Doctored Vows - Chapter 17

Zoya’s eyes narrow into thin slits when I mutter, “It’s my fault. He asked me to pretend to be his wife, not a hussy who opens her legs after the slightest bit of attention. I should have never let him touch me like that in public.”

“You were in the privacy of a walled cabana.”

“That had one of its walls pinned back. Anyone could have seen us.” I breathe out slowly before confessing, “Someone did see us.”

Zoya’s eyes widen as she moves to the edge of her seat. “Who?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen him before. The deep scar along his jaw kind of makes him memorable.” I slump into the sofa before resting my arms above my head. I want to excuse my aching muscles on a lack of use, but that would be a lie.

They’re still reeling in the delightful tightness of a blistering orgasm. “I tried to tell Maksim we had a gawker, but I…” Too ashamed to continue, I finalize my reply with a groan.

Zoya would never let me off so easily. “But you…?” Her mouth falls open when I slant my head and arch a brow. “Maybe you should tell Maksim exhibitionism is your kink. Then he won’t go psycho when a guy eyeballs you. He’ll take full advantage.”

“Exhibitionism isn’t my… kink. And as if he’d go psycho.” I’m not worth the fight.

You’d swear I vocalized my inner thoughts when Zoya whacks me upside the head with a pillow. She mushes it with my face so well the static the velour material makes with my hair almost drowns out the buzz of our suite’s doorbell.

“Do you think it’s Maksim returning to finish what he started?” Zoya asks like she’s aware I’m using Aleena’s pending hen party as an excuse to hide in our suite instead of the one next door.

“He didn’t start anything.” She hits me with a look I will never live down. My best friend witnessed me orgasming. Trying to pretend I’m not mortified, I say, “But I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

After rolling my shoulders and fixing my hair like my low self-esteem hasn’t tried to convince me my facial expressions when climaxing were the cause of Maksim’s abrupt departure, I mosey to the door and open it.

“Hi…” I breathe out slowly, my confidence dipping when the person on the other side isn’t who I am expecting.

It isn’t one person. Multiple bodies are cramming the once spacious hallway.

The lady Aleena is meant to meet with this afternoon to get glammed up for her night out begins the parade of women and men of all shapes and sizes. A middle-aged woman with a rack of designer clothes ends it.

“Can we come in?” asks the pack leader. I think her name is Sandra.

“Of course.” When I move out of the doorway and gesture for them to enter, they pile in one by one, filling the space in under a minute. “Was this you?”

I whisper to Zoya when the team commences setting up a glamour station suitable for an A-list star. It reminds me of the behind-the-scenes clips Zoya watches while waiting for the Oscars to start.

Zoya shakes her head before joining me at the side of the living room that now feels half its size. “All my party funds went to Maksim so he wouldn’t be out of pocket for my stuff up.” She bumps me with her hip. “And because I wanted to make sure you stayed with him purely for your greedy little self.” Her lips curl into a wicked grin. “Seems as if I misjudged your greediest organ. I thought it was your heart, not your—” I clamp a hand over her mouth before she can say another word.

Only once the flare of her nostrils announces she is a mouth breather do I release her from my hold.

For several minutes, we watch the team set up a glam station that would have any woman frothing at the mouth to participate before Zoya eventually saunters away from me, her hips swinging.

“Whoever organized this has class and money.” She waves her hand at the case of champagne a delivery man dumped just inside the suite’s door, not brave enough to enter a room that appears seconds from being overwhelmed by estrogen. “They wholesale for three thousand US dollars a bottle. I’d hate to see their retail value.”

Even announcing how pricy the bottles are doesn’t stop her from snagging one from a crate and cracking it open. She takes a generous swig before tilting the bottle my way.

“Are you sure?” she asks when I shake my head.

“I’m sure. The last time I drank, I woke up married. Enough said.”

After tossing her head back and laughing, she takes another hefty swallow and then passes the bottle to Aleena, who has entered the living room with her mouth ajar and her eyes misted.

Her excited response to being spoiled by her husband-to-be makes me wish Zoya would keep the gift giver’s identity a secret. Alas, she’s too giddy to keep quiet. “The last time you got drunk, you woke up married to a man who could easily afford this.” She twists the lock I wish her lips had and throws away the key before saying, “Maksim made me promise not to say anything.”

Aleena’s shoulders slump as fast as my heart rate climbs. “You just told me this was Maksim.”

“I did no such thing,” she denies. “I implied it was him. Totally different.” Before I can utter a single defense, she pokes me in the chest and cocks a brow. “And before you get all worked up, this has nothing to do with your eagerness to get freaky with him in a cabana in the middle of the day.” I want to crawl under a cushion and die when her words reach the women setting up a manicure station on our left. “He organized this before we went to the pool.” Guilt crosses her features for barely a second before it is overrun by sassiness. “I may have hinted that this is the best way to get over a hangover.”

“Z!”

