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It was a small apartment over a bakery. There was one small bedroom and an open space that acted as kitchen, parlour, and every other sort of living space. The windows were big but dirty, and they were completely bare. Even the walls had smears of dirt and soot across their dingy, off-white surfaces. The floors were a rough wood and the furniture was all second or third hand, left by former tenants and included. What could he say? It wasn’t like he had anything better to furnish it with.
Dimitri hated it. He couldn’t even imagine Anya living here.
It all started after their wedding. They’d been married on the boat, the captain performing the ceremony. Even though her dress had been a little tattered from the struggle with Rasputin, it was still more beautiful and elegant than most people would have in a life time, and Anya shone in it. She eclipsed the beauty of the gown, the beauty of Paris itself.
Dimitri had never been so amazed that someone like her would stand next to him.
Once the wedding was over, they spent a few days losing themselves in Paris. It was magical to finally enjoy the city of love knowing that she loved him back.
They had to go back eventually though, and Dimitri was steeling himself for dealing with a lifetime in the Dowager Empress’ home – a lifetime of whispers and snickers, of disbelief that their beautiful Anastasia could marry a kitchen boy like him.
Anya ran to her grandmother as soon as they were granted entrance past the suspicious man who seemed to instinctively turn his nose away from them. The two women shared a hug, squeezing each other tightly as though afraid to ever let go.
Feeling himself smiling, Dimitri moved to join them, accepting his own hug from the Dowager – though this one not nearly so tight.
It was during dinner that everything had fallen to pieces. The Dowager had called for a private dinner in her rooms for just the three of them. She wanted to hear all about their adventures, without the prying eyes of servants. Having been a servant himself, Dimitri could understand how difficult it would be to get a private moment without the entire staff knowing within the hour.
It was while they were eating that the topic moved from their wedding to what they were going to do next, and the Dowager looked Dimitri in the eye and asked, “So, where will you be living now that you’re married?”
Choking slightly, Dimitri took a large gulp of wine to try and force the food past his wind pipe. What could he say to that? We expect to live with you?
“I mean, you’re married now…I expect you’ll want a home of your own,” She said simply, turning her attention to Anya when it was clear Dimitri was incapable of speaking for the moment.
To Dimitri’s shock, Anya was nodding thoughtfully. If she was at all surprised by this turn of events, she certainly wasn’t showing it. “We haven’t really discussed it yet, Grand-mama. I was hoping to stay in Paris for a while so that you and I could get to know each other better, but I’m not sure what Dimitri wants to do…I know he was planning on going back to St Petersburg…” She trailed off, twin sets of questioning eyes landed on him.
Clearing his throat, Dimitri offered a weak smile. “Staying in Paris is fine,” He choked out, taking another drink to hide how uncomfortable he was. He could hardly say ‘I was only going to St Petersburg because I was heartbroken and didn’t care where I ended up’.
“You’ll have to get a job if you’re going to afford staying in the capital.” The Dowager took a sip of her own wine. “What sorts of thing are you trained to do? I could put out some inquiries for you.”
At this, Dimitri just wanted to sink into the floor and disappear…what sort of things was he trained to do? Con people, forge papers, pickpocket, and steal. This was not the resume that a former Empress of all Russia would want to hear regarding her new grandson-in-law. Racking his brain, Dimitri couldn’t think of a single legitimate thing that he could say he could do.
Anya came to his rescue, though he couldn’t tell if she had even realized it or if she genuinely thought it wouldn’t be a problem. “That’s all right, Grand-mama. Dimitri is very capable, I’m sure he can find some work. It’s not a problem.”
The Dowager nodded, pleased. It was as though that was exactly what she had been expecting. “You’re welcome to stay here for a few days while you get yourself established.”
“Thank you Grand-mama, I’m sure we won’t be here long,”
Neither woman even bothered to look at him for confirmation; if they had, they probably would have noticed the faintly sick expression on his face and the fact that he was no longer eating so much as pushing his food around his plate.
That’s what brought him to this place. He’d gone to the baker downstairs to look for work. The baker liked his charm and the fact that he seemed to understand and respect the man’s relationship with the ovens.
