Page 4 of The Bratva's Arranged Bride

I wanted to make it myself and to feel proud of what I managed to achieve on my own.

In the eyes of many, being an independent, full-time artist was so far out of reach that most didn’t bother to try. But for me, there was nothing I loved more than creating. Bringing ideas to life and capturing them in a permanent, tangible way. And even if it meant struggling here and there, it would all be worth it to keep doing exactly that for the rest of my life.

From a young age, I knew what it was like to float on that money and to be nothing but comfortable. Yet, by going off on my own, I needed to find out what it was like to exist on the opposite side of the scale. It was hard, and oftentimes terrifying, but still necessary.

I needed to understand what it felt like to work hard for something, and to dream of something more than just sitting around idly in my parents’ home. The discomfort was a propellant, and it lit a fire under my feet that I wouldn’t trade for that luxury.

In a way, every new piece came with unspoken hope…longing to somehow launch my career and push me to new heights all on my own. That way, nobody could say I only achieved it due to my father’s success.

While it sounded like a simple idea, it meant everything to me.

The struggle, the pain, and the fear…it all occupied my mind frequently, yet it served as a reminder of what I was working towards, and what I stood to lose if I gave up.

I found a sort of stride in painting at night while I spent the day at a coffee shop part-time. It wasn’t all that exciting and was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was necessary to keep the lights on.

But even while actively pursuing the very thing I wanted to do more than anything, even with my ambition and confidence in my abilities, it still didn’t stop the doubt from creeping in.

I didn’t want to let it get the better of me, yet I was still afraid it wouldn’t be enough.

Try as I might, I wasn’t sure if I could keep it up forever. I didn’t want to just be chasing some pipe dream…I wanted to make something of myself and be able to say I did it all on my own, even if it came with the fear of never actually succeeding as I always envisioned.

Even while I focused on the painting in front of me and every stroke of the paintbrush, I still couldn’t completely block out those thoughts, and it left a heavy feeling in my gut.

I was fully aware that if I needed help, my dad would have no issue providing it. In fact, I had every reason to believe that something in him wanted me to come back home. To follow whatever ideal life he had in his head for me.

I knew I was lucky for that reason, but my pride still wouldn’t let me follow through with it…not yet, anyway.

No part of me wanted to ride the coattails of his success forever, even if it meant being uncomfortable. He had his legacy, and I wanted to build my own, even if it had to do with art rather than business.

After standing to adjust one of my overhead lights, the buzz of my phone on the coffee table beside me shook those thoughts away, and when the vibrations lingered, I reached for it.

Glancing at the screen, the caller wasn’t all that surprising.

I swore he had a sixth sense when it came to knowing he was on my mind…

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“I thought I’d just check up on you,” he said evenly, “and see how my daughter is doing. Are you painting again?”

“I am…like usual.”

“Good. Although I wonder how much rest you’re getting. Your schedule sounds quite busy. Are you sleeping enough?”

I sighed inwardly to myself and sat down on the lumpy couch. “I’m fine…it’s just a part-time job while I paint. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I see. Well, I can only assume you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

It was very like him to indirectly express his concern…almost like he couldn’t fully break away from his usual businessman tendencies. He checked in with me more often than I ever thought he would, always maintaining his pragmatic ways.

Of course, I wasn’t going to complain about having a parent who worried about me, but it didn’t always happen at the best time, and it often came across as him waiting for me to slip up in some way. Like he was anticipating the moment he could swoop in and prove that I needed him.

I didn’t mind his concern, but I also wanted him to have faith in me. To trust that I could manage just fine on my own.

“You know, I met with someone the other day who I think you might be interested in; he’s got money and security—you wouldn’t need to work so hard if you went for someone like him,” Dad began with an almost knowing lilt to his voice. “He might be a bit rough around the edges, but I’m sure it would be advantageous all around—”

“Dad, is this really why you called me?”

---