Page 23 of Forced Marriage Vows

“Thanks for the hard work, Volkov.”

“Just make sure you’re worth it,” the older man says gruffly before ending the call.

Once he does, I look down on my table, staring at Anastasia’s phone. I collected it from her before showing her to the room. She didn’t even put up much of a fight, not that it would have done her much good if she had.

Her phone lights up occasionally with texts from her best friend, and her latest text spells her worry. I’ll allow Anastasia totalk to her once I’m sure she’s become more acclimated to her situation.

I hold my breath when her phone rings, her brother’s name flashing across the screen. I watch it, making no move to answer the call. It rings two more times before going silent.

The fact that he called her without calling me tells me all I need to know.

He knows.

I decide to prepare breakfast for myself and Anastasia as a means of breaking the ice. Or at least get her to stop staring at me like she expects me to pull out a gun and shoot her in the head. By the time she wakes up, I’ve already made French toast, scrambled eggs, and coffee, all placed on the dining table.

She steps out of the room in the same clothes she was wearing yesterday. She looks beautiful, despite obviously just waking up. Her blonde hair is piled up on her head in a messy bun and there’s a sleepy look in her deep brown eyes. Something searing lashes at my chest at the sight of her.

“Morning, sweetheart,” I greet as she walks toward the dining table with careful steps.

She eyes the spread suspiciously, looking from it to me in confusion.

“Is that a SpongeBob apron?” she finally asks after a couple of seconds.

I look down at the article of clothing with a cartoon character drawn on it.

“Oh, is that what the yellow guy is called? I wouldn’t know. This was a gift from an ex-girlfriend.”

Her lips part. “I don’t know what’s more unbelievable, that you don’t know what SpongeBob is or that someone was able to stand you enough to be in a relationship with you.”

“I’m a perfectly tolerable man, Anastasia,” I reply.

“Perfectly tolerable men don’t kidnap women from their homes,” she retorts, a fire in her brown eyes.

“You’re still on about that?”

“It happened yesterday, you ass! And you’ve yet to let me go.”

“Alright,” I say on a nod. “I’ll take it under consideration, after you eat. I made breakfast and it’s getting cold.”

“Unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath.

But she doesn’t argue any further as she takes a seat at the table, pulling one of the chairs back. She must have been pretty hungry because she starts eating without another word. I watch her for a couple of seconds, trying to decide what my next move should be.

“Stop staring at me like a creep,” Anastasia says around the rim of her coffee cup.

I chuckle, sliding into the chair opposite hers. “You know I’ve never had a woman in my home before?”

“Really?” she drawls. “And what about all those women who had the misfortune of being in a relationship with you?”

“I have other properties. But those were girlfriends, you’re to be my wife, Anastasia.”

She chokes at that, coughing lightly for a couple of seconds. Once she’s done, she lifts her eyes to mine.

“Would you stop saying that? It’s not happening.”

I give her a look, urging her to stop being delusional.

“Why do you even want to marry me?” she questions, exasperation clear in her tone. “Is it because of a crush? Are you hiding some kind of ridiculous infatuation, Mikhail?”

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