Page 7 of Forced Marriage Vows

“Yes,” I say slowly.

Last night I was upset because I went as far as to fly to New York in order to get the deal. I hate flying, but I did it because I thought it would be nice to get my pictures featured in a popular magazine, show my talents to the world. But now I’m not so sure about that.

Photography’s always been special to me. I’ve been using a camera since I was ten, capturing moments in my life, taking pictures of nature and art, anything I found beautiful. Seeing the world through a lens helped me grow an appreciation for the finer things in life.

Selling my pictures never held any appeal to me until Leah got it into my head that it would be a good idea. After last night, though, I’m even more sure I shouldn’t have tried it in the first place.

“Would you like to review the terms of the sale? Perhaps you’d like us to double the price for the pictures?” he asks.

That almost makes me laugh. “A little desperate, Mr. Rodriguez,” I point out. “You can always find a new photographer to work with.”

“It has to be you. My livelihood depends on it.”

That gives me pause. “What do you mean by that?”

He doesn’t immediately reply.

“I-I mean that your pictures are exactly what the magazine needs. My bosses are already set on it and they fit the theme for our next edition.”

I can almost picture him squirming in his fancy office chair.

“Oh, really?” I say, my tone revealing my disbelief. “Did my father put you up to this?”

This entire conversation is suspicious. Last night, I was so sure that they’d decided against going with my pictures and now he’s calling me, absolutely shitting himself like he’ll be shot if he doesn’t get me back on board. That screams of my papa’s influence.

I wouldn’t put it past him to try to help me out behind my back, despite the fact that I really don’t need it.

“No, ma’am. This has nothing to do with your father. Last night was a mistake and this is me trying to make amends,” Rodriguez informs me in an even tone.

I’d be inclined to believe him if I didn’t know my family. That being said, there’s no way of proving that my papa really is involved. The fear in his voice makes it clear someone’s twisting his arm for this and if that’s true, then I’m really not interested.

“Thank you for trying to make amends, but I’m done with the Smithsonian. Make sure to inform your boss or whoever’s putting you into this that I’m the one turning the offer down. Good bye, Mr. Rodriguez.”

“Miss—”

I hang up before he can say anything else. Deciding to check up on my brother and Leah, I step out of my room, shutting the door a little harder than necessary. The conversation with Rodriguez is still buzzing in my head, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the sight of Anthony sprawled out on the couch, looking like death. My lips twitch.

His hair’s a mess, and he’s clutching his head like it might actually fall off if he lets go.

“Morning, sunshine,” I say, a bit too cheerfully, walking into the living room.

He groans, barely lifting his head, “Shh. Not so loud, Anastasia.”

I grin. “You look awful,” I say in Russian.

“Spasibo, little sis. Much appreciated,” he says, groaning again, this time with a little more drama.

I take a seat in the armchair across from him, feeling no pity whatsoever. He did this to himself, after all.

“Where’s Leah?” I ask after a moment.

Anthony lifts his head slightly, squinting at me like the light is too much for his fragile state. “Probably still asleep. She had a lot to drink last night as well?”

“Yep. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get you two back here?”

Anthony blinks. “You drove us home?”

I shake my head. “Your bestie sent us a car and bodyguards who practically hauled your ass out of the club. Seriously, Ant, you were a mess.”

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