**Ten Years Later**
Anya watched the car drive away into the night, the last trace of her old life fading away before her eyes.
She had always been certain that Sara had known who she really was, but was keeping it from her for some reason. Whenever Anya has pestered her, Sara had always insisted that Anya had amnesia, that all she knew was Anya's name, that she had no clue who Anya really was.
A part of Anya had always thought that Sara would reveal to her everything she'd always wanted to know. But now Sara was dead, and Anya was left without a clue. She sat down on the couch and let the sobs wrack through her body, hugging a pillow to her chest.
Sara had never been a parent figure. She'd gotten Anya started, she'd helped her find an apartment, but she had always left Anya to take care of herself. But Anya had always considered Sara the only link to who she used to be, the only answers to her questions. And now she was gone, along with the secrets of Anya's past.
Anya's phone buzzed in her hand and she held it up, squinting her puffy eyes at the bright white light. Ella was calling her. She sniffed and took a deep breath, pulling herself together before she answered.
"Hello?"
"Anya? Oh my god, I just heard the news! Are you okay?" Ella asked, her voice thick with pity.
"I'm fine, I'm... It's just been a long day," Anya said, standing up and pacing the room.
"I'm so sorry, honey," Ella replied.
"I'll be okay," Anya told her.
"Oh, hey! Guess where I'm calling from!" Ella exclaimed.
Anya closed her eyes. "Home?" she guessed.
"C'mon, don't be a downer. I'm in Paris!"
"Paris?" Anya asked, shifting the phone closer to her ear. "Really?"
"Yes, girl, it's beautiful! You should come visit me!"
Anya managed a laugh. "In Paris? I don't know about that."
"It'll be just you and me," Ella said. "You and me, together in Paris!"
Anya stopped cold, the words hitting her like a wall.
"Together in Paris," she echoed.
"I know it would be hard to get the time off of work, but if by some miracle you make it over, I'd love to have you," Ella babbled.
Anya didn't hear any of it.
"I have to go," she announced to Ella.
"Okay, well, feel better, I'll call you later," Ella said.
Anya hung up the phone and hugged it against her chest.
"Together in Paris," she murmured, pacing the floor again. She could swear she had remembered something, but it had faded so quickly that should could not place it.
Anya stalked to her room and went to the bottom drawer of her clothes cabinet, and found what she was looking for hidden among the shirts. The necklace that Lisa had given to her so long ago. She barely remembered anything about that day, but she did remember getting that necklace. It sparkled in the light, and she studied it intensely.
"Together in Paris," she said once again, willing the words to trigger her memory again. But nothing happened.
She sighed and put the necklace around her throat, the cold metal chilling her skin.
"Together... with who?" she wondered aloud.
For the next few months, those three words haunted Anya's thoughts. She read books about Paris, she studied photographs of the city, she watched French movies, anything that might help her remember. But nothing came, except the increasing urgency within her instincts to fly to Paris as soon as possible.
But Paris? Paris was a plane ride away, and plane rides required paperwork which she didn't have. Obtaining some would be illegal, and she had no idea where to start. She still worked at a bakery that paid her under the table, for a kind yet somewhat unlawful man named Steve.
Still, she found herself putting aside money for a trip.
'There has to be way,' she told herself constantly.
Then, one day at work, she heard Steve speaking in a low voice to a regular customer, something about paperwork, leaving the country. She hesitated at the door, then turned to confront him.
"Steve?" she asked.
"Yes, Anya?" he asked, turning to look at her.
"Well, I... I heard you talking to someone about paperwork earlier," she said awkwardly.
"Yes?" Steve asked, studying her face.
"What would you say if I needed paperwork?" she asked.
Steve chuckled, leaning against the counter behind him. "What kind of paperwork?"
Anya could not meet his eyes. "If I needed to leave the country," she offered. "Forged documents."
Steve straightened up. "It wouldn't be cheap."
"I've been saving my money," she replied.