“What? I had no clue he’d take my hints for a mini spa day this far.” Even if she were lying as straight as a line, her smile makes her appear as crooked as her bottom teeth before she got braces. “I’m kinda glad he did, though. Who doesn’t want to be treated like a princess?” She drags Aleena and me to stand in front of multiple stations you’d expect to find at a high-end spa, before asking, “What shall we do first? Pedi, mani, or a full-body massage?” When she notices the masseuse is tall, wide, and male, the devil on her shoulder decides on her behalf. “Him. Definitely him.” When I don’t follow Aleena and her to the Swedish giant, she cranks her neck back to peer at me. “Come on, Keet. Don’t be a party pooper.”

“I’m fine here.” When her bottom lip drops, I add, “This day isn’t about me. It is about Aleena and ensuring she has the best hen party known to mankind.”

“That’s true,” Zoya immediately fires back, doubling Aleena’s smile. “But I have a feeling your denial is more because you’d rather your husband rub out your kinks than a stranger.”

“They’re pretty much the same thing.”

She laughs, taking my comment as intended—playfully—before she’s lost to the magic of a gifted pair of hands.

I use the unexpected silence I rarely get in Zoya’s presence well. I read about the social and political aspects of the development of neurosurgery in the late nineteenth century and how meningioma terminology was the subject of nationalistic pride.

It is an interesting piece, but I’ve barely given it an ounce of attention the past twenty minutes. I’ve spent more time glancing longingly at the wall that separates my suite from Maksim’s than my Kindle.

Although I shouldn’t be able to hear anything over the clink of champagne glasses and the laughter a few glasses of bubbly instigate, I’m reasonably sure Maksim returned to his suite twenty minutes ago. A door creaked, and then, barely a minute later, running water trickled through the wallpapered divider between us.

Understandably, I’ve been in an inferno ever since.

Images of Maksim in the shower at Myasnikov Private are rolling through my head on repeat, so you can imagine how tense the situation between my legs became when I recalled his confession on how he used my face as inspiration while masturbating the past two weeks.

Add those two points to the euphoria I was experiencing in the cabana, and the tiny snippets of memories breaking through the fog in my head, and you have the perfect recipe for disaster.

I’ve been straying my eyes to Zoya’s gift too often to brush it off as curiosity.

I’m horny—extremely—and fighting not to march into Maksim’s suite and pretend his request for us to share the same bed each night includes sexual activities.

“Nikita?”

I snap my eyes away from the wall dividing my suite from Maksim’s before straying them to the entryway of my room. Zoya has her shoulder propped on the doorjamb. She looks relaxed but sexually frustrated.

I’m not going to lie. I’m glad it is finally on her face instead of mine.

That doesn’t mean I won’t try to act like I’m not a harlot lusting over a man I’ve only just met, though.

“It’s not nice to be teased, is it?”

She groans before slowly pacing into my room. “I swear I was this close”—she holds her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart—“but I just couldn’t quite get over the line.”

“Orgasming with an audience is hard.”

She looks at me as if I lost my marbles. “It wasn’t that. I just…”

When she goes quiet, I’m confident I do not know the woman across from me. Zoya doesn’t shy away from anything, much less something as unthreatening as controversy.

My heart thuds in my ears when a reason for her peculiar response smacks into me. “You have feelings for the guy you duped!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never fall for a guy like that.” She holds back her truth for two whole seconds. “His son, though… I wish he wasn’t so damn sexy. He would be a lot easier to forget if he were butt ugly.” When she flops onto my bed, the study snacks I downed like a piggy crinkle beneath her.

I cringe when she pulls out the multiple wrappers I was hiding under a thick duvet.

“You didn’t eat all of these, right?”

I snatch them from her hands and stuff them back under the bedding. “We’re not discussing my poor eating habits while studying. We’re discussing you and the unbelievable notion that you may have developed feelings for someone.”

“But those aren’t normal chocolates⁠—”

“No buts. Tell me about this guy and why you thought running with his daddy’s money was better than seeing if he feels the same way?”

My back molars crunch when the first reason she smacks me with is highly valid. “He’s married or soon-to-be married. Something like that.”

“Z—”

“I didn’t know that when we started messing around.” She rolls over and props herself on her elbows. “He says that they’re not sexually involved.”

“They all say that.”

“I know,” she grinds out, dramatically sobbing. “But he’s so convincing I almost believe him.”

“Only almost?”

She breathes out of her nose before peering up at me with pleading-for-forgiveness eyes.

“Z…”

“It’s not my fault. That man can swoon, and when he’s jealous…” I could have lived without seeing her hued cheeks and glossed-over eyes. “Fuck. I’ve never known someone so cocky.”

“Have you met my husband?”

Her laugh is nice to hear considering the tenseness of our conversation. “I have.” She locks her eyes with me. “That’s one of the reasons I asked for his help. If I had to return the money to Andrik this morning, I may not have survived.” Fear crosses my face, but she’s quick to douse it. “Not like that. I mean, I may have become the other woman… permanently.”

“His hold over you is that strong?”

