Rejected: A love story

Chapter 172: Truth

Nathan let out a long sigh and leaned his back against the kitchen counter. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the empty corners.

Nathan sat back in the chair, looking exhausted. He watched Viktoria as she moved around the kitchen, her movements so familiar that it made him feel sick in his heart. Finally, he seemed to be coming down from the alcohol-induced haze and had enough clear-headedness to make him feel like himself again.

"I haven’t been back here in a long time," Nathan said, his voice barely a whisper. "I moved all her things here after the funeral. I couldn’t stand to look at them in the city, but I couldn’t throw them away either. It felt like I was burying her twice."

Viktoria stopped what she was doing. She looked at the cupboards, the stone counters, the heavy wooden beams. "Why here?"

"It was supposed to be our getaway," Nathan said. "I bought it a month before the accident. We never even got to spend a night here together. I just... I piled her clothes in the closets and her books on the shelves and locked the door."

He took a good look at her. How she held her tea cup, the pinky finger bent just like how Fiona always did. The combination of the pain and alcohol made him feel like he was taking risks.

"There’s a reason I kept calling you a fraud. It wasn’t just the photos. It was because you were too damn perfect. The way you tilt your head when you’re annoyed... the way you cross your arms. It felt like someone was playing a cruel joke on me."

"You know," Nathan said with a sad, crooked smile. "I used to have this stupid name for her. She hated it at first, but after a while, she wouldn’t answer to anything else when we were together."

Viktoria felt a strange pressure in her chest, like a door was being pushed from the other side. "What was it?"

Nathan looked away, his eyes damp. He hadn’t said the word out loud in years. It felt like a holy thing, something that belonged only to a dead woman. But looking at Viktoria, he couldn’t help himself.

"Cupcake," he whispered. "I called her Cupcake."

It was as though the entire universe paused as the realization crashed down on Viktoria. The entire kitchen blurred out of focus. She didn’t see the stone walls of the estate anymore, instead she saw a large fancy mansion. She felt the heat of a pot and heard a man’s deep laugh with her. Next came the feel of strong arms embracing her waist, and that same voice, whispering those precise words to her ear amidst her own giggles and protests.

The teacup dropped from her hands, breaking upon hitting the ground and spilling its hot contents on her, but she remained still as ever.

"Viktoria?" Nathan asked, standing up quickly. "What’s wrong? Did I say something?"

She couldn’t answer. Her mind was screaming. The name Cupcake was ringing in her ears like a bell she couldn’t stop. It wasn’t just a word; it was a key. For the first time in years, the "Viktoria" part of her brain felt like a mask that was starting to crack.

She looked at Nathan, and for a split second, she didn’t see a stranger or a business partner.

"Nathan..." she breathed, her voice sounding different, more like the woman he used to know.

"Viktoria!" Nathan exclaimed, reaching out to grab her arm. "Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?"

Viktoria snapped back to reality. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might break her ribs. She felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead. She quickly pulled her arm away from his grip and knelt on the floor, frantically picking up the broken shards of porcelain.

"I’m fine!" she said, her voice sounding high and frantic. "I’m sorry, I... I just got startled. My mind was somewhere else."

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Nathan said, kneeling down beside her. He tried to take a piece of the cup from her hand, but she pulled back again.

"It’s just the stress, Nathan," she lied, her pulse still racing. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. If she looked at him now, she was afraid he’d see the truth in her eyes. "I haven’t slept, and these people following us... it’s just a lot. Don’t worry about it."

"Viktoria, your hands are shaking," he noted, his voice turning gentle.

"I said I’m fine," she exclaimed, a bit harshly than she intended. She stood up quickly, clutching the broken pieces in her palm. "I’ll just... I’ll go get a cloth. Stay there. Don’t step on the glass."

She turned her back on him and hurried to the sink, her mind screaming ’cupcake’

How did she know that feeling? How did she have a memory of a place she had never been? She gripped the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection in the dark window. She looked like Viktoria, the wife of Nikolai. But inside, something was coming apart.

Nathan remained on the floor for a while, looking at her. He made no effort to rise as he gazed at the place where she stood before and back to her.

"I’ll go check on Alex," Nathan said after a long silence. He stood up slowly. "He’s in the basement looking at the security feeds. You should get some rest, Viktoria. We have a long day tomorrow."

"Yes," she whispered, still not turning around. "Rest. That’s a good idea."

As she heard his footsteps leave the room, Viktoria let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

The glass shards bit into her palm, but she didn’t care. She felt like she was splitting in two. One half of her was a Russian wife and mother, but the other half—the one triggered by that stupid nickname—was screaming that she belonged to the man who just left the room.

She heard the basement door click shut and the house was quiet again.

Instead of going to get a cloth, she turned around and walked back to the spot where she had dropped the cup. She looked down at the tea-stained floor, then at the chair where Nathan had been sitting. Her legs felt weak, she needed to sit, but not there. She moved toward the small wooden table in the corner, sinking into a chair and burying her face in her hands.

A moment later, the sound of the basement door opening made her jump. She expected Alex, but it was Nathan again. He was carrying a small first-aid kit.

"You’re still bleeding," he said softly. He didn’t ask for permission; he just pulled a chair up right next to her. The table was small, and their knees brushed together. The heat from his body felt like a jolt of electricity.

Viktoria tried to pull her hand away, but he gripped her wrist firmly. "Hold still," he murmured.

He opened her palm and began picking out the tiny slivers of porcelain with a pair of tweezers. He was so close she could smell the whiskey fading, replaced by the scent of him. His head was bent low over her hand, his dark hair messy.

"I’m sorry I keep bringing her up," Nathan said, his voice low and raspy. He didn’t look up from what he was doing.

"It’s not fair to you. You have a husband and you have a son. I shouldn’t be looking for a dead woman in your face."

Viktoria watched him. Her heart was still hammering, but the panic was turning into something else—a deep, painful ache. "You loved her very much," she whispered.

"I didn’t just love her," Nathan said. He paused, a small shard of glass held in the tweezers.

"She was my home. When she died, I didn’t just lose a lover.... I lost the only place where I felt like I could breathe."

He looked up then, and they were so close their noses almost touched. Nathan’s eyes were searching hers, looking for something, anything, to tell him he wasn’t crazy.

"Sometimes," he breathed, his hand still holding hers, "I look at you and I feel like I can breathe again. And it scares the hell out of me."

Viktoria couldn’t move. She knew she should stand up and go to Mateo. She knew she should tell him to stop. But her fingers instinctively curled around his, seeking the warmth. For a long, silent minute, they just sat there, their knees touching.

"Nathan..." she started, her voice trembling.

He didn’t let her finish. He reached up, his hand trembling as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.