Forced Marriage Vows

18. Mikhail

CHAPTER 18

Mikhail

T here’s this intriguing theory referred to as the Schrodinger’s cat experiment propounded by a physicist. The experiment involves places a live cat in a box with some radioactive substance and closing that box. As soon as the box is closed, there’s no way of knowing whether the box is alive or dead. In that moment, the cat is seemingly both, and it isn’t until the box is opened that what has happened to it can be truly observed. A lot of people have their own views on what the experiment truly entails. It’s rife with ideas and questions, arguments with backgrounds in quantum mechanics and a lot of other complicated stuff.

My view on Schrodinger’s cat is pretty simple. It’s about being in a state of limbo. That threshold between knowing and not knowing. Which also happens to be the state of mind that I hate the most. Things have come to a standstill in the past week. Everything’s been quiet, too quiet, and now I’m wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. I’m trying not to be too comfortable because something always inevitably goes wrong, and I need to be prepared when it does.

The only part of my life that isn’t at a standstill is my relationship with Anastasia. Things have really progressed between us. I’m not sure what I did to get her to open her heart, but I’ve been happy, content in a way I didn’t know I could be. Which is why I’m worried. Because it doesn’t feel real, and a part of me can’t help but feel underserving of it. Underserving of her.

“The quarterly budget seems solid, but there’s some slight worry about the profit marginalization,” Jerome is saying, tablet in hand while he reviews the files that were sent in from my company early today.

“The numbers are solid and I don’t think there should be any problems,” I state, leaning back in my chair. “I’ more curious about how things are holding up at the company.”

Jerome swipes through the tablet as he speaks. “Sales have been steady, and a week ago, the interim CEO managed to secure that contract with the European firm. He’s doing his job well, there’s just been a few concerns about the lack of direct oversight from you. The board’s still getting used to you being… less involved.”

I nod my fingers drumming lightly on the desk. “They’ll get over it,” I murmur. “Just keep an eye on things. I want to know as soon as there’s any hint of trouble.”

I may be Pakhan now, but Vortex will always be a part of my legacy—one I plan to protect even from the background.

“Of course, sir,” Jerome replies. “I’ve arranged weekly updates from the team to ensure everything stays on track.”

There’s a moment of silence before I arch an eyebrow. “Moving on to Bratva business,” I prompt, my focus sharpening. “Tell me what I need to know.”

Jerome once again glances at his notes, his voice lowering. He makes the switch pretty easily from an ordinary assistant to a member of the Russian mafia.

“We’ve had a few issues with shipments in the last week. The ports are getting tighter, and customs have been making unexpected checks. There’s been whispers that the former Pakhan has something to do with this. Some of our people believe there’s a leak—information getting out to the wrong hands. We lost one shipment entirely last week.”

My jaw tightens and I feel the tension in the room shift. “Any idea who the leak could be?”

Jerome shakes his head, nervously pushing his glasses up with his thumb.

“Oh really? You have no idea?” I prod, twirling a pen around my fingers.

“I just don’t think throwing accusations at anyone is the right way to handle things at the moment, sir. Especially with so much instability in the Bratva at the moment.”

“Sensible words, of course, but they don’t matter in the face of someone on the inside working against us, Jerome. So I’m going to ask again. Any potential leads?”

“Y-yes, sir. Our sources are pointing to one of the mid-level commanders. He’s also suspected to have a close relationship with Zakharov.”

I lean forward, my eyes narrowing. I thought I took care of Zakharov and made sure he understood the price of betrayal. I guess he didn’t get the message.

“Put some men on his tail, watch him carefully. The minute he slips up, bring him in for questioning. And with regard to the shipment, just ensure that they’re more secure. I’ll have a talk with my father’s contacts in Moscow to see how they can help with customs. We can afford any more losses.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll handle it. Is there anything else?” He inclines his head.

“How’s the other issue going?”

Jerome smiles, his eyes brightening, “Pretty good, sir. Mrs. Morozova’s going to love it.”

“Make sure she doesn’t find out until it’s done.”

He nods and, after confirming I don’t need anything else, walks out of the room. I spend another hour in the office, reviewing contracts, going over potential allies and beneficial deals the Bratva could engage in. I have to leave in about twenty minutes but I’d been hoping to see Anastasia before I did. She’s meant to be back from her yoga session by now.

