Forced Marriage Vows

3. Anastasia

CHAPTER 3

Anastasia

T he sound of my phone buzzing wakes me up the next morning. By the time I grab it to pick it to pick up the call, my voicemail already kicked in. I blink as I sit up, rubbing my eyes to see the screen better. It’s already 11 a.m. I can’t remember the last time I slept in this late, but considering the past few days, I definitely needed the rest.

I arch an eyebrow when I realize who the call came from. It’s the editor that works for the Smithsonian, one of the biggest magazines in the country. Considering he called me last night to back out of a deal that I was sure I had in the bag, I’m in no hurry to call him back.

Placing my phone back down on the bedside table, I get out of bed, heading for the bathroom door. Once I freshen up, I step back outside, deciding to return the call just to see what he has to say.

“Good morning, Miss Vasiliev.”

“Hi,” I greet. “I wasn’t aware we had anything further to discuss.”

“That’s why I’m calling, ma’am. I’d like to apologize for the way the situation was handled yesterday. You were right, it was unprofessional of us to try to renege on a deal that’s nearly completed. Which is why I’m calling.

It takes me a minute to fully understand what he’s saying. His tone is a complete 180 degrees from how he was speaking to me last night, when he was informing me that my pictures weren’t picked for next month’s issue of the magazine. Which was frankly insulting because I put everything into those pictures. I never wanted to sell them in the first place. They’re special to me. It hurt that they could simply dismiss them like that.

“Miss Vasiliev?” he questions when I don’t say anything in reply. “If you’d like, we’d also like to officially hire you here at the Smithsonian. Any photographs taken by you would become a monthly feature in the magazine. A contract can be drawn up to that effect as soon as possible.”

That sounds way too good to be true.

“I’m not interested,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Excuse me?” the man on the other end asks, clearly unwilling to believe I would turn down an offer like that.

“I’m not interested in working for the Smithsonian. And I’m also not selling my pictures to you anymore. You people are too wishy-washy for my taste. If I’m not appreciated, I can take my talents elsewhere.”

“You’re turning us down?”

I hear a note of panic in his voice at that, which is a little confusing.

“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.”

My mind flashes back to the bizarre conversation I had with said best friend last night. Although “conversation” is a bit of a stretch. He showed up like a creeper, ordered me to take off my shoes, and handed me brand-new sneakers. Everything about it was weird. The fact that he knew I needed a shoe change, him buying me the sneakers and knowing my size. The man is impossible to decode. I consider asking Anthony about him but he’d immediately get suspicious so I keep my mouth shut.

My brother grumbles something incoherent under his breath before collapsing back into the couch. I observe him for a couple of seconds.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask. “Anything going on?”

He gives me a look. “I had too much to drink, Ana. It happens. Plus, it was my birthday.”

“I’ve never seen you like that before,” I say worriedly.

He sighs before sitting up. “Don’t make that face. I’m only going to tell you this because I know you’re a worrywart and you won’t stop thinking something’s wrong if I don’t debunk any crazy notions flying about in your head,” he says, face completely serious, which makes me worry even more. Anthony’s never serious.

I sit up, waiting for him to tell me he’s sick or having problems with work. Anything to explain his behavior last night. He pauses dramatically, stretching the moment.

“Spit it out already,” I snap.

“My girlfriend broke up with me,” he finally confesses.

My right eye twitches. “Well that explains why you were so flirty last night. Are you serious right now?”

“As a heart attack.”

I grab one of the small pillows in the chair and throw it at his face. “You asshole, I was worried something was wrong!”

“Something is wrong,” he defends. “I got my heart broken.’

I roll my eyes. “She was, what, girlfriend number five this year alone? We’re five months into the year and you’ve already dated five women, Anthony.”

“It’s not my fault I fall in love easily,” he mutters.

“Bullshit. You’re just a shameless flirt. I feel bad for all those poor women that have had to deal with you.”

“They’re not complaining,” he says, a twinkle in his eye.

“Probably because they don’t want to hurt your huge ego.”