Steve stared at her for a moment, then laughed. "Yeah, I know someone. Like I said, not cheap, but he's the only person I trust."
Anya took a step forward.
"Where can I find him?"
...
"So what's this so-called information you have?" Dmitry asked, taking a seat on the bench next to the middle aged woman.
"Trust me, it's good," Rosa replied.
"Well?" Dmitry asked.
"There was a coverup in the Romanov family deaths. They think one of the children survived," Rosa revealed.
Dmitry let the boredom he felt in hearing this cross his face. "And?"
"That's not the exciting part," she said in reply to his expression. "From what they can tell in DNA evidence, it's one of the daughters- Anastasia. They couldn't find traces of her remains anywhere. Maria Feodorovna will be offering a vast reward for anyone who finds her granddaughter and brings her to Paris."
Dmitry sat up, his eyes glittering. "Reward?"
The woman smiled. "More than enough for you and Vlad to get out and live a life of luxury for the rest of your days. A fortune."
"And you're sure that all of this is true?" he confirmed.
"I got it from my usual source. You know it's accurate," she replied.
Dmitry stood, and after making sure no one was watching, paid her.
"Next week, same time," he said, then walked the block to the abandoned theater.
After entering, he shut the door and knocked three times on the table. Vlad entered the room, looking as scraggly and sleep-deprived as ever.
"Well, I hope that exchange went well," Vlad said.
"Vlad, how would you like to go back to Paris?" Dmitry asked.
"Paris? I love Paris! Whatever it is, I'm in!" Vlad said, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Apparently, one of the Romanovs is alive," Dmitry reported.
Vlad choked on his coffee, and had to take a minute before he could breathe. Regaining his composure, he placed his hand on Dmitry's shoulder.
"Say that again?" he asked.
"Anastasia Romanov. They think she survived the attacks. Maria Feodorovna is paying a reward to anyone who finds her and brings her to Paris," Dmitry answered, then turned away and strode to the laptop they had set up in the backstage area.
"How much, Dmitry, how much?" Vlad demanded.
"More than we could possibly ever need," Dmitry said, frantically typing.
Vlad collapsed in a chair next to him.
"Damn, no pictures of her?" Dmitry asked, leaning back in frustration. "She's a Romanov, how hard can it be to find a picture of her!"
Vlad patted Dmitry on the shoulder and stood up. "Well, my friend, they were a very private family until the assassination. They didn't get very famous until after their deaths, I'm afraid."
"Well how are we supposed to find a look alike if we can't find a picture of her?" Dmitry asked.
Vlad shrugged. "Be creative."
Dmitry scoffed, running a hand through his hair.
"Easier said than done," he said.
Dmitry's eyes darted over the images of Nicholas repeatedly, the only result that would come up. He searched everywhere for any pictures of Anastasia, but to no avail. Pictures of her simply did not exist, and he was left staring at the few pictures that contained Nicholas and Alexandra. Suddenly, his brows drew together and his face lit up.
He printed out a few images, pinned them to the wall and backed up.
"Vlad," he called out. "Come look at this!"
Vlad, who'd been reading on the other side of the room, stood up and studied the pictures.
"Alexandra?" he asked Dmitry.
Dmitry nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Well, she has to look like her mom, right? At least a little. And Nicholas, too."
"I suppose..." Vlad speculated. "We don't have much of an other option, do we?"
"Look, we can work with this!" Dmitry insisted. "And you used to know the Romanovs, right? Or you've at least seen them?"
Vlad sighed, walking closer to the pictures. "I conned my way into dinner parties with them for six months, yes."
Dmitry smirked. "Who found you out?" he asked.
"Maria Feodorovna," Vlad said.
Dmitry gave a stunned laugh. "Really?"
"Yes." He pulled one of the pictures of Alexandra from the wall. "And it was not funny at the time."
He started to walk onto the stage, and Dmitry followed.