There’s soon a knock on the door. It’s one of her bodyguards, who informs me that she’s returned. I get to my feet, stepping out from behind my desk.

“How was her session? It took longer than usual today.”

“It seemed to go okay, sir. She and Mrs. Volkov, were in there for about ninety minutes and after they went into the café next door. They spent time in there talking.”

“Alone?” I hedge.

“They chose a seat toward the back of the café so we couldn’t see inside, but it seemed so.”

My eyebrow arches but I decide not to see too much into that. Plus, I’m pretty sure she’d be pissed if she knew I was asking the guards to give me the details of her time away from the house.

“Alright, you can go.”

He inclines his head once before walking away. I decide to go in search of Anastasia. She’s not in the living room or the kitchen. When I pass the hallway where our bedrooms are, I find her door cracked open. I lean against the doorway, watching her for a minute. She seems to be looking for something, going through the books on her desk. She’s still in her yoga clothes, blonde hair pulled up.

“Anastasia.”

She jumps, turning around with her hand clutching her chest.

“Jesus, Mikhail. You scared me,” she scolds.

My eyes narrow onto the expression on her face. “Why are you so jumpy?”

“No reason,” she murmurs, turning around to stare at her desk.

I immediately know something’s off. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing.”

My lips thin. “Do you seriously expect me to buy that? What’s going on, Anastasia?”

She runs a hand through her hair before turning to face me.

“Seriously, it’s nothing you need to be bothered by, Mikhail. I was just searching for the flash drive Lucia gave me earlier this week. It’s supposed to contain the design samples she’s hoping to use for the magazine’s edition next month.”

“That’s it?” I ask, my brows furrowed.

“The house isn’t burning down, so you can relax,” she states, a teasing lilt to her voice.

She steps toward me and wraps her arms around my neck, tugging my head down for a kiss.

“I’ll ask someone to search the room for the drive,” I tell her once we pull away.

“Thank you,” she breathes.

But I’m not sure I believe that’s what’s going on with her. She still seems a little frazzled, a shadow in her brown eyes. I follow her into the kitchen, taking a seat at the dining table while she heads for the fridge.

“How was yoga?” I ask, leaning back in my chair, keeping my tone casual.

“Good,” she says over her shoulder, rummaging through the fridge. “Really calming. You should try it sometime.”

She pulls out a bottle of water, twisting the cap open a little too quickly.

“I think I’m good. Besides, you don’t look very calm right now.”

She avoids eye contact, her shoulders tense as she takes a sip of water.

“What do you mean? I’m fine. Completely, absolutely fine.”

“You’re also a terrible liar,” I say, my arms crossing over my chest. “Did something happen?”

Her eyes flicker but she tries to brush it off, crossing her arms. “It’s nothing. I guess I’m just tired. That’s all.”

I get to my feet, stepping closer, watching her carefully as I crowd into her space. She’s hiding something, and she’s not very good at it.

“I’m your husband, Anastasia. I really hope you’re not forgetting that,” I say quietly, my voice low. “I know when something’s bothering you.”

She opens her mouth to argue but then closes it, frustration flashing across her face. For a moment, she looks like she’s going to tell me what’s really going on, but then she shakes her head.

“It’s nothing important,” she insists, her voice tight. “Just… some personal stuff. I can handle it.”

My eyes narrow, studying her. She’s putting up her wall, obviously trying to keep me out. I despise being kept in the dark. About anything, and especially when it comes to her.

“Personal stuff?” I repeat, stepping in closer, close enough that I can see the tension in her jaw. “Since when do you keep personal stuff from me?”

We’ve been doing better in the past week. Talking to each other. I’ve shared some parts of my life no one else has gotten to see, and I thought we were finally letting down all our walls. I’ve been trying so hard, and now, watching her do this sends a searing pain through my chest.

Anastasia bites her lip, clearly debating what to say next. I can see the conflict in her eyes, but she’s stubborn. It’s pretty clear whatever it is, she’s not ready to let me in on it yet. But she will. Because she knows just as well as I do that I won’t let this go.

I lean in, brushing a hand along her arm, my voice soft but firm. “You know I’ll find out eventually, solnyshko .”