To Dimitri, the man reminded him of Boris who baked at the palace and used to throw stale bread at him whenever he got too close to the ovens. Dimitri spent most of his childhood with bruises from learning to respect that space so it wasn’t hard to bring those feelings back now.
He was hired to run the shop. To sell bread and treats to the customers, and under no circumstance touch anything in the back. The baker thought Dimitri’s charm would work well behind the counter, and as a bonus he and his wife would be allowed to move into the apartment upstairs.
It seemed perfect until Dimitri actually saw the place.
Walking home that night, as he didn’t have any money left to get a taxi and he couldn’t bear the thought of asking the Dowager for a loan, Dimitri actually considered just not telling Anya. Maybe he could work a while and find something better. Something more appropriate.
Looking in her eyes though, he couldn’t find it in himself to lie to her. He had lied to her far too often in the time they’d been together so far, and he couldn’t bear to do it again.
She was packed in an hour and ready to move to their new home in the morning. She was so happy that none of his warnings went heeded; she even told the Dowager and made her promise to visit.
If Dimitri had trouble imagining Anya in their apartment, picturing the Dowager there was nigh impossible. Once Anya saw the apartment, he was sure she would agree.
“Oh Dimitri, it’s lovely!” Anya exclaimed, looking wide eyed around the main room. “And look, there’s furniture!” She left him at the door to do a circuit of the room. Dropping her suitcase on the bed, she turned back to Dimitri. “This is just perfect.”
Dimitri sighed. “It’ll work for now, but I promise as soon as I make enough I’ll get us something better.”
Anya just waved away his words, turning her attention to the apartment. “When do you start work?” She asked, squinting to look through the dirt on the windows.
“Probably now.” Dimitri didn’t actually have his watch on him, but given what time they had left the Dowager’s… sure enough, the church bells started chiming and the baker downstairs was calling him to open the shop.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, Anya gave him a slow kiss. “You’d better go, wouldn’t want you to get in trouble your first day.” Her smile turned saucy. “After work, we can christen our new bedroom.” With a final kiss, she shooed him out the door.
The work was all right; he was good at it, at any rate. Dimitri started to make it a game: how much more could he get customers to buy? Getting the older lady from down the street to buy the huge chocolate cake with her daily rolls almost gave him the same rush as a well-planned con.
He was dreading going upstairs, though, once the day was over. He couldn’t imagine how Anya must feel, having been trapped in that awful apartment all day. Honestly, he wouldn’t blame her at all if she demanded to go back to her Grand-mother’s house tonight.
Stepping through the door, he was momentarily blinded. There was far more light in the room than there had ever been before. It reflected off every surface, bringing to light every stain on the couch, every scuff on the wall and every dent in the floor.
“Isn’t the view lovely?” Anya asked from where she was sitting at the open fire escape window. “I cleaned the windows today, and look, you can see all of Paris from here!”
Walking up behind her, Dimitri laid a gentle kiss on her head. “It is beautiful,” he agreed. It was beautiful, and one day he was going to get her a home that matched the view.
Dimitri didn’t really know what Anya did during the day while he was at work. She made a point of coming and going through the fire escape so that Dimitri couldn’t see her. When he asked her about it, she said that she didn’t want to distract him.
He brought home fresh bread each night for dinner and was surprised every night to see that Anya had prepared something for them to eat. They had a rickety old wood stove in their kitchen that Dimitri didn’t even know how to work. He and Vlad never cooked, and before that the kitchens he was used to were the best money could buy. He couldn’t even imagine his father trying to work with something like this.
Every night though, Anya cooked progressively more complex dishes, as though she was getting the feel for the stove.
“I didn’t know that you could cook,” he mentioned one night as they were curled up in their small bed together, wrapped in each other’s arms.
She looked at him curiously. “Of course I can cook. It’s a necessary skill for any Russian woman.” Yawning loudly, she let her eyes slide shut.
Dimitri followed her into sleep.
One morning, Dimitri woke to find Anya gone. His breath caught in his throat and his heart stopped. His first thought was that she had finally had enough and was back at the Dowager’s grand home. Then he heard her laugh downstairs and he could feel his heart started beating again.
Pulling on his trousers and lifting his suspenders onto his shoulders, Dimitri made his way downstairs. He followed her voice all the way to the kitchen.