"Did you ever see Anastasia? Or Alexandra?" Dmitry asked.
"I caught a glimpse of the children once, but not enough to remotely remember any of their faces. As for Alexandra, I never spoke to her directly, but I saw her several times." Vlad set the picture down and sat in front of it, staring at it intently.
"So, Dmitry... where do you say we start?"
"We need to find a girl- someone who looks similar to Alexandra. We'll dress her up, take her to see her grandmama, and split part of the reward with her!" Dmitry said.
Vlad looked up. "And where do you propose we find this girl?"
Dmitry shrugged. "Auditions?"
Vlad slowly stood up, groaning. "Then auditions it is."
...
Auditions were hell. When they found a girl with any resemblance to Alexandra, she could not act to save her life. Half of the girls flirted with Dmitry nonstop, including Paulina, who was insufferable in both acting and flirting.
"Grandmama! It's me, Anastasia!" she said, following the script. Dmitry buried his face in his hands.
"What? You don't think it's good?" she asked him.
"No, my dear girl, it's beyond belief. Undoubtedly the best we've seen all night," Vlad cut in.
"Do you want me to read the rest?" she asked.
"That's... not necessary!" Dmitry insisted, standing up from the chair he'd been sitting in.
"We'll let you know," Vlad told her, escorting her to her friends.
"That means no, Paulina," one of them said.
Anger distorted her face, and she stomped over to Dmitry and Vlad.
"What you're doing is illegal, you know!"
Vlad raised his eyebrows but did not further react.
Paulina turned to Dmitry. "If you weren't so handsome, Dmitry, I'd report you!"
"Get out of here," he scoffed, but she did not move, just sat smirking at him. "Out!" he yelled, and she marched out of the room.
"Well. You tried, my friend," Vlad sighed. "But Anastasia's don't grow on trees."
"I'm not giving up. We just need one girl to play the part." Dmitry started pacing the floor, looking at the layout of information about the Romanovs they'd set up on the stage. "Besides, we need more than just a girl to sell this. We need something that actually could have belonged to Anastasia."
"And where do you suppose we find that?" Vlad asked.
"The assassination happened not too far from here. If Anastasia really is alive, she would have needed to survive the fire, right?" Dmitry pointed out.
Vlad shrugged.
"Well, if she survived the fire, there's a chance something that belonged to her could have, too," Dmitry said, "The fire only reached half of the house before it was put out. The rest just collapsed because of structural damage!"
"So what are you saying?" Vlad asked.
"What if someone found something buried in the rubble? Like, a family heirloom? Something she could have taken out with her?"
"That's plausible," Vlad said. "In fact, if I remember correctly, I know someone who might have just what we're looking for."
"What?" Dmitry asked.
Vlad strolled out of the room, Dmitry following close behind.
"He was there when the fire happened. He claims that he went behind the house and found a music box, a music box with an A engraved on it," Vlad explained.
"I had no need for it at the time, but if we're lucky he could still have it," he continued, sitting down at his laptop.
"Well, how do we get in contact with him?" Dmitry asked.
"Email." Vlad said, waking up the computer.
Dmitry sat next to him as Vlad typed out a request- they were willing to pay a great sum of money for the music box, if the man still had it.
The reply was almost immediate. He still had the music box, and was more than prepared to sell it.
"There we are, Dmitry! A little luck," Vlad said to him.
Vlad went to make the deal and came back with the music box, exactly what the man had promised it would be. Dmitry held it up to the light and it glimmered.
"Do you think it could pass for hers?" Dmitry asked.
"It better, for what we paid for it," Vlad grumbled.
Dmitry fidgeted with the top, trying to apply pressure.
"Stop messing with it before you break it!" Vlad protested.
"I can't get it open!" Dmitry said, setting it down in frustration.
"It's a fake!" Vlad replied.
"How do you know?" Dmitry asked
"No one spots a fake like Vladimir Popov, the biggest fake of them all!" Vlad exclaimed.
