Author's note:
A samovar is essentially a huge vat for heating water. A pot of concentrated tea sits at the top – waiting to be diluted. Although originally the water was heated by charcoal or pine cones, electric ones have been around for a while now.
Svetlana's apartment in Paris
1700
They eyed one another warily.
Almost painfully, Svetlana thought, as she walked into her apartment and found Anatoly standing by the window as expected.
Aware that anything she said could be misconstrued, she merely flipped the light switch in the kitchen.
"Tea?"
Anatoly responded with a simple "yes," as he came to stand in the doorway.
He watched her open one of the cupboards and waited for her to speak; anxiety radiating from him.
"Anatoly .."
"Yes?"
It took him a moment to realize that she was was asking for his help, and stepped forward immediately to free the samovar from the tangle of electric cords in the cupboard.
Leaning back against the counter top he smiled as she placed a concentrate of orange pekoe tea, apple cider and cloves into the vat's crown, before reaching for some honey. It made him feel good inside that she had chosen to use his grandmother's recipe, but it was clear from her demeanour that something was off.
The tight knot of worry in his gut amplified.
Svetlana could feel him watching her, and knew that the intensity of her deliberate movements belied all of the subsurface stress.
She needed to come right out and tell him, she thought as she pulled out her most ornate tea cups and laid them on the dining room table alongside some silver spoons.
He listened without a word – watching her face closely as she spoke. Almost as though he were trying to determine whether she was telling the truth. His eyes growing darker and angrier with each passing word.
Svetlana took a shaky breath when she'd told him everything Sergei had said.
Anatoly pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against.
"I'm out of cigarettes," he said as he crushed the empty packet in his right hand and reached for his coat.
She reached for hers, ready to walk with him to the nearest tobacco stall, but he raised his hand sharply and turned away from her.
The door to the apartment closed with a firm click that echoed through the apartment.
She considered following him – because it was clear to her that he was struggling. But if he wouldn't let her in then there was very little she could do to help him.
Not to mention that she was too hurt to deal with any more of his coldness at the moment.
An hour and a half later ..
Ordinarily they would have sat side by side, but there seemed to be too much emotional distance between them for that, so they shared a pot of tea across the table.
"Do you want something to eat?" Svetlana asked when the silence had stretched longer than she was able to bear without wanting to get up from table.
"No."
He watched her walk to the kitchen anyway; his mind working hard to figure out a way to bring up the current state of affairs without spawning a discussion or an argument.
It irked him to come up empty, especially when somewhere in the back of his head he was battling the thought that she just hadn't tried hard enough with Sergei. Hadn't been able to make him see that he was still the ring's best asset.
He knew this was unfair. He knew it. But he couldn't stop the thought from overshadowing his thought process and stoking the fire of his anger.
He tried to raise the tea cup to his lips, but found he was far too angry to dissemble.
"What aren't you telling me?" His tone was accusatory as he trailed her into the kitchen.
"Nothing. He didn't say anything else."
She sounded weary, and the thought that she might be tired of dealing with this – something which was so important to him - made him even angrier.
"Who are they using now? Dimitri?"
"Does it matter?" Svetlana said with a shrug as she headed back to the table.
She regretted her words the moment the moment they left her lips, but there was no way of taking them back, so she merely braced herself for his response.
Anatoly followed her back to the table, angrier than she had seen him in a long time.
As she picked up the remaining teacup and saucer, he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.
"What do you mean does it matter?"
"Anatoly … you're under a lot of pressure. Please don't do this."
"What do you mean does it matter?" he repeated as he shook her roughly.
The sick feeling in Svetlana's stomach intensified as Anatoly reached out with his left hand, wrenched the tea cup from her hands and slammed it onto the table.
"It matters. It matters to me."
She looked on in muted disbelief as the teacup splintered into several pieces - and Anatoly turned on his heel and strode out of the apartment.