Anya was at the baking counter, her sleeves rolled up past her elbows and her hands buried in a ball of dough.
The baker was beside her, looking lighter than Dimitri had ever seen him. He was showing her how to knead the bread and Anya was mimicking him.
They were laughing at something that Dimitri couldn’t hear, and they both looked up startled when Dimitri cleared his throat to get their attention.
A grin blossomed on Anya’s face, “Heinrich was showing me how to bake bread,” She told him cheerfully.
Dimitri smiled at the smudge of flour that had been smeared across her forehead, clearly she had shoved her hair out of her eyes at some point. “Why don’t I get to learn to bake bread?”
Heinrich said something unintelligible, but Anya laughed hysterically.
“He says you have a look about you.” Her eyes were dancing with mirth. “You look like someone that would burn bread.”
The two of them laughed again while Dimitri shook his head and started telling them the story of the one time his mother did try to teach him to bake bread. It took three hours to clear the smoke smell out of the kitchen.
Later that night over dinner, Anya laughed at him again. “Only you would be able to find the only German baker in Paris.”
Dimitri just shrugged. He hadn’t actually even realized the man’s name was Heinrich, but he couldn’t very well tell Anya that.
The next day, Heinrich left earlier than usual. Dimitri had been hired to take over during the day, but usually Heinrich stayed for a few hours to keep an eye on things and bake any last-minute requests. Today, he just slipped out the door as soon as Dimitri walked in and Heinrich wasn’t back all day.
Dimitri locked the door at night and made his way upstairs, as always. He stopped at the door when he heard loud singing inside; the same guttural tones that Heinrich always used.
The door caught on a sheet that was laid across the floor. Heinrich was inside painting what looked to be the last smudged dirty spot in the room. The walls looked brand new.
“Where’s Anya?” Dimitri asked when a quick glance around the room told him she wasn’t in the apartment.
“Out,” Heinrich said simply. Dimitri had always considered him to be a man of few words. Of course, that clearly didn’t apply when he was speaking to Anya.
“Do you know where she is?”
Heinrich shrugged, standing to look at his work. “Looks better,” he stated simply, wiping his hands on his pants. There was already a number of finger smudges there, along with drops and smears all over his clothes.
“It really does, thank you,” Dimitri agreed, feeling a niggling of worry about Anya. He was used to her coming and going without telling him, but usually she was home by now.
As though responding to his thoughts, Anya rushed through the door just then. “I’m so sorry I’m late, I was—” She cut off as soon as she saw the room. “Oh, Heinrich, it’s beautiful!” She wrapped her arms around him in a friendly hug.
Heinrich pulled out of her embrace. Smiling, he tipped his hat in thanks and made his way out the door.
“Are you all right?” Dimitri asked, pulling her into his arms and squeezing her tightly.
“Yes” Anya said quickly. “Look what I made!” She dropped the bag from her back down to the floor and started opening it. “I wanted to finish before you finished work today so we could put them up, but it took longer than I was expecting. Madame Beauchamp on the corner was helping me with them. I mean, I can sew but I’ve never done this much before and—” Her words were rambly and were said in a rush. Then cloth was pulled out of the bag, and Anya laid it out on the table.
“They’re curtains,” Dimitri said, fingering the fabric.
“I made them for our home.” Anya grinned with a deep breath after all that talking.
They were a deep blue linen.
“I thought they would look nice with the white walls, and I wanted to get them up so you could see the whole thing together.”
Anya’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Dimitri almost felt excited about the curtains. They would have to be sure to bring them when they moved out. “Why don’t we hang them up? And then we can go out for a late dinner?” He squeezed her shoulder in a half hug.
“Perfect!” she answered.
They were curled up in their bed again when a thought hit Dimitri. Anya didn’t know how to sew – not sewing to make things. He remembered the princesses. They did fine needle work, not rough sewing. “Did the woman down the street teach you to sew?” He muttered into her hair, already half asleep.
“No, Comrade Phlegmenkof did.” Anya whispered back.
“Hmm,” was Dimitri’s only answer.
