After I Chose You

T w o

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Dmitry pounded on yet another shop door. The sky was now as black as coal—stars far and few between. The moon was a small white sliver and the gentle breeze from before was now a cold wind. It was a miserable night.

We had been roaming the streets of Paris, hand in hand, for hours now. I imagined it was nearing midnight. My feet ached from my heels and I couldn't stop shivering. Wearing a sleeveless dress was not helping the matter.

A week or two in Paris sure had spoiled this street sweeper.

But I could handle it and I didn't complain. Dima was trying his best. He had knocked on every store door I think in Paris, begging for a place to sleep...but alas, we were refused ninety-five percent of the time. The other five percent was a combination of nobody answering the door and someone answering, but only in French. With the store keepers that spoke only French, we awkwardly used hand motions expressing that we couldn't speak the language and we went on our way. I could speak very little French. The lessons Vlad and Nana had given me were my only knowledge and the few phrases I did know, were worthless in situations like these.

I was beginning to understand how Mary and Joseph had felt on Christmas Eve.

At one shop awhile back, we had even traded Dima's suitcase for a "guaranteed" room, but the greedy owner kept the case and refused to give us the room, basically robbing us. We protested about justice on the man's doorstep for a good half-hour, before deciding we couldn't waste anymore time for something we couldn't do anything about.

We moved on.

Besides, Dmitry said he only had pajamas inside the case anyway, and we could easily get him another pair when we had enough funds.

Finally, the door swung open and a grumpy old man stepped out. "What" he barked, sounding extremely annoyed.

Dima stood up a little straighter and put a smile on his face, one I don't know how anyone could resist. "Hello, Sir. I was wondering—"

"It's one in the morning," the man interrupted, steaming, "I don't care to make trades or bargains at this hour. Goodnight." He started to close the door but Dmitry stepped forward and stopped him from shutting it completely.

"Please, Sir," Dmitry begged, "My wife and I need a place to stay. We have no money."

We had tried the first few shops asking for a bedroom with two beds, but found that that was very uncommon in Paris and we were turned away easily at that simple fact. So, Dima and I had agreed to pretend we were married, since we would be sooner than later, to score us a room of some sort. Then, if we got one, someone would sleep in the bed and one on the floor.

The old man scoffed at us, surveying my appearance. "No money? That gown and crown sure look expensive."

Dima sighed, "They were gifts from—"

"I don't have time for this," the man slammed the door on our faces and Dmitry pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"D-Dima," I began, my teeth chattering, "L-let's t-t-try the n-next sh-shop."

He glanced up at me and his face softened. "Anya," he breathed, "You're freezing!" I tried to protest, but he was already swinging off his dark brown overcoat, which he had put on upon entering town, and placed it around my shoulders.

I smiled weakly and said in a small voice, "Thank you." Then, I slid my arms in and hugged the soft jacket to my body to contain the warmth. Dima then started to shiver and I frowned in concern, "But Dima you're—"

"Fine," he smiled reassuringly, "I'm fine, Anya." He ran a hand through his hair and let out a large sigh, "Let's try the next store."

"I feel good about this one," I tried to sound confident, but my tone lacked assurance. Dima shrugged and we went on.