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His battered suitcase sat in the corner of the bedroom. Everything he owned was inside—still packed inside—even though they had been staying in Paris for nearly a month.
Something deep inside him was afraid to unpack it, worried the second he did the cruel trick would be over. That she would ask him to leave. And he would be dragging that suitcase to the train station, not sure where he was going next.
The wardrobe in their hotel room—only temporary, until they could find a more permanent arrangement in Paris—was filled with dresses Maria Feodorovna had bought for her granddaughter, all made of fabrics he had only heard of but never seen up close. And a simple woven coat. And a long linen skirt. And the beaten work boots that had traveled all the way from St. Petersburg.
His suitcase paled in comparison. A couple of spare clothes. Pajamas. A suit. Some tokens he kept in memory of his parents.
It was early in the morning, the sun still to rise. Dmitry stood on the balcony of their hotel room, leaning on the railing and gazing at the city, wondering just when she would ask him to leave. All she had to do was give him a reason, and he would go.
She was still new to this whole world they had been whisked into. Maybe she didn’t understand that girls like her didn’t marry for love, if that’s even what she wanted to call it. They married for titles and money. He didn’t have much of either.
He wished she would tell him he offended her.
He wished she would tell him she had a change of heart.
He wished she would tell him to go… anywhere but here.
At least then he would know it was her making the choice. And there was no higher societal rule making the choice for her.
Anya stirred softly in the large bed, eyes snapping open as she realized she was alone. She sat up sharply and looked around the room, her heart pounding in her chest. Panic bubbled in her throat as she scanned the room. His battered suitcase was still in the corner. She let out a sigh of relief.
Anya slid out of bed and walked to the balcony door. It was slightly cracked open, and she shivered at the chill in the air and crossed her arms over her chest as she spotted him on the other side of the glass. Dmitry was stoic, his brow knit as he stared blankly over the city. Something was on his mind, she could tell.
She quietly opened and shut the door behind her. After taking a few soft footsteps to him, she snaked her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his back. He started and turned over his shoulder to look at her.
“Come back to bed, it’s too early,” Anya said softly into his back.
His lips pursed as he looked at her. She definitely wasn’t going to make this easy. But had she ever made anything easy for him?
“You know I’m used to rising before the sun.”
“Please, it’s too early,” she begged.
His lips cracked a smile at hearing her whine.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,”
“You’re grimacing.”
His smile faded. He’d never get anything past her.
He was silent as he took in the strength of her small frame pressed into his back, willing him back to a bed larger than any other he’d ever slept on, in a hotel fancier than he’d ever stayed in. There was a part of him that feared it was all temporary.
“Anya, aren’t you cold? It’s brisk, and your nightdress is thin,”
“Yes, I’m cold!” Anya hissed. “Come back to bed, Dima.”
The way his name rolled off her tongue made him weak. He felt her rest her head against his back and he bit his lip.
She gently took his arm and led him back inside. She shut the door to keep the cold air out.
Anya crawled back to bed and buried herself in the covers. Dmitry reluctantly crawled in beside her. She curled up next to him, gently playing with his hand as he lay wide awake.
Her soft waves fell over her shoulders and there was something so serene and beautiful about watching Anya while she was soft, beneath the blankets of a bed much too large for both of them.
“What’s on your mind?” She asked.
“Nothing,”
“Dima.”
He hesitated.
“If you ever want me to go, just give me a reason, and-and I’ll go. No questions asked.”
Anya’s head snapped up and she looked at him. She propped herself up and sat up in bed. “Why would you think I would want you to go?”
He bit his lip. There was a knot in his throat. He thought of how she kissed him on the bridge, the fierceness in her eyes as she pulled him to her. He thought of the way she had called his name when he told her princesses don’t marry boys like him. The first time she had called him Dima, a name he held so dearly, and was only used by those who loved him.
“Anya, you could court any prince in the world.”
“Anastasia Romanov could.”
“Yes! I know,” he sighed and buried his face in his hands.
“Not me.”
He turned and looked at her.
“I know nothing about being a princess, Dima. Least of all that I should marry a prince.” She gently held his arm as she caught his gaze.
He stared at her. She gently touched his cheek and smiled at him.
“Your grandmother–“
“Nana wants me to be happy.”
“So you–“
“I wouldn’t trade you for even the snobbiest prince in the world.”
He laughed, “Not even a snobby prince?”
Anya’s brow knit as she thought, “Keep that up Sudayev, and I’ll keep my options open. I have options now, you know.”
He kissed her forehead.
“You want me to give you a reason? I’ll give you a reason.” Anya said as she shifted back down into the bed covers.
He looked at her with wide eyes.
“I want you to stay, because I love you, and only you,” Anya said softly.
Her words rolled so easily he sat in disbelief. He had met plenty of girls in St. Petersburg, but had never felt definite attraction to any of them. Many of them had ended with him sneaking out in the night or a harsh slap in the face–or both. But with Anya he just wanted to hold her tight every night for the rest of his life.
Her bronze hair tumbled over her shoulders as she moved gently in the dimly lit room. Her eyes caught his. He couldn’t say no to her. Whatever she wanted he would give her.
“Dima, I’ve told you I don’t want you to go–“ She said softly as she gently touched his arm.
“I know,” he frowned. “But your image–“
“I will proudly show off the man who saved my life,” Anya breathed.
Dmitry’s eyes widened as he looked at her. He had never thought of it that way. Never seen what he had done as so serious. He had been so intent on just getting out of Russia, he had never thought how he had saved her, or saved both of them.
He didn’t know what to say to her, so he kissed her instead. Anya smiled against his lips and laced her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
He gently pulled back to look at her, and he smiled.
“Now can you please go back to sleep?” Anya asked.
“I don’t think I can,” Dmitry replied with a grin.
Anya groaned and rolled over and away from him.
“You’d never know you were once up before dawn, sweeping the streets of St. Petersburg,” he teased as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back to him.
Anya turned to look at him, sticking her tongue out and wrinkling her nose.
He smiled and kissed her cheek as she pressed her back into him.
She pulled the blankets close and closed her eyes, “one more hour,”
He smiled, “alright, one more hour,”
“I love you Dima. I will remind you every day if I have to,” Anya mumbled.
He smiled and shook his head. She snuggled closer as she drifted back to sleep.
“I love you, too.” He said softly, as he pressed a kiss into her hair.