It was like something out of a nightmare. Dimitri was just finishing with the last of his customers, looking forward to closing the bakery for the night. All afternoon, he could hear Anya bustling upstairs. Smells of cooking had been wafting downstairs for the last two hours, making his mouth water. He just wanted to get upstairs to his wife.
That’s when it happened, the Dowager Empress walked into the bakery.
She looked pristine as always. Her clothes were a little more casual than what he was used to her wearing, but it was still better than anything he had ever seen the entire 10 years that he’d been in Russia after the revolution – Better than anything anyone in this neighbourhood had probably ever seen as well.
“Uh, Hello, your Majesty,” Dimitri tripped over his words, rushing around the counter to bow.
The Dowager smiled gently. “I take it my granddaughter didn’t warn you that I’d be visiting today.”
Dimitri flinched. “Uh, no…your majesty.”
“Dimitri, we’re family now…there’s no need to be so formal,” she laughed.
At the chime of the clock, Dimitri moved to lock the door. The Dowager was clearly waiting to be escorted up.
Offering his arm, Dimitri couldn’t help but worry about what she would think of their home. Anya had done a good job of cleaning it up, but it was still small. They still had to wear socks all the time to avoid splinters from the floor, and it still wasn’t anywhere near good enough for royalty.
Anya was waiting at the top of the stairs for them when they arrived. She quickly pulled her grandmother into an embrace and led her inside with an apologetic look at Dimitri.
“Isn’t it lovely, Grand-mama?” Anya asked, showing off the room. “I made the curtains myself,” she added proudly.
“They are lovely, Anastasia,” the Dowager answered.
Dimitri could hear the hesitation in her voice even if Anya couldn’t. He could hear the judgement there. The Dowager could clearly see what Dimitri had known all along: this was no place for a princess.
“And Heinrich, the baker downstairs, taught me how to bake bread. I actually made the bread we’ll be eating tonight.” When Dimitri walked into their apartment, he saw Anya ushering her Grandmother into one of their chairs. None of the chairs matched the table or each other; they were a thrown-together jumble and Dimitri was cringing at the fact that the Dowager Empress was sitting on one of them.
“And Madame Beauchamp down the street has been a great help to me since we’ve moved here, she’s the one who gave me the recipe for this stew…though, it takes hours to make, so I’m not sure I’ll make it often,” Anya continued, dishing some of the aforementioned stew into one of their bowls.
The Dowager, to her credit, accepted the stew with very little fuss. “It smells wonderful, Anastasia. You have a lovely home.”
At those words, Anya lit up. “Thank you Grand-mama! I’m glad you like it!”
Dimitri didn’t say anything throughout dinner. He knew the Dowager Empress wasn’t here to see him, after all. He ate the stew and the bread Anya offered, but he didn’t really taste any of it. He was far too lost in his own worries.
“Thank you so much for visiting, Grand-mama.” Anya walked her to the street, insisting that Dimitri join them. “You’ll have to come back again soon.” Her words were warm against the cold night air.
“I will look forward to it.” The Dowager turned and looked curiously at Dimitri. “Perhaps when you have a day off, you and Anastasia can come to my house for tea.”
“Of course,” Dimitri said simply, bowing as the woman got into her car.
“We would love to. I’ll bring some of Heinrich’s treats!” Anya waved as the car pulled away.
As soon as the car was out of sight, Anya rounded on him. “What the heck was that?” She demanded, throwing her arms up in frustration.
“What the heck was inviting your grandmother over without telling me?” Dimitri countered, feeling his own frustrations starting to overflow.
“I would have told you, but every time I mentioned it, you shut the idea down!” she yelled back.
“I had every right to shut it down! I didn’t want her here!” he told her, matching her tone for tone. It was reminiscent of when they first met and couldn’t say two words to each other without it breaking out into an argument.
Anya rolled her eyes. “She is my grandmother. You couldn’t honestly expect to cut her out of my life. We stayed in Paris to be near her!”
Noticing the neighbours curiously looking out at them, Dimitri gestured towards to building indicating that they should move this inside.
Turning on her heel, Anya marched ahead of him into the bakery making a point to slam the door behind her.
They walked in silence until their apartment door was closed and then the shouting began again. “I don’t want her out of your life, I just don’t want her here!” Dimitri gestured at their surroundings.
