I sprinkled a bit of white flour onto the counter and dusted some on my hands before taking the glob of dough I had just previously mixed together and began to knead it mindlessly with great strength. Tasks in the bakery had become second nature, which was good for several reasons, one being that I was deeper in thought than I could ever recall in my entire life.
I thought you had a family and that they were killed in the revolution? That's what Father said..." Adélie trailed off, her words echoing in my mind as they had everyday since she had breathed them.
I grasped the dough and folded it tightly.
"That's what Father said..."
Fold.
"Father said..."
Using my body weight, I forced the dough into itself.
"Good morning, Sir. We are so sorry to disturb you at this hour, but my wife and I were wondering if you had a place we could sleep for the night," Dmitry had begged Mr. Benoit.
Tighter.
Must make the bread fluffy.
"...but my wife and I were wondering if you had a place we could sleep for the night."
Fold.
Push.
Repeat.
The dough needs to be kneaded.
"...but my wife..."
Push. With my fist, I began to pound the dough, every impact filled with emotion.
"He was a salesman...in a way," I replied casually, bending the truth about Dmitry's former "career."
More flour.
"...a salesman..."
I then turned the dough over and continued kneading, my consciousness somewhere other than in the kitchen.
"You're a liar...and a darn good one at that," Sasha hissed, twirling her blonde hair around her pale bony finger.
"Anya?"
I snapped out of my thoughts and glanced up from the task at hand and to Amélie, whom had called my name, with blurred vision and a wet face. I placed a flour-covered finger delicately to my cheek and frowned slightly in confusion. Sweat usually didn't drip down the front of my cheeks...
Amélie didn't stare but rather, watched me with concern, her eyebrows knitted together in a sort of frightened bewilderment. She had stopped piping filling onto the macaron cookies some time ago it seemed, examining my every move, the bag filled with raspberry cream in hand. Finally, Amélie's natural pink lips parted and though she seemed at a loss for words, she finally spoke.
"Anya, are you...alright?"
I nodded quickly, my tone filled with assurance, "Why, of course! Why wouldn't I be? I'm perfectly fine!"
Amélie seemed unconvinced but struggled for her answer as to why. She went back to filling the macarons, I silently watching her and awaiting her response nervously.
I began to feel self-conscious and I wiped my powdery hands on my apron, my cheeks warming. Was I kneading the french bread dough too much? Too hard? I let my hands gently press the dough, fold it, and shape it before deciding that I had indeed ruined yet another baked good. Number five this week? Check.
I let out a long sigh and placed my head in my hands, ashamed. I was costing this family—this amazing and beyond incredible family everything. A bed and a room to sleep in, a place at their table three times a day, seven days a week, and if that wasn't enough, now I was messing up their pastries? The business was booming and now I was costing them their profits. And for what? Because I was in a daze?
It wasn't right. I had considered quitting yesterday after I burned three sponge cakes. Amélie had gotten quite frustrated with me and rightfully so, as I had dropped the pièce montée on Monday, which Amélie had spent hours on for a customer, spilled the macaron filling all over the floor on Tuesday, smashed the riz à l'impératrice on Thursday, and now this on Saturday? My life was spiraling and spiraling quick.
I wasn't a baker...
I wasn't married...
I wasn't honorable...
I wasn't admirable...
I wasn't honest...
I was a liar.
And just when I thought I had found a family—a real family, one I felt apart of, one with a mother, father, little brother, and two younger sisters. I loved Nana of course and nothing would alter those feelings, but being with the Benoits has shown me something—something I had forgotten...and that was what it felt like to really be apart of something, to contribute to the family and work together as one. I hadn't felt that since my family had...well...since they were gone.
I had made close relationships with each member of the Benoit family and built it on what...
Lies.
The Benoits didn't really know me...or Dima.
And while I had in the past despised Dmitry for being a con artist, I was the same. I was a phony and...afraid of telling the truth because if I did, I'd lose them...
...and if I lost them, it'd be just like losing my family again.
"I'm so sorry," I blurted genuinely, my voice on the verge of breaking, "Oh goodness, Amélie...I've made such a mess...look at this bread..."
Amélie set down her piping bag and drew towards me, placing her hand on my cheek and staring deep into my blue eyes. She searched them for some time and then smiled in a motherly way and began, "Oh, Anya...dear, do not worry. I am not mad. You have not destroyed anything important."
If only she knew...
"I only wanted to know why you were crying," Amélie explained, wiping my cheeks with her thumbs.
