Page 3 of Savage Truce

With everything being so busy, I decided to hold off until we’re done with the play before I hand in my notice. Tonight is the final show, which means I’m out of time.

What am I even supposed to say?

Sorry, Charlotte. I have to resign because my Bratva family is taking me back to Russia, where I’ll probably be married off to a complete stranger.

I cringe just thinking about it.

Yeah. There’s no way I’m telling her that.

My gaze sweeps through the workshop as guilt floods my chest.

Charlotte has taught me so much, and I can’t even give her a reason for leaving.

Somehow, I have to find the courage to tell her before they come to get me.

Unfortunately, this is how things work in the Bratva. The kids are shipped off to boarding schools, so they’re not burdens until they become useful pawns.

Useful. That’s something I’ll never be.

Gathering everything I’ll need, I place the items in my sewing kit before leaving the room. As I walk down the hallway, one of the actresses passes me with a look of disdain on her face.

I glance down at my body, and even though I like what I see, I know Mother is going to be very unhappy.

My weight has never been a problem for me, but I’ve always been judged because I don’t meet the high standards of what a woman should look like.

I remember the girls at school who loved calling me a pig and making oinking sounds. The actresses here aren’t much better. They’re all pretty with tiny waists.

After every show, when the staff gathers for the celebratory party, they always make some kind of comment about my weight.

Sofia, the lead actress, once asked whether it’s difficult for me to shop for clothes in my size. The supporting actress, Ingrid, laughed and said it’s probably why I became a seamstress, so I’d have something to wear.

I hate how they think my body is public property and they have a right to judge it. No matter how hard I try to ignore all the cruel comments, they leave cracks in my self-esteem.

Because of it, I prefer to stay away from people and live only for my art. There’s nothing in the world like turning fabric into something beautiful.

Placing my sewing kit on one of the available tables near the costume rails, I glance at all the staff who are running around like headless chickens, helping the performers get ready.

There’s a nervous energy in the air as I walk closer to the wings, and peeking past one of the curtains, I watch as the rows of seats fill with people.

I take in all the beautiful dresses the women are wearing, and my thoughts turn to how most are able to walk into any store and leave with armfuls of clothes, while people like me struggle. We have to settle for unflattering outfits that are mostly made to hide our bodies.

Hell no, I refuse to wear that slop. My closet is filled with gorgeous dresses I’ve made.

My gaze drifts over the auditorium, then a man in the front row grabs my attention. Dressed in a tailored black suit that probably costs more than everything in my wardrobe combined, he looks devastatingly handsome.

Wow.

His warm brown hair with lighter strands here and there is cut in a neat style, and the scruff on his jaw makes him look manly. Broad shoulders strain against his jacket, and my fingers itch to take out the seam just a little so it will fit him better.

Taking in his clearly muscled arms, there’s a fluttering in my stomach.

He’s focused on the program, but then someone moves past him to take the seat beside him, drawing his attention.

No matter how hard I try, my eyes keep finding their way back to the ridiculously attractive man. There’s something very intense about him.

Damn, he’s definitely the best-looking man I’ve ever seen.

I smell Sofia’s sweet perfume right before she comes to stand beside me and notices who I’m looking at.