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They walk in silence, the only sounds between them being their footsteps on the path, the rustling of the trees in the breeze, and the crashing ocean waves over the edge of the crest ahead of them. In a way, it seemed as if nature itself was coming together to create a musical interlude just for them to fill the silence.
What a terribly sappy thing to think, Gleb chides himself. Though it's not altogether incorrect, is it? He keeps his hands folded behind his back in a practiced, straight posture from days gone by, his heart pounding an anxious beat just from the presence of the woman walking alongside him.
The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolevna Romanov.
Anya.
His wife.
She’s far from that beautiful princess in the tiara and sparkling red gown in Paris, far from the pretty, dusty street sweeper with those dangerous, shining eyes that had first captured his attention on that busy Leningrad street. She’s simply Anya now, though there is nothing simple about her.
Just the same, she’s beautiful as she walks alongside him in her green linen dress and pale shawl, the plain gold band that he had given her after their wedding her only adornment, comfortable and content at his side as if she was always meant to be there.
Another game of make-believe to add to her repertoire, he thinks to himself with bitter bemusement. A pained thought that passes through his mind far more often than he’d like to admit. Nearly every day he woke up wondering how this life he was leading with her could be a reality, or anything but another game of make believe for them both.
He spares a glance towards her, watching in quiet fascination when she brushes back a few strands of hair that had flown loose from the woven twist at the nape of her neck. As if sensing him, those eyes that he’d once seen as dangerous lift immediately to meet his. He feels caught, and it causes him to stumble slightly. His face grows hot as she stifles a laugh, and he quickly looks away from her towards the path ahead of them, shaking off his foolishness in front of her.
Despite his nervous, lowered gaze, Anya continues to watch him for another moment, her smile growing from his clumsy, boyish actions. It was funny to think of how far he was from the formidable deputy commissioner of Leningrad, with his proud and lofty speeches and dangerously sharp eyes that struck terror into the heart of anyone in his path. How very far he was from the disheveled shell of a man at her feet in Paris, with his shaking hand in hers and lips against her knuckles, begging for forgiveness, resignation in his wearied eyes as he prepared to turn back emptyhanded to the country that had sent him after her blood.
She shivers slightly from the memory of that fateful Parisian day, lowering her gaze to her feet as she adjusts her shawl. How very far they both were from the people they started to be. How they wound up here, far from Russia, from Paris, together, married…
In all her years of being alone, Anya had never really given much thought to the possibility of ever being married. The idea of anyone ever marrying her had seemed illogical, and it wasn’t like marriage itself was very high on her list of priorities. Not when Paris and every unanswered question about her past had plagued her for so long, distracting her from ideas most women her age would’ve been way ahead of her on. And even if she did entertain such an idea, she had at least expected to be madly in love with whoever she wound up with.
Dmitry suddenly flits through her memory, but she quickly shoves him into a box as far away as possible in the back of her mind, frowning at herself for even bothering. He hadn’t taken the reward money, fine, but he’d still deceived her for months, had only befriended her because she could benefit him, and if she never saw him or Vlad again, Anya wouldn’t be upset about it. Whatever had passed between them, whatever had been felt, was not love.
Even still, she sometimes can’t help but wonder where he was, what he was doing, if he thought about her, and what he would say seeing her now. Married to Gleb Vaganov of all people.
Strange how, only a few months ago, the very idea seemed laughable. That the man who had caught her in her “Romanov game of make believe” and chased her to Paris to put an end to the “charade” would one day hold the title of “husband” to her.
And even now, five months after the vows were exchanged, the one, simple chaste kiss passed between them, the tickets out of Paris purchased, the plain bands exchanged along their travels, and shared domesticity between them, even then, the title of husband applying to him was still rather laughable.
It was simply convenient, at first. A way out for both of them. He’d balked at the idea, still shaking from the gun that had been in his hand only moments prior, the glisten of the tiara in her hair blinding him in the bright hall, but it hadn’t deterred her.
The hope he’d tried to hide in his eyes when he gazed up at her, believing in her in both her forms, had been what had driven her forward, catching his hand before he could slip away. The cold terror that had gripped her heart at the prospect of his leaving and returning to face retribution for not bringing her back to Russia had been what spilled the words from her.
The worst he could’ve done was say no, to call her crazy, shake her hand off, and return to the regime he’d lived his entire life for. To go back without her, with a halfhearted excuse about his father and a return to his post like a good, dutiful soldier as if everything that had transpired hadn’t, would have been the worst. To leave her with this decision, to chase after Dmitry based on her grandmother’s urging, or return to her grandmother and claim the empty title which would no doubt be plastered on every newspaper. And once it got back to Russia would certainly only end in a bullet to the back of Gleb’s neck.
His life had rested in her hands at that moment, and it was powerful and terrifying to even consider. But more importantly, for the first time, really, her life also rested in her own hands.
It surprised them both, the shared relief that had come with his acceptance. She had fully expected him to refuse her, to balk at the idea of throwing their lives away to a marriage that wasn’t built on any sort of love. But he had clasped her hand in his, stammered out a quiet agreement, and that had been that.