I rose my eyebrows in surprise and then frowned in confusion, stuttering, "I-I...I was crying?"
"Yes, dear," Amélie nodded before taking on a worried countenance, "Are you sure you're alright?"
"I..." I drifted off, my voice soft before it slipped away. I couldn't give her an answer—the true answer anyway. Just like I couldn't give them the true answers about anything because we had started every relationship in this household with lies. Any of our truths would contradict the first lie—that Dmitry and I were indeed wed, and everything would crumble from there.
Lies were incredibly dangerous as well as tricky. I felt as if I was slowly slipping down an icy slope and there was nothing to hold onto that would save me. Every night since the big storm the "what if's" has consumed my dreams. What if we had told them the truth from the beginning? Would we be here? Would things be different? Or was lying the only way?
It seemed to me that there was no winning.
Every thought of everyday was plagued with the constant replaying of the many lies Dmitry and I had told, visions of the Benoits cutting off ties and kicking us out, and my own small voice in my head calling me a liar continuously.
How could I tell Amélie this?
I was deathly afraid.
"I'm not alright, Amélie," I blurted, faster than I could even process what had come out of my mouth. I recovered quickly and stated, "But I wish not to discuss it." I turned back and began uselessly kneading the hard french dough just to distract myself from saying anything stupid...like the truth.
Amélie nodded seemingly knowingly and began filling the macarons once more. The silence from before fell on us, my usual cue for a sigh of relief, but this time instead, I held my breath.
On the tip of my tongue, were three words. I wanted to let them out so badly, for then and only then would I sigh in relief, but I couldn't and it ached. If it was only my relationships at stake, maybe I'd let it all loose, but then I was costing someone else again.
Dmitry.
Oh, he was in it as much as I was, yet he seemed like he could live with it. No one asked him any questions and he went on living. I don't know how he could go on merry as always...guilt was a punishment I could not simply live with. It wasn't worth it. The Benoits meant so much to me...
...but Dmitry meant more.
And he had just gotten a job—one he loved and came home everyday tired from but nevertheless joyful about. He had bonded with Jean and Pierre as well as with Amélie and the girls and if I relayed the truth, I'd ruin everything for him as well.
"That's what I adore about you, Anya," Amélie broke the silence, causing me to glance up from my pointless task. She didn't stare back at me but rather, kept on pipping different icings onto the macarons of many colors. She continued on in a gentle tone, "You've always been honest with me."
"Amélie..." I trailed off, my voice breaking and tears slowly streaming down my face. In a painful tone I finished, "Please."
Amélie looked up at me and cocked her head, "What is it, dear? Why must you be so sad? What seems to have you troubled?" She then paused and a warm smile spread across her pink complexion, "I look at you as my own daughter and it burdens me to see you so unhappy. I've noticed it...since last week. What is it, darling? Please."
I let out a few cries and shook my head, strands of my copper colored hair getting stuck in my tears on my cheeks but I didn't push then away. "Oh, Amélie," I sighed, snuffling and gasping some, "Why must you be so kind to me?"
Amélie beamed, "Because I love you as one of my own."
"But—"
"You and Dmitry," she stated proudly.
"Why?" I inquired, tears trickling down my face and falling to the floor, "You don't know us."
Amélie chuckled slightly, "Oh, but we do."
"But you don't!" I cried, causing Amélie to jump slightly in surprise, "We're strangers—strangers whom you know nothing about. You let two perfectly random people into your home to live with. Why, oh why did you have to? You and your family are too good for this cruel world..."
Amélie watched me, examining my every move and processed my words intently while I stood, shaking and crying my eyes out a foot away from her. She then grinned and nodded to herself, "Let me tell you a story, dear Anya." She then motioned toward a stool, instructing me to be seated upon it, in which I did. Amélie cleared her throat and then began, "Let me see. It must start about...we'll say...oh...fifteen or so...years ago, mind you. I was...that would make me...twenty and Jean twenty-three. I was a few months with child...with Adélie, and we were moving from the coast of Brest to Paris by train. It was..." she paused and shook her head slightly, "Terrible."
I wiped my cheeks and sniffled, my cries finally calming down. "With Adélie?" I asked in shock, "On a train? I got motion sickness from a train and I wasn't even pregnant. I can't imagine!"
Amélie laughed, "It was awful."
"Please," I motioned with my hand, "Continue. Why were you traveling to Paris?"
