July 8, 1916
Washington D.C
"Finally, here is the White House," Wilson said, giving a mild smile at the young Empress.
"Oh, it looks wonderful! I have often wanted to see it in person," Olga replied.
Tatiana, who sat behind Olga, nodded. She looked with a raised eyebrow at the white, Georgian style facade. Despite the fact that America was a republic, the White House faintly reminded her of the house of a Russian noble. The irony seemed so clear to her that she could not resist smiling.
The presidential car soon came to a halt in front of the White House. Besides the other two escort cars with presidential guards and some soldiers, there were no other cars with the guests. For the safety of the extended Romanov family and their servants, the other two cars with their escorts had been redirected to a local hotel. There, the royal relatives would be guarded. For convenience, all of the arrangements had been planned in advance long before the trip.
This was not a problem for Olga, and she had to admit that she would remain at ease without her fiance. She had noticed the signs of the tensions between Dmitri Pavlovich and Margaret Wilson, the eldest daughter of Wilson. Of course that would happen. Margaret was more proper and passive, yet Dmitri was more free-spirited and humorous in comparison to the icy lady.
Olga took a deep breath, as she stepped out of the car along with the presidential family. Tatiana followed her closely behind, hoping that nothing dramatic would happen. A glance at the face of the American president made it clear that he was relieved.
Wilson led his family along with Olga and Tatiana past two rows of U.S Marines. The president did not hurry his course into his house, as he had to salute each navy-blue suited marine. The marines stood still with their straight, rigid posture, and each saluted marine placed down their Winchester rifles in a single, fluid motion. Olga felt impressed. She liked the discipline and conduct shown by the American officials and guards. Her late father had always told her of the importance of discipline: a necessity for the government and the military. She still missed her father, but the wounds had long since healed, leaving scars in the form of memories.
President Wilson kissed his second wife before going separate ways from her and their eldest daughter. Olga also told Tatiana to wait in another suite. The two leaders then went into a meeting room in the White House, where the Russian ambassador sat, waiting for his Empress. Olga then sat across from Wilson, and she hoped that the negotiations would go well. She did not know the minds of the Americans as well as she did for her people. With the mediator being George Petrovich Bakhmeteff, ambassador of the Russian Empire, she could succeed in mending the relations between Russia and the United States.
"Your Majesty," the ambassador greeted, bowing before Olga.
"Ambassador Bakhmeteff," Olga greeted back.
"It is good to see that everyone here is at ease. Shall we begin?" Wilson said.
"Certainly, Mister Wilson," Olga spoke.
The four of them took their seats, and began to unpack their documents. Olga was handed the final treaty draft from the American President and Congress, and she widened her eyes as she flipped through the pages of the treaty. There were some parts that seemed familiar to the Empress, as they were derived from the first letter by the American President. Otherwise, the other portions of the treaty specified the exact details of how the treaty would be implemented into policy. There were exact guidelines on what tariff percentages would apply to each type of industry and other types of guidelines were written down. The fine, granular detail seemed much for even the intelligent Empress to absorb.
"I must read over this treaty, I would prefer to understand it. I want to know what exactly will happen to my people when this comes into effect."
"You are welcome to," Wilson said, as he opened his briefcase to reveal more documents and a pen.
The President of the United States took out a pen, and offered it to the Russian ambassador to America. The ambassador obliged. Olga spoke with her ambassador about the treaty whenever she encountered a verbose passage, which sometimes happened. After an hour, the White House servants offered the two leaders tea and food, which they happily accepted.
Another two hours passed, and Olga read over the terms of dissolution for the treaty. The terms of dissolution spelled out the consequences for Russia if it withdrew from the treaty: the possible increase of American tariffs and less trade of manufactured American goods to Russia. Thankfully, the American business factories in Russia would certainly be subject to the Russian labor laws. At the very least, the workers and the consumers would be satisfied with their safety and the future influx of American goods and services.
Olga thought for minutes, considering every part of the treaty and its possible effects. The outsourcing of American factories to Russia seemed to help American companies by reducing their labor costs and allowing them to sell their goods in a new market. For Russia, the land fees on the factories would provide extra revenue for the government, and the introduction of common automobiles would help modernize her empire. However, the more competitive American businesses would stamp out Russian businesses. To combat this, Olga knew she had to create anti-trust legislation.
"I worry that the native businesses in my country will be outcompeted by your country's businesses. Does the treaty allow me to easily regulate their practices on my land?"
Wilson rested his head on his chin, thinking of an appropriate response. "The treaty is lenient to both sides. We both lower our tariffs and limits on our trading. Of course, the treaty does have consequences for withdrawal, but regulation does not count as withdrawal. From a personal view, I understand the necessity of laws against trusts."
Olga glanced at the treaty. "I suppose that we have an agreement."
The Empress took a deep breath, and she hovered the point of her pen over the treaty. Was it truly beneficial? She contemplated the reasons again, and everyone of them seemed beneficial to Russia. Well, so be it, she thought.
Olga signed her name upon the last page of the treaty. She handed it to President Woodrow Wilson, who signed it as well. The American president stood up from his chair, stretching his arms. His now asleep legs tingled with numbness, as did those of the Empress and her ambassador.
"Allow my staff and I to prepare a transcript of the treaty to be sent to the Russian Embassy and its representatives, so that the terms will be communicated to your placeholder. Then, once you and your family return to your country, you may begin to implement the treaty into your domestic policies," Wilson said, giving the smile of a weary yet satisfied man.
"I will, Mister Wilson. It has been a wonderful experience to be here, and to sign that treaty. I believe that this will definitely benefit our two great countries very much," Olga replied.
Anastasia laid down beside her sister Maria, who was reading an American fashion magazine. Sitting on the other bed in the hotel room were the Dowager Empress and Anna Demidova, talking about their experiences with the young Grand Duchesses.
"This Sears Roebuck Catalog has many offers! Look at all of these beautiful dresses!" Maria said.
"I am tired of wearing these boring pastel blouses and plain white skirts… perhaps that one would suit me much, much better!" Anastasia said, pointing to one picture in the catalog.
"Nastya, that almost looks like swimwear!" her sister exclaimed, gasping.
"And since when were you the proper one? You are the more romantic of us, and I thought that you would understand as someone who wants a good gentleman… "
"It is not like that. But why would you wear such clothing if you are not looking for a handsome prince?"
"I would like to be a free woman when I am older, sister. Perhaps an entertainer or comedian before I would ever consider settling down with a man. And, he would be no prince!"
Maria smirked as if she suspected something. "Oh, you mean the other Mitya, that sweet kitchen boy."
Anastasia felt her cheeks heat up. "I- I-"
"Come on, sister, it is not some problem to hide away. In fact, I am very happy to see that you have found love! Mitya may not be a prince, but he is a very kind young man. I think you two would make a great couple someday."
Anastasia sighed. "You are right… I do love Mitya, but I worry that I may not see him again," she whispered.
"I know that he is not of the same station as us, but are you willing to follow him?"
"I do not know, Mashka… I love him, but I am not sure if he feels the same for me."
"I do not know if he does, but I believe that you should tell him someday. You two are on such good terms with each other. He would never leave you even if he does not feel the same."
Another moment of silence passed between the Little Pair. "Thank you, Mashka. I feel more confident now."
Maria then embraced Anastasia. She knew that Anastasia and Dmitri would make a good match despite their class differences, and she smiled at the thought of being an aunt to their potential children. If they did have children, she would spoil them! The thought made her feel giddy inside! Her thoughts of life were simple and pure: to love and be loved in return.
"Go and tell him, shvibzik. You have been waiting too long," Maria whispered.
Anastasia nodded, and she went to the door. This, of course, was noticed by their grandmother. Anastasia froze in place as her grandmother spoke.
"Where are you going, child?"
"I want to visit a certain friend next door, is it fine if Maria goes with me?"
"I suppose… Maria, please accompany your sister."
