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We were even looking at setting up a few appointments to try the coffee before Marina would decide who to go with.

Not that I'd be allowed to go with them.

No one brought up how I wasn't allowed to leave.

No one said a thing about my having to use Viktoria's computer and not having one of my own to work on. Not even a single eye was batted when I said I couldn't work on this when they weren't there.

It was like they understood and respected the boundaries that Pavel had set.

Which was both a relief and grated on my nerves.

How was this normal for them?

There was so much I had to look up, so much I had to research, and it would have been far easier to do if I were alone. But the girls were understanding and excited about the work I was doing for them.

I started small by tackling SEO enhancements, growing their online presence, and the results were already paying off.

The girls reported increased traffic and booming sales at the gallery. Their social media pages had a lot more traffic, too, and they had become a bit of an Instagrammable destination.

Not that I could see for myself.

I burned with jealousy every time Samara gushed over the light that came in through the massive windows, andMarina talked about people watching with the most fascinating, eclectic clientele.

Everything from seasoned collectors looking for the next big thing, to young, hungry entrepreneurs and frat bros turned finance bros looking to seem cultured to the ladies. Her favorites, though, were the young couples who were starting together and didn't know shit about art.

They didn't know who was up-and-coming and what would keep its value. But they knew what they liked. They knew what made them feel.

Honestly, the frat bros sounded more entertaining as they overpaid for art just because Nadia batted her eyes.

But the longing to experience it myself grew stronger each day. To see it for myself. To people-watch and sip cappuccinos with the girls and to enjoy the sunlight on my face.

Actual sunlight that hadn't been filtered through UV glass.

Pavel still refused to let me go in person.

He had offered to take me several times, but I had always refused.

The thought of going on my own, of hanging with just the girls, consumed my thoughts.

If I had any hope of carving out a sliver of normalcy in this forced marriage, he had to trust me.

That night, over dinner, I chatted about the gallery.

Pavel listened.

More than that, he asked questions.

Not about the art, but about what I was doing for them.

How the new accounting software worked, what SEOmeant and why it was important. I guessed having his business easily searchable was the last thing he wanted.

He even asked about the start of the café idea. It was still in the information-gathering phase, but he seemed invested.

Still, his curiosity appeared to be genuine.

So did the pride he had in my work.

Instead of brushing it off as unimportant—optimizing a website for the pet project of his cousins' and brothers' wives—he treated it like I was contributing in some significant way. When my throat got tight at the realization, I knew then how desperately I wanted his approval. I craved it.