"Because my husband had a splendid idea that we should open up a small bakery," Amélie replied, rolling her eyes slightly. We both shared a hearty laugh before she pressed forth with her tale. "When we finally arrived after a long and weary journey, it was late in the night. We had no place to stay and no family around us. We checked the inns and they were either full or too costly. We then, desperately went around to small homes, much like you and Dmitry did, and knocked on...oh...goodness me, possibly every store front and home on this side of the Eiffel that night. No one would let us stay with them."
I placed my hands over my mouth in a horrible shock, "Even though you were pregnant?" and Amélie nodded in response. I then shook my head and remarked, "And I though Dmitry and I resembled Mary and Joseph..."
"Oh yes," Amélie laughed, "It definitely puts that story into perspective." After a good laugh, she then continued to add to the story, "In the end, no one would let us stay the night so we slept in the park."
I gasped, "No...how horrible!"
Amélie nodded in agreement, "Oui. But we, that is, Jean and I, vowed to each other that night that if anyone came knocking on our door, we'd show them the kindness we wished we had had. We made the most out of our injustice."
"Merci, Amélie," I smiled genuinely, "For this gift of a story. It's truly inspiring and remarkable. Thank you."
"De rein," Amélie winked.
It was silent between us once more for only a brief moment. Then, Amélie pipped up one last time, "So now you know, sweet Anya, why we let two strangers into our home."
"And I am honored," I replied, the guilt from before coming back now. Now I had destroyed a perfectly beautiful story about helping your neighbor into a tale filled with deceit.
I wanted this all to end and I to wake up to a perfectly good life where Anya didn't make so many costly mistakes.
It seemed nothing ever was alright for me—the grass couldn't be green long, it always had to die...die more than it lived. Why had my life been such a spiral of struggle? What had I done to deserve such constant inner torment?
Amélie beamed, "We don't know everything about you two, but we do know that you both are good people...and to Jean and I, that's what matters. That's what we wanted to do. We didn't help you only because we experienced desperate need, but because we want to bless you both because of your goodness. Jean told me he knew it the moment he saw you both—you two are good."
My chest became heavier and I placed my head in my hands.
"Why don't you take a nap, dear Anya?" Amélie suggested kindly, "You look like you need some peace. You're at war within yourself—I can see it. Take some time upstairs—it's on me."
"Amélie..." I trailed off before she interrupted.
"All I want is a hug and you must go," she finished, "No exceptions. You need rest and some time to think."
I sighed long and hard before I smiled sweetly, standing up from the stool and giving Amélie a great bug hug. "I love you like a mother, Amélie," I whispered, "Thank you for everything. You truly are more than wonderful."
"Merci, dear. I adore you, Anya," Amélie grinned, "And I am so happy you and your husband have come to stay with us. You're apart of the Benoit family and we'd never want to lose you both."
I gave her a weak smile and left the room quickly before I would spill every truth ever known to me. I hurried up the staircase and bumped into Pierre at the top, who then fell onto his bottom. I gasped slightly and held out a hand to help him up, "Pierre! I am so sorry! Here, let me help you."
He took my hand gently and I helped the boy up. He gave me a toothy grin and thanked me before I began to bombard him with questions, "I'm so sorry, Pierre! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"
He nodded nonchalantly as if nothing had happened and answered, "Yeah, I'm okay."
I beamed and tousled the boy's mousy hair, "Good. I don't ever want you getting hurt, much less at my expense." My words then hit me and I pictured the poor boy's face when he would find out that everything I had told him...Dmitry being my husband and my past...was a lie. He'd be crushed, broken...hurt at my expense.
"Are you okay, Anya?" Pierre asked, tilting his head slightly, resembling more a puppy than a six-year old boy.
"I'm fine," I lied, "Just tired."
Pierre frowned and began to ask me something, but I didn't catch the question. I just walked past him in a trance and into my bedroom, where I shut the door promptly behind me and collapsed onto the bed and sobbed.
******
The warm July sun bathed Dmitry in golden light and sweat as he stood at the Benoit bakery cart, proclaiming that crème brûlées were half priced.
The plaza was busy, as it had been everyday in the summertime. There were the children, out playing ball or tag, making friends, and begging cart keepers for frozen treats, cookies, and lemonade. The lovers, strolling around the grand tower, laughing, talking, sharing strudels, and occasionally pecking each other's lips. The shoppers, busy buying assortments of food from the carts and small shoppes or purchasing clothing from the high-class boutiques that outlined the Eiffel's park. Young ladies, chatting about and drinking lemonade; young men, working all day except when they weren't—in which they were walking around the carts on lunch hour. And the randoms—the people who came and went and went and came without any reason or sense of familiarity. Half of them were most likely tourists while the other half were just...well, random.
