Chapter 36
Elena’s POV:
I brushed my stray locks behind my cars and shook my head. “It was just a lucky guess,” I said casually, trying to ignore the way his eyes softened as he looked at me.
It wasn’t a lucky guess. Not even close.
The truth was, the second Nikolai stepped inside our house–his eyes moving curiously from the walls to the furniture, lingering on framed photos and odd little decorations I always overlooked–1 was yanked back to another memory. The first time Dmitri had visited.
He hadn’t looked around in curiosity like Nikolai was doing now. He hadn’t even pretended to be polite about it. His expression back then had been pinched, like the smell of turmeric offended him on a personal level. And when Mom handed him a steaming cup of chai with her usual warm smile, he’d barely concealed his distaste. Still, I remembered what he’d said after taking a tentative sip.
“Nikolai would probably like this. It’s weird. Sweet and spicy at the same time. Just like him. A complete oddball.”
At the time, I’d laughed. I hadn’t even known what he meant by it–whether it was an insult or just a harmless observation–but I’d clung to the fact that he knew something about his brother. That he remembered his likes and dislikes even though they weren’t close. Back then, I thought it was sweet. The kind of subtle affection people didn’t notice until they were paying attention.
But oh, how wrong I’d been.
Dmitri didn’t know those things about his brother because he cared. He knew because he watched. Because he compared. Because he copied. It didn’t matter if he actually liked something or not–if Nikolai had it, Dmitri wanted it. If Nikolai liked something, Dmitri suddenly needed to hate it, mock it, or take it for himself out of sheer reflex.
Back then, I’d called it a “quirk.” A harmless, competitive streak. Something cute even, like some sibling rivalry that never really grew out of adolescence.
Now?
Now I realized it had never been cute. It had never been harmless.
It had always been jealousy. Possessiveness. That quiet, corrosive resentment that festered beneath smiles and half–hearted jokes. And I’d been so blind to it. So stupidly, helplessly blind.
Fucking idiot.
My gaze flicked to Nikolai now, seated on the couch across from me, cradling his teacup with one hand, his other lazily resting on the armrest. He looked so out of place in our modest home, yet more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.
The words Dmitri had thrown at him last night came rushing back–about his father not loving him, about his mother being dead. It had been brutal, hearing those words. I couldn’t imagine someone saying that to me. Saying George didn’t love me. And George wasn’t even my biological father
It must have cut Nikolai deeper than he let on.
“Come here. I’ll tie you a braid,” Mom said gently from where she sat, breaking me from my thoughts.
I nodded, glancing at the kitchen clock. There was still time before the biryani was done. I had originally planned to change into something more formal, pack up dinner, and head over to Nikolai’s penthouse. After all, I had to uphold my end of the contract, and before that I had to make sure Mom ate and slept well.
But now he was here. Sitting on our couch, sipping chai, surrounded by the smell of cumin and fried onions and he wasn’t even bunching up his nour like most people did. As though the smell of well spiced and tasty food personally offended them.
I act on the carpet, settling myself at Mom’s feet as she parted my hair and began to braid it.
I could feel Nikolaj walching me. That heavy gaze. It lingered at the back of my head like a heat source.
“Don’t move I’ll go awry? Mon chided, tugging gently at a knot
I stilled, bating back a small smile. She hadn’t braided my hair in ages. Not since before I got engaged to Dmitri. Not since everything had slowly started getting hectic and spinning out of control
When she finished, she tied the end with a black band and patted my shoulder. I turned to look at her in the mirror and smiled softly.
“You look good in braids, Nikolai commented.
1/2
8:42 PM
Chapter 36
A sharp contrast to the memory that immediately followed,
“Don’t make that hairstyle,” Dmitri had said, cringing. “You look like a village girl.”
{2}
I shivered. The way their words clashed in my mind made my chest ache. One made me feel seen. The other made me feel small.
“Really? It’s been a while since I’ve braided my hair,” I muttered, tugging gently at the plait. “It’s nice.”
I meant it. Braids were practical. They kept my thick hair out of the way, stopped it from tangling or giving me a headache. Ponytails pulled at my scalp. Buns gave me migraines. Letting it down got too hot, too fast. I’d thought about cutting it more than once. But I never did.
Because Mom loved it. She loved my hair. Said it was beautiful and strong. Said it reminded her of
made her smile–I wanted to hold on to.
“Go check the biryani,” Mom said, waving me off.
she was young. And anything that
I got up and padded into the kitchen, the smell of cardamom and cloves hitting me full–force. The pot was simmering gently on low heat, steam escaping in puffs. Nikolai followed me in, his jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows as he leaned against the doorframe.
“Need help?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, “Could you set the plates?”
He pushed off the frame, walking over to the small cabinet and pulling out dishes with quiet ease.
“Wow, that smell is intense. What’s it called?” he asked, peering into
the pot.
“It’s a Pakistani dish called biryani. It’s been ages since I made it. I was going to
“Our house,” he interrupted.
pack
and bring it over to your house-”
I blinked. “Hm?”
“Our house, Malishka,” he repeated, reaching over to pluck a single grain
of
rice
off the wooden spoon and taste it.
His casual possessiveness made my skin flush. He kept doing that. Saying things that sounded so fucking sweet I wanted to scream. I turned back to the stove, focusing on plating the food instead of how my brain was short–circuiting.
“Nikolai,” I started, “Are we going to leave after dinner?”
I was already aching from the day. But the contract still stood. He had à schedule. I had my part to play. He had done so much for me after all, the reason my mother was sitting in the living room alive and well was through his help.
He frowned, clearly not thrilled. “Do we have to?”
My brows lifted. Remembering how he’d agreed to staying at my home till mom recovered. “You’re actually going to stay here?” I thought he had been kidding.
He smirked, setting the final plate down. “Why not? Might be a change of pace. I want to know how it feels like…”
“How what feels like?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
He leaned in then, his breath warm against my cheek as he whispered, “Fucking while your parents are in the house
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