Anastasia

by Sophie Lark

This is my fantasy of the happy ending Anastasia deserved. Not because she was a Romanov, but because she was a human.

“The man who waits for ‘someday’ waits all his life …” She swirled her straw lazily, her nails lacquered red.

Margaretta and I had long been at odds. Our goals were diametrically opposed—she wanted me to dress and behave as a lady, while I believed that I could have been captain of my own pirate ship if only she’d stop interfering.

Blood surged around my body, full of that electric energy that sparked in me the moment I laid eyes on Damien.

Damien ignored my sisters and everyone else. His eyes were fixed on me alone. I felt them burning on my skin everywhere I turned.

I knew Damien was still watching me because I could feel it, hotter than the summer sun beating on my skin.

Anastasia and I spent one New Year’s Eve debating a book we’d both been reading, growing increasingly tipsy on a bottle of Madeira stolen from her father’s store. She interrupted my diatribe on The Magnificent Ambersons, holding up one finger and saying, “Just one moment, please,” in a courtly tone, before turning and vomiting into a vase.

Anastasia and I got in a row because her father had once again blocked the Duma from forming a parliament. We shouted at each other until we were red in the face, then sulked on opposite sides of the ship the rest of the afternoon. After that, I told myself I wanted nothing to do with the spoiled princess.

Still, just a few weeks later, I found myself catching her eye across the aisle of the Bolshoi theater.

I turned and searched for her. It was as if my eyes moved themselves, as if they already knew where she stood. I saw her, and my heart stopped.

Damien’s gloved hand slipped into mine, concealed by the lowered lights. Our fingers entwined.

Sometimes I woke sweating from dreams where Damien took off his gloves and slipped his bare hands under my clothes … But that was even more impossible. Just kissing him on the cheek had bruised my lips.

Anastasia pelted across a field of purple sage, her mare’s hooves churning up a mist of lavender that floated in the air behind her. She leapt down and began to run. I did the same. We met in the middle of the field, in an ocean of purple with papery white butterflies fluttering all around us. She ran to me, her whole face illuminated with a wild happiness that caught me like a whirlwind, so I swept her up in my arms and swung her around.

All the world stopped except us. We were bound together in its center, still spinning like two figures in a music box, locked in each other’s arms.

I kissed her and our mouths opened, her tongue passing over mine. Her breath went into my lungs and our souls overlaid like two transparent images. She was me and I was her and we were one together, something that held all the world in its grip, stealing this moment for us alone.

I flushed, but not with embarrassment—with pleasure, thinking how Damien swept me up in his arms and kissed me as all the world froze in place around us.

Anastasia was a breath of spring, light and airy. I knew she hated changing clothes, but selfishly I loved when she did. She was like a gem with a thousand facets, her beauty hitting me fresh each time.

Much as she hated to admit it, she was beautiful, glowing with so much life that even the stained-glass windows dulled by comparison.

I’d never forgotten what it felt like the first time I held her in my arms—squabbling and pulling in opposite directions, but falling into a rhythm all the same, until we were sweeping around the ballroom faster and wilder than anyone else, our bodies in motion together, even our breathing aligned.

Her peal of laughter sounded like it would carry her away. It was impossible not to join in. “Gods, I missed you,” I said before I could stop

“Every mark on you is something you survived to get back to me. You have never looked more beautiful.”

“I love you,” I said. “When I thought I missed the chance to tell you that, I’ve never regretted anything more.”

I couldn’t remember a moment when he hadn’t been magnetic to me, the only color in a world of gray.

All we have are the days given to us. I was lucky enough to get a few more.