Billionaire Without A Past. Carol Marinelli

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       CHAPTER THREE

      NIKOLAI TOOK RACHEL by the hand and they headed back inside.

      The doors were held open for them as they entered the ballroom. Indeed, the music had started and, though there was an ache for physical contact, there was a need to be close on a different level.

      Nikolai was not used to needing to know more about somebody. He usually preferred minimal exchange of information, yet somehow she intrigued him just as much as he fascinated her.

      Why, Rachel wondered as he led her to a dark corner, was she considering telling this man something that she was struggling to tell her very best friend? Maybe it was because, unlike Libby, he had seen her discomfort about the topic of André’s wedding. Rachel didn’t blame Libby a bit—clearly her mind had been on other things this afternoon. Still, Rachel could just imagine Libby’s reaction if, or rather when, she found out that it was her cousin Shona that André was marrying.

      Libby’s distaste she did not want to see.

      Would she get that from Nikolai?

      Rachel truly didn’t know.

      Still, it would be nice to get someone else’s perspective. She was tired trying to work through it herself.

      He called a waiter over and asked for coffee, which was served with a slice of wedding cake.

      She liked it that he did not rush her to speak, that instead he watched as she peeled back the icing from the cake and picked off the marzipan.

      ‘You don’t like it?’ Nikolai checked.

      ‘No.’

      He took it from her plate and as she watched his fingers tear the pale yellow dough, Rachel wondered if she might change her mind about not liking marzipan just to have him lift it to her lips.

      He was shockingly attractive, not just in looks but in his measured movements and the way his eyes lifted and met hers. Instead of asking her about André, he asked about her.

      ‘You dance professionally?’ he asked.

      ‘I do,’ Rachel said. ‘Well, I’ve actually just left the company. We dancers age terribly...’

      ‘How old are you?’

      ‘Nineteen,’ Rachel said, and wondered if he’d get her little joke—the curve of his delicious mouth told her that he did. ‘I’m thirty-two,’ Rachel told him. ‘You?’

      ‘Thirty-one.’

      ‘And not dead.’

      ‘Nope.’

      ‘I’m so glad.’

      ‘So am I,’ Nikolai agreed with a wry smile.

      ‘Will you keep in touch with them?’ Rachel asked. ‘Now that—?’

      ‘I don’t think so.’ Nikolai interrupted. ‘I’m just here for tonight.’

      She wanted to protest, but it wasn’t her place. In truth, there was also an odd comfort that tomorrow he would be gone. She could tell him her truth and not have to face him again.

      ‘So why are you not looking forward to the next wedding that you are to attend?’

      Rachel had to pause before answering. His English, though excellent, was slightly disjointed and spoken in an accent far stronger than either Sev’s or Daniil’s.

      ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Nikolai said, taking her silence as discomfort, but Rachel shook her head.

      ‘No, no.’ She actually wanted to tell him. ‘It’s a bit...’ she pulled a face ‘...unsavoury.’

      ‘Do tell.’

      ‘The groom is an ex-boyfriend of mine.’

      ‘Okay.’

      ‘And the bride is my cousin.’

      She waited for his eyebrows to rise, or for any indication that he found that distasteful, but he just stared back at her and his impassivity allowed her to go on.