She shivers, her eyes flickering up to mine, and I see something crack in that guarded expression. Then she shakes her head and it clears.

“It’s really nothing, Mikhail,” she says almost too quickly. “Leah’s having some family problems.”

That’s a lie. But I don’t call her out on it. I won’t push her, not yet. I don’t want to find out what happens if I push too hard. So I take a step back, away from her, returning to my seat.

“Didn’t you say you had a meeting with Mr. Volkov?” she asks, reaching for the bread.

I watch as she begins spreading butter over the slices. She grabs some lunch meat and cheese as well to make a sandwich. I pretend not to notice the relief in her expression, obviously because I stopped my line of questioning.

“I still do. I’ll leave in a couple of minutes,” I reply. “How are things going with Lucia?”

“So well. She’s a genius, I swear. And she has so much ambition. I have no idea how that woman plans to achieve half of what she has in mind for the magazine, but she’s so sure of herself. It’s admirable.”

“It sounds like you like Lucia more than me,” I murmur, faking a hurt tone.

Anastasia laughs, walking toward me. She wraps her arms around me from behind the chair, pressing a kiss against my cheek.

“Don’t worry. At the moment, there’s no one I like more than you.”

“Oh, really?” I ask heatedly. “Why don’t you take me to bed and prove it?”

“I would but you have a meeting to get to, honey. I’ll do anything you want when you get back,” she promises.

“Careful when you use the word ‘anything,’ baby,” I state, getting to my feet.

I place a hand on her waist, pulling her closer. One hand drives into her hair, cupping the back of her head while her arms circle around my neck. I can’t get enough of her, the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her taste, the little moans and gasps she makes as I explore her mouth with the hunger of a man starved.

“We should go on a date sometime,” I say against her lips. “You like bowling?”

“I’m awful at it,” she replies breathlessly.

I smile, rubbing a thumb across her cheek. “It’ll be fun.”

“You know we’re doing this whole marriage thing backwards, right?” Anastasia questions. “We’re essentially dating right now, and then what?”

“Anything you want, baby,” I answer.

“I’m glad we’re here now, but a part of me wishes we’d had a normal experience. And there’s still so much about you I don’t know. For example, I have no idea if you want to have kids. Are babies in our future?”

I pause. That came so far out of left field.

“Where’s this coming from?” I murmur, looking into her eyes.

“I’m just curious. Come on, tell me. Have you ever thought about having a baby?”

I grow a little tense. “Of course I’ve thought about it. But I didn’t exactly grow up having model parents, and I don’t think I’ve ever been around any good parents who could have given me an insight into what to expect. You haven’t either, solnyshko .”

A shadow passes across her eyes. “What are you saying? We’re too damaged to have children?”

“No. I’m saying I might be. You’re filled with so much light, baby. You’d make a great mother.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Mikhail. Do you want kids or not?”

“I want whatever you want,” I reply easily, deciding that’s the best answer.

The thought of having children terrifies me. But I’d be willing to do it, as long as I have her by my side.

My answer seems to have been the wrong thing to say, however. Anastasia frowns, pulling away.

“It’s not about what I want, Mikhail. You have to want it too. A relationship is meant to be a partnership. We’re supposed to share things we each other.”

“We do,” I grit out.

“Really? Because you’re an expert on avoiding talking about yourself. You push and prod and get me to open up but you don’t offer me the same grace.”

“I’ve told you things about myself I’ve never told anyone else, Anastasia.”

“Maybe, but you’ve never told me the most important thing. Your mother—how did she die?”

My eyes fall shut and I rub a fist across my jaw. This conversation is giving me whiplash. When I open my eyes, she’s still standing in front of me, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression combative.

“Why are we talking about my mother right now? And why the hell are you mad at me?”

“I’m not,” she retorts.

“You’ve been itching for a fight since I came to find you, Anastasia. Does this have something to do with what you’re hiding from me?”

“What? No! I just want to believe this relationship means more to you than just a warped sense of duty to a wife who never wanted to be with you in the first place!”

Silence descends at the end of that statement.

“If you really believe this means nothing to me, then I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing here, Anastasia,” I say, my jaw clenched.

She doesn’t say a word as I leave, unwilling to say anything more just in case I say something I’ll regret.