Meals were the only time that they both agreed to put their proverbial weapons aside. Whenever they sat down to eat with one another — which was three times a day — the energy shifted, and they seemed to be able to relax, conversation flowing naturally.
Anastasia helped herself to a piece of fish, and her smile widened, still not used to eating food she actuallyenjoyed. Mikhail felt his chest inflate. Every time he noticed her figure filling out, a sense of possessiveness and satisfaction rose in him.
You’re going to have to stop that. What is this? You’re not trying to prove you can provide for her, you fool.
“Mikhail,” Anastasia wiped a bit of food off of her lip and stared at him. “We’ve been at this for… what? Three weeks?”
“Yes. It can take a lifetime to master magic, Anya.”
“Stop calling me that,” she shook her head, her cheeks flushing when she heard the nickname fall from his lips.
“It’s either that or ‘Your Grace.’”
“You could call me by my name.”
“You could call me by mine.”
“Your name is Mikhail.”
“It’s Rasputin,” Mikhail’s tone went sharp.
Anastasia bit her lip and looked away, letting out a quiet sigh and returning to her food.
She knew that he was sensitive about his name but couldn't seem to let it go. That name held something heavy, something rotten. She didn’t like associating him with it.
Mikhail watched as she deflated and felt like kicking himself. He knew he had to be careful around Anastasia. She seemed to either go to arms or shrink away much too easily.
It was a common enough response for someone who had only ever known pain and betrayal by those closest to them. She had no confidence in herself, and it drove Mikhail crazy.
Most days, he went back and forth from wanting to walk out the door and never seeing her again to never letting her out of his sight for the rest of his life.
“Anyway,” Mikhail cleared his throat, “It’s going to be like a light switch. I promise. Once you figure out how to control it, what your limitations are, then it’ll come easy. You might even think it’s fun.”
“I don’t see that happening.”
“Will you just trust me for once?”
“Trustyou!”Anastasia put her fork down. Mikhail groaned when he saw the look in her eyes. There went their peaceful lunch. “For all I know, you’re going to turn me over to my parents!”
“I wouldn’t be that stupid,” Mikhail rolled his eyes. “You’re too afraid of yourself. I get it; I would be too —“
Anastasia’s face turned bright red as she felt him cut to the quick of her. Shewasafraid. She was terrified. She was dealing with forces within her that she didn’t know how to control.
It was like operating machinery without a manual. The gears worked, the output occurred, but it was unpredictable. She had no idea who she was.
How could she even discover what was within her? Anastasia had learned from a very young age that the only way to deflect all of the trauma around her was to be bigger, bolder, and more terrifying.
She portrayed an ice queen facade that exuded fake confidence. A fear that she instilled in others, that she had no idea how to back up. She was all bark, no bite. Her entire existence had been carved out in survival mode. And it had left her broken.
Here was this man, this failed priest — a direct result of her actions as a child — sent to her by her parents. She had no idea if she could trust him. Yet, he looked at her and saw to the heart of her. It made Anastasia want to run and hide. Since that wasn’t an option, she fought.
“I’m not afraid!” She snarled, moving away from him, turning to run into her bedroom just to get a wall between them.
“Anya,” he said again, this time in a soft, coaxing voice. Gentle even. Anastasia could count on one hand how many times someone had spoken like that to her in her life. “Please. You’re running right now.”
Anastasia stopped, feeling the blush on her cheeks intensify.
“You’ve got me there,” she admitted quietly, still not able to turn around and face him. Mikhail moved towards her. His footsteps echoed in the sitting room, sounding heavy, making Anastasia tense.