." I wasn't comfortable pulling the "Do You Know Who I Am?" card just to hop a line.

  "What about Quattro?"

  "At the Four Seasons? Their dinner service is nice, especially in the private rooms," I added, thinking of the delicious meal I had shared with Nikolai in the exclusive wine cellar dining room.

  She stepped up to the cashier and handed over Lena's dress. "Ivan and I had lunch there a couple of times when we were planning the wedding. We really enjoyed it."

  With our bags in hand, we headed for the store's entrance where Ten patiently waited for us. "Where to next, ladies?"

  "We thought we'd have lunch."

  "Okay." He gestured for us to walk in front of him. "Where am I taking you?"

  "The Four Seasons," Erin answered over her shoulder. "Do you remember how to get there? Or do I need to teach you how to use GPS?"

  Ten narrowed his eyes at her. "I was inside for six years, not sixty." His gaze flicked toward me. "Are you sure you want to go downtown? Traffic and parking will be a nightmare."

  "Traffic is a nightmare everywhere during lunch," Erin countered. "Besides you can just valet. I'm sure your boss will reimburse you."

  "That's not the problem," he grumbled in Russian.

  I started to ask him what the problem was, but he suddenly clamped one of his massive hands on my shoulders. He gently but forcefully steered me to the left before reaching out and putting his hand between Erin's shoulders to make sure she followed. His hand returned to my shoulder, and he stepped to my side as if to shield me.

  I leaned back and caught sight of four guys, Latinos close to my age with the Hermanos gang tat emblazoned on their necks, standing off to the left. As far as I knew, the street gang was still relatively tight with Nikolai's crews, but Ten clearly didn't want me getting close to them. He glared at the four men with a terrifying scowl that he had obviously perfected during his six years on the prison yard. The leader of the men inclined his head in a respectful way before retreating to a different part of the mall with his friends.

  With an ever-vigilant Ten at my side, I finally acknowledged the niggling suspicion that had been troubling me for weeks. Alliances were shifting. The city was changing, and I had never been more afraid.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Hey, I'm going to powder my nose," Erin quietly announced when we reached the restaurant. "Get us a table?"

  "Sure." I turned to the side to avoid being whacked by a tall and impeccably dressed man carrying a briefcase. The downtown finance and energy crowd seemed to have descended upon the restaurant for their popular lunch service. Ten's suggestion that we go elsewhere seemed terribly prescient now.

  My shadow stood a few feet behind me. I glanced back at him and instantly noticed his tense posture. A pang of guilt struck me. Ten's time on the inside probably made loud, noisy places like this difficult to handle. His hard-edged gaze jumped around the busy, bustling room. No doubt he saw potential threats in every face.

  The hostess smiled at me. "How many in your party?"

  "Three," I said, stepping up to her station.

  "The wait time is forty-five minutes to an hour," she replied with an apologetic expression. "I'd offer to seat you at the bar until a table opens but…"

  "That's fine. We'll wait." I moved away from the hostess and lifted on tiptoes to see if I could spot Erin. I turned toward Ten. "I’m going to find Erin. I'll be back in a few minutes."

  He took a step forward, almost as if he intended to follow me to the restroom, and then stopped. With a stiff nod, he gave his consent. Lowering his head, he warned in Russian, "You go to the bathroom and you come right back here. If you aren't back in five minutes—"

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," I replied with a roll of my eyes. "You'll come find me."

  "Vivian." The gruff way he spoke my name got my attention.

  Placing a hand on his arm, I made sure he could see my face. "I'll be careful."

  Hiking my purse straps a bit higher on my shoulder, I left Ten. As I weaved in and out of the crowd, I scanned the busy floor for a glimpse of Erin. Quite unexpectedly, a familiar waiter stepped into my path and grinned at me. "Mrs. Kalasnikov! How nice to see you again! Are you looking for your husband?"

  "Nikolai?" The question surprised me. I finally placed the familiar face of the waiter. He had been our server the night Nikolai had brought me here. "Is he having lunch here?"

  "Yes, he's in the cellar. They were just seated. I can take you to see him."

  I wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to interrupt a business meeting. I doubted that he would bring a business contact of the illegal sort to such a public place so the risk of meeting someone or overhearing something I shouldn't was low. Certain he wouldn't mind if I popped in to say hello, I smiled at the waiter and glanced at his nametag. "Would you mind, Rob?"

