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“Where are we going?” Dmitry asked with a laugh. He’d been smiling for so long now his cheeks hurt.
“Let’s go dancing!” Anya tugged his hand to get him to keep up with her fast, happy pace, the smile she threw over her shoulder irresistible and contagious. “You owe me one, remember?”
“In this inconspicuous outfit?” He lifted his arm to twirl her and she giggled in surprise. She’d run straight from the press conference, she said, a tiara still adorning her head and her fiery red gown glittering in the street. It probably wasn’t a good idea to keep wearing this in public and drawing unneeded attention but all of the stores were closed this late and… well, he couldn’t say no to her, not after she’d just given up basically everything she’d spent the past ten years clawing towards, all for him. Not when her grin was so giddy and her eyes were so adoring.
Her transformation was incredible to witness. The giggling woman pulling him through the street was nothing like the hungry, frightened girl who’d marched into the palace all those months ago, or the bitter and broken and angry one he left behind. Or even the woman who met him on the bridge just minutes ago, looking regal and serious and so entirely out of his reach his chest ached. She still looked the same now, but the otherworldly gown and ornaments were almost comically out of character for her, he realized. She was still the Anya who chased ruffians down an alley, the Anya who challenged everything he stood for, the Anya who found her way through the cracks in his menacing walls, the Anya he gave his fragile heart to. The Anya who, for some reason, decided he was worth her time.
They snuck into a club by the Seine, dimly lit and crowded and pulsing with brass and drums. The thick air stunk of cigarettes and sweat and liquor. Perfect.
In the few days after arriving in Paris, they’d hopped in and out of several clubs to pass the time, but Dmitry had stubbornly sat at their table, nursing a drink, watching as Anya danced and charmed every man in the room, determined to make himself jealous and miserable. But now, knowing she somehow chose him, he wouldn’t waste his luck, even if he didn’t know how to dance to anything other than a waltz. At this point just seeing her so happy he joined her was worth setting aside his discomfort. To communicate over the noise he had to lean in close, glad whatever stupid remarks he said into her ear were enough to make her laugh and pull him a little closer. It was exhilarating, being surrounded by so many people who would never know how in love he was with the orphan in his arms. How much she loved him, too. How his skin was the only thing keeping his love contained.
Her lips were moving but he didn’t hear anything over the roar of the music. “What?”
“I said I’ve never seen you so happy, Dima!”
He twirled her again and pulled her close so she could hear his reply. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”
Soon, though, he grew impatient, ready for a slow dance to play so he could hold her for a bit. When he mentioned it she took his hand again and dragged him behind her as she wove through the dancers towards the band to ask for something slow. The singer leaned down on the stage to catch Anya’s request, but his eyes narrowed. Dmitry didn’t blame him. With Anya overdressed and Dmitry underdressed, to say the least, it was clear they’d snuck in without an invitation, so they left the way they came.
“Wonder what gave us away,” Dmitry huffed in mock offense out on the sidewalk. At this time in Petersburg the streets would’ve been deserted and dead, like a ghost town, but Paris never slept, apparently. No one here was afraid of the dark.
“It’s fine, people were starting to stare anyway.” She gripped his arm a little tighter. “Should we try another club?”
He raised a brow. “I have a better idea.”
With that he lifted her up bridal style and she yelped, clinging to his neck and giggling, as he carried her the short distance to the shack of a hotel he’d been staying at since they all split up after the ballet. He’d checked out that morning but it didn’t take much to convince the concierge to let him have the same room again. Two floors up, small, with one creaky bed and a bathroom he’d hardly consider a bathroom, and, most importantly, a cloudy window.
He set her down gently with a kiss to her cheek. “It’s not as fancy as what you’ve probably been living in, but it’s what I can afford.”
She shook her head. “It’s perfect.”
He tossed his suitcase onto the foot of the bed and she slowly shed her jewelry and silk gloves. When he saw she’d removed her tiara and set it on the nightstand, strands of hair falling out of place, quieter than she’d been all night, he said, “Heavy lies the crown, huh?”
She blinked out of her thoughts with a short laugh and a sigh. He stroked her cheek, pulling her back to the present. “What was your idea?”
“Come here,” he led her to the window and unlatched it open. “I wanna show you something.”
He stuck his head out and called out a butchered “Bonjour!” Below was a lone saxophone player who never seemed to sleep. Dmitry had hated him for keeping him awake in his nights of self-loathing, and the feeling must’ve been mutual. The sax player called back a long string of what Dmitry assumed to be curses but he only laughed.
“You’ve been making friends, I see,” Anya was laughing too.
“It’s hard to turn off the charm.” The man was still shouting up at him. “What’s he saying?”
“Nothing I haven’t wanted to say to you.”
He barked a laugh and stuck his head out the window again. When Anya appeared next to him, the man was stunned silent, and in a much kinder voice he greeted her. Dmitry was amazed. The night before, he’d only seen this guy as a grumpy old musician who wouldn’t leave him alone. But with Anya here, the man below was smiling sweetly up at her, tipping his hat, having a pleasantly lovely conversation. She’d brought out the best in him, of course she’d do the same with every stranger. The stout man looked like he was just packing up for the night but hesitated. Dmitry didn’t understand anything they said, but after a few minutes of Anya glancing over at him teasingly with conspiratorial giggles, she called down a final “Merci, monsieur!” and the dirty alley was brightened with the music of the solo instrument after the player snuffed out his cigarette. Even the ugliest parts of Paris were beautiful.
“That’s what you wanted, right?” Anya was looking up at him. “Something slow?”