So why him, she had wondered, when she led him out of her grandmother’s estate, her heart heavy as a stone and yet lighter than it had been in years, if not ever. If she’d only wanted a way out, to not be alone on the journey ahead, why hadn’t she let him go, and she ran off to find Dmitry? Why, she had wondered, when something like warm hope had filled her very soul, the restoration of her memories and heart’s desire finally fulfilled, the future wide open ahead of her, a bridge waiting to be crossed. Why, why, why, she had wondered every day since.
She should have turned her back on Gleb, and all the ghosts that followed him. She should have spat in his face, let him go back to Russia, and whatever would be waiting for him there, something, anything but ask him to marry her.
And yet she had. A near perfect stranger. The son of one of hers and her family’s murderer. Her enemy.
Her husband.
Perhaps it was just another game of make believe. Like learning how to be Anastasia or living as Anya had been. She could make believe maybe one day they would reach a point where they would learn enough about each other to care. They didn’t have time or even a chance, in Leningrad, in Paris. Now though, joined in holy matrimony, there was certainly more of both time and chance to get to know each other and understand each other. To learn who they really were without the weight of royalty or duty bearing down on them.
Living in the past would get her nowhere, she’d learned that from firsthand experience.
They had learned that.
Together, and from a distance, and now here they were. Married. She was a married woman, to Gleb Vaganov of all people. And…and despite it all, it felt right.
Anya had spent so long not knowing herself, who she once was, or who she had been reborn to be. Discovering the truth should have soothed her, and perhaps in some ways it had. But she had still been so far from who she had once been. Anastasia was dead, and Anya was left in her place, yet, with a growth she could have never seen coming. Here, in this quiet coastal town, so far from who she was born to be, who she had spent ten years as, with Gleb Vaganov as her husband, she finally understood who she was always meant to be.
Perhaps, in some ways, it was only because of him.
That’s not make believe, she thinks with a start, her heart instantly warming as she lifts her gaze to look up at him again.
Gleb feels the weight of Anya’s gaze again, and he carefully unfolds his hands from behind his back, anxiously raking his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t return her glance right away, instead choosing to not only ensure his steps are far more stable this time, but to weigh his thoughts before speaking out of turn.
What on earth are you doing?
It had only been five months since Paris. Five quiet months in this tiny seaside hamlet they’d found themselves in. Five months so far away from the man he had once been, living a life he could have only dreamed about in his quietest, traitorous, secretive moments. Five months of the pair of them sharing a space, tiptoeing around each other, learning from each other, seeing each other in ways they never would have been able to before.
Five months of solitary walks in the evening after supper, walks that he would spend wondering what exactly she was thinking, wondering if she would join him if he asked.
Did she care for him, he had wondered, did she feel the depth of this strange connection they shared too? Is that why she asked him to marry her, to run away? Or was she simply keeping him from becoming a martyr for her, to protect him from a regime he had once devoted his life to?
To bind another in marriage, even one of convenience or whatever this was, out of protection or something, would mean she cared, even a little. And if she cared, well, that had to mean something, didn’t it?
It had certainly meant something to him. Some days he astounded himself to think of all he had left behind in Russia, for her. The strange connection he’d always felt between them had morphed into a deep care for her that he could hardly make sense of. Her asking him to marry her and leave everything behind was just…
An innocent enough fantasy.
She had to know that he wouldn’t refuse her, broken at her feet as he was, guilt ridden from what he’d nearly done. She had to know that he would give her whatever he could, even lay the world at her feet if she had asked it of him. Had she simply been on the cusp of something , pushed to the edge of running away and he was her pathetic ticket out? He didn’t want to believe she could be so desperate, that she could think so cruelly of him, but he’d held a gun to her face, for God’s sake! His father had done far worse! Why else should she want to bind herself to him except for desperation or guilt?
Besides, from what he had gathered in their five months together, with no secrets or deception between them, he found himself understanding just how far she’d gone to discover the truth of her royal past. And yet how quickly she ran away from it all when that truth was uncovered. Desperate or not, Anya had far better options than to choose to race right into the arms of the one person she should have fled from.
Even if she did care for him to some degree, whether it be out of pity or true depth of feeling, Gleb himself had not entered this marriage ever believing Anya could care for him the way he cared for her. Still, try as he may, he could not help but hope, in the deepest corner of his heart, that maybe one day something would change.
Things already have, haven’t they? He thinks with a low chuckle of bemusement, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
Certainly, the past five months had been filled with strange moments between them. Moments where they butted heads and tiptoed around the broken glass between them and their past. Moments where they laughed together and yelled together or simply just… existed together. Moments he wouldn’t trade anything in the world for. Moments of simplicity and peace he never thought possible.
With her.
Somewhere along the way, there had been a shift. Looks became more weighted, conversations deeper, smiles warmer. They were getting to know each other in ways they never would have been able to before, in Leningrad, in Paris. There was a camaraderie between them now, an ease and a peace that drowned out any screams or terror of the past.
Then, why had she seemed so confused when he invited her to walk with him this evening? Why had she almost laughed in surprise at his offer? Had he misread her, misunderstood her somehow? Had he been the one to send her mixed signals?
Whatever the reason, she had still accepted, and now they were here, together. On this familiar path that he had spent five months walking alone, agonizing over her, over this strange life they had built together. She was at his side now, smiling at him with a fondness that could only be built after living through such things as they had.
