Chapter 42 : Fragile Beginnings

The days that followed Leonidas' confession were… different.

Anastasia was quieter, more contemplative, as if she were processing everything he'd said. She didn't pull away from him anymore, but there was still a hesitance in her touch, a wariness in her eyes that made his chest ache.

He wanted to fix it. He wanted to erase every doubt, every fear she had. But he didn't know how.

The morning after his confession, Leonidas woke to find Anastasia already awake, her back to him as she stared out the window. The sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow over her silhouette. She looked peaceful, but he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twisted the edge of the blanket.

He reached for her, his hand brushing against her arm. "Anastasia," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.

She turned to him, her eyes soft but guarded. "Good morning," she said, her voice quiet.

He studied her face, searching for any sign of the woman who had melted into his arms the night before. But she was closed off again, her emotions carefully tucked away.

"Did you sleep?" he asked, his thumb tracing circles on her arm.

She nodded, but the lie was evident in the shