The shocking intimacy of Dimitri's revelation prevented Anya's eyes from closing for sleep. Her mind refused to accept the idea of a person witnessing a scene so horrid at such a young age. It was worse than all the stories she'd heard growing up in the orphanage, and she'd caught wind of some truly awful stuff over the years. She couldn't imagine ending up anywhere close to normal after something like that.
She replayed every interaction she'd ever had with Dimitri in her head, his words and actions filtered through the understanding that his circumstances had made him an orphan. Just like she was. A young person with no parental guidance navigated life differently, often thinking and behaving in ways most people couldn't understand.
Anya could. It made her burn with the need to truly know Dimitri, to learn about the experiences that had molded a broken little boy into a man who could commit murder in the name of honor.
Back at the house, Anya had been almost afraid of him as she watched his rage take temporary possession of his body, but she had context for it now. It had been fed by the bottomless well of pain he'd carried since childhood. Anya had no doubt Ivan would be dead had she not intervened. The knowledge chilled and strangely warmed her at the same time.
Her new awareness of Dimitri pounded with her pulse. She couldn't stop watching every move he made, wanting him to glance her way. As she compulsively smoothed her palm over the scratches on her chest, she could still feel his cool fingertips ghosting over her skin and the searing flutter in her lower belly in response.
No matter how long and hard she stared at Dimitri from her pallet by the fire, Anya just couldn't see him like she did before.
Dimitri seemed to want to make sure she did. The next morning found him even more withdrawn and subdued than he'd been when he abruptly ended their conversation. He kept all eye contact with her as brief as possible. He never once strayed from the subject at hand and maintained a three-foot radius of personal space during the course of Anya's lessons throughout the day. It became painfully clear he had no intention of letting her get closer, in any sense of the word. In the aftermath of their vibrant moment of kinship, Anya had never felt more alone.
Especially when the nightmares began.
Ivan appeared in living color the moment Anya fell asleep, so vivid she could smell and taste his stench in the back of her throat. She awoke shaking, curled into a ball, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.
As she did the next night, and the next. And all the nights that followed.
So she stopped sleeping altogether, and Dimitri continued to shut her out, until the stress of it all stripped her entire spectrum of emotion down to two: fear and anger.
Fear of every twig snap and leaf crunch and rustle in the woods, of the thick country darkness at night. Fear of not being good enough for a grandmother she couldn't remember. Fear of everything and nothing.
Anger at herself for being too weak to fight Ivan off, for being stupid enough to end up in a situation where she needed a savior in the first place, at Dimitri for making her care so much it hurt then hiding himself away.
Each emotion fed the other, both growing in intensity as the days passed. But they didn't stop Anya from pretending to be asleep in order to glean what she could about Dimitri every night.
He didn't rest much, either. He slowly paced his and Vladimir's side of the campfire for hours on end, pausing every now and then to study the treeline. He never crossed the invisible line he seemed to have drawn down the middle of their camp, the line that separated their side of the fire from hers. Anya never saw him glance in her direction. Not once.
Every time Vladimir started snoring, Dimitri used his knife to whittle sticks of firewood to fine points only to drive the sharpened ends into the ground near his makeshift pallet.
He'd retire after the fire had been reduced to a few sputtering flames and lay on his back to watch the moon travel across an endless night sky - sometimes rich with dark clouds, other times studded with infinite points of starlight. Anya knew he'd fallen asleep when he rolled halfway onto his stomach with his back to the fire.
As she studied Dimitri in secret, she could almost see the scars on his psyche, jagged and uneven from having to piece himself back together on his own after his tragedy. He'd turned out to be much more complicated under the surface than she could have imagined.
Cavalier and cocky, yet thoughtful and kind. Shoving her off a moving train one day, ready to kill a man to protect her the next.
Baring a bit of his soul, then slamming the door to the emotional vault in her face.
Anya felt pathetic. Anastasia would never spy on a man like an obsessive schoolgirl. She was a Romanov - strong, proud, resilient, reasonable. Worthy of her family name and lineage.
Anya wasn't any of those things right now.
Which was why she chucked a whole steamed trout at Dimitri's head when he snapped at her for forgetting to curtsy before sitting down to eat. It bounced harmlessly off his chin before falling into the dirt near his feet. Vladimir looked up from searching for something in their luggage in surprise, but said nothing.
"What the hell!" Dimitri jumped up from his spot on the log in an outrage, wiping the slime off his skin with the back of his hand. "What is your problem - that was most of dinner!"
"You should've thought about that before you yelled at me like a fucking child!"
Dimitri's eyes widened before his brows crashed together. "Well, if you would do what I fucking tell you to do, I wouldn't have to!"
His baleful response felt like hot pins in Anya's heart. She gulped, the itchy burn behind her eyeballs forecasting a flood of tears, and stormed off into the forest. She had to get a grip.
"Jesus...Anya, come back!"
Anya shook her head to block Dimitri out and started running.
Her heart raced. She couldn't breathe. It wasn't like her to run away from a disagreement, but she didn't recognize herself anymore.
How was she supposed to be the Grand Duchess of Russia if she couldn't argue with Dimitri now without having a meltdown? How could she face her grandmother if she couldn't even stare down her own irrational fears?
She still felt trapped in Inga's kitchen, pinned to the floor, not strong enough to free herself. Then or now.
Anya tripped on a tree root hidden by groundcover and fell to the ground, the impact knocking her tears loose at last. She drew her knees to her chest and sobbed like her heart was breaking. Maybe it was. Her entire life had been one continuous letdown, but the disappointment had never been in herself.
She had really thought she was stronger than this.
A sudden touch on her shoulder made her scream and strike out wildly. Ivan had found her and had come to finish the job -
"Anya stop, it's me! It's me." Dimitri held both hands up, backing away.
Breathing hard and heart racing, Anya's trusty anger rose like a shield and she quickly wiped her tears on her sleeve. "Go away."
Dimitri put his hands on his hips, looking truly bewildered. "Did I miss something here? What is wrong with you?"
Anya didn't know; that was the problem.
She snarled the first thing that came to mind. "What do you care?"
A bitterness passed over Dimitri's expression. He spoke through clenched teeth. "Did you really just ask me that?"
She did, and now she was ashamed that she had. Anya folded her arms atop her knees and buried her face in the bend of her elbow. "Just leave me alone, Dimitri. Please."
"No," Dimitri said, lowering his body into a squat near her but not close enough to make contact. "What are you gonna do about it? Beat me up?"
Anya sighed bitterly and mumbled against her thighs.
Leaves crackled as Dimitri shuffled a bit closer. "What? What did you say?"
"I said, 'I don't think I can do this anymore!'" Anya said, lifting her head and bearing her pain on her face like a banner.
"Do what?"
"This!" Anya said, making a sweeping gesture with her arm. "Being her. Everything. All of it." She clamped her eyes closed, the despair about to run her over like a freight train that had jumped its track. "I thought...I knew I could...but I can't, I-I'm not -"
With a grunt of frustration, Anya gave up trying to articulate to Dimitri what she hardly understood herself.
Dimitri studied her in silence. He bit his lip, then his face became hard before he jumped to his feet. He looked at Anya still sitting on the ground, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Get up."
Anya put her head back down and sniffled. "You can't tell me what to do - "
"Get up, Anya. Right now."
She glared up at Dimitri and found her simmering look reflected in his eyes.
"I bet Ivan could make you stand up - "
Anya was on her feet and shoving Dimitri as hard as she could before she'd processed the movement. "Fuck you, Dimitri!"
He stumbled backward but when he regarded her, he didn't appear angry or smug. If anything, he looked as pained as she felt. "You feel that?" he asked. "That fury? You probably want to kill me right now, and that's good. That's Anastasia. She's not going to let me or some asshole in some backwoods town or anything else keep her from getting what she wants."
Anya blinked at him, shocked into speechlessness. He was right. She had been sitting here licking her wounds instead of focusing on the only thing that mattered: Paris.
Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest, the stance he'd assume whenever he knew he'd knocked her off balance. "So, tell me then...who are you?"
Anya dashed away the remnants of her tears with her palms, squared her shoulders, raised her chin. "I am the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna."
"Hm...you sure you're not just some cheap impersonator? I'm sure a Grand Duchess wouldn't mumble like that -"
"I am Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova!"
Dimitri nodded. "And what do you want, Your Highness?"
You, Anya suddenly wanted to say, then frowned at the errant thought. "To be reunited with my grandmother, the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna, who lives in Paris."
"And are you still angry?"
Anya's eyes narrowed. "Yes."
"Good," Dimitri said. "Use it. It's fuel to forget everything that doesn't matter and to remember everything else that does."
How had Dimitri known exactly what to say, let alone how to say it? Pissing her off had gotten his point across. Anya felt the corrosive slurry of negative emotion begin to slowly drain away, leaving one shining pearl of sentiment behind, solid and unmistakable.
She loved him.
In this moment there was no doubt, no pretense. Even before Dimitri had come running to her rescue, Anya had realized she breathed a little easier when he was near, that a single one of those smiles of his lit up her entire world for days. Now, the realization that wanting a future with him had begun to eclipse her desire to rectify her past rattled Anya to the bone.
From what she'd heard, the awareness that she had fallen in love should have lifted her spirits. Instead, it made her feel much, much worse, for an entirely different reason.
Everyone she'd ever loved was taken from her. She didn't even have the luxury of happy recollections in which to memorialize her parents and siblings. And her grandmother was still, for all intents and purposes, a hope and a prayer.
But Anya did remember Irina, her best friend and drinking game partner, who froze to death after running away from Comrade Phlegmenkoff's regular beatings in the dead of winter. Anya hadn't known what to think or feel when Irina kissed her on the mouth then disappeared into the snowy night. She had been like a sister, and Anya felt like a piece of her heart had died with her.
Despite their close friendship, Anya was always the caretaker, watching over Irina and all the little ones in the orphanage who looked up to her. Anya had always taken care of herself. She made sure she never needed anyone. And then came Dimitri, rescuing her at every turn with a scowl on his face.
Anya had known love before, but what she held in her heart for Dimitri felt even bigger, burrowed even deeper. That's what made it so dangerous. That's what made it impossible.
No. She couldn't let "them" happen, no matter what it took. She wouldn't survive another loss.
"Well?" Dimitri looked expectant. "Are you up to the challenge or not?"
Anya swallowed hard and forced her face into her most imperious expression. "Is that any way to speak to a duchess?"
Dimitri smirked and bowed at the waist. "Forgive me. I'm at your service, Your Grace." When he raised his head, his deep chestnut eyes sparkled with a familiar mischief. "It's good to have you back."
Anya smothered her smile and walked ahead of him back to camp.