The cart had been exceptionally busy this afternoon, as it had been in the morning, and Dmitry was highly enjoying the hustle and bustle the summer brought. "Pistachio macarons!" Dmitry called, hoping to interest someone into buying a few—or um...one. Yes, only one, of course.
Dmitry sighed, glancing into the wooden cart and watched the sun melt away the small frosted cakes no one had purchased. He let out a small sigh, his tone filled with contentment and glanced over to the usual children playing nearby. "Children!" He called, "Les enfants!"
The children looked up from their game of tag and grinned, some speaking excitedly in French and some in English for they knew Dmitry and what he was about to do.
"One euro for a cake!" He stated loud enough for the kids to hear, in which they cheered and rushed over with their coins. Once the frosting on pastries began to melt, people took no interest in buying them—except for children. Dmitry had made a bargain with the kids of Paris a week after he started the job. Once the frosting began to melt on the pastries, they would go to the children for only a single euro. This excited the children, as nothing was worth a single euro in the carts by the Eiffel, which gave Dmitry much of their business each day.
First in line, there was the little child David, a Jewish boy who had come to Paris for the summer with his family and had come to the cart everyday since along with his smaller brother Ruben.
"Good day to you, David," Dmitry smiled warmly, "And to you, Ruben."
"Tzaraiim Tovim," David and Ruben greeted in unison. David pointed to the sponge cakes and Dmitry nodded, taking them out of the cart and handing them to the two boys. David hadn't the slightest clue of English or French and was slowly learning, but Dmitry had been kind enough to explain in charades the first day he and his brother had come to the cart that one cake meant one euro. David paid two euros for two sponge cakes and was off with his brother, munching happily.
Next was Brigitte, a girl who was friends with Adélie, blonde and blue-eyed, sweet and shy, and who happened to fancy Dmitry. She thought him handsome, which Adélie was disgusted by, being as Dmitry was obviously her older brother. "May I have one vanilla sponge cake s'il vous plaît," she asked kindly, blushing profusely.
Dmitry, clueless to the fact that the girl liked him, smiled dashingly, "Of course, Brigitte." He took the small cake in hand and passed it to her. She took it slowly, letting her fingers softly touch his masculine hands. She then quickly snatched it away and turned a dark shade of red as the boys behind her chuckled. She paid Dmitry one euro and skipped away to a bench, where she ate her dessert and watched him, practically swooning from afar.
Phillipe was next in line, a french boy who only came to the cart every now and then, as his family was very poor. He was a kind boy, only ten years old, but much resembled a gentleman in behavior. "Un chocolat, s'il vous plaît," he requested in an amiable tone.
Dmitry nodded, "Oui." He handed the boy a chocolate cake, received a euro, and watched the boy go merrily on his way.
Lawrence, the English boy of twelve, came next in line. He had good manners, much to Adélie's liking, dimples, dark brown hair and blue eyes, and a kind smile. Dmitry had picked up on Adélie's crush on the boy recently and loved teasing her around him. However, to Dmitry and Adélie's disappointment, Lawrence would go back home for the year in only two months without even knowing for sure if he'd return the following summer. "Hullo, Dmitry, sir," he smiled, "May I please have one chocolate sponge cake?"
"Yes, you may," Dmitry nodded, receiving the euro and handing the boy his cake, "Here you are, sir."
"Thank you," Lawrence nodded, turning to walk away but pausing to look back. "How is Adélie?" He asked sweetly, his cheeks slowly turning a bit pink.
Dmitry gave the boy a sly smile and winked, "Could be better...but, she's fine. She's at home today..."
"Ah," Lawrence smiled sheepishly before clearing his throat awkwardly, "Will you tell her hullo for me?"
"No," Dmitry chuckled, "Because she'll just say 'Why didn't he come tell me himself?' and I'll reply 'Because he likes you and it'll be too obvious to everyone if he comes here to your home' and she'll say 'He doesn't like me, Dmitry' and I'll say 'That's what you think' and she'll say 'It's a fact. He'd come if he did. You can't prove me wrong' and then I'll say 'Adélie, he won't come because boys are too awkward when they like someone' and she'll say 'He doesn't like me, Dmitry' and then I'll give up on attempting to defend you. So, you see, you must relay the message to her yourself."
Lawrence blinked a couple times, trying to process Dmitry's tangent and shook his head, "What?"
"Just go see her," Dmitry smiled, his brown eyes knowing, "Summer doesn't last forever."
