CHAPTER 14
Anastasia
Weirdly, the medication I’ve been taking is helping a lot to keep the horrible memories from overwhelming me, but for some reason, it also makes me cry more easily.
Pulling away from Rodian, I reach up but stop when he beats me to it and wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.
There’s a strange expression on his face as he looks down at me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
He shakes his head. “I just realized how fucked I am.”
Not understanding, I give him a questioning look.
“I hate seeing you cry. One tear and I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”
The corners of my mouth lift, but then I hear female voices, and I glance at the back door.
“Come, let me introduce you to my mother and aunt.”
Instantly, nerves spin in my stomach, and as we walk toward the house, I hang back a step, partially moving behind Rodian. I know it’s cowardly, but damn, I don’t know if I can handle people giving me the stink eye right now.
That’s what made meeting Artem different. When he spotted me, he turned cautious, and I recognized the anxiety on his face. He didn’t look at me with malice or disgust, but as if I was the one who could hurt him.
And I hated it. A lot.
I never want to make another person feel the way I’ve felt.
The women are speaking Russian, their voices sounding tense, and it has me slowing down.
What if they’re unhappy with me being here?
What if they don’t like me?
What if they view me as the enemy?
Anxiety shoots through me so fast, my feet stop dead, refusing to take another step.
“It’s okay,” I hear a whisper to my left, and when I look and see Artem, he inches closer to me, his eyebrows drawn together. “They won’t hurt you.”
I notice how his fingers are moving and begin to do it as well, and it gives me something to focus on, instead of the anxiety eating away at me.
A smile tugs at his mouth, and when he comes even closer, it makes me feel a little safer, because if everyone is very protective of Artem, maybe they won’t attack me in front of him.
I’m grasping at straws, but I’m too desperate to care.
“Stay with me?” I ask, my tone pleading.
He nods, and slipping his hand into mine, he begins to draw squiggly patterns on my forearm. Looking away, he hums softly in the back of his throat.
“Is this Anastasia?” one of the women suddenly asks, much closer and louder.
I was so focused on Artem that I startle, and Artem quickly begins to pat my arm. “It’s okay. Shh-shh-shh.” His blue eyes touch mine for a couple of seconds, and his lips turn down as if he’s sad. “It’s okay.”
It feels as if he can sense my pain and is trying to comfort me while glancing at the woman and saying something in Russian.
“Only English around Anastasia, Artem,” Rodian tells his cousin.
“I said they must talk softly to you. Like they do with me because we’re the same.”
Bless his sweet heart.
Needing all the support I can get, I grip his hand tighter before I lift my eyes to the women. What I see is the absolute last thing I expected.
One looks overjoyed, a wide smile on her face, and the other has the same sad expression as Artem.
She’s the first to incline her head and say, “I’m Marina, Artem’s mother.
Let me start by saying I’m very sorry for the losses you’ve suffered and for what you went through. I hope you’ll be happy here with us.”
“I’m Irina,” the other one says, her accent very thick.
“Rodian’s mother. So happy.” She presses a hand to her heart and comes closer, looking at me like I’m some miracle that’s appeared before her.
“My boy’s heart crushed when you gone. Very glad he found you again.
” She lightly touches my cheek, admiration in her eyes.
“Such beautiful face. Welcome, daughter.”
Someone catches her eye, and she calls out, “Come, Ruslan, meet Anastasia.” I glance in the same direction as her and see a man who looks like he could be Artem’s father coming closer.
“This is my husband. Rodian’s father. Ruslan Volkov,” she introduces with pride in her voice.
He stops beside her and nods at me. “Welcome.”
Then everyone stares at me, and realizing I have to speak, my tongue feels heavy and my face flushes with heat. “Hi… Ah… Thank you for the warm welcome. It’s so nice to meet you all.”
“Sweet voice,” Irena beams. “Let’s have tea.”
Artem pulls his hand out of mine and saunters away while resuming the nervous finger-tapping technique, and I begin to do it as well.
The women and Ruslan head into the kitchen, but Rodian hangs back, giving me a worried look. “Too much?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I nod. “It’s a lot to take in all at once, but your family seems kind.”
He holds out his hand to me. “We’ll skip tea. I have a surprise for you. It arrived right before my family returned, so I had to wait to give it to you.”
