Page 43 of Forced Marriage Vows

“I’m not your wife,” I state, my lips pulled down into a frown.

He arches an eyebrow. “The ceremony we had today begs to differ. Come back to bed,” he orders.

“No.” I shake my head, gathering my clothes. I pretend not to notice the heat simmering in his eyes as his gaze trails over my naked body. “We had an itch to scratch, and we scratched it. And now I’m done.”

“I can assure you, sweetheart, we’re not done,” he says, not sounding impressed in the least.

“I’m not doing this with you. Not anymore,” I say in exasperation.

He stares at me for a couple of seconds, his expression calculating. Finally he shrugs, running a hand through his hair.

“Alright, fine. You can go,solnyshko,” he states.

I arch an eyebrow in disbelief. I really expected much more of a fight from him.

“Stop looking at me like that, baby. I’m not going to make you stay if you don’t want to. You can leave. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I grab the rest of my clothes, throwing my shirt over my head and then pulling on my skirt. When I look back at him, he’s staring at me with heat in his eyes, a promise in them I know he’s prepared to fulfill without hesitation. As long as I jump back into that bed with him.

“Good night,” I hesitate before adding, “Mikhail.”

He smiles. I’m starting to realize I actually hate his smiles just as much as I hate the rest of him.

“Good night, baby,” he tells me.

I turn around, heading for the door. He speaks before I can turn the knob and open it.

“Anastasia, just so you know, I’m a very patient man. And I’m incredibly adept at playing the long game.”

I roll my eyes. Deciding not to respond, I wrench open the door and walk out of the room before my common sense fails. Or worse, I listen to that horny part of me between my legs that’s just begging for another round with the devil himself.

When I wake up the next morning, I find a package on the other side of my door. It’s a box, wrapped neatly with a bow and a card on top. I frown as I pick it up, carrying the box into my room and setting it down.

The card reads:Here’s a little reward for being such a good girl last night, solnyshko. There’s plenty more where that came from. All you have to do is ask.

My jaw clenches as I read the words over and over again. He’s such an arrogant asshole. After glaring at the card like it’s the man that wrote it, I decide to check out what’s in the box.

Inside, nestled in layers of soft, protective foam, is the camera I’ve been wanting to get.

My breath catches in my throat as I pull it out, the sleek body glimmering under the light. It’s a top-of-the line model, the kind of camera professional photographers would kill for. I run my hand over the smooth dials.

“Holy shit,” I breathe.

My first thought is that it’s too much. This camera is crazy expensive. Then I remember Mikhail is a billionaire with enough money to throw around. It’s a really nice camera and it’s not like he would let me return it. Plus, my mind is already thinking up all the things I could use the camera for. But for me to do any of those things, I need to leave the house.

Letting out a quick breath, I grab my phone and send a text to Mikhail. He could still be at home but I don’t think I’m ready to face him yet, after last night. I’d rather just hide behind a phone screen.

Me: Thank you for the camera.

Mikhail: You’re welcome.

Me: Also, do you remember when you said I could leave the house anytime I wanted after the wedding?

Mikhail: Vaguely.

My lips twitch.

Me: You promised, Morozova. I want my freedom back.

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