Lawrence began to smile slowly, "Oh, alright. I'll go see her. But when she asks why I only came to say hullo, I'll tell her it's all Dmitry's fault."
Dmitry laughed heartily, "It'd be my pleasure to be your excuse." Dmitry then handed the boy a vanilla sponge cake and dropped a euro of his own into the money jar. "Here, kid," he winked, "Give her this. My treat, though tell her it's from you. She'll love that."
Lawrence laughed, "Thank you."
"All in a days work," Dmitry chuckled, "Now hurry. She has chores, you know."
Lawrence nodded and ran down the cobblestone street, Dmitry watching him carefully until the boy was out of sight. He laughed to himself and then began helping the next child in line.
Elyse, a red-haired girl of eight, smiled, "Five, please."
Dmitry grinned and in a joking manner asked, "Are you sure you don't want six, Elyse?"
"Oh, alright," Elyse giggled, "Six, s'il vous plaît."
Dmitry chuckled softly and let the girl choose six sponge cakes before she in return gave him six euros. The girl then ran off to join Brigitte on the bench, whom still watched Dmitry with a loving gaze that Dima didn't notice. He was too busy fumbling with the money jar that he didn't even notice a new customer walk up to his cart.
"Who's that man?" Elyse asked Brigitte between bites.
Brigitte shrugged, "I don't know. What makes you think I know?"
"You know everything about Dmitry," Elyse laughed, "You watch him all the time. I figured you ought to know out of anyone."
"I don't watch him all the time," Brigitte corrected kindly, "Just...most of the time. But I don't know that man. I do know Dmitry has a wife..." Brigitte sighed hopelessly, "A beautiful wife...she has lovely copper colored hair and bright blue eyes, a great smile and a grace about her that I only wish I had. Adélie introduced me to her...name's An...An-something."
Brigitte turned to look at Elyse, who was already on her third cake, and sighed heavily. "At least you would've had a chance with Dmitry..." she drifted, "He likes red-heads." Elyse shot her friend a repulsed expression and continued eating, saying nothing. "I'm the complete opposite of his type!" Brigitte cried in despair, dropping the last bite of her sponge cake onto the grass, "I've got ugly blonde hair and I'm shy and clumsy. The only thing I have that An-something...gosh, why can't I remember her name?"
Elyse picked up the bite of cake Brigitte had dripped and popped it into her mouth, "You probably blocked it out. Too painful."
Brigitte nodded sadly, "You're probably right for once." She then continued her rant, "Anyway, the only thing I have that that girl has is blue eyes...but that's not good enough!"
Elyse frowned, crumbs falling off of her chin every now and then when she spoke, "Ever consider the fact that he doesn't want to divorce his wife and marry you is because you're at least a decade younger than him?"
Brigitte slowly nodded, "Well...I mean...that's a possibility..."
Elyse rolled her blue eyes, "Right. Anywho, you got another euro or two? I'd like another cake."
Brigitte frowned at Elyse, "You've already had six!"
"Yeah, but...they're so good!"
It was Brigitte's turn to roll her eyes, "But not that good. I'd throw up if I even ate three!"
"Are you kidding? They're amazing!"
"I don't have any money," Brigitte replied, shaking her head.
"Well," Elyse frowned, "You shouldn't have led me on." With that, Elyse stood up and went over to Phillipe to beg for another coin.
Brigitte sighed and looked back at Dima. The man from before still stood at Dmitry's cart, waiting patiently, his back facing the children in the park. This blocked her view of the beautiful Dmitry, whom was still struggling with closing the money jar, and Brigitte let out yet another sigh. After all, life was hopeless since the love of her life was married...
Dmitry finally got the lid of the money jar to close and he grinned, "Aha! Got it."
"You always were handy."
Dmitry glanced up quickly, caught off guard, unaware that someone had been waiting for his attention. But when his eyes fell on the face of the man, he found himself even more shocked than before, his mouth dropping and the jar falling from his hand and shattering on the pavement into a thousand pieces. The sound of the glass breaking didn't faze Dmitry, however. Nothing did. He just...stared...stared at his customer, whom he couldn't speak to. He couldn't formulate any thoughts into words as much as he wanted to. He could barely move.
The man smiled warmly at him, his cheeks rosy and his blue eyes brighter than ever. His beard and hair were well-kept and his spectacles polished and clear, not filmy. He wore a brown jacket—suit jacket, green tie, brown slacks, and leather shoes and it seemed to Dmitry that he had always had attire such as this, though it was newer.
And at last words came to Dmitry—one word and his eyes filled with tears as he let the word slip, "Vlad."