It kills her, but she nods. “If he weren’t taken, maybe you wouldn’t be the only one shacked up with a hot hunk of a man you barely know.”

I try to think of something to say, either witty or helpful, but I’m genuinely stumped. Zoya lives life in the fast lane, but I knew it would eventually slow for the right person. I just never fathomed that that person would be already taken.

After squeezing her hand, soundlessly promising I will always be there for her, I ask, “Do you want to go back to the chocolates now?”

She smiles, grateful for the diversion, before replying, “In a minute.”

I eye her curiously, shocked she’s not jumping at the opportunity to steer the attention away from her. She loves demanding the focus of a room, but only when that room is full of men.

“With everything going on”—she wiggles her hand at the lower half of my body so I can’t miss what she means—“I completely forgot why I left you in the hands of a genius who clearly knows what he’s doing.” She gets off track remarkably quick for someone with a GPA as high as mine. “Was that a new record? Surely it was a new record. I had to go up and down ninety floors, but you were done by the time I got back.”

She laughs when I whisper, “I wasn’t in the right head space to set my stopwatch… but yeah, I think it was.” For the first time in over a decade, I remember my ability to have fun didn’t end when my baby sister died. “His skills are mind-blowing. They kind of make me…”

“Jealous?” Zoya answers when words elude me.

“I was going to say horny, but yeah, jealous could be used too.”

She laughs again, and it is infectious. “That might have more to do with the chocolates you gorged while studying, but let’s focus on one matter at a time.” With a megawatt smile, she tosses her phone into my lap. “I cleaned the album up for you. You should be able to go back at least three days and be safe of any vulgarities.”

“Only three days?” I jest while logging into her phone and opening her photo album.

Because I click on the first photo displayed, the events of last night play in reverse. They start from me tossing the bouquet—and purposely aiming it at an ashen-faced Zoya—to my best friend holding the dress Maksim pointed out this morning against herself and snapping a hundred selfies.

“What?” Zoya says with a laugh when my flicks make her move like a cartoon. “That dress was gorgeous. Even I was wondering what it would be like to get married in it.” She nudges me with her elbow before she switches the photo album for videos. “This one is my favorite,” she says, stopping on a video that registers as familiar even with my memories clouded.

“I remember that,” I murmur more to myself than Zoya when it commences playing.

She peers down at the footage that’s bordered by the door and doorframe she must have shoved her phone between to capture the private moment between a groom and his bride-to-be, but remains quiet, leaving the floor to me.

“All day today, I’ve been seeing images of Maksim kneeling in front of me and peering up. I thought maybe he was proposing.” I trace the garter Maksim is placing high on my thigh before whispering, “The way he was looking at me should have sobered me up, but it made me worse. I was intoxicated…”

“By him,” Zoya and I say at the same time.

When I snap my eyes to her, she smiles. “You said the same thing last night, and in an instant, everything made sense. Drugs weren’t speaking on your behalf. It was that big fat heart you tried to lock away when your mother died.” Wetness pools in her eyes, making me panicked. “You told him everything, Kita. About your sister and your mom and how their deaths drove your dad insane.” She tries to bring out some playfulness to ensure our tears remain at bay. “Your hate of pistachio nuts and anything associated with them.” There’s no jealousy in her tone when she admits, “You even told him things I didn’t know.” There’s nothing but love and admiration. “I’ve never seen you like that before. You were so free, and since he gave you that, I stepped back and let you do what you wanted to do. Will you hate me for it in the future? Maybe. But for now, I get to watch you live for you instead of everyone else.”

“It’s my job,” I try to defend, loathing that I’ve done such a terrible job of making out that I’m okay when I’m barely surviving. “I’m meant to help people.”

“It is. I agree. But occasionally you have to accept help as well. If the well is empty, no one will be able to drink from it.” She aligns our eyes so I can see the honesty in them. “Not even you.” When I screw up my face so hard I’m afraid of a new wrinkle, she gives me the same out I gave her earlier. “Do you want to go back to the chocolates now?”

I nod, almost sending sentimental tears rolling down my face. “Please.”

“Okay.” She squeezes my hand before pulling out the wrappers I hid.

It dawns on me that I was more gluttonous than first perceived when my quick head count announces I consumed more sugar today than I do during Donut Holes Thursday. It is dark chocolate, which makes it not as bad as regular chocolate, but the flavanols found in dark chocolate are meant to lower your blood pressure.

This batch did the opposite.

I’m buzzing all over and don’t feel the slightest bit tired.

“I’ll probably pay a hefty penalty for my gluttony tonight.”

“We can only hope,” Zoya replies, her voice husky with concealed laughter. “Because they’re not standard chocolates. I had these especially shipped in for Aleena’s honeymoon.”

My throat works through a dry swallow when she turns over the lid of the box I didn’t pay attention to when my hunger got the better of me.

Break. Bite. Bang. Pleasure-boosting dark chocolate to increase your sexual performance.

When my eyes snap to Zoya, she waggles her brows before saying, “You’re welcome.”