Disclaimer: I still unfortunately do not own anything.
She was still so thin, that was something Dmitry noticed on the daily. He wasn't sure if it was just the way she was built, though pictures never showed the tsarina this thing, or if years and years of starvation permanently changed her body.
It wasn't as if they didn't have enough to eat anymore, that certainly wasn't the case. Dima brought baked goods home daily for his wife. Recently, it was croissants that blew her mind. She could easily eat eight or nine in a single sitting. That was a newer development though.
Now though, and Dmitry would never admit it, she was just very off balanced at the moment. He looked up from pictures he had been looking through, of her family actually, and watch as his wife paced back and forth, mumbling seemingly to herself.
"Are you trying to wear a hole in the floor, Anya?" He smirked, taking a bite from an apple that was resting on the table.
Anya let out an indignant noise, turning to face him. Vlad joked that she was as wide as she was tall now, her stomach large with the baby who should have joined them days ago by her count.
"I can't see my feet, Dima." Anya whined, looking up at him with desperate etched on her face.
"Do you remember how to walk?" Dmitry teased, quirking his head at her. "Or even how to lift your feet?" He watched as his tiny wife sort of…waddled.. back and forth across the kitchen rather than walk.
"You aren't funny. Nana said that it's head is just right between my hips and so it makes it really hard to walk!" She groaned, resting her hand on the table. "This is all your fault, anyway."
"My fault? This is not my fault."
"It's absolutely your fault, Dima! You with your wondering hands and your stupid attractive smile, and your cocky mouth, and your 'come on Anya, no one will notice if we sneak away from a few minutes.'" Anya mocked in an imitation of his voice.
"You weren't complaining about my hands or my mouth when this happened." He pointed out, taking another bite from the red apple. "Or just about any other point before then. Or after then. This is the first complaint I've heard."
"You aren't funny, Dmitry. She should have come out days ago! But here she is, being stubborn, and making it impossible for me to walk. Or sleep." Anya whined, her hand running over her abdomen with a tired smile.
"Stubborn. Wonder where he gets that from, huh?"
"SHE gets it from you, of course. I just needed another one of you in my life to make it more difficult."
"Or HE gets it from the charming little girl who used to terrorize her kitchen staff as a toddler."
"She's a girl, Dima. If only she'd just come out and prove you wrong.." Anya sighed, letting out a groan when she felt something- a foot, probably, kick her sharply in the ribs. "If you could tell her she isn't fighting on the streets of Petersburg, I'd appreciate it."
Dmitry turned to the side, opening an arm and patted his knee as an open invitation. Anya slowly made her way over, delicately propping herself on his knee.
"I'm a boat."
"A sinking boat, but a cute one."
"Dmitry!"
He shook his head, kissing her cheek quickly. "I'm kidding. You're beautiful."
"And you're a liar. But thank you." Anya leaned her head on his shoulder, stifling a small whimper against his neck. "Talk to her. Please. I think I just rile her up."
"Maybe he just gets mad that you're calling him 'she'." Dmitry's hand ran over her side, smiling slightly when he felt the movement. "What if you calculated it wrong and he's meant to stay in there for another month?"
"Dmitry, if that happens, I'll just have to kill you."
Just a short little drabble. I think I'll do 9 months worth of these? A collection of short drabbles leading into "Born in a Palace by the Seine"