Vlad beamed brightly and embraced the boy he knew as his own tightly. It had been so long it seemed, though only a few months, but entirely long indeed. Dmitry seemed unchanged, still in a long buttoned up plaid shirt, white and black this time instead of blue, brown, and grey, the sleeves rolled up as always, and he had on his classic brown pants and worn out leather shoes. His chestnut brown hair was combed back and he still had his boyish grin and charm. But his eyes...they had changed. They were still brown in color, yes, but something about the spirit in them was different. He was older—not really, but Dmitry had grown up. He was a man, not a boy, and Vlad now saw this. He had been a man for years now, but it was now that Vlad saw that Dmitry had matured.
The men broke apart and Dmitry wiped the few tears from his eyes, sniffled, and grinned brightly, "Vlad, how've you been? It's been forever!"
Vlad tucked his hands in his pockets and beamed, "It certainly has, Dmitry. I've been doing alright. Being accepted as a Count for the Grand Duchess and being with my flower, my Lily, has made me a happy man at that. Though, I've missed you and..." Vlad took on an excited countenance and exclaimed, "Anya! How is our princess? Where is she?"
Dmitry grinned madly, "Anya is working at La Patisserie Benoit and she is doing wonderful. We're doing wonderful, though we've...and I've missed you. All of you."
"La Patisserie Benoit..." Vlad drifted, trying to place it and then settling with the answer, "I haven't heard if it."
Dmitry smiled, ready to unashamedly promote the business he so loved, "La Patisserie Benoit is a bakery owned by a family...the Benoit family—"
"No..." Vlad teased, which caused both of the men to laugh.
Dmitry continued, despite the chuckles, "It's a small business, but they make the most delicious pastries you could ever imagine!"
"Better than the Boulangerie on fifth?" Vlad inquired, genuinely interested, which caused Dmitry to blink slowly in annoyance. Vlad then chuckled, "What? Have I committed a crime by asking to which bakery your loyalty lies?"
They shared yet another laugh. Dmitry shook his head, "No, no crime, but the La Patisserie Benoit is indeed better. I promise."
Vlad nodded and then examined the cart curiously and asked, "You work there too, I'm assuming?"
"Yes," Dmitry grinned proudly, "It's a good and well-paying job. We actually board with the Benoits..."
"Live with?" Vlad looked astonished. Dmitry nodded slowly, unsure if Vlad approved or not, but not caring otherwise. Vlad smiled, "Good people here in Paris...great people. I told you you'd love it here. Admit it—I'm right."
"You are," Dmitry beamed, not struggling as usual to agree with Vlad, which surprised the man greatly.
Vlad grinned bittersweetly at Dmitry and tousled his hair as he always had in the past, "You sure did grow up, my boy."
"Not really," Dmitry laughed, "Not ever."
"I'm proud of you," Vlad rested his hand on Dima's strong shoulder, "You've certainly..." Vlad found himself at a loss for words but Dmitry understood.
"Merci," Dmitry smiled.
Vlad chuckled, "You're welcome."
"You mean 'De rein?'" Dmitry corrected, smirking. How he did miss the comments Vlad and he used to play with...it was good to see him. As much as Dmitry loved Jean, much like a father, Vlad would always be his papa.
"You think I know a ton of French?" Vlad laughed, "The only stuff I know is from the textbooks! I know vocabulary, I can't remember this conversational mumbo-jumbo."
"Who does the talking at the Duchess' then?"
"The Duchess...and Lily."
And yet again, they laughed.
******
"Anya, lyubimaya moya, I'm home!" Dima exclaimed excitedly, coming into the bedroom and shutting the door behind him, "And I have great news!"
I didn't bother to even roll over to see him come in, nor sit up to greet him. I didn't have the energy. I had cried my heart out and still didn't feel any better. I had laid on the bed, weeping and obsessively playing the past and predicted future over and over again in my head. I wanted all the pain I would cause to vanish...but the reality was that it wouldn't and that made my cry even harder.
That is, until now. I had grown so tired of sobbing, that I lay somewhat soulless in a ball sniffling every now and then. Perhaps, I even seemed lifeless...or, at least that's what Dima perceived.
The door closed and Dmitry rambled on about something under his breath before the room fell silent and full of tension. Finally, he saw me—or the back of me, and he gasped in terror. "Anya!" He yelled, his tone quavering and filled with sheer fright. He bolted around the bed and to the side of the mattress I was curled up on and bent down at the bedside, his expression filled with angst. Seeing that I was alive and blinking, he sighed slightly in relief but quickly began to smooth back some of the baby hairs on my forehead and checked me for a temperature.
