Page 51 of Forced Marriage Vows

I met Lucia Volkov a couple days ago at the wedding. She’s married to Ivan Volkov, who is one of the most powerful men in the Bratva. Like me, Lucia was also seemingly forced into her marriage to him a couple months back. You wouldn’t know it looking at her now, though. She’s glowing, happy and content. I saw the way she and Ivan looked at each other at the wedding. Especially him. He stared at her like she hung the moon.

“I’m glad you came.”

She invited me to hang out at the wedding because in her words, she’s been in my exact position and she knows exactly how I feel. I’m not sure about that, though.

I’m also not sure if yoga’s an activity I want to be partaking in. Lucia notices me staring up at the building with narrowed eyes and laughs, linking our arms together.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” she tells me as we head toward the entrance. “I’ll buy you a smoothie once we’re done.”

Inside the studio, the calm atmosphere instantly settles something in me. The light scent of lavender fills the air, and soft music plays in the background. It’s peaceful, almost serene, and I understand why Lucia likes it here so much. The room is spacious, with natural light pouring in through large windows. We roll out our mats and settle in, the world outside fading as the instructor guides us through a series of slow, deliberate movements.

By the time we reach the end of the session, my muscles feel looser and my mind, for once, isn’t spinning with endless thoughts. After class, Lucia and I head to the small café next door, and she buys me the smoothie she promised before we sit down outside. The sun’s still warm but not unbearable, and there’s a light breeze that makes the morning almost perfect.

“So,” Lucia says, taking a sip of her smoothie, “I heard you’re into photography. That sounds nice.”

I shrug, stirring my drink absentmindedly. “It’s nothing serious, more of a hobby than anything else.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t say that. I saw some of your pictures on your Instagram. They were beautiful. My favorite is the one you took of the setting sun. You managed to capture something truly amazing.”

I’m surprised that she took the time to go through my pictures. It’s touching. I offer her a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Lucia. Honestly, photography’s pretty special to me.”

“Have you ever thought about taking pictures professionally?”

I shake my head, feeling the disappointment from my epic failure with the Smithsonian. Granted, I turned them down at the end, but that first rejection closed me off completely from trying again.

“Not really,” I reply.

“Would you ever be interested in working professionally?”

I blink at her, wondering at the questions. “What are you getting at?”

Her smile turns mischievous. “Well, I don’t know if you know, but I’ve just started my own fashion magazine. It’s still new, in its early stages, but we’re growing. And I’ve been looking for a photographer who’s not only talented but has an eye for something special. You’d be perfect for the job.”

I’m speechless for a couple of moments. “Wait, are you serious?”

“One hundred percent,” Lucia leans forward, excitement in her light brown eyes. “I have a vision for my magazine, Anastasia. And I think you’d fit that vision. So, what do you think? I promise you’ll like it, and if you don’t, you can always quit. It’s that easy.”

The idea of working with Lucia is tempting. She just seems like such a nice person to be around, and it’s a chance for me to put myself out there. I’m not sure I’m qualified enough for whatever it is she wants me to do, but I’d like to at least try.

“It sounds amazing, Lucia. But?—”

“No buts,” she interrupts, grinning. “Just think about it. No pressure.”

I nod, the idea lingering in my mind. It just might be exactly what I need. We sit in comfortable silence for a moment beforeLucia breaks it with a question that feels heavier than the casual tone she uses.

“So, how are things with Mikhail?”

I freeze, my fingers tightening around the cup. Lucia’s eyes land on them before she looks back at me, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“I’m guessing not well. Especially considering you two didn’t even go on a honeymoon.”

I snort. “We don’t even like each other.”

She smiles softly. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It’s complicated, Lucia,” I admit. “Incredibly complicated.”

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