If nothing else, he could be content to know that she was happy there, walking by his side on a cool autumn evening.
As real husbands and wives do, Gleb thought absently, and for some unknown reason, it made his heart squeeze tightly in his chest. They were husband and wife, truly, really, and yet, it still all felt as if it would all just vanish with a strong gust of wind. That this really was a bitter game of make believe, an innocent little fantasy that would one day end. They did not possess the same affection true husbands and wives did, after all. Strong marriages could be built off of nothing between a couple, certainly, but he had always hoped…
Unaware of her husband’s inner turmoil, Anya dares herself and breaks the silence between them. “Is this the way you always go?” She asks, wincing from her voice's shaky, nervous tone. Gleb startles slightly, turning towards her with widened dark eyes. He looks so spooked by her simple question that she can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of her, and much to her surprised glee, he laughs right along with her.
“Y-yes.” He nods, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “The view at the crest makes it worth it, I promise.”
“I’m sure.” She hums, smile turning teasing. "It has to be rather splendid to take up your time every night."
"Well, I suppose-" Gleb swallows, nodding awkwardly as he gestures ahead of them. “Do you...like it? Thus far?”
“It’s pretty.” She nods, glancing about them, her gaze lingering on the now familiar coastal view through the trees. “I can already see why you like it so much.”
“Oh, yes...well.” He coughs absently, and she almost laughs again from his nervousness. Instead, she just smiles at him, one hand dropping from her shawl to brush against her side. She watches him as he stammers a bit in fragmented little sentences of rather meaningless comments on the weather, and the terrain. He’s floundering, desperately trying to find something to fill the empty air.
Anya finds it all so endearing that she can’t help but reach out, her fingers brushing gently against his in what she hopes is a soothing gesture. A chill races down her spine which she knows is not fully caused by the cool autumn breeze. The feel of his skin on hers is still a rarity, much to her surprised chagrin. And, well, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t rather starved for affection.
Gleb looks down the instant their skin meets, his voice catching in his throat. He flexes his fingers against hers in an almost reflexive motion, shivering slightly as her fingertips slide over his. Heat floods his face, and his stomach churns, but neither sensation is altogether unpleasant. No, nothing could possibly be considered unpleasant with her hand touching his own.
They’d brushed against each other many times, but before either of them could ever take hold of the other, they were pulling away, dancing away from whatever this was. Gleb was respectful. Never once did he press her for any sort of physical aspect of their marriage. Of course, physical contact was rather unavoidable in tight spaces. Anya had lost track of the countless times she’d awoken to find him pulling away from her in bed as though she had burned him, or the times they cooked together and their fingers brushed when handing food to one another, or when they would venture into town arm and arm, just barely touching.
This time was different. Instead of leaping away in an instant, the two of them lingered, waiting, ever cautious and steady. It was a strange sensation, as though something as small and silly as holding hands was the same as testing uncharted waters. But in so many ways, it was. There truly was something so thrilling about the simple act of holding hands that made her want to dive right in, regardless of whether or not they could swim. Judging by the fact that Gleb was lingering too, it had to mean the same for him too. She can feel it in the soft pressure of his hand as it lingers against her own, and when she looks up at him again, he's watching her closely, his cheeks tinged with red.
Anya smiles at him again and slowly turns her hand. Her heart is in her throat as she flexes her fingers against his, her thumb caressing the back of his hand in a silent, inviting gesture to fully close the distance, to fill the empty spaces of her hand with his own.
Drawing in a breath, Gleb does just that, the warmth of his hand suddenly completely enveloping hers. The cool brush of his wedding band against her skin, his strong fingers lacing between the gaps of her own as he grasps her securely. Her stomach gives a swoop, and Anya can’t help it, she breathes in sharply, her hand flinching ever so slightly in surprise.
How strange that such an unfamiliar motion could feel so… perfect.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, and she can feel him begin to pull away. “I didn’t mean…”
“No, no!” She insists just as quickly, her voice still sounding strange and tinny. She squeezes his hand before he can pull away. “Gleb, it’s-“
He cuts her off with his own nervous stammering. “Is…is this okay?”
“Of course, it is.” She releases a breathless laugh. “Y-you can hold my hand, Gleb. I…I want you to!” Anya shyly looks up at him, her cheeks growing hot as Gleb’s dark eyes seem to grow even darker.
His lips twitch into an impossibly bright smile, fingers trembling despite the firm grasp he had on her. “Oh.” He nods at her, dragging his thumb soothingly against her knuckles. “Okay, Anya.”
Anya smiles at him and brushes a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, slowly turning away from his sunlit profile. They return to their normal walking pace, the path ahead developing a slight incline as they come nearer to the crest of the cliff. She hardly notices, being far too distracted from the sight of their joined hands swaying between them.
She’s always known that Gleb has strong hands. But never before had she felt that strength as she does now. She can feel the vulnerability he hides in that strength, the warmth she’s spent years longing for right there in the palm of his hand. He doesn’t squeeze too tight out of nerves or force or possession. But he doesn’t hold her loosely either, ensuring she’s supported and safe. She can break free if she so wishes, but, to her surprise, she does not want to.