  "Not at all, ma'am." He gestured toward the wine room. "This way."

  We shared some friendly chit-chat as he led me across the main floor to the tucked away wine room and the private dining area hidden away there. When we neared the entrance, he smiled at me and gestured for me to go ahead before pivoting on his heel and heading back to the floor to serve his guests. I walked toward the doorway but stopped abruptly at the sound of a woman's sultry voice and Nikolai's laughter.

  With hand on the wall to steady myself, I gripped the straps of my purse in the other and listened intently to the familiar tenor of Nikolai's voice. The string of Russian that left his mouth sounded unhurried and easy, his comfort with the unknown woman evident in the gentle way he spoke with her.

  "So when do I get to meet your wife?" she asked, her Russian as languid and soft as his.

  Nikolai issued an amused snort. "Never."

  Feminine laughter filled the air. "I never took you for the type to marry a jealous woman."

  "That's not—it's complicated, Tanya."

  Tanya? My stomach dropped. Tatiana. He was having a secret lunch with Tatiana, the woman he had sworn he hadn't seen in years and wouldn't ever see again. So much for being dead to him!

  "Does she know?"

  "About us?" he asked. "Yes, I told her."

  "You told her everything?"

  My head throbbed with every pulse of my heartbeat. I held my breath and waited for his answer.

  "No," he conceded. "Not everything."

  "You didn't tell her about the baby." It was a statement. Not a question.

  Baby? What baby?

  "No," he answered quickly. "She doesn't need to know about any of that. It will open up too may old wounds—for everyone."

  "Far be it from me to tell you how to run your marriage—"

  "Then don't," Nikolai replied, a warning edge to his voice. "I didn't come here for marriage advice."

  "Why did you come?"

  "Don't play coy, Tanya. You know why I'm here."

  "Then why are we wasting time with lunch? Surely our business is better conducted upstairs in my suite." The teasing, flirtatious tone to her voice clawed at my heart.

  "Because this little stunt of yours dragged me out of bed before I had my breakfast and the striped bass here is one of the best in town," he replied matter-of-factly. "Our business can wait…"

  He didn't mean…? He wouldn't. He simply wouldn't.

  Except…

  He was here with her now, wasn't he? What was to stop him from going upsta
irs with her?

  He loves me. It's me. It's only ever been me. I'm his sun.

  "For dessert," he added almost playfully. "In the suite."

  An ice-cold current raced through my body. My brain couldn't process what my ears had just heard. I didn't know what to do. My courage fled in that moment. All I wanted to do was run. I wanted to get the hell out of here.

  Stomach swirling, heart racing and mouth dry, I retreated from the private dining room with the smallest, quietest footsteps possible. The soft soles of my ballet flats made not even a whisper of noise as I backed down the hall. Clutching my purse and fighting the nausea that overwhelmed me, I emerged into the main dining room—and slammed right into Ten's brawny chest.

  Two massive hands carefully clasped my shoulders. Ten peered down at me with concern. "Are you okay? Erin said she didn't see you. I was worried."

  Still in shock and feeling sick, I sputtered a lie. "I…I…got lost." I sucked in a harsh breath. "I got lost."

  "Vivian," Ten said forcefully. "Are you okay? You look pale."

  "It's the noise and the smells." I had already lied to him once so the next one came so easily. "Can we go?"

  "Yes. Of course." He placed his hand against my upper back and guided me toward the front of the restaurant where Erin was tapping her foot and anxiously scanning for me.

  When she spotted us, her brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

  "She's not feeling well. I think she's been pushing herself too hard for the show and the trip to London." Like a true bodyguard, he shielded me both physically and emotionally. He didn't need me to tell him the truth. He could tell I had been badly rattled by something and needed protecting.

  Embracing her inner mother, Erin clucked her teeth and sidled close to me. "Why don't we get you home, okay? We have a dozen chances for lunch or dinner while we're in London next week, right?"

  "Right," I answered with a slight nod. The shock of overhearing Nikolai and Tatiana and the uncertainty of what, exactly, I had overheard rendered me nearly mute. I let Erin guide me toward the elevators and out of the hotel. Like a robot, I participated in the conversation swirling around me on the ride back to the house. Somehow I managed to keep my answers from sounding mechanic and cold. Somehow I managed not to break down.