Disclaimer: What a shock, I still own nothing.
"You know, Anastasia, sitting like that is going to give the baby a flat head."
Anya dropped the cookie she had in her hand, head snapping to Dmitry. He coughed so hard she was sure he had inhaled hot coffee too quickly. She sat her hands politely on the dining room table, blinking rapidly at her grandmother.
"Excuse me, Nana?"
"Oh it's what happened to Olga. I warned your mother, and did she listen? Of course she didn't." Nana shook her head in disapproval, delicately taking a sip of tea. "And eating all those sweets is going to make the baby fat, my dear, and I can assure you that you don't want that. You're already looking a little heavy yourself."
This time Dmitry's jaw dropped. "She was starving in the streets for ten years. And you're trying to tell me that she looks 'heavy'?" He snapped at the woman, harsher than he had a year ago at the ballet. "She's going to have a baby you bitter old-"
"it's okay, Dima." Anya's hand grabbed his hand quickly, squeezing it tightly as a cue to quiet himself quickly.
At the other end of the table, Vlad had gone white as the Russian snow, and quickly excused himself.
"Dmitry you really shouldn't-" Lily warned, shaking her head very quickly at him out of sight of the dowager.
"They're right, Dmitry. After all, you'll be the one to suffer if it comes out too big, after all."
"NANA." Anya's jaw dropped in disbelief, standing up at the table. "I don't really think that is any of your business."
"Nonsense, Anastasia, I told your mother the same thing, and look, there were four more of you after Olga." Maria told them with all the confidence in the world, redirecting her attention to the French paper she had been reading. "she clearly took my advice."
"This can't be happening…" Anya mumbled, shaking her head and running a hand down her face. "Come on, Dima. Your small house of a wife would like to go home." Anya turned and left the room quickly, so no one would see the tears filling her eyes.
Dmitry stood, glaring at the old woman. "How can you be so cruel to your only grandchild."
"it's the way life is for royalty. Impressions are everything." She waved off, taking another sip of tea.
"that's not the life she chose. She doesn't deserve the snide remarks. If you were half as cruel to her mother no wonder she didn't like you very much. Anya deserves better than the wicked remarks you have for her." He hissed. "But we both know this isn't about her, is it. You still don't like that she chose a penniless street rat over you and your life of royalty."
"Anastasia is the last of my family. Excuse me if I want nothing but the best for the Romanov line. If we were still in power, she would be half that size. What is she, five, six months along?
She should still be in corsets. But instead she's running around in summer dresses."
"Six, Maria. She has been struggling for six months, and maybe if you actually paid attention to her as a person, as YOUR grandchild, you would know." He reminded her harshly, his hand gripping the back of the fine wooden chair tightly. "She's tired and sore and constantly just trying to be happy for everyone else. She's put on a show for you since you met Anya."
"I have known Anastasia for twenty eight years, young man, and-"
"But she's Anya now. And she just wants her only family to love her and support her when she needs it most!" He slammed the chair into the table as he pushed it in. "And that baby isn't a Romanov heir for the taking. He's mine, too."
He stormed out of the parlor, disregarding the look of shock on Lily's face.
He found Anya in the hall, Vlad's arms wrapped around her petite shoulders. Her whole body was shaking with the sobs she was stifling against his chest. He stepped forward to wrap his arms around her, turning her upper body against his shoulder instead. Dmitry gave Vlad a nod to say it was okay to go, and in thanks. Vlad clapped him on the shoulder gently. "I know you don't see it, but you deserve her, you know."
Dmitry ran his hand over Anya's long and free hair. "You and Lily should come over this week." He offered before Vlad returned to the parlor Dmitry himself had just stormed out of.
"Of course, Dmitry. You just have to let me cook again. That soup you made last week would have been bad even in Russia." Vlad joked, before disappearing out the door.
He could feel Anya's warm tears against his skin, soaking through his shirt. "come on. Lets get out of here." He threw her coat over her shoulders, pulling her out the front door. "And we're stopping to get you one of those chocolate cakes on the way home."
I know Nana was quite cruel here, however, I wanted there to be tension addressed between her and Dima that has been brewing for quite some time. Poor Anya just got caught in the cross fire.
Let me know any requests as usual!