The Key to Her Heart

5: A Truce

Anya climbed through the window of the old Yusopov Palace, shaking the snow out of her coat. She was nervous about tonight, but she had made a promise to Vlad, and she was desperate to get to Paris. She made her way through the old corridors, running her fingers against the dusty walls and trying to imagine what it would have been like living in the splendour of the Romanovs. 

She entered the old ballroom where Dmitri and Vlad were in a heated debate over something. "Hello!"

Vlad looked up with a smile. "Ah, Anya! Wonderful! I hope you're well?"

"Splendid, thank you."

"Excellent! Let's begin!" He beckoned to Dmitri, who glared at him.

"No," he said, sinking into his chair.

"Dmitri."

Dmitri said nothing. 

"Come on. It's not that hard."

"Says you," Dmitri retorted, crossing his arms. "You did it every week!"

"It's a very simple thing, just 1-2-3 1-2-3," Vlad repied.

Anya looked between the two men, confusion written all over her face.

Dmitri merely glared back. Not even a firing squad could drag him from the chair. "No."

Vlad looked sternly back. "For me?" He asked sweetly.

Dmitri let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Let's get this over and done with." He stood up slowly, a scowl permanently fixed on his face.

"What is going on?" Anya asked.

"You're going to learn to dance." Vlad took her hand, leading her to Dmitri. Anya pulled a face. Dmitri was the last person she wanted to dance with.

Dmitri took her hand, placing a hand on her waist. Anya rested her hand on his shoulder, standing as far back as she could. 

"You're too far apart," Vlad said. "Anya, shuffle a little closer."

She scowled and inched forwards.

"Closer."

She took another inch of a step forwards.

"Anya."

"Alright, alright." She took a step forwards, a proper step, and was close enough that she had to look up to see Dmitri's face. It became uncomfortably apparent to her how short she was.

"Now," Vlad began, moving to the old gramophone player, "you know how to waltz, yes?"

Dmitri and Anya nodded.

"Good." He pressed play on the old gramaphone and a tinny waltz began to play, bouncing off the old walls. Anya began to dance, leading an incredibly uncoordinated Dmitri around the room. 

"No no no." Vlad half-ran, half-waddled over. "Dmitri, you lead. Anya, let him guide you."

Dmitri frowned and began leading her around the room instead, jerking from side-to-side in a disjointed manner. Anya winced, earning a sympathetic look from Vlad. Dmitri looked up at them and scowled, accidentally stepping on Anya's toes.

"Oi!"

Vlad sighed. "Again."

They went again, Anya still glowering from her sore toes. She watch their feet moving and waited for the perfect moment. When it came, she kicked Dmitri hard in the shins. He yelped, hopping back.

"Anya!"

She froze. With a sweet smile she turned to Vlad. "Yes?"

He sighed, pinching his nose. A lock of greying hair fell in his face. "Just..." He waved his arms about, as though his lost words were escaping him in the air. He gave up, sinking into the dusty chair. The music started again, Vlad staring almost wistfully at the tarnished gramaphone.

Anya swallowed the guilt growing in her stomach. She had promised Vlad, and she had to keep that promise.

She walked over to where Dmitri was still nursing his leg and held out her hand. He looked at it warily. "For Vlad's sake," she said softly. He nodded and let her lead him to the middle of the floor.

Then they began to dance.

Dmitri was still horrible, but Anya could tell he was trying. "Try staying on the balls of your feet," she instructed, biting back a snarky remark. Dmitri glowered at her, but a little while later he obeyed. It certainly helped, though he was still a tad uncoordinated.

"I've been thinking," he said quietly, so Vlad couldn't hear him.

"You think? My goodness, are pigs flying?"

He rolled his eyes. "I propose... a truce."

"A truce?"

"Yes."

"What sort of truce?"

"No bickering or arguing or inflicting physical injuries on each other until we get out of Russia."

Anya was confused, to say the least. "Why?"

Dmitri glanced to where Vlad was watching them with a soft smile. "For Vlad's sake. I don't want him to have to stress anymore over us."

She nodded. "Deal. But as soon as we're out of Russia, I will not hesitate to punch you in the face if you so dare to annoy me."

"Understood."

Dmitri turned his focus back to their feet as they continued to waltz around the room. Anya kept her eyes on his face for a little while longer. Maybe Vlad was right. Maybe he does have a heart buried in there after all.

The waltz came to an end and the two pulled apart, Anya wiping her hands on her skirt. "Thank you for the dance, Dmitri Fyodorovich," she said curtly.

He nodded.

A jaunty polka soon filled the air and Vlad leapt up, taking Dmitri's hands. "We have only begun!" With that, Dmitri was promptly swung around the room like a rag doll, much to Anya's amusement. Dmitri was rather slight in form and hardly weighed much, compared to Vlad's boisterous physique, which led to a rather chaotic end as Vlad spun Dmitri too hard and he went tumbling across the floor.

Anya laughed, her face red. Dmitri tried to scowl, but it gave way to a smile. "Maybe you should have a dance with him Anya, since you find it so enjoyable?"

"Oh no, I'll pass-" It was too late. Vlad had grabbed her hands and the two of them were soon polka-ing around the room. Some hidden part in Anya remembered where her feet were meant to go and she kept up with the older man.

"You dance wonderfully!" He exclaimed

"So do you!"

"Much better than Dmitri, that's for certain!"

Dmitri gasped in mock offense from the chair.

That night was the first time Anya remembered being really, truly happy. There was something about it, something that felt like home.

Something almost like a memory...