Page 1 of Forced Marriage Vows
CHAPTER 1
Anastasia
They say the sun can blind you, but I’ve learned that even the moon has its share of secrets.
The sun blinds with its brightness, scorching any who dare look too close, while the moon softens the night with its calm glow, offering light without pain. But that light… it’s only a reflection borrowed from something more relentless.
Pain shouldn’t be inevitable, yet there are always those who wield it by choice. Growing up in my family, I learned that some people make it their calling.
Born as I was into my family, making that choice has been a part of my life for a long time. It should be easy to choose to be good. Yet being good never seems to be ingrained in a person. But evil, well, that’s a slippery slope. And unfortunately, I’ve had to view the men in my life fall down that slope countless times.
When I was thirteen, my father put a gun in my sixteen-year-old brother’s hand and he immediately returned it. Anthony chose a life outside of ours. My brother has and will always be my idol. I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough to make the choice he did. I’m glad I’ve never had to.
That being said, he’s also a fucking idiot and I really hate him sometimes.
Hunger Games is one of the biggest nightclubs in Los Angeles. The owner is an enigmatic man who’s seemingly obsessed with the Hunger Games franchise. As soon as we walk into the club, I instantly feel the thud of bass in my chest. This is not at all what I expected when my brother said, “Come to L.A. for my birthday. It’ll be fun!”
I pictured a nice dinner, maybe a rooftop bar, somewhere calm where we could actually talk. Not this. A nightclub. Really? At least he told me ahead of time so we could dress for the occasion.
I’m wearing a purple figure-hugging dress with spaghetti straps. It’s short, barely reaching my mid-thigh. And then there are the white heels with long spiral straps I have on which are already killing me. They’re Leah’s heels, which I had to borrow because I didn’t bring any from Chicago. They’re about two sizes too small, so it really hurts to wear them. But I know I look sexy as hell, so they’re worth it.
My best friend stands beside me. She’s in a metallic silver mini dress that catches the light every time she moves. Her brown hair is pulled back into a long French braid and her brown eyes gleam in them as she takes in the atmosphere of the club, clearly loving it.
“This place is amazing!” Leah says, leaning closer so I can hear her over the loud music.
I can’t deny that it’s pretty great. The walls are dark, almost forest-like, with a fog machine that fills the air with a haze, giving the illusion that you’re walking through some dystopian arena. Neon arrows flash in patterns along the walls, and every now and then, a cannon blast goes off somewhere overhead, followed by more flashing lights.
People are dancing like their lives depend on it—ironically fitting, I suppose. The ceiling above us has what looks like agiant clock ticking down, probably the countdown to midnight or maybe just some twisted take on survival.
My eyes connect with my brother’s brown ones. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he approaches, pushing past the people on the dance floor. He walks with confidence, waving across the room. Anthony’s always had a flair for the dramatic. I roll my eyes at his excitement. He’s wearing a leather jacket and black jeans, holding a glass in his hand.
He hugs me before I can brace myself, hard enough to lift me off my feet.
“There’s my favorite girls,” he shouts. His breath smells faintly of whiskey and I can tell by his glassy eyes that he’s already halfway drunk. “You made it!”
He releases me and Leah gets the same enthusiastic greeting. She giggles when he lifts her off her feet, as well.
“Barely,” I mutter, but the smile on my face betrays the grumpiness I’m trying to hold on to.
It’s been three months since I last saw him and despite the setting of our reunion, I’m really happy to see him. Anthony has this infectious energy that pulls everyone in. You can’t be pissed with him for long.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand without waiting for a response. I manage to hold on to Leah’s hand as he drags us through the crowd. The VIP section is roped off on an elevated platform overlooking the dance floor, and of course, Anthony leads us straight there.
It’s a pretty large area and there are about two dozen people standing in different parts of it. Anthony’s guests, I’m assuming. Some of them are seated on the couches with wild-looking cocktails. My eyebrow rises when I spot a flaming one. Anthony’s guests cheer as soon as he appears, like he’s some sort of hero, and he basks in the attention, like he tends to do. Irecognize some of his friends but I’m not familiar with majority of them.
My eyes are drawn toward the back of the VIP section. I take a breath, adjusting to the shift in energy as my eyes connect with icy blue ones. Him, I’m familiar with, although I don’t think I’ve ever said more than five sentences to him in my life. Anthony’s best friend, Mikhail Morozova, stands apart from the others, like a dark, looming shadow. Which is how he’s been for the past decade, always Anthony’s shadow in a way. The both of them are never far from each other. But they’re so dissimilar that sometimes I can’t help but wonder how their relationship works.
He raises his glass to his lips and takes a sip. The eye contact only lasts a couple of seconds, but it feels like forever before I wrench my gaze away. If Anthony’s energy pulls you in, Mikhail’s energy pushes everyone the fuck away.
My brother throws an arm around me as he addresses the people on the couch.
“Everyone, this is my little sister, Anastasia. And my other adopted little sister, Leah. Make them feel welcome,” he tells them, which was totally unnecessary.
Some of them whoop and cheer, their excitement making it clear just how far gone they are. A few people clear up some space for us on the couch and I let out a relieved breath as Leah and I take a seat. My poor feet were just about to give up on me.
Drinks are thrust in our faces, and Leah and I accept two shot glasses of tequila. Anthony’s friends watch us expectantly so we have no choice but to down them. These people really came here to party.
Leah orders a cocktail, but I decline. I’m not the biggest drinker—I can already feel the shot of tequila starting to hit. I settle into the couch, observing the scene. Anthony’s already being pulled away, dancing in the middle of a couple of people.When one girl starts grinding on him, I shake my head and look away.