A/N Hello, no one has said whether or not this is okay, so I'd really appreciate it, if you were to review. Please and thank you. (: And yes, again, not too sure about the real historical traditions and all that, so sorry. (:
Do I hold you too tightly? Life is beautiful, but it's complicated.
When will the hurt kick in?
We barely make it.
We don't need to understand,
There are miracles, miracles.
Chapter 2: Two Left Feet
The scent of perfume was over-powering. Its sickly sweet aroma twisted around the room, swirling its way around the obstacles before it – basically the dancers, from which it had originated.
Anastasia watched the dance floor, with some amusement. The assortment of clothes was fascinating, from the richly embroidered silks, to the plain, mediocre cottons. Rita took great care in presenting themselves in the rich category. She was vain that way.
She watched as time and time again a young man plucked up the courage to ask his chosen lady to dance. It was endearing to Anastasia.
Rita was dancing with yet another would-be-courter, her red skirts bellowing out, as they twirled their way around the hall. It was jam-packed; scarcely room for a hair breadth of empty space, yet new couples kept joining the ever-growing dance floor.
They had been there for less than an hour, however Anastasia was aching to go home, her face muscles hurt from smiling at everyone, her cheeks painful from all the cheek-pinching, and her legs cramped from sitting down for so long.
She was contemplating leaving, when a young man, of perhaps eighteen years came into her view. She paused in her movement and sank back into the chair. The arrival of someone, who was not ten years her senior, had interrupted her train of thought. The man looked up, his blond hair flicking back, as he did so. Impatiently, he pushed it out of his eyes, and this gave Anastasia the chance she required to avert her gaze.
He frowned and looked back and forth, as though he had lost someone or something. Anastasia had never really taken an interest in other people, especially of the male gender. It wasn't because she shunned the idea of friends, it was more the idea of the day when she would have to leave them behind; to join her new husbands family, who was, she was told, currently residing in France. She didn't think she could bear that kind of heart-ache. It hadn't been difficult; she did not often meet with others her own age, which was precisely why this man had stopped her in her tracks. She just had to talk to him; she had to, no matter how briefly. It might be the last chance she ever got, in Russia.
Anastasia looked up again, and disappointment crashed over her, as she realised he was no longer there. Well, that was that then.
"Excuse me, would you care to dance?" Anastasia began to shake her head, she didn't dance. She couldn't dance. But she was interested to see who the owner of this voice was; he was the first to even attempt approaching her.
Imagine her shook when she saw the man. Yes, it wasn't very shocking, this was who she had noticed, and evidently he had noticed her, so it was not, in any way, unexpected. His expression betrayed no emotion, his eyes were steady in their gaze; his mouth set in a stern line, although, there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner.
She looked into his icy blue eyes, and shivered. Anastasia shook it off, "your name?"
The smile grew slightly bigger, "David. Yourself?"
Anastasia paused, she didn't want to reveal her own name, he'd know who she was, and maybe treat her differently. And anyway, wasn't she entitled to even have just a taste of fun?
"It's...Anya." She settled on that, it was similar to her own, so she wouldn't forget it.
"Anya...So, a dance?"
She hesitated, keeping an eye out for Rita. Anastasia, although not a snob, had taken into account the man's clothing and it definitely came into the lower category, if not below that. Anastasia didn't care, but Rita would.
As it was a nice night, it didn't seem unreasonable to suggest they ventured outside for a walk. After all, as mentioned, Anastasia did not care for the art of dance. Something which was very much frowned upon and something which Rita had attempted numerous times to alter, to no avail.
Anastasia stood up, scrupulously checking for creases in her clothes. The rules had been drilled into her. She looked David in the eye, "why don't we walk? It's a nice night." She didn't expect him to refuse. A gentleman would not refuse her request. She began to walk in the direction of the door.
David didn't move, "I never offered that. I offered a dance." He smirked half-heartedly.
Maybe he wasn't such a gentleman.
She twisted round, "I don't dance," she told him, crossly. Hey, if he wanted to play games, so could she. She was not desperate.
"Oh come on. One dance won't kill you."
Anastasia smiled sweetly at him, "maybe, but it might kill you. You haven't seen the atrociousness of my dancing. It isn't a pretty sight."
"I find that hard to believe, Anya."
It took her a moment to respond, the whole Anya thing was throwing her.
"Believe what you will."
He took a step closer, "I hadn't intended for it to be any other way."
She stepped backwards, "well, if you will excuse me, David, I am not interested in dancing, so I will bid you goodnight."
Anastasia began to walk away, weaving between the tables. It was regrettable, the incident, but maybe he just wasn't right for her. That thought stopped her. She shouldn't be looking for anyone! She betrothed. The notion added more weight to her already heavy heart.
"Hey, your name isn't really Anya, is it?"
She paused, debating whether or not to turn around. The latter won out.
"What makes you say that?" They were in a hall, full of hundreds of others, but it felt as though it was only the two of them. All thoughts of Rita had all but flown right out of her head.
He smiled, "you can't fool me. When I called you your supposed name, "Anya," I wondered whether you were going to respond at all. Your expression was blank, it was clear for a fleeting moment you had no clue as to who I meant, and if that's your name, I somehow think you'd have some idea."
Anastasia looked at him in amazement, she had faltered for literally less than a second.
He raised an arm, offering me a hand, "if you dance with me, all will be forgiven, Anastasia."
She tentatively made her way back in his direction, very every step keeping her focus on his hand.
"Why would I want your forgiveness? I don't need it." He smiled, as though this was the response he had been expecting, "but how will you live with yourself? Knowing you hurt me this way?" He mock fainted, placing a hand over his heart.
She sighed, knowing he was going to get his way, however jokingly he meant it; Anastasia would have to dance with him now, otherwise she'd still feel sorry for it, so she continued to come closer.
He nodded encouraging, "come on, what doesn't kill you; makes you stronger. I think I can handle it." He grinned crookedly.
For the first time, Anastasia met his gaze head on. She felt the tension leave her body, and she relaxed. She lifted her own hand, and albeit uncertainly, placed her hand in his.
This touch sealed her fate: it signified the beginning of the end.