After an hour, I knock again on Nikolai's door, hoping he has finished his dinner and I can take the tray back.
"Enter," he calls, and I open the door.
I find him lying in bed, engrossed in something on his laptop. "Sir, I'm here to take the dirty tray and plate away," I say. He looks up at me, and a smile spreads across his face. "Ah, there you are, love." The way he says "love" sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I actually love his voice; it's my favorite thing about him. Wait, what? I want to slap myself for even thinking that.
He smirks and closes his laptop.
"Over here," he gestures to the tray on the nightstand. As I walk over to pick it up, I feel his hand brush against my thigh, and every nerve in my body responds to his touch.
He gently strokes my thigh, his fingers barely grazing my skin. "You know, I couldn't focus on studying. I've been thinking about you," he confesses, his voice soft and sincere. "I just can't get you out of my mind, Lisa." The way he says my name feels like silk, making my heart race. He rolls my name like velvet.
He looks at me intently, his expression filled with warmth. I glance down at his hand tracing my thigh, then back up at him, unsure of what to do. Should I push his hand away, ignoring how good it feels? Or should I lean into the moment and let myself enjoy it a little longer?
"Lisa, sweetheart. You were so good today. I'm proud of you. You can rest now; I don't need you anymore tonight. Please rest early." His voice is low and inviting as he continues to stroke my thigh. "You worked hard for me, and I'm so happy to have you around. You're one of the few people in this world that makes me this happy. Do you know that?"
That praise from him does something to me that I can't even begin to explain.
I blush in so many shades. "Th—thank you, sir. I'm just doing my best." I curse my shaky voice; I'm trying not to reveal anything, but my words betray me.
He continues to gently stroke my thigh. "Good girl," he praises, watching me intently as if trying to read my thoughts. "I know you're trying your best. You deserve some rest now." His hand moves up slightly, giving a soft massage to my thigh as he whispers, his voice low and deep, making me tremble. "You don't mind if I give you a little massage, do you?"
Tempting. So tempting.
But I quickly remember that he is a married man. As a woman with principles, I can't entertain these thoughts or actions.
With those thoughts racing through my mind, I back away from him, carrying the tray of food. "I... I... You know what, you're right. I'm tired and need to rest. Goodnight, sir. I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast." Without waiting for his response, I hurry out, hearing him chuckle behind me. I don't turn around.
I close the door quickly and lean against it, taking a deep breath. What just happened? Did he... Was he trying to... Could he be...
But why does it affect me this much?
Not just his actions today, but whenever he's around, I turn into someone who can't even form a simple sentence. I rush to my room, and when I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I want the ground to swallow me whole. My cheeks are flushed, my face glowing, and my eyes bright. I release my hair from its bun, letting it fall in waves, and splash cold water on my face before heading out to help clean the kitchen and dining area before bed.
Entering the kitchen, I find my mom blending some juice, likely for Meredith. I don't say anything as I start cleaning up. But as she pours the mango juice into a glass, she turns to me. "Is something wrong?" she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.
I turn to look at her and see that familiar 'mom look.'
I panic but quickly cover it up. I don't want her to read into anything. "No, no, nothing's wrong," I insist, shaking my head.
Her eyes narrow. "Then why are you acting so weird?"
My heart races as I try to sound normal. "Weird, like how?"
Before my mom can respond, we hear a sudden, loud scream. "You are such a dick!" Meredith's voice echoes through the house, making me jump.
Curiosity drives me to leave the kitchen, and my mom follows, still holding Meredith's drink. We bump into Nikolai, who walks into the kitchen with Meredith right behind him, still shouting.
"Nikolai, I am talking to you! Don't you dare ignore me!" Meredith glares at him as they enter.
My mom and I stand awkwardly, merely observers.
Nikolai rolls his eyes, completely unfazed by her outburst. He turns to her with a smirk. "Ah, there you are, Meredith. I was wondering when you'd show up." His voice drips with sarcasm. "And of course, my dear wife, always a pleasure to see you too," he adds with mock sweetness.
"You are coming with me to the gala as my new husband, whether you like it or not. I'm not really asking; I'm informing you. It's not really an option," Meredith declares, hands perched defiantly on her hips, radiating sass and anger.
