The Lives Of The Romanovs

The Whiskey

Anastasia

On Wednesday, I met Makari Kuznetsov that afternoon. Unfortunately, I had the chauffeur drop me off in front of the hospital again. But the bar we were meeting at was at least 10-blocks away from there. So, I lifted up skirt a little and took off running. It felt nice running in the hot sun with a chill breeze from running so fast. The Russian citizens looked at me as I passed by, but none of them knew who I was. They had no idea I was Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, and that was wonderful.

I panted and threw the door open. The inside was much nicer than I had expected. Makari was standing by the doors waiting for me. He seemed puzzled by me.

"Anastasia, what happened?"

"I ran here...oh, it's a long story." I panted and tried to fan myself with my hand. Makari seemed a little embarrassed at me. Which honestly, I could understand. No one wants to drink with a sweaty girl. But nonetheless, we still got a table and sat down. Makari and I just ordered two glasses of whiskey...and this place actually had ice.

"So, I won't waste any time here." Makari nodded and pulled out a notebook from a little black bag that he. I did not even notice he had one at first. "Alright Anastasia, what is your name? Preferably your first name and family name, please."

I hadn't thought of a family name. Dammit. How did I miss that?

"My name...Anastasia Voronova."

"How old are you?" He seemed so concentrated on what he was writing down. His blonde hair had a tuft in front of his face and circular glasses so I couldn't see his crystal-blue eyes.

"I'm nineteen."

Makari looked up at me and scoffed. "Poppycock."

"I am! I turned nineteen in June!"

"Whatever you say, princess. So...what's your occupation and your husband's name?"

I scoffed. "What? Are you going to need my address and the names of all my ancestors too?" I rolled my eyes. Makari rolled his eyes back me and groaned.

"Just answer the damn question."

"I don't have an occupation...I'm a wife to an imperial officer." I bursted out. Makari looked up at me with a cheeky grin. He chuckled and shook his head.

"Now, now that is definitely poppycock. There's no way the wife of an imperial officer is interested in politics-"

The bartender walked over to us. "Your drinks." He set them down in front of each of us. I took no time but to start sipping on mine. It was incredibly strong.

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. "Interested in politics? Why wouldn't I be? And ROOIW isn't based on politics, it's based on general human rights!"

"Yes, my sister says the exact same thing. But there's a difference between people like you and my sister. You see that pearl necklace and that white hat you're wearing? I'm guessing those are thousands of rubles. Most Russians can barely scrape together money to put food on the table. And you think your prestigious bourgeoisie arse knows anything about real struggles?"

Anger was building up in my chest and I could feel my face becoming hot. Who was he to judge me or assume anything about my life?

"How dare you! You know nothing about me! What about you? I see you're wearing some nice suits!"

Makari tugged on his blazer. "This? My grandfather, father, and I share suits! Thank God we are all the same size. How many dresses do you own? Twenty? Thirty?"

I couldn't take it anymore. I just stood up and grabbed my purse.

"You know what, Mr. Kuznetsov? If you're just going to bully me, then I'm leaving! You can take your newspaper and shove it up your ass!" I shouted at him. I didn't typically curse, especially around people. But I am over being ladylike all the time. Being ladylike has only ever allowed women to be pushed around.

I tried to walk past him, but Makari quickly grabbed my wrist. He didn't grasp it hard. He was grasping so softly that I could still slip my hand out if I wanted to.

"Sit, please. The sooner I do this article then the sooner we never have to see each other again." Makari spoke softly to me. I looked into his eyes, which were still a piercing blue. I scoffed at him and wiggled my wrist out of his grasp. I walked back to my seat and sat back down.

Makari cleared his throat and picked his notebook back up. "Now, all I'm putting in the article is your name and age-"

"What happened to my occupation and husband's name?"

Makari looked up at me and shrugged. "Something tells me your husband doesn't know much about your personal life as much as he thinks."

"Then you'd be correct. Just make this quick. I have places to be."

"Don't worry, princess. I don't have much time on my hands neither." He chuckled. For the rest of the lunch, he asked me questions about oppression, my thoughts on the 19th amendment in the United States, how Russia can change for the better, and just other things involving feminism and my organization. Weirdly, we even made a few jokes and laughed, as if we hadn't bickered earlier. As if...we were friends who had known each other for a long time.