“Wake up Dimitri, this is my life! Not having her here would be cutting her out of it!” Anya was furiously gathering the soiled dishes, more to keep her hands busy than any concern about cleanliness.
“Well it shouldn’t be!” Dimitri screamed back, sinking onto the couch and threading his fingers through his hair.
There was silence from the other side of the room, then a small clink as the bowls were gently laid on the table. “What do you mean?” Anya’s voice was small, gentle.
Dimitri didn’t look up; couldn’t bear to look at her. “You’re too good for this, too good for me.” His voice was muffled by his hands but still clear enough to reach her.
When she sat down beside him, he finally twisted his head in his hands so that he could look at her. “Princesses don’t marry kitchen boys,” he said simply, a mantra that had repeated in his head so many times that it was now firmly ingrained.
“And you didn’t want Grand-mama here because—” Anya began, realization colouring her words.
“Because she knows it, even if you don’t.” Dimitri felt a sinking in his chest, as though now that the words were spoken aloud, Anya would realize the truth. He turned his eyes away from her and back to the floor.
Anya was silent for a long time, just sitting beside him. They were touching from shoulder to knee, but she otherwise didn’t make any move to get closer to him. “Do you know what the last words my grandmother said to me before I left to marry you were?”
Dimitri didn’t respond, not sure he wanted to know.
“She said, ‘You were born into this world of glittering jewels and fine titles, but I wonder if this is what you really want.’” Reaching over, Anya drew one of his hands into her own. “I looked out at those people, with all their finery and elegance, and I knew that I wanted you. I knew that my home was with you; title be damned. Grand-mama understands that, she respects it.”
“She doesn’t like it.” Dimitri leaned back, opening himself up to face her. “I don’t like it either. You deserve better. You’re a Princess.”
Smiling sadly, Anya took his other hand, holding both tightly as though afraid he might pull away again. “You know what I dreamed of most of my life?”
“What?”
“I dreamed of a place like this. My dream was to have a family and a home. I wanted a place that was warm and cozy and full of love. For most of my life, I wanted a place where I belonged, where I could cook, and hang blue curtains that I made myself, and go to sleep every night knowing that I was loved. You gave me everything I ever wanted.” Anya looked into his eyes, almost begging him to believe her.
“That was before,” Dimitri argued, breaking their gaze.
“Before what?” Anya asked, squeezing his hands to get him to turn back towards her.
“Before you found out the truth.” He pulled away, standing up and moving towards one of the windows.
“What truth?” Anya exclaimed, following him. “The truth, that you seem intent on forgetting, is that I was a no-account orphan for far longer than I was a Princess. The truth is that when I came to Paris, it wasn’t for the money or the title. I came to find my grandmother.” After that she slowed down, her words coming more carefully and thoughtfully. “The truth is that I’m not a Princess, not really. Maybe I was before, but I can’t be that person anymore. I can’t go to those balls and be bowed to without feeling uncomfortable. I don’t fit in that world anymore. The only place I’ve ever felt like I belonged was with you, and if you don’t like it here then that’s fine, we can go somewhere else. Don’t think we have to leave on my account, though; because to me, this is perfect.” She slid her hands under his arms and snaked them around his waist. “I love you, Dimitri…you’re my home.”
Resting his hands on hers, he looked around again. The curtains really did look nice against the white walls, he admitted to himself, and the view of Paris was fantastic. The apartment really was always warm, it was never cold like where he lived in St. Petersburg and he liked that she enjoyed cooking for them both. It was something he hadn’t experienced in so long. He even liked that their chairs were mismatched and their bowls were chipped, if he was honest with himself. It gave the place character. “Do you think you could do something about the floor?” He asked softly, to break the silence that had fallen between them.
“Hmm?” Anastasia asked, turning him to face her.
Dimitri’s lips quirked a bit, slowly making their way towards a smile. “You and Madame Beauchamp…do you think maybe your next project could be some kind of carpet for the floor? I’m getting really tired of wearing socks all the time.”
Anya smiled back. “I’m sure we can figure out something…I was also thinking of a new quilt for the bed. We never got a wedding quilt, after all.”
Leaning down, Dimitri kissed her. “Sounds perfect.”