Nikolai scoffs, annoyance flickering across his face. "Oh, really now? So, you've decided to play the commanding wife, have you?"
He smirks, sarcasm lacing his tone. "And if I refuse?"
Meredith rolls her eyes, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "You can't say no to me, Nikolai."
Nikolai raises an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest. "And who, pray tell, gave you the authority to demand my presence at a gala? You may be my wife, but that doesn't mean you own me completely."
Own him? Own. That's an interesting word.
"I am your wife; respect me, Nikolai," Meredith glares.
He laughs humorlessly, his eyes locked on hers. "Respect you? Respect must be earned, not demanded. Just because I am your husband doesn't automatically grant you respect." He steps closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Besides, do you really think you're worthy of my respect?"
I can almost swear I see Meredith's lip twitch. "So you're not going with me to the gala?"
He gives her a coy smile, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Why, you seem awfully desperate to have me by your side at this gala. Afraid of being seen as an embarrassment without a husband on your arm?" His eyes glimmer with mockery. "Or perhaps you simply can't handle the thought of me not being there, hmm?"
Meredith steps closer, her voice seething with anger. "If I didn't love you so much, I would kill you in your sleep."
Her words catch me off guard. All this time, every moment they've shared has been a battle.
Nikolai laughs, completely unfazed by her threat. "Oh, my dear wife, is that your idea of a declaration of love? How romantic." His eyes gleam with sarcasm as he inches closer to her. "It's very endearing to know that the only thing holding you back from committing homicide is your 'love' for me. I feel so cherished."
I expect Meredith to apologize, but instead, she warns, "If you don't come with me to the gala, I will make you pay for it."
He raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You're really hellbent on having me by your side at this gala, aren't you? What's so special about it that you're threatening me?" Crossing his arms over his chest, his tone oozes skepticism. "Don't tell me it's some kind of power play, dear wife. Trying to show off your husband to your friends?"
The next words out of Meredith's mouth take me by surprise, making my mom and me exchange confused glances. "Marrying me saved you and your family; don't forget that."
What does that mean?
He scoffs, rolling his eyes at her arrogance. "Saved me? Is that how you see it? Perhaps I should thank you for deigning to marry a lowly man like me, is that it?" He steps closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm well aware of the circumstances that led to our marriage, but don't for a moment think you can throw that in my face whenever you please."
Lowly? What's lowly about him?
What Meredith does next takes all of us by surprise. She grabs the drink from my mom's hand and throws the mango juice all over Nikolai's face. "Fuck you!" she screams in anger. Nikolai gasps as the cold liquid splashes across his face and clothes, momentarily stunned. With that, Meredith storms out of the kitchen, and I look after her, then back at Nikolai in shock.
I quickly grab a paper towel and hand it to him. "Here you go, sir."
He takes the paper towel, still seething. "Arrogant woman..." he mutters under his breath, wiping the juice off his face. He tosses the damp towel into the garbage bin, trying to regain his composure. "That woman... throwing juice on me like I'm some child having a tantrum." He shakes his head in disbelief. As his anger subsides, an amused smirk creeps onto his lips. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Well, that was certainly unexpected. I never would have thought she was capable of such a childish display." He chuckles softly, shaking his head.
As he turns to look at me, a sudden idea seems to spark in his eyes. He steps closer, his smirk widening. Leaning in slightly, he lowers his voice to a whisper. "You know what? This little incident has given me a wonderful opportunity."
My heart skips a beat, and I feel myself blushing. Why do I blush so much around him?
"What is that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He smiles slyly, his eyes locking onto mine. "Since you're here, why not... help me get cleaned up?"
I look at him in shock, caught off guard. I bite my lower lip, trying to think of a response, then glance at my mom, who is still distracted in the kitchen. "I... I... Sure."
He chuckles, sensing my hesitance. He glances at my mom, then leans in closer, his voice a soft whisper. "Oh, don't worry about her. She's focused on something else; she won't even notice."
Stay calm, Lisa. Stay calm.
"You, um... want me to help you how?"
He smiles mischievously, his eyes locking onto mine. "Isn't it obvious, my dear maid? I need to get all this juice off my face and hair. And who better to assist me than you?" He steps closer, our bodies almost touching.