"Are you alright, lyubimaya moya?" He breathed, tucking strands of my hair behind my ear, "You're scaring me."
I smiled weakly, "Yes."
Dima relaxed a little in demeanor, but kept staring me worriedly, his once cheerful brown eyes now filled with concern and uncertainty. "Amélie told me that you'd be here relaxing," he small-talked, "Hard day?"
I remained silent, my droopy blue orbs welling up with tears once more. Hadn't I cried every last tear in me? They threatened to spill over and leave little trails on my cheeks, but I blinked them back hurriedly.
However, Dmitry saw this and he leaned closer to me, rubbing my cheek in soothing circles with his thumb. "Talk to me," he begged, "Please."
"I-I..." I started, my voice breaking, "I'm..."
Dima nodded, "Let it out, lyubimaya moya."
And with that, I burst into tears. "Oh, Dima," I wailed, "I can't go on like this!"
"Like what?" He asked instantly and in a perturbed tone, his eyebrows knitted together in uneasiness.
"Like..." I drifted, a few more tears escaping my eyes, "Like I'm not a liar."
Dmitry opened his mouth to reply but paused and refrained. It was quiet between us before he pipped up and asked kindly, "Can I sit beside you?"
I nodded, sitting up and then patting the bed beside me, where in which Dima sat and thanked me. I nodded once more.
Dmitry sighed, long and heavy, and then looked deep into my blue eyes, "Anya, darling, you're not a liar."
I shook my head emphatically and frowned, tears pooling in my eyes and blurring my vision, "No, you don't understand, Dima! Ever since we got here we've lied to these people—the Benoits."
"Anya—"
I interrupted, "These are good people, Dima. They really are...and to think that we've abused their kindness—the gentleness and love we don't deserve and they don't even know, is horrifying. They think we're good, respectable, and honest people! Amélie even told me they think so herself! But we're not."
Dima frowned, "What?"
"It's true," I nodded firmly, "And that's one of the reasons they took us in—because they wanted to help good and honest souls who desperately needed help. Amélie told me a heartwarming and beautiful story this afternoon which explained why they took us in. They wanted to help the less-fortunate because of their misfortunes. They wanted to be the people that made their injustices right by doing right to others in a similar situation. To who, prey tell? Us.
I continued passionately, "Dima, they made us apart of their family. You can't say that about many people...but the Benoits? They're warm, gentle, sweet, and caring, doing more for others than for themselves. Goodness, we weren't even supposed to be here more than a night and look where we are! Two, three months! They gave us a room, a bed, clothes, food, water, peace, and jobs...but most importantly, a family."
Dmitry stared at me, a bit taken aback but listening intently.
"And, and, and," I whimpered, "That's the worst part of all. Dmitry, for the first time in my life that I can remember, I feel like I'm apart of something—apart of an ordinary family. Everything feels normal for the first time that I can remember. Don't misunderstand—I adore you and Nana with all of my soul; I hold you both dearest to my heart. I also care very much for Vlad, and the Romanovs—I treasure the memories I do remember of my family...my blood. But here, I have a father, mother, two sisters, a brother, and the man I love...all in the same household. I don't want to lose them! And every night and day—every second, I can't help but play out telling them all the truth. The brokenness on their faces in my imagination is tearing me apart. Guilt is destroying me, Dmitry! I want to tell the truth, but I'm too afraid. I'm a cowardly liar, Dima, and I don't know what I've turned into..."
My voice broke and I buried my face in my hands, cold tears running down my cheeks and palms and sliding down between my fingers. Shame washed over me and I couldn't get air—I was drowning. Looking up at Dmitry had crossed my mind, but the mortification was far too great for me to feel like I even could look up at my husba—him.
"Oh, Anya," Dmitry soothed, his voice so soft it was a whisper, "Come here."
I forced myself to pull my hands off of my face, my palms completely wet and tears dribbling down my chin and nose. His eyes seemed warmer than before, warm like tea...chamomile tea...pleasing to taste and calmed every nerve. I could use some tea. He beckoned me to his embrace and I obeyed, snuggling into his open arms, the security in which I felt taming the stormy sea within. I let out a small sigh and closed my eyes, one remaining tear falling—the last I would cry for the night. It was silent, a comfortable silence, one Dima knew I needed and gave lovingly. It was just...us. My thoughts had stopped sputtering at me a million miles a minute and I felt as if I could finally fall asleep. I was so tired...after all, a busy mind keeps one more awake than anything else.