Relief loosens some of the tension inside me. Meeting so many new people at once has left me feeling overwhelmed, and I desperately need a few minutes to gather myself.
“A surprise?” I slip my hand into his. “For me? What?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” His strong fingers wrap around mine, and a mischievous grin tugs at his mouth, robbing me of my ability to think as he leads me through the kitchen.
As we head across the foyer, his family’s voices carry through the house, along with the clinking of teacups and cutlerly.
That’s what I always thought a home would sound like.
We pass a living room, a dining room, and a set of sliding doors that lead to another part of the garden I haven’t explored yet.
Since my strength has been returning, I’ve walked around the property, playing dodge-a-guard with Rodian’s men while trying to get some fresh air. Yesterday, I noticed they hurried away from me when they saw me coming, and I think it’s because Rodian ordered them to do so.
Stopping outside a shut door, he looks down at me and says, “It’s a work in progress. You can change it however you want and just tell Miss Zoya if you need something and she’ll help you order it.”
Curious, I nod, and when Rodian opens the door and I step into the room, my lips part and I’m hit with such an overpowering emotion, the tears come instantly.
“Oh, my God!”
Pulling my hand free from his, I rush toward the sewing machine sitting on a large worktable. As I brush my hand over the heart of any sewing room, I take in all the spools of thread in every color I could possibly need that are lying beside boxes of needles and pins.
Gosh, there are even scissors, measuring tapes, chalk, and all the little things I used every day at the theater.
Turning around, my eyes land on rolls of cotton, linen, satin, chiffon, lace, and other beautiful fabrics that are stacked along one of the walls. I move closer and skim my fingers over them before turning in a slow circle.
This is heaven.
My throat closes, and another tear slips down my cheek as I press my fingers to my lips.
Rodian is giving me a place where I can create art again.
For the past five years, everything that made me me was stripped away until I barely remembered the woman I used to be. But standing here, surrounded by fabrics and threads, with a state-of-the-art sewing machine, I’m reminded of a happier time.
When I turn to face him, he seems upset. Shaking his head, he says, “It shouldn’t be this easy to make you happy.” Closing the distance between us, he brushes his hand over the back of my head before pulling me into a hug. “I hate what happened to you so fucking much.”
Lifting on my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his neck, and my voice is hoarse as I whisper, “Thank you for this amazing gift.”
His grip tightens for a moment before he lets go and walks to the door. “Remember our date at seven. Until then, I’ll tell everyone to leave you alone so you can enjoy yourself in your new workshop.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, but pulls the door shut behind him as he leaves.
For a few seconds, I just stand still, staring at everything, then a little burst of excitement flutters through my heart, and it feels as if the organ is revived after years of lying dormant.
I know exactly what I want to make first.
There’s a dress pattern I used to love, one I made in several different fabrics and colors because it made me feel beautiful.
I spend the next couple of hours arranging everything exactly where I want it.
Stopping in front of the different fabrics, I decide to go with silk first. I place the roll on the table, and picking up the scissors, the familiar sound of the blades cutting through the fabric sends an unexpected rush of emotion through me.
It’s nothing compared to the moment I sit behind the sewing machine and press my foot to the pedal. As the machine hums, the chaotic mess inside me grows quiet.
Luckily, there’s a clock on the wall so I can keep an eye on the time, and as soon as it’s six pm, I have to force myself to stop so I can get ready for the date.
I haven’t thought about it with everything that’s happened today, but as I leave the sewing room and walk to Rodian’s bedroom, nerves begin to spin in my stomach.
I’m not excited like I was the first time he asked me out, but instead, I feel apprehensive.
What if he gets to know me better and realizes he doesn’t like me the way he thought?
What if our personalities aren’t compatible down the road?
I know he’ll still marry me because he wants peace for the Bratva, but will he be happy being married to a woman he doesn’t love?
And what about me? I don’t want to live the rest of my life only being used because of my family name.
If we marry and there’s nothing between us because the attraction dies away, will we eventually become strangers sharing a house?
Will he find the love he wants in another woman’s arms while I’m expected to smile and accept it because I’m just a tool that was used to placate my grandfather’s associates?
The thoughts make my stomach tighten, and by the time I enter Rodian’s bedroom, the peace I managed to find while sewing is gone.