He throws me a wink. “It’s not the only huge thing they like.”

“What the fuck, Anthony? Ew,” I groan. “Stop talking to me.”

Leah walks into the living room then, looking as fresh as a daisy with not a single brown hair out of place. She’s already dressed for the day in a blue dress paired with black boots. Her light brown skin is practically glowing.

“It is way too early for the both of you to be arguing,” she says, taking a seat beside Anthony on the couch.

My brother shoots me an accusing look. “I thought you said she was drunk last night.”

“She was,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Leah possesses the inhuman ability to not get hangover no matter how much she drinks.”

“Lucky me,” my best friend adds.

“I think I hate you right now,” Anthony says to her, flopping back onto the couch and placing his legs on her thighs.

If that was me, I’d immediately push him off, but Leah’s nice enough to let them be.

“Exactly why are you already dressed?” I ask her.

She gets this gleam in her eyes that tells me I’m not going to like what she’s about to say next.

“We’re going shopping,” she announces.

“No,” I say adamantly, shaking my head. “Not happening. I know you’re Supergirl or some shit, but I need an entire day to myself to relax and unwind. So no to shopping.”

“We’re headed back to Chicago tomorrow,” she reminds me. “We should at least see a little bit of the city before we leave. Ant will drive us to where we need to go.”

“I will?” my brother asks in surprise.

“Yep. I already planned a day’s worth of activities for us,” Leah says excitedly, clapping her hands. “It’ll be fun. I even included some time at the spa so you can destress. God knows you need it, Stassy.”

My brother and I share a look both of us coming to an unspoken agreement that there’s no use fighting this. I sigh softly, running my hands through my hair, mentally preparing myself for the long day ahead.

“Who are you texting?” I ask my brother.

He’s been distracted the last couple of minutes. We’re standing in a Chanel store, waiting for Leah to be done making her purchase. Anthony’s holding about five bags in one hand while typing with the other one. He’s been patient the entire day, and despite how opposed I was to coming out, it’s actually been fun. It’s nice, spending the day with two of the people I care about the most in the world.

“Let me guess, girlfriend number six?” I say before he can reply.

He rolls his eyes “What do you think of me, little sister?”

“That you’re menace to society,” I reply without missing a beat.

“I was actually texting Mikhail,” he informs me. “He has to leave the city, some urgent business back in Chicago. Hey, how about you and Leah go with him? He has his own private plane.”

“He does? Just how rich is the guy?”

“Very. Now should I tell him you’ll be accompanying him or not?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Flying’s hard enough as it is. I’d rather not have to do it in close quarters with Morozova.”

Anthony smiles. “What is your beef with him? He’s a good guy.”

I give him a look that spells bullshit.

“Occasionally,” he amends. “But seriously, you’re my little sister. He bears you no ill will.”

“Yeah, until I wake up from my Xanax-induced nap on the flight to find a gun pointed at my head,” I retort.

My brother’s expression grows cloudy. “He’s not a monster. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“August fifteen, five years ago. I watched him kill a defenseless man. He didn’t even blink, Anthony.”

“Because the man probably deserved it.”

“You don’t know that, though. You’ve never asked him about it.”

“I haven’t because any dealings Mikhail has with the Bratva are none of my business,” he says, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “And try not to go about throwing stones from glass houses, Ana.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t act like you’ve forgotten who your father is.”

“Papa’s the Pakhan. He’s not killing anyone. He has people to do that for him.”

“And that makes it okay?” Anthony scoffs.

“No, but at least he’s not?—”

“Enough,” my brother cuts in. “I’m not talking about this with you anymore. If you don’t want to go with Mikhail, you don’t have to.”

His gaze drops to his phone, effectively ending the conversation. I look away with a huff, crossing my arms over my chest. He always shuts down like this when we talk about our father. It never fails to piss me off.

Leah calls us over once she’s done and we leave the store, heading for a restaurant to get lunch. By the time we get there, Anthony’s bad mood has evaporated and he’s making jokes like nothing happened.