Chapter Text
“Why do we always have to visit your grandmother? Can’t we just once come to Paris for a relaxing trip?” Dmitry asks as he opens the cab door for Anya and offers her his hand. Anya steps out onto the powdery white sidewalk and pulls her coat tighter around her small frame.
“Dmitry, I have told you a thousand times, she is not only my Nana, but also,” Anya glances around the snowy street before continuing, “The Dowager Empress, and I feel like if I don’t visit her often enough, she may send out a search party.”
“Yeah, but we come to Paris at least once a month. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to visit.” Dmitry says, holding out his arm, his other hand laden with their suitcase.
Anya takes it. “Dmitry, we’re already here. You can pretend to cooperate with her for two hours.”
They climb the steps of the Dowager Empress’ luxurious flat. Once they reach the front door, Dmitry presses the golden doorbell.
“Anything for you, your grace.” He smirks.
Anya rolls her eyes and grabs his collar, pulling him down for a kiss.
“Good morning, your highness,” The butler that opens the door announces, “And Dmitry.” He adds with a slight sneer.
“Watch it, pal.” Dmitry mutters as they step inside, out of the powdery downfall.
The butler ignores him and takes their coats and bags, handing them off to a pair of maids. The butler leads them into the main sitting room, where the Dowager Empress sits on a loveseat, sipping a cup of tea and reading a newspaper.
The butler clears his throat. “Your majesty, may I present the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, and Dmitry.”
“Welcome, my dears.” The Dowager Empress stands, holding her arms open.
Anya rushes forward, accepting the embrace. Her grandmother kisses her cheeks, then looks up at Dmitry. He steps forward and takes her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She nods her head and smiles kindly. Fortunately, their relationship has improved since he stepped on the train of her dress all the way back in April. Seven months flies by so fast.
“Cecile, some more tea please.” The Dowager Empress calls as the trio sits, Anya and Dmitry across from the older woman.
“Anya, dear, I have some wonderful news.” The Dowager Empress starts. “My contacts in Russia tell me that the Bolshevik officer that broke into the flat and attempted to assassinate you was arrested and imprisoned.”
“H...How did you know about that?” Anya asks. Her hands start to shake. Dmitry takes her left hand in his right.
The Dowager Empress chuckles. “I still have friends in France, dear. Friends with eyes all over Paris and beyond.”
“Well, I’m glad that I no longer have to worry about him finding us.” Anya says quietly. Dmitry’s heart flutters at the “us”. He still isn’t quite used to their relationship being so official.
“May I ask what he was arrested for, your highness?” Dmitry asks.
The Dowager Empress chuckles again. “Leaving his jurisdiction without direct orders, if you’d believe it.”
“That’s it?” Dmitry clenches his empty fist. “How about stalking, trespassing, and attempted murder?”
Anya puts a hand on his shoulder. “Dmitry, don’t.”
“My apologies.” He says.
The Dowager Empress nods. “I agree with you, Dmitry. However, we should be glad that he is locked up at all. The Bolsheviks can be tricky, and I would prefer not to be involved with their legal matters.”
Dmitry nods as a tray of tea arrives. He takes a cup and hands it to Anya, who is still shaking.
The clicking of nails on the pristine linoleum floors draws the trio’s attention. A beautiful sheepdog with a shiny coat appears in the entry to the sitting room.
“Ah, Ivan has arrived!” The Grand Duchess smiles.
Anya holds out her hand, and the sheepdog immediately moves towards her and nuzzles her affectionately.
“Hello, Ivan,” Anya smiles, “Have you been treating my Nana well?”
Dmitry smiles as he watches Anya rub the dog’s fur lovingly. Her shakiness seems to have vanished, for now.
The trio chat and make small talk for a while. Slowly, the teapot grows lighter and lighter, until a maid appears in the entryway.
“Yes, Cecile?” The Dowager Empress asks, looking at the small redheaded girl. She can’t be older than sixteen, and she looks nervous.
“May I suggest lighting a fire, your majesty? The storm outside has picked up terribly.” Cecile trembles.
Anya and Dmitry exchange a look. Anya moves to the nearest window and shifts the curtain. Rather than a light, white sprinkling, the weather has picked up to a dark, violent flurry. Anya can barely see the street ten feet away from the house. "Oh, we'll never find a cab in this weather." She sighs.
The Dowager Empress waves her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, light a fire. But don’t make it too big just yet. And light one in the bedrooms, as well.”
“Oh, Nana, that's not necessary.” Anya protests. "We could walk to the train-"
“I most certainly will not allow the pair of you to go outside with the weather like this.” The Dowager Empress says. “I will have a guest bedroom prepared. It's no trouble.”
“Just… one bedroom?” Anya and Dmitry glance at each other. They share a bed in their tiny flat in Lille, of course, but to do it in the home of Anya's grandmother was completely different.
The Dowager Empress raises an eyebrow. “Unless you think you'll need to be separated?”
In unison, their two faces turn rosy pink. “Of course not, Nana.” Anya sputters.
Dmitry swears he sees the Dowager Empress smirk. “Then I will bid the pair of you goodnight.” The elderly woman says, standing. “Sleep well, my dears.”
“I’m tired, as well.” Dmitry looks at Anya once her grandmother is gone.
Anya nods. “Me too.”
They walk up a flight of stairs and find a door standing open. A soft king-sized bed with an excessive amount of cream pillows and a thick golden quilt stand proudly in the middle of the room. A vanity table sits in the corner, and beside that, a tall wardrobe. Their suitcase is laid on the crimson chaise lounge at the foot of the bed. A warm, crackling fire burns happily in the fireplace.
“I’ll be in the bath.” Anya says, retrieving her nightgown and moving towards the adjoined bathroom.
Dmitry waits until she starts the bath, then closes the bedroom door and undresses, changing into his pajamas. He folds his clothes and leaves them on the lounge, dims the lamps, then pulls out a battered paperback book and crawls under the covers.
The reading is slow going. Sadly, his street education of fist fighting and pickpocketing didn’t leave much time for grammar and phonetics. Luckily, he managed to pick up basic reading skills before his parents died, and with Anya’s help, he’d been getting better every day. Plus, now that they could actually afford luxury items such as soap and books, it grew easier to read every day.
Dmitry glances up from the novel at the partially opened bathroom door. Some of the steam from the hot water has escaped into the bedroom.
This was how they usually did it. The tiny flat they had in Lille didn’t have a fireplace, and on the occasions that they had a cold night, that was how they warmed their home. It also helped with the fears of being separated. It pained Dmitry to say, but they both suffered through nightmares, although Anya’s were infinitely more severe.
Anya emerges from the bathroom and puts her day clothes away. She glances at the novel in Dmitry's hands and smirks, climbing under the covers with him.
“For someone that hates Russia so much, you seem to be very invested in the most Russian novel out there.” She teases.
“Hey, War and Peace is completely fictional. I don’t have to sympathize with real Russians.” Dmitry teases back, marking his page and setting the book on the nightstand.
“What’s wrong with real Russians?” Anya smiles.
Dmitry kisses the top of her head as she curls into his side, the warmth from the bath flooding his body.
“They’re all stubborn, and impulsive, and short-tempered,” He answers, “Myself included.”
Anya yawns, then sighs. “You’ve got that right.” She murmurs in a tiny voice.
Dmitry pulls the covers up to their chins. He can’t decide whether it’s the warmth of the room or the comforting scent of Anya’s lemongrass soap that makes his eyelids so heavy, but he gives in, and drifts into unconsciousness.