Dmitry turned to answer but was cut off by a knock on the door.
"I knew it! Those women ratted on us!" he said, shoving the music box into his bag.
"At least they'll feed us in prison!" Vlad said, gathering up their papers. "I haven't had a real meal in weeks!"
When the door flew open, they both started as a girl walked in, looking exhausted.
She looked between the both of them, a look of confusion on her face.
"I'm looking for Dmitry!" she said.
"So are the police," Vlad huffed, leaning against a table.
Dmitry moved a chair over. "I'm Dmitry," he said, offering the seat to her. "What do you want?"
"I need forged documents and I was told you're the only one who can help me," she explained, ignoring the chair.
"Those papers cost money," he said, moving the chair back to him and taking a seat.
"I've saved some money," she said.
"The right papers cost a lot," he replied.
"I'm a hard worker, you'll get your money!" she insisted, kneeling to match his height.
"What do you do?" he asked.
"I work at a bakery?" she said.
"A bakery?" Dmitry asked in disbelief, Vlad chuckling behind him.
"Before that I washed dishes! And I've babysat before!" she added, standing up.
Dmitry sighed, shaking his head. "What do you need?"
"Well... I'd need a birth certificate, social security, driver's license. Everything I'd need to be able to buy plane tickets to Paris!"
"What? You don't have any of those?" Dmitry asked.
She shook her head.
Dmitry stood, staring at her. She stared back at him.
"So what's in Paris?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" he repeated.
"All I know is I need to get there," she said.
"She's crazy!" he said to Vlad.
"I'm not crazy!" she exclaimed. "Why are you so rude?"
"Forgive him. We were hoping you'd be someone else," Vlad told her, walking to the light board.
"Who?" she asked.
"Someone who may not even exist," he said, flicking on a light.
She blinked rapidly as the room was covered with sudden light. Vlad flicked another light on and the stage lit up.
She stared out at the stage, then started to drift towards it.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Dmitry asked.
She walked onto the stage as if in a trance and gazed around, looking out at the audience.
"What the hell?" Dmitry muttered to Vlad. "Look, you can't just-"
"I've been here before," she interrupted.
"What?" Dmitry asked.
"There was a show... everyone was beautifully dressed," she said.
Vlad walked over to her. "This used to be an active theater. The Yusupov's used to pay for shows to be put on here. Of course, they were all private showings..." he said.
"Everyone was so nice to me. So welcoming," she continued. Dmitry noticed she was trembling uncontrollably.
"She's going to faint on us!" he said to Vlad, who put a hand behind her back and guided her to a chair.
"Have you eaten today?" Vlad asked her. When she shook her head, he motioned to Dmitry. "Get her a glass of water. And something to eat!"
"What are we, a soup kitchen?" Dmitry asked. "We don't have any food here!"
Vlad glared at him, so he scoffed and went to get the water.
"You seem like a gentleman," she said to Vlad. "Even if your friend isn't."
Vlad chuckled, squatting down next to her. "Gentleman? No one's called me that for years," he said, giving her a smile. "But... try not to judge Dmitry too harshly. Life has been hard for him."
Dmitry returned with a glass of water and handed it to her.
"Thank you," she said, taking the glass and taking a sip.
Vlad stood and walked to Dmitry, gripping his shoulders.
"Don't be too quick about this one, Dmitry," Vlad told him under his breath.
"Her?" Dmitry asked. "What, are you crazy too?"
Vlad offered his hand to her, ignoring Dmitry. "I'm Vlad."
She set the glass down and shook his hand.
"What's your name?" Dmitry asked. When she didn't respond, he added, "If you want papers, we'll need it."
She looked down at her hands. "I don't know."
Dmitry glanced at Vlad in disbelief.
"You don't know?" Vlad asked.
"Well, I was given a first name- Anya. People... they found me, said I had amnesia. I can't remember anything beyond ten years ago," she said.