I silently pray my mom isn't noticing this. I quickly say, "Oh, okay. We just need to wash it off. Maybe in the bathroom."
He nods, a sly smile on his lips. "Excellent idea. The bathroom it is, Lisa."
He leads me up the stairs and into his bedroom, closing the door behind us. Turning to face me, a playful smirk appears on his lips. "Ah, much better. Now we can have a bit more privacy here." He walks toward me, and I lean against the door, feeling his eyes glide over me. "I think we should wash the mango juice out in the bathroom sink."
He chuckles softly, a hint of mischief in his tone. "You seem awfully eager to get back to the bathroom, don't you? But I suppose there's no harm in indulging you, my dear maid."
Taking my hand, he leads me into the bathroom and guides me toward the sink. Leaning against it with a smirk, he gestures to his still-sticky hair. "Go on then. Help me wash this out, my dear maid."
I quickly head to the cabinet, retrieving the shampoo as I feel his gaze on me. He tilts his head slightly, resting his chin on his hand, watching with a playful expression. "Ah, perfect. Make sure you get all that mango juice out, okay? I can't have any sticky residue left."
"Okay," I reply, pouring some shampoo into my hand and starting to work it into his hair.
He closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation as I massage the shampoo into his scalp. The coolness of the liquid seems refreshing, slowly washing away the sticky residue. I catch glimpses of his face in the mirror, and I have to remind myself to stay focused. "Mmm... That feels quite nice. You have a gentle touch, Lisa."
I blush, flustered. "T-thank you."
His eyes remain closed, a soft smile on his lips. I'm captivated by how relaxed he looks, enjoying this moment. "You're welcome. Keep going. Make sure you cover all of my hair."
Touching him like this, even just his hair and scalp, sends a wave of nervous excitement through me, leaving me warm and fuzzy inside.
"Okay," I respond, unable to stop staring at him. How is someone so handsome? So perfect? People say God doesn't have favorites, but how does he look like this?
He stands relaxed as I continue to wash the shampoo into his hair. I focus on the sensation of my hands gently massaging his scalp. As I'm lost in thought, I notice him open his eyes slightly, peeking at me through half-lidded lids. "Mmm... You're doing well. Just make sure you don't miss any spots."
No chance in hell I'm missing any spots, is what crosses my mind, but I simply nod, not trusting my voice to hide my feelings.
He leans against the sink, clearly enjoying the massage. After a moment, he speaks again, his tone teasing. "You know, you really are quite skilled at this, my dear maid. You should consider a career as a hairdresser."
I blush, realizing I've been washing his hair for too long. I retract my hands and say, "You need to rinse it out."
He nods, pushing himself away from the sink. "Ah, yes, of course. I need to rinse it out." Leaning his head back over the sink, he closes his eyes again as I turn on the faucet. The water flows through his hair, washing away the last traces of shampoo. I gently run my fingers through his hair, ensuring it's all clean. His hair feels so smooth, and I can't help but feel a pang of envy. "You're good now, sir."
He lifts his head and looks at himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his freshly cleaned hair. Standing up straight, he turns to face me with a smile. "Ah, perfect. I should get you to wash my hair every day."
I pull my hands behind me, fidgeting as I cross my legs. "Do you need a towel?" I ask, eager to change the subject.
He thinks for a moment, then nods. "Yes, a towel would be lovely, Lisa."
I glance around the bathroom, spotting a yellow towel nearby. I hand it to him, and he wraps it around his wet hair. "Thank you, Lisa. You're so thoughtful." He pats the towel against his hair, drying it off as much as possible.
The silence that follows makes me uncomfortable, so I decide to do what I'm good at: run.
I nod lightly. "Of course. If there isn't anything else, I have to go do the dishes."
He watches me intently for a few seconds before nodding. Leaning against the counter, a small smile plays on his lips, he says, "Of course. Thank you once again for your help." He continues to dry his hair with the towel as I turn to leave the bathroom.
I'm surprised he didn't touch me this time, which makes me wonder if I'm misinterpreting his signals or if he's genuinely being friendly.
One minute he looks at me like I'm edible, and the next, he seems purely friendly. Well, he did say he wanted us to be friends.