Page 56 of The Bratva's Forced Bride

“Did you paint often before?” He questioned, sitting down on one of the stools while we unpacked everything.

I shrugged, thinking back to that time in my life. “I just dabbled. I usually painted when I wanted to feel better about things in the past. It helped me unwind and let go of what bothered me.”

Yaro nodded thoughtfully, grabbing a paintbrush. “I can’t say I have since I was a kid.”

“It’s time to change that,” I murmured, offering him a smile as I prepared the paint for us.

“What are we painting?”

“Whatever you feel like. It doesn’t even need to be anything. Just turn your mind off and let the paintbrush do the work,” I instructed, standing in front of my tabletop easel, ready to get started.

While he seemed unsure, Yaro did the same, dabbing his brush in the paint on his pallet.

We both worked quietly for a while, and I took the chance to focus on my breathing to help me relax. The last few weeks had been packed with non-stop action and concern, and I did my best to try and let it all go.

Things had been going well with Yaro, and I felt more optimistic about our future together. He accepted me as his partner, and by letting me tag along during some work matters, I felt like we managed to establish more trust between us.

When I had been treated as a tradable object, I wouldn’t say I liked Yaro all that much. His anger had been too much for me, and I didn’t know anything about him. But with time, as he put in that effort to establish something more genuine between us, along with the passion that burned between us, I felt different about him. I had the chance to learn more about him and to see him in a different light.

What had started as a nightmare situation seemed to unravel into something completely different, with the potential of being great after all.

It made me smile to think about knowing we could make the best out of an otherwise unfortunate situation.

After some time had gone by, and I finished painting a landscape of snow-covered trees, I pulled back to admire it. I wasn’t the best painter, but I could tell what it was, and that mattered the most to me.

“How did you do?” I asked, glancing over at his canvas.

“Just a minute,” Yaro murmured, adding some finishing touches to his apparent masterpiece.

I couldn’t help but stop myself from laughing at how he stood over his tiny tabletop easel with a look of determination on his face. I found the way he made his paintbrush and pallet look small in his grasp endearing.

Seeing such a big, muscled man like himself partake in something that contrasted his usual daily activities was a sight to behold.

“There,” he said, taking a step back.

I peered over at his canvas, squinting to figure out what he painted. There were interesting swirls of color and different shapes, but nothing I could discern. “It’s…an abstract piece?”

Yaro scowled at me. “You really can’t tell what it is?”

Sheepishly, I shook my head ‘no’.

He pointed at the canvas as if that would help make it clearer. “It’s the city. The high-rise buildings with a sunset behind it all.”

While his explanation helped clear it up for me, I still couldn’t quite see it. But I did my best to be supportive. “You put in a lot of effort.”

Yaro narrowed his eyes at me, not fooled by my words. “You’re patronizing me.”

“I’m not, I swear,” I said with a laugh, trying to hold it in.

“Admit it, it’s terrible.”

“It’s not terrible, it’s…” Looking at the uneven splotches of paint, I couldn’t contain my amusement anymore. It looked like something you’d see in a daycare. “Okay, it’s pretty bad.”

“Maybe you just lack the vision,” Yaro said, reaching over with his paintbrush.

In a quick swipe, the bristles swept across my cheek, leaving a cool sensation in its wake.

Startled by the sudden gesture, I looked at him wide-eyed. “You did not just do that!”

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