Page 69 of Forced Marriage Vows

“I have to tell you something tomorrow morning,” Anastasia says against my chest.

It’s late at night and we’re both exhausted and thoroughly fucked.

“Okay, baby,” I say easily. “Go to sleep.”

She does, and soon enough I’m joining her, feeling nothing but content and so glad that she came into my life.

It’s obvious that whatever she has to say to me is something big. She wants to talk as soon as we wake up the next morning, but I convince her to wait until after breakfast.

She nervously taps her feet against the floor, avoiding eye contact as I prepare us some avocado toast. We eat in silence, tension dripping in the air, although I pretend not to notice it. I’m pretty worried, though.

“Okay, baby, let’s hear it,” I finally say once we’re done with our meal and the plates are cleared.

Her throat bobs with a swallow. “Mikhail…”

“Whatever it is, just say it. We agreed to be more open with each other, right? I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

“Famous last words,” she mutters.

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

Her gaze softens. “I really hope that’s true. Just promise me you’ll try to understand her side of the story.”

“Whose side?” I ask.

“Sierra.”

That has me pausing in confusion. I rub my jaw as I try to come up with any plausible explanation for her even possibly knowing who that is.

“How do you know Sierra?”

“I met her two days ago. Outside my yoga studio.”

“Alright, and?” I prompt, needing her to get to the point. I’m making conspiracy theories in my head, trying to figure out where this is going.

Anastasia inhales. “And you have a child, Mikhail. Sierra was pregnant when you broke up. She gave birth to your son a few months later.”

Static fills my ears after that pronouncement. I stare at Anastasia in shock, trying to process the words I just heard leave her lips.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Sympathy floods her brown eyes and she reaches for my hand, tracing soothing circles against my palm with my thumb.

“You have a son, Mikhail. He’s a beautiful, amazing little boy. His name is Jalen and he’s three years old.” She says the words slowly while I try to overcome my initial shock.

It takes a couple of minutes and a few deep breaths, but I manage to do so. And then my brain’s working again, trying tounderstand how this could be possible, trying to plan out the next step.

Nothing could have prepared me for Sierra Colby coming back into my life. And definitely not like this.

“Mikhail, you have to say something,” Anastasia prods gently.

I look up at my wife’s face, trying to ground myself to reality. My mouth feels dry and there’s a lump in my throat as I consider the possibility.

“What did you say his name was again?” I ask, my voice rough.

“Jalen.”

I nod once, twice. “And you’re sure he’s mine?”

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