Nor does he. After the initial shock of her even reaching out to touch him wore off, Gleb realizes just how much he has been craving such a simple touch. He finds that he could spend the rest of his life simply holding her hand, and die a happy, contented man. She’s delicate, yet strong, and firm and really, really there. There’s no hesitance in her grasp, which somewhat startles him.
Though it shouldn’t, he realizes with a slight chortle. After all, she had reached for him first.
Will wonders never cease?
“Careful, Anya.” He says quietly, breaking the shy silence between them.
Gleb gives her hand a gentle squeeze and a tug, and when she looks up at him she can see the slight divot of his dimples appearing as he casts a small smile in her direction. She blinks in confusion, following his gaze to an overgrown tree root crossing the path ahead. “The path isn’t as clear here,” he explains, carefully guiding her over the obstruction.
She smiles thankfully at him. “Is…this where you go on your usual evening walks?” She asks curiously.
“Yes.” He nods, grinning slightly. “You asked me that already, you know.”
“Oh. Y-yes, of course. I know,” She giggles, blushing a deep shade of red that the sight of nearly has him stumbling. Again.
Anya absently drags her thumb along the side of his hand again, pursing her lips slightly as she asks, “I just…suppose I was wondering what made you invite me along tonight. Is there something special about tonight that I don’t know about?”
“Well, I…” Gleb’s smile falters slightly as he glances at her apprehensively. “N-No, I suppose tonight there’s…nothing, erm… particularly special. I-I mean it’s a lovely night in exile, but-“
“Exile?” Anya giggles awkwardly, slowing them to a stop. He scoffs slightly, looking down at their hands, lips pursed in embarrassment. Before he can elaborate, she nods in understanding. “Exile. Y-yes…I suppose…that’s what this is for us, isn’t it? A big exiled game of…”
“Make believe.” He mumbles without thinking, his grasp on her fingers loosening. “Y-yes…I suppose-“
“Gleb,” Anya can’t help but interject, ready to argue against it. He meets her gaze, studying her, waiting for whatever she might say next that might refute what they both were clearly thinking.
Because really, what could she say? Denying it would be a lie to them both, wouldn’t it?
Perhaps before that was all this was. An escape, another game of make believe that they would be forced to see through till the end of their days. A twisted sort of punishment that would have caused their parents to…
She shivers, silencing her thoughts before they can go too far. “Gleb…” she starts again, attempting to clasp her hand firmly around his even as he slips his free of her.
Gleb busies himself with tugging her shawl up over her shoulders. “T-to answer your question…I invited you tonight because I…I’ve wanted to for a long time, Anya.” He chuckles sheepishly, doing his best not to linger, despite every instinct telling him to make any excuse to continue touching her, no matter how minute. “I don’t know why I didn’t sooner or…at all…I mean I just knew the worst you could say was no, but-”
“You thought I would say no?” Anya sputters, tilting her head to the side.
“No!” Gleb exclaims with a laugh. “I feared you would say yes .”
Anya’s lips thin as she attempts to process exactly what he means. “Erm…” She starts. “I-I suppose I could turn back now if you’d rather continue alone…”
Gleb looks to her, comforted by the mischievous look in her eyes, but discouraged by the wrinkle in her brow. “No!” He exclaims again. “I didn’t mean…that is…” He shakes his head, frustrated at his stupid stammerings. “I feared you would only say yes because you felt obligated or…sorry for me.” Gleb rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, dark gaze darting nervously away from her. “I wanted you to say yes because you wanted to-”
“I did say yes because I wanted to.” She snaps back. Shoulders lifting in a weak shrug, she simply says in a softer tone, “You’re my husband.”
Gleb shivers, those three little words rolling over him like a tidal wave. Yet, it was a simple thing, really. It was the most obvious knowledge in their small world. And yet, such a statement was heavier than anything he’s ever felt before.
His heart skips a beat from the way she smiles around the words as she says them again.
“You’re my husband, Gleb.”
It’s a fact that’s been true for months and will be for many more to come. A notion he had not yet grasped ahold of until this moment, five months after their wedding day.
Gleb spent so long fully believing and expecting that this game of make believe would always have to come to an end. Whether it be because she woke up and realized her laughable mistake or one of the many other unknown scenarios he had gone through in his mind. But in the eyes of God and the law, he truly was her husband. And judging by the beautiful look in her eyes and the tone of her voice, that wasn’t about to up and vanish any time soon, if ever at all.
Maddening. Astonishing, he thinks, his stomach flip flopping as he shuffles awkwardly closer to her.
Anya tilts her head to the side, watching curiously as Gleb stares down at her, his dark eyes strangely distant. She swallows the sudden lump in her throat and reaches out to give his fingers a squeeze, satisfied when his attention returns immediately back to her.
“And I am your wife.” She finally says, the words rolling off her tongue far easier than she had expected them to.
Gleb’s face suddenly feels hot. “M-my…wife,” he mutters, suddenly out of breath. His fingers tighten around hers, and her breath lodges in her throat as he suddenly lifts her hand to press his lips to her knuckles.