"Nothing?" Dmitry asked.
"Nothing but 'Together in Paris'," Anya replied.
"Together in Paris?" Vlad repeated.
"That's why I need to get there, I think someone is waiting for me. I just, I have this feeling that I need to go to Paris," she explained.
"You said you were found ten years ago?" Dmitry asked. "Where?"
She nodded. "Not far from here. At first, I moved around a lot, but I lost someone recently, and they left me a house here, so I came back."
Dmitry glanced at Vlad, which Anya noticed. She stood and looked between the two of them.
"What?" she asked defensively.
"Nothing, we just-"
"Just what?" she challenged. "Listen, you don't know what it's like, not knowing who you really are! I've taken care of myself for ten years, without a clue, without a family. And now, I know that I need to meet someone in Paris. Does that sound so crazy to you?" she demanded.
Dmitry took a couple of steps toward her, then placed his hand on her back, guiding her backstage.
"Maybe we can help you, Anya. It just so happens that we're going to Paris ourselves!"
...
Paulina opened the car door and slowly got inside. Looking up at the passenger seat, she saw someone texting rapidly.
"Well?" they asked.
"I was told to come to you if I ever heard a rumor about someone pretending to be a Romanov," she announced.
There was a moment of silence, then the car began to move. She was silent for the car ride, looking out the windows at the dark night. When the car came to a stop, someone opened the door and helped her out. Gripping her arm, they led her into a softly lit building. Guiding her down a hallway, they led her into a room and sat her down, then left. In front of her was a man staring out a window, his back facing her.
For a moment, he didn't say anything, then he turned and sat down at his desk.
"So, you've heard the rumors about the Romanovs," he said, folding his hands together.
"Yes, I-"
He cut her off by raising his hand.
"Everyone has." He stared at her. "Do you have the information you say you have?"
"I do, I heard-"
Once more he cut her off, standing.
"We take rumors about a Romanov surviving very seriously here. If what you say is not true, there will be consequences." His eyes bored into her. She swallowed hard.
"They're true," she insisted.
He stared at her for a moment, then once more sat at the desk.
"Then by all means." He motioned for her to start, then paused in the middle of his action. "And please, keep it brief as possible," he added, then sat back in his chair, waiting for her to begin.
"Well, you know what they've been saying. Anastasia Romanov is alive," she started. "And since Maria Feodorovna is offering a reward, people have been impersonating, Anastasia, right? So I know a couple guys who held auditions to find an Anastasia, and they've got an imposter now. But there's no way she's the real thing, I mean, she works at a bakery for God's sake. Anya, that's her name. And-"
"-That's enough," he interrupted. He opened a drawer and pulled out a checkbook, writing out an amount for her, then placed it in front of her. Standing, he once more turned to look out the window. "You're free to go."
Paulina stared at him in shock. "That's it? You mean you're not going to stop them?" she asked.
"I've done my duty, and you've done yours," he said. "For now, don't worry about them. How they are dealt with is not your concern."
"But-"
He turned and looked at her, his eyes burning with anger, and her words faltered. He stared at her, then took a few slow steps forward until he was uncomfortably close to her. For a moment, she thought he might hit her, but he simply placed his finger under her chin and lifted it until she was staring straight into his eyes.
"If we are to continue this partnership, you must follow instructions, do you understand?" he asked, his voice so soft she could barely hear it.
She was trembling.
She gave a nod, and he released his grip on her and took a step back.
Scrambling, she picked up the check and the bag she had brought with her.
"If anything new happens, bring it straight to me, Paulina," he said. "You understand?"
She nodded again. "Shouldn't I know your name? You know mine," she said.
"Gleb Vaganov," he told her. "Now go."
She did not hesitate to obey. She exited the room, and once she was out, she was practically sprinting to the car that waited for her. Holding the check up to the dim light that came through the car windows, she wondered if the money was worth all this. But it didn't matter now. It was too late to take it back.