"Yes! Absolutely!" Maria said, jumping off the bed.
The Dowager Empress and Anna resumed their conversation, chuckling at the lively antics of their two youngest grandchildren. It was better to enjoy them while their brief time of youth lasted. Soon, they would mature into young women with many responsibilities. This thought made the Dowager Empress feel a pang of nostalgia and missing for the times she held her eldest son as a young boy. Her eyes watered, but she dared not shed a single one.
"Maria is so kind, just like my late son, Nicholas," she said.
"She truly is, and it is as if she were born with almost no trace of selfishness." Anna replied.
Outside of the room, Anastasia noticed her friend Dmitri step out of his room. The kitchen servant stopped in his tracks, surprised by the sudden appearance of his Nastya. Dressed in her pastel pink blouse, the Grand Duchess looked almost… beautiful? He blinked, glancing away. No, it still seemed too soon! He hoped that she would not hear the quickening thumping of his heart while she stepped closer.
"Mitya, I need to tell you, um, something," Anastasia whispered.
Dmitri became still, as if his feet were stuck to the floor. Could it be that she felt for him as well?
"If it is a secret, then I think we can go somewhere else," he said, glancing back at the hotel room he left.
They all went around a corner, and Anastasia glanced behind herself to see no one nearby. Perfect! Dmitri, on the other hand, felt uneasy. He had begun to feel the slight moisture of sweat on the back of his neck. It was his hope that she would return his feelings for her, but could it be true? He put his sweaty, cooling hands in his pockets.
Anastasia knew that Dmitri was hiding something too, could he feel the same for her? Her heart was not beating. It was pouding madly for one thing only: her Mitya. She put her hands together, and took a deep breath.
"Do not be shy, sister," Maria whispered.
Dmitri looked with longing at his closest friend and crush. "Please, Nastya, say what you have to say…"
Another silent moment passed before Anastasia finally spoke.
"Mitya… I love you, so much that it feels like agony. You just make me so happy whenever I am with you, and I just wanted to tell you that."
Dmitri felt many feelings: joy, relief, and surprise. There was even the sensation of his heart falling. He knew it. He was in love. His eyes watered as he broke out the widest grin he ever could.
"Nastya, I'm not sure if you know this, but… I feel the same. You are the most special to me. You always were, since the first time I saw you after that snowball fight."
Anastasia grinned widely, as if she were a young child opening her dream Christmas present. No words could truly describe how happy she felt. She learned closer, and embraced him. She looked up into those sweet warm brown eyes, and he looked into those cornflower blue eyes.
Maria squealed, jumping up.
"I am so happy for you two!" she said, embracing them both with such strength that it felt uncomfortable.
"Too… tight," Dmitri said, attempting to wriggle free.
Maria let them go, and smiled at them, winking her right eye. She knew what they would do.
Anastasia and Dmitri, with their faces only centimeters apart, leaned closer to each other… Their lips met. They were not married yet, but propriety be damned! They deepened the kiss, mashing their lips together and stroking each other on the hair. This felt so good that they did not want to stop.
"Nastya, a servant is coming!" Maria warned, her blue eyes wider than ever.
Her sister and Dmitri broke their kiss, startled. They looked at each other again. They did not know what was so funny, but they laughed. The servant passing by them stopped in his tracks, raising one brown eyebrow.
"What is so funny? Can I hear the joke?" the servant asked.
"Not unless... you want to know… about making babies, Mister Anton," Anastasia said between breaths and laughs.
"Uh… I must go," Anton said, looking down to hide his reddening face.
As soon as the servant left, Maria, her youngest sister, and Dmitri burst into more laughter.
"That was… the best lie ever told," Dmitri said between gasps for air.
It definitely was, and Anastasia had never felt much happier than that before. As long as Dmitri was happy, she was happy.
A.N: Sorry for the long wait, I hope that this will make up in some way, especially for the next long wait. I will have a tough spring semester in my college, so the next update may come later than expected. Discrete math sounds scary.