It’s a strange mirroring of that fateful day. The day he confronted her with his father’s gun, when he had wept at her feet, all but kissing her skirts, shame, and terror nearly blinding him until her gloved hand had fallen into his line of vision. How he had grasped her as if she was a lifeline, a raft in the middle of a stormy sea, a light in the darkness. The day they came to terms with exactly who they were, where they came from, and who they would be going forward.
Together.
As husband and wife.
“I would have always said yes, to a walk with you.” She murmurs, brows drawing together, heart suddenly hammering in her chest. “Because you are my husband in nearly every sense of the word and I-we chose this…so it wouldn’t have been an obligation or make believe, Gleb.” She shudders slightly, not quite from the cool misty breeze. “Nor is this exile. When I asked you to marry me…I never… meant for this to be an… imprisonment for you. I’m so sorry-”
“It isn’t imprisonment to me, Anya,” He says quickly, moving her hand to rest flatly against his chest in a secondary, half thought out motion that makes his heart skip a beat. “I…I suppose I worry it is for you. That this was just an action done out of pity or…I mean, Anya, you could have the world, and yet…you would content yourself to imprisonment, settling for me of all people.” He squeezes her fingers to keep her from interrupting. “Anya, I’ve just never been able to stop wondering… why you asked me in the first place.”
“It’s none of those things for me.” She insists. “I asked you because I wanted to,” she says without hesitation, lips twitching into a smile from the feeling of his rapid heartbeat beneath her palm. “And I don’t regret it one bit, Gleb.”
Because I wanted to, and, I don’t regret it, echoes in his ears, startling him into stillness. Hope fills his chest, warm and sweet as she takes a step closer to him. Gleb wants nothing more than to draw her into his arms, to proclaim his love to her right then and there, but all he can do is chortle breathlessly.
“I didn’t realize...” He mutters dumbly. Gleb suddenly feels a stinging in the back of his eyes, and he lowers his gaze before he can embarrass himself by crying in front of her. He releases a breathless sigh, her name falling from his lips like a prayer. “Anya… Anya… How much time have I wasted…simply wondering ?”
“We’ve both…” Anya shakes her head, ducking her head in search of his gaze again. “This has all been far more than we could have ever thought it could be. I never imagined that I’d ever be married let alone to you. ”
Gleb can’t help but laugh. He knew full well that her comment was not made pointedly or in disgust. Her eyes were far too dewy and shy for it to be anything other than a quiet confession, a life lived alone for far too long, and now suddenly…
Suddenly.
“I am sorry to disappoint, Anya…” He starts, a sly smile spreading across his face.
“Gleb, you are not a disappointment.” She says firmly. “I just mean-”
“I know, Anya.” He murmurs warmly. “I…I myself could never in a thousand years have imagined being married to the frightened little street sweeper of Leningrad.” His smile falters slightly. “Nor the Grand Duchess Anastasia, either.”
Anya shivers from her given name on his tongue, the sudden steel in his voice. It was a concept she knew was still being grasped by them both, a notion they had accepted, but still had trouble with. Despite everything.
“But I don’t regret it either, Anya.” He says firmly, pressing his hand against hers. “Not one bit.”
“Good,” She breathes, fascinated by the heavy thud of his heartbeat against her palm, the way it seems to match her own nervous beat. Anya finds herself drawing strength from it as she gently confesses, “I-I don’t know when it happened…but somehow… You feel like home to me, Gleb. Here, in exile as you say.” She laughs softly, looking away as her eyes suddenly began to water. “And I’ve been searching for home for so long…”
Gleb can’t help the soft gasp that escapes him, understanding immediately the gravity of her words. It’s hard to fathom, to even comprehend such an idea, and his heart feels like it’s fit to burst from what such a simple statement means coming from her.
Home. She sees home in me.
Those three words linger on the tip of his tongue, words he never thought he would say to her, or anyone, really. He’d said them to her in his mind plenty of times, over their five months together. Countless times, really, just watching her go about their strange little life. He only said it aloud when he knew she couldn’t hear him, whether he murmured it into her hair when she snored beside him in bed or when she swore loudly over a pot of burned stew.
But they had all just been moments of make believe, in his mind. That is, the moments he longed for where he could say he loved her and it would be received as a wife receives such a statement from her husband. Where it would be reciprocated. But, he hadn’t been sure if that was ever even a possibility, and had fully found contentment in those soft moments they shared.
Longing fills his chest from the pink that spreads across her face, and he can’t help himself. Gleb removes his hand from hers at his chest and reaches out for her carefully. Her bright eyes flit up to meet his as his fingers catch her chin, gently tilting her face upwards.
Anya shivers from the touch of Gleb’s hand against her chin, the way he moves slowly, coming to cup her face tenderly in his hands as if she were some precious, priceless thing he had to be careful with. His thumbs caress the curves of her cheek, which seem to grow rounder the wider she smiles up at him. She finds it easy to settle into the strength of his touch, the gentility in those powerful hands.
“Anya…I…” He begins, but then finds he has to stop himself as his vision blurs and his eyes suddenly fill with tears.
He’d spent so many years perfecting his speech, the eloquent speeches that would pour out of him onto the Leningrad streets. But she just kept stealing the words from him, the breath from his lungs, leaving him a gobsmacked, awed shell of a man.
