Page 81 of Forced Marriage Vows

Adrenaline is still pumping through my veins. All I really want to do is curl up in bed with my wife and hold her to my chest. But there’s a part of me that’s worried about what her reaction will be. We didn’t get to talk much after I shot her father. And I wish more than anything that I hadn’t been the one to take that shot.

But when I walked in and saw him pointing that gun, my entire system went into lockdown mode. All I could think was saving her, making sure she was unarmed.

I killed her father. And now I’m terrified she might hate me for it.

When I walk through the doors of the penthouse, the first person I see is Anthony. He’s leaning against the wall of the living room, a can of beer in his hand, his eyes fixed on his sister. Anastasia’s on the couch, leaning against her best friend. Leah rubs comforting circles on her back.

Her eyes lift to meet mine as soon as I walk in and they’re red rimmed from crying. The sight of it is like a punch to the gut. It floors me to see her in pain. I’d do anything to ensure that it never happens again.

Anthony steps forward. He looks okay, for the most part. There’s no pain in his expression, despite the death of his father.

“How’s Jalen?” he questions.

“He’s okay.” I nod. “With his mom for the night.”

“That’s good,” he murmurs.

There’s worry simmering in the depths of his eyes, too. His gaze flickers to his sister, then back to me. I try to communicate that I’ll do anything to make this okay, to fix it.

“Leelee, we should probably go,” Anthony says. “I’ll spend the night in the mansion. See you both tomorrow.”

Leah hugs Anastasia tight before getting to her feet. She offers me a small smile as she passes by. Anthony leans over his sister, running his hand through her hair.

“It’s gonna be okay, little sister,” he murmurs softly to her in Russian.

He places his hand on my shoulder in acknowledgment before he leaves. I take that to mean that he doesn’t blame me. That he’s not angry about what I did.

Once they’re gone, I settle down next to my wife on the couch. It takes a long time before she speaks, but I wait patiently, ready to hear whatever it is she has to say.

“I feel like such an idiot,” she mutters.

“You’re not,” I immediately assure her.

“Everyone tried to tell me the truth. They tried to show me who he really was, and I was so blind. So fucking blind.”

“He was your father,” I tell her softly.

She finally looks at me, brown eyes sunken, exhausted.

“He’s also the man who terrified me so much in my dreams,” she states and I realize she managed to get the truth from Igor before he died.

I’m glad she found it on her own. When Anthony told me that story, I’d been enraged. And when she’d mentioned her nightmare to me, I’d wanted nothing more than to make her understand it was all his fault. But I controlled myself because no one could have helped her to see the truth. She had to find it on her own.

“How are you feeling,solnyshko?” I ask quietly.

“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “I’m feeling so many things.”

“Tell me.”

She rubs at her eyes, sighing in defeat. “I’m angry, so angry—at the world, at Igor, at myself?—”

“At me?” I ask, scared of the answer.

She shakes her head. “I could never be angry at you, Mikhail.”

I let out a soft breath of relief, shifting closer to her.

“I understand why you did it,” she continues. “And I’m glad it was you. Thank you for not making him suffer.”

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