Dmitry blinked out of his amazement. “Yeah,” he whispered, taking her hand with one of his and placing the other on her back, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
She tucked her head into his chest, her hair tickling his nose. “Me too,” she said in a voice as soft as his while they swayed to the music.
“Really?”
“I’m not sure when, exactly, but… I think I could’ve kissed you after we jumped off that train.”
He snorted. “Oh, I was gone long before that.” She tilted her head up, his nose brushing her forehead. “I don’t know. I think a part of me knew the minute you walked into the palace.”
She grinned. “You could’ve been nicer.”
“So could you.”
She scrunched her nose and pinched his shoulder, but stayed in his arms, content.
This dance was a stark contrast to the crowded, loud, lively club they were in earlier. Here, in the lonely and creaky hotel room, with the lonely saxophone playing them a song, slow and sweet and lovesick, like the spring breeze blowing from the window, the world narrowed down to just the two of them, to the way they fit together, to the sweet nothings whispered in the dim light of the moon and flickering lamp, to every touch and breath and and gaze in between. The song wasn’t unlike what the man had played in the previous nights, but Dmitry realized he’d only hated the forlorn and heartsick melodies because they made him think of her. Now there was no reason to muddle in his angst. Now he had someone to be lonely with.
After what felt like a lifetime, the song ended in a low, drawn out note, and Dmitry found his footing back in reality, listening to the crickets and rumble of the city in the quiet. “Can you tell him thank you,” he asked, breaking the silence and charging the moment when she met his eyes again.
She found some loose change and they tossed it out the window, the sax player catching the coins in his hat and offering words of gratitude and wishes of luck.
“We’d better get to bed,” he started, shutting the window and lacing his fingers with hers. “We have a busy day tomorrow.”
She yawned but wrapped her arms around his waist. “What could you possibly have planned?”
“Getting you some new clothes, for starters.” She smiled, chin resting on his chest. “And, depending on how you still feel about me, looking for a courthouse.”
He felt her inhale. “Dmitry, is this your way of proposing to me?”
“Would you rather have something bigger?” he asked with a shrug. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
But she shook her head. “I’m too tired for any more grand gestures.”
“So am I,” he kissed her then, deciding he’d waited long enough for another one.
While she changed in the bathroom he dug through his suitcase for his new pajama pants, the only purchase he’d kept after the ballet. Since she had no luggage she decided to wear one of his button ups to bed and his eyes bulged boyishly when she stepped out of the bathroom.
“That’s the prettiest thing you’ve worn so far,” he said. She rolled her eyes at his honest flattery and he scooped her up again, her fingers gripping the fabric of his henley as she pressed her smile to his lips. He set her on the squeaky bed and rested a forearm on her opposite side to stay close. He kissed her the way he said her name— each syllable a whisper with rounded edges, full of intent and purpose, a vulnerability only she could pull out of him. And she kissed him back like she was saying his name— a staccato of syllables that, without her smile or huff of a laugh at the end, sounded ugly in any voice other than hers.
“Do you want anyone there tomorrow?” he whispered. “Your grandmother?”
She carded her fingers through his hair. “Aren’t you afraid of her?”
“Terrified.”
She snorted. A beat passed, his eyes flickering down when she bit her lip. “I suppose it’d be a good opportunity to return the tiara. And Vlad can come, too.”
A small, short, unceremonious courthouse wedding, the only guests the little pieces of family they had left. “Sounds perfect.”
She pulled him down for another kiss. “I missed you,” she hummed after a minute.
Guilt gnawed his stomach. It was silly to feel that way, knowing where they ended up in spite of everything, but he still felt bad for abandoning her when she was probably overwhelmed with the new influx of memories. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”
She traced his cheek with an index finger. “You were lost, it’s okay.” He swallowed. Sometimes he wondered if she knew him more than he knew himself. When she cupped his cheek he subconsciously leaned into her hand, tilting his nose in her direction and pressing a kiss to the heel of her palm. “Where were you going, anyway?”
He shrugged. “‘Dunno. I was gonna see what tickets were available tonight and probably pick the cheapest one, and then just… wander until I ran out of money, I guess.”
A pause. “We could do that.”
“What?”
She pushed on his shoulder to roll them over and rest an elbow on his chest. “We could spend whatever’s left of the money from the diamond to explore on our own for a bit, just the two of us. It could be a… honeymoon of sorts.” Her fingers were now playing with his hair and he smiled. “I hear Florence is pretty at this time of year.”
His hands moved from her waist to wrap around her back. Even with the impending danger at their heels, traveling with her was more fun than he expected, and probably even better now that they were safe. “I wouldn’t mind tagging along.”
Her kiss in response sealed the deal. With her bare legs and his wandering hands and the thrill of this exciting new development the night could’ve easily grown into something more intense, but this wasn’t the one night stand he was used to. No rush or heat or need to pull things to the edge. No, this was different, more special than the forgettable love affairs he’d had before, and he wanted to keep it that way for now. Neither of them made the kisses or the following cuddles anything more. For the first time, probably ever in his life, he knew they had time.
“Dima?” Anya hummed into the crook of his neck where she nestled.
“Hmm?”
“I…” She hesitated. “I’m a rough sleeper.”
From the nightmares, Dmitry interpreted from what she left unsaid, and his heart squeezed, wishing he could ward off anything that dared to make this fearless woman afraid. He pulled her even closer. “And I’m here if you need me.” You’re not alone anymore, he tried to say with a kiss to the top of her head.
She must’ve understood because she squeezed his waist a little tighter and soon her breathing melted into a peaceful and steady rhythm. Before he drifted off, he smiled to himself, for the first time looking forward to what the future held.