That she should see home in him, the last person in the world she should ever even tolerate for more than five seconds, nearly has him dropping to his knees before her as he had on that fateful day. Something she had sought for so long, something she had abandoned the moment she received the truth of her past, she saw in him. His chin begins to quiver, and he longs to run, to turn away from her to conceal such a weakness from her sight. But before he can even attempt, her hands are wrapping around his wrists, holding him securely in place.
Anya squeezes him gently, the sight of his tears, the little wobble in his chin, filling her with an overwhelming urge to protect him. She suddenly aches to wrap him in her arms, to comfort him, soothe whatever pain her words have brought on. But then he smiles, beaming at her as warm and bright as sunshine, and she can’t help the soft laugh that slips from her.
"I know what home means to you, Anya. And I-", A ragged sound that he’s not sure is a laugh or a sob spills out of him. “I don’t know what else to say other than… that I love you, Anya.” He murmurs, dragging his thumbs gently against her cheeks. Her eyes widen, and he feels her tense, but she does not pull away, nor does she laugh in his face. She just gazes up at him, her fingers trembling a little as she squeezes at his wrists again.
Anya’s head spins, her eyes water, and her knees give a little wobble. There’s a rushing sound in her ears that has little to do with the crashing of the ocean over the edge of the crest. His words echo and repeat in her mind, swirling together.
This man loves her. This man who had been a stranger to her, a threat to her very life, loves her.
But he's not a stranger or a threat to her any longer. He hasn't been for so long.
Her husband loves her. Gleb Vaganov loves her.
And Anya…she loves him too. Somehow, along the way, she had fallen in love with him.
And that is not a game of make believe.
“You needn’t say-” He starts, but does not get the chance to finish.
Because of these revelations, it’s easy to rise onto her tiptoes, grasp him by the shirt collar, and crane her head up to catch his lips with hers.
The kiss they had shared on their wedding day had been chaste. Far more chaste than she had always thought her first kiss would be. Only the slightest, trembling caress of his lips against hers, over before it had even begun. It was a wonder the priest who had married them hadn’t questioned if they were even interested in each other!
Gleb had been so terrified to let himself kiss her fully, to do so and wake from whatever dream or nightmare he had found himself in. Or worse, that she would laugh in his face and it would all be some terrible joke.
But it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t make believe or a dream.
And this kiss was anything but chaste.
Gleb always admired the fire that burned fiercely within the small woman before him. She had always seemed to be lit from within by some otherworldly light, which shone through her quick wit, teasing remarks, and lack of fear. It was stunning to find out that she kissed with that same sort of vibrancy, albeit rather clumsily.
And it was perfect. She was perfect.
He found it would be terribly easy to lose himself in such a kiss, to let her take the lead forever and simply drown beneath her waves. But after the initial shock of her kiss passed, Gleb could not help the surge of fire that spread through him from the taste of her, the nearness of her. One arm winds around her waist, the other remaining at her sweet face. He kisses her back just as fiercely, desperately, as though despite what they’d said to each other, that this was it, that when they broke apart the game would be played to its end, and this would have never been.
Instead, when his lungs burn for air and he’s forced to break away from her, she does not vanish or run away from him. If anything, she melts further into his arms, her hands gentle and soft as they smooth against his chest, her smile beaming and sweet as she slowly opens her eyes to gaze up at him.
Gleb’s heart stutters as reality catches up to him. That upon telling her that he loves her, her first instinct was to launch herself into his arms and kiss him like that. Because of such a once seemingly impossible notion, Gleb finds himself tilting her face, pressing sweet, gentle kisses to her cheeks, to her jaw, to the soft skin of her neck, stunned when she doesn't pull away. Instead, she tilts her head to allow him better access, her grasp on his shirt tightening and her breathing shifting ever so slightly.
Anya smells sweet, like oranges and vanilla and it’s overwhelming. Sure, over the past five months, he’s grown to recognize the scent of her, but never before has he breathed her in like this. His entire world seems to spin in the opposite direction just from the nearness of her, the warmth of her, the sweet scent of her. Confidence surges through him, and he can’t help it when his teeth nibble at a particularly soft spot on her jaw, which causes her to release a breathy, soft laugh.
He peppers a few more kisses along her jaw and cheek, reveling in the soft sighs falling from her sweet lips. It’s then that he suddenly realizes just how much he longs to discover every little spot on her skin to make her react as such. He slides his hand gently up her back, and at her soft sigh of his name, he’s suddenly desperate to know what else his touch could do. How might she react to different caresses that a husband could bestow on his wife to bring her joy?
Anya’s stomach gives a swoop when Gleb lifts his head to let his dark gaze pass over hers, an almost daring expression in them causing the depths to glow. Her skin tingles where his lips and teeth have made a path, and while she’s not exactly sure how to ask it, she craves for him to kiss her like that again. He must have some idea, cause his lips curve into a slow smile as he dips his head towards hers once more, all previous shyness between them melting away as he kisses her soundly.
She wants to lose herself in his kiss, to fade away from anything and everything that might stand in their way. She’s never felt such affection before. And it’s far more than a physical sensation. While that is wonderful and new and thrilling in and of itself, there’s something about this level of affection that sends her whirling.