"Anya?"
"Mm?" I rose an eyebrow slightly, not bothering to budge nor open a single eye. I was too comfortable to move anything.
"Lyubimaya moya," he stated more than asked, "Please look at me."
I hesitated at first, but then forced myself to relent. I pulled reluctantly out of the embrace, Dmitry placing his hands on my shoulders and helping me the rest of the way up until I was sitting straight as I had been before. My eyes wandered around the room until they met determined brown ones—his. His pink lips parted and he began earnestly.
"Anya," his tone was more serious than ever before, "You're not a liar." I shook my head and opened my mouth to speak, but Dima continued, this time his eyes filled with apologetic sorrow, "I am."
The room was quiet. Dima sighed heavily, "I am a liar. I always have been. It's apart of who I am, not a definition of who you are." His eyes watered a bit and he chuckled softly, "Anya, you are incredible in every way. You are stunning, sweet and gentle, your heart is of the purest gold known to mankind; you are good...so good, words cannot do you justice, lyubimaya moya."
My heart fluttered and I watched him adoringly, soaking in the precious words he breathed. Dmitry had never poured his heart out in a way such as this that I recall and I was touched. He pinched the bridge of his nose and continued in a sad tone, "And to think I pressed you to lie, encouraged you to go against goodness, is the worst thing I have ever done. I asked you to be like me...to be wicked, devious, and dishonest, all because I didn't want you to..." His voice trailed off and he glanced out the window across the room, gloom written all over his once shining face. "I didn't want you to regret choosing me."
"Dima," I whispered, "How...why...I told you I would never regret—"
He looked back at me and interrupted quickly, "I know, Anya. I know." He paused and his voice broke slightly, "I just couldn't believe what you said. I've always lost everything good in my life and I thought...think...I'll lose you someday too. I was desperately trying to give you reasons to always stay with me, whether that means giving you a bed, food, a home...a family."
"Dmitry..." I drifted in a sad surprise, "I—"
"And in trying to do this, I've hurt you," he stated, his voice wavering and I could tell he was keeping himself from becoming too emotional, "And others—the Benoits." He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to calm himself before opening them again. He stared back at me with the sincerest of expressions and smiled a bit brokenly, "I'm so sorry, Anya. I'll make this right."
I touched his hand and grasped it firmly, "We'll make this right. You're not a horrible person, Dima—you're absolutely amazing in every way and I don't care if you disagree because I'm right whether you like it or not." We both laughed before I pressed on seriously, "We both made a mistake—it takes two to have kept up our lies to the Benoits and it takes two to tell them the truth. We'll do it together and we'll keep doing it together as long as we both shall live."
Dmitry smiled and gave my hand a squeeze, "Together it is."
I beamed and leaned in towards him slowly, wrapping my arms around his neck as he let his fall around my waist. The distance between us closed and we let our kiss linger. Our lips broke away from each other's and we both smiled softly. I let my forehead rest against his and I stared into his eyes lovingly. "You know something?" I whispered.
He grinned gently, "What, lyubimaya moya?"
"I am never going to leave you," I reassured with a confidence I had never known before, "I'm the exception, not the rule."
"I believe you." He smiled widely and shut his eyes for only a moment, opening then once I chuckled in a quiet yet flirtatious tone. Dima joined me in our loving laughter and I pecked his lips quickly, causing us to giggle harder for the same reason we had no clue of. Dmitry pulled away from our embrace and took my hand, his brown eyes daring and alive.
"Ready to tell them?"
I nodded and beamed slightly, "Yes."
~~~
(A/N)
I'M BACKKKKKK 😂
Again I am so very sorry I made you all wait so STINKIN' LONG! Going on two and a half months 😬 ahhh! I hate that it has been this large of a period of time since the last update, but I sadly cannot promise that it won't be a while for the next chapter. I know, I know...disappointing 😭 I love writing to death, but school has taken up every moment of my time this year. There is a lot of homework and if that isn't taking up my life and I find myself with free time, I'm usually trying to keep my social life by going to coffee with friends or school functions. But, I found myself with some free time today, thus I finished this update. So, much like this one, updates will be unpredictable. BUT, I hope it doesn't take quite as long because I missed this so much! As well as you all ❤️
Any who, did you guys enjoy the chapter? What do you think will happen next?
And how is school going for all of y'all?
Lots of love to each and every single one of you! Thanks for reading and staying loyal through my inactivity 😂
Xoxo,
GracelynCate