Page 48 of Forced Marriage Vows

“After the race tracks, Leah dragged me out shopping. She tends to do that. It’s stress relief for her,” she informs me. “After that we got lunch and then I came home. I got bored prettyquickly so I decided to go on a walk. And now I’m here, relaying the entirety of the day’s events to my bossy husband.”

“I’m not bossy,” I retort.

“You are the bossiest person I’ve ever met, Mr. ‘I don’t take no for an answer and I always get what I want,’” she mimics, taking on a deeper voice that sounds nothing like me.

When my lips curl in distaste, she laughs and the sight of it immediately melts away my annoyance. It hurts, seeing her laugh like that. I don’t think it’s supposed to hurt.

“You took your camera along on your walk,” I mention, remembering she had it slung over her neck when she walked in. I lean against the counter, watching her. “How did you get into photography?”

CHAPTER 15

Anastasia

That’s a deep question. Oddly enough, I don’t think anyone’s every asked me that. I started showing an interest in photography when I was about fifteen. My father never questioned why I suddenly wanted to take classes and learn. He just bought me a camera and made sure I had everything I needed, and things developed from there.

Anthony’s never cared much about me taking pictures. And my mother…

When I look at Mikhail, he’s watching me intently, waiting. I’ve never told anyone this before. But for some reason, I’m unable to deny him whenever he flashes those pretty blue eyes at me.

“The first picture I took after getting my camera was of my family,” I start. “Back then, I always felt like an outsider looking in. It was the last family vacation we had before everything fell apart. Before Papa put a gun in Anthony’s hand and asked him to kill someone.”

Mikhail doesn’t react to what I say. I’m sure he knows all about it.

“My mother was still around then as well,” I continue. “We went to Peru. It was nice. I think we were happy, but I don’tremember if I was. All I know is that when it came to my family, I grew up feeling like I didn’t really belong.”

“Because of your mother,” Mikhail says, heat behind his words.

“That’s right. She was not the most maternal person in the world. Or at least not to me. I grew up receiving stern lectures and disregard from my mother. She preferred showering Anthony with the meager amount of love she had to give. My mother’s a bitch,” I say firmly. “My father didn’t care much, either. I’ve always been his little girl, but he never really doted on me much until he lost Anthony. Once my brother was gone, I became the object of all his attention. Basically, he cared about me before Ant left but once Ant was gone, he cared even more. And I liked it. Pathetic, right?”

His gaze holds mine. “Not even a little bit,solnyshko,” he murmurs.

I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the sudden lump.

“Anyway, thanks to my lack of parental affection, I developed some form of outsider’s syndrome. Self-diagnosed, of course, and aptly named by yours truly,” I say with a smirk. Mikhail shakes his head, his lips twitching. “When you grow up looking in on the people that are meant to love you, you observe everything from a distance. Looking at things through a camera lens allows me to truly appreciate the beauty of things. Everything’s more admirable when you’re looking at it from afar.”

I shrug once I’m done, wondering if he understood what I was trying to say. Mikhail doesn’t say anything for a long moment. And then he’s moving toward me across the kitchen. My breath hitches when he steps between my spread legs.

The position feels all too familiar. And intimate. My heart races.

“How do I look up close?” he asks, his face dangerously close to mine.

Utterly devastating.

“I can’t tell. This is mildly disturbing,” I murmur, unable to look away from the pull of his eyes.

He smiles. “You don’t have to look through a lens to see me, Anastasia. I’m right here, sweetheart. And I see you—all of you.”

The words are sincere, soft. My breath hitches. “You can’t say things like that.”

“I can say whatever I want.”

My eyes fall shut as I try to find a train of thought that doesn’t run straight to me kissing him. I really want to kiss him right now.

“You don’t fight fair, Morozova,” I whisper.

“When it comes to you? Never,” he promises, the warmth of his breath on my face.

My eyes open and he’s much closer, his mouth inches from mine. But I know he won’t close the gap. Because he’s an asshole who gets off on me being the one to quit. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to do just that.

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