In Gleb’s arms, she’s beloved. Each press of his lips against hers or her skin tells a story, and each caress of his strong, warm hands tells another. She wants to read him like a book, in every way that counts, and it thrills her to consider that she was capable of possessing such feelings, and able to elicit them in him as well.
Gleb feels intoxicated by the taste of her, the sweet press of her eager lips upon his own. He can’t help but notice how perfectly she fits in his arms, how his hands fit in the curve of her waist, the slope of her swanlike neck, the softness of her face. Gleb never thought they would ever find themselves here, never in his wildest dreams thought it was possible.
And yet, here they were. Living by the seaside, walking together into the future as husband and wife, leaving behind the dark memories they were forever bonded by, and walking into that future that was brighter than the sunshine above them.
Oh. Right. Their seaside walk.
“Anya,” he murmurs against her, his tongue caressing her lower lip in a gesture that sends chills down her spine. As he withdraws, she can’t help the low whine that escapes her. “Gleb,” she whispers in response, squeezing the soft fabric of his shirt, weakly trying to pull him back down to her.
He smiles, his hand moving to her cheek once more, tilting her face up and back so he could stare into her hazy blue eyes. “I-I did…want to show you the crestline…”
“Y-yes…and I…want to see it.” She chews on her lip, her stomach flip flopping from the way Gleb watches her do so. “P-perhaps we should continue? Or…”
“Or…?” Gleb furrows his brow.
“You could…invite me again tomorrow .” Her cheeks seem to burst into flames, and she attempts to hide it by leaning in and pressing an all too soft kiss to his lips. She grins teasingly when he attempts to chase her as she backs away. “I’ll say yes.” She kisses him firmly, lifting her arms to wind around his neck and tug him down. “I’ll say yes every day for the rest of my life to anything you say.”
Gleb chuckles. “Careful, little wife.” He retorts teasingly, his hands smoothing along her back as he holds her against him. He nips at her lower lip, humming against her. “You may come to regret such a statement.”
“I won’t.” She draws back slightly, gazing up into his dark eyes. Her smile falters slightly in seriousness, her grasp on him tightening slightly. “I don’t regret anything, Gleb Vaganov. Especially not you.”
Gleb blinks at her, his eyes growing dewy as he beams at her. “You’re astonishing,” he whispers, sweeping forward and kissing her again, sweetly and slowly.
Her toes curl within her shoes, warmth settling in the pit of her stomach from the languid brush of his tongue against hers. Anya can’t help the hum that escapes her, the sensation so new and strange and perfect. She wants to stay here, in this moment, kissing him forever. But oh, how she wants to pull away and tell him all that she feels for him, how foolish she felt for thinking it was all make believe when this was the truest thing she’s ever felt in her entire life.
Gleb slowly pulls away, nuzzling his nose against hers as he whispers, “We’re almost there.” He assures her, reluctantly unwinding his arms from around her before he does something crazy like scoop his wife up and carry her back to their little cottage and forget all about the rest of the walk to the crest. Instead, he bends down and picks up her shawl from where it had nearly fallen to graze the ground in her haste to kiss him.
“Oh.” She releases another breathy little laugh. “I didn’t realize…” Gleb just smiles knowingly as he winds it around her shoulders and brings it together at her chest. He's not sure if it's meant to be held together this way, but he knots it together at the ends to hold it in place, hoping the action wouldn't upset her.
All the while, Anya gazes up at him, her head still spinning from the onslaught of their kisses, her heart thudding wildly away from his gentle, attentive movements. She had spent so much of her life yearning, wanting, so deeply, but she had never felt this. It’s a maddening feeling, to want someone so deeply, to yearn for a person the way she used to yearn for home.
Her stomach swoops, realizing just how deeply she truly loves him, to admit to seeing home in him. This man who had sought her life, who had followed her to Paris because of blood soaked duty, only to wind up here with her. This man with his strong, gentle hands and patient heart, with an ache that runs as deep as her own, a past shrouded in too much pain and blood. This man who understood just how much home meant to her, who had remained patient and steady through this unexpected situation she had brought him into. This man who she couldn’t imagine ever being parted from.
That’s not make believe, she thinks again, memorizing the slight pink tinge of his kissed lips, the haze in his warm dark eyes when he fixes them on her. She moves her hand to grasp at her shawl, a silly little shyness washing over her beneath that newly opened gaze.
“Just a little further.” He promises, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he gathers her free hand in his, drawing her to his side once more. Gleb slides her hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling altogether silly for how exciting such a simple, normal action feels. "Then..." He shuts himself up, grinning shyly at her, distracted by how she's all hazy eyes and pink kissed lips smiling up at him.
Anya can’t argue or even properly formulate the words she wants to say to him at that moment. Her legs feel like jelly, and there’s a bursting, bright warmth in her chest that threatens to bubble out of her in a giddy, ridiculous explosion. There’s no other choice but to allow him to lead her the rest of the way along the path, unsure if she should laugh or cry from all that has unfolded between them.
They had always had a future together, before. But now, it felt like it was far more vast and open than it ever had been before. And it was a feeling that nothing and no one could ever tear away from them.
The sunset casts shades of orange and pink across the sky, and as they reach the crest line, it sparkles across the dancing waves. Despite it being autumn, there are still smatterings of wildflowers growing along the cliff’s edge, poking up between large stones that act as a barrier to the edge and plummeting drop to the sea below. Even from this height, the ocean mist is cool against their faces, and the wind a bit stronger here.
