Page 56 of Forced Bratva Hostage

I turn to look at him and study his face while he watches the road, lost in thought. His chiseled features are complemented by the shadow of stubble over his jaw.

He has long, thick lashes that any girl would dream of having. His hair is messy and wild on top of his head.

A smile touches my lips, and I turn my face away from him.

He’s not yours, Tia.

***

At the mansion, Andrei makes sure I’m settled in before telling me he has a lot of work to do, and I can keep myself busy.

“If you need anything, though, just come and find me.”

“Thanks,” I smile, nodding. “I will.”

It’s still pretty early in the morning, and the entire place is busy. The guards are more active, patrolling everything, and Andrei is in a serious mood, obviously focused on his work.

With everyone else busy, I roam around to find something to do.

Upstairs, there is a sunroom, a beautiful space filled with bright green plants and exotic flowers. It’s my favorite room in the house, and I end up in there with a few pencils and charcoal sticks and a drawing paper, all spread out on the table in front of me.

For hours, I’m lost in the drawing, completely relaxed and loving every moment of it.

I’m focused and I practically forget the rest of the world until the sun reaches a point where it’s shining through the window and glaring right into my eyes.

Leaning back, I stretch out and yawn.

What a beautiful day.

It’s so strange how I can do whatever I want here. I can draw, read, swim, roam around, make food—I can be myself without getting the sense that I’m bothering anyone.

It’s something I've never felt at home.

If I went into the kitchen at Boris’s estate to make a coffee, I would tiptoe, moving quietly and shuffling around in secret. I would have to make sure that everything was exactly as I found it in case I got shouted at for not putting it back the right way.

I was never allowed to relax in our sunroom or read in the library; I had to choose a book and go right back to my bedroom.

No one ever wanted to see me. They didn’t want to know I existed. As long as I stayed hidden, things were okay.

There isn’t a single moment where I can remember just being myself. Like this. Right now.

With my art things spread over the whole table, not caring if I’m in anyone’s way—this is new to me.

No one is judging me.

No one is reprimanding me.

Is this what life is supposed to be like?

“Hey, you.”

His voice behind me makes me jump.

I turn in my chair to face him. “Hi,” I smile.

“What did you draw?”

I bite the inside of my cheek and shyly push the portrait towards him. He touches the edge of the paper and turns it so that it’s facing the right way.