Gleb looks to Anya as she gasps, her hand loosening in his arm as she gazes out at the horizon. He's seen this same sunset view too many times to really care much about it right now, far too fascinated by her. He’s struck for the millionth time just how beautiful she is, all round cheeks and bright eyes and honey colored hair. What strikes him more is how she turns and beams up at him, her smile bright and solely for him.
Anya is breathless, perhaps from the height or the view or him. Her head is still spinning from their kisses, and his declaration, and she’s a little wobbly on her own two feet as she turns towards him. “It’s beautiful!” She exclaims, hugging her shawl to her chest with one hand, the other squeezing at his bicep.
“I should have brought you sooner,” Gleb winces, slipping his arm free of her so he can reach out to adjust her shawl and then grasp her arms. She's shaking, and his lips purse as he begins to rub her gently to ward off the cool wind. “When it was warmer-”
“Gleb.” She cuts him off, his name on her voice a giddy little whisper of an exclamation. She presses one hand to his face, a shiver crawling down her spine that has absolutely nothing to do with the wind as he leans into her touch, his dark lashes fluttering as his eyes soften.
"Y-yes, Anya?" He murmurs, dragging his thumbs against her shoulders.
She's thankful for his hands keeping her upright, the gentle expression on his face. The admission spills out of her before she can stop it, much like her request of marriage had. “I-I love you too, you know.” She finally says, eyes stinging from the raw emotion brewing under her skin.
Gleb stares at her for a long moment, her words slowly sinking in. "You..." He starts, though his voice catches and stills in his throat, anything he could have possibly been about to say silencing in an instant. It seems impossible, but…he knows it’s true. He can see it! There is nothing but love and truth shining in her eyes, nothing but pure affection in her smile. What strikes him more than anything is how familiar such an expression is.
It was always there, wasn’t it? This love was always there even before we could even recognize it.
It wasn’t make believe any longer. Had it ever truly been? It's maddening and thrilling and far more than he thought it could be. They stare silently at each other, both terrified to break this moment, to wake up from whatever dream they were sharing, to find the end of this game of make believe.
Anya's smile widens, and she doesn't need to, but she nods at him, a shaky little laugh escaping her. Gleb doesn’t bother holding back the tears that spring from his eyes, or the weak way he drops his head into her hand as if she’s the only thing keeping him upright under the weight of her admission. She brings her other hand to his face, her thumbs slowly dragging against his skin, brushing the warm droplets away. Gleb shakily lowers his hands until they curl about her waist. He can feel the way her ribs expand as she breathes, the warmth of her through the green linen of her dress. He gives her a gentle squeeze, ensuring that she was really, truly there.
This wasn’t vanishing in an instant. This was real, genuine, and all their own.
Anya blinks back her own tears as she tilts his face up, gazing up at him with all the love she had never known what to do with. All the love she had been saving for her future, for him. She rises onto her tiptoes, her lips caressing his. His lips part against hers, catching each word as she whispers, “I love you, Gleb.”
“And I love you,” He replies against her lips before surging forward and winding his arms fully about her waist. He crushes her to his chest, pouring everything he has to give her into this kiss.
He kisses her like a drowning man gulping at air, and she finds it far too easy to match him beat for beat. Anya melts against him once more, rising onto her tiptoes to reach him better as her arms slide around his neck.
It’s like the perfect ending to a fairytale that she’s always dreamed about. A sunset kiss as the ocean waves crash behind them, and yet, it feels far more like a beginning.
Hope floods her heart as they break away, warmth filling every crevice of her and melting in her stomach as he rests his forehead against hers. She drags one hand through his hair, her lips trembling into a silly little grin from the way he murmurs her name, tilting into her touch as if he’s been craving it.
“You were always right there,” Gleb whispers. “ Right there, and I just…I contented myself with what little we had.” His brow furrows, his grasp on her tightening. “Oh, sweet Anya…I fear waking up from this dream.” He admits, his voice low and soft as he holds her close, breathing in her sweetness. Her fingers in his hair are heavenly, and it’s a blessed distraction. “That…that this has all just been a facade, a game of make believe in exile.” He drawls with a quiet laugh.
She smiles, though her eyes sting with tears. “We’ve both been playing make believe for too long, in my humble opinion,” Anya says in a teasing, shaking tone. “And I think, dear husband, that it’s high time we start living in reality.”
Heat floods his face, heart suddenly thuds louder than the crashing waves behind them. “I can’t help but agree.” Gleb murmurs, lips curving into a teasing smile as he adds, “I was only trying to tell you that from the start, you know, Anastasia.”
Anya isn’t sure which steals the breath from her more, being able to be so freely close to him or her birth name on his tongue. She can’t focus on the notion for long, the warmth of his breath suddenly against her lips far too distracting.
“Yes, well…” Her eyelids begin to grow heavy as he draws near again, lips parting to meet. “Gleb?” She whispers.
“Yes, Anya?” He asks, tilting his head back slightly, gazing down at his wife with all the love and adoration that he possesses.
Anya grins up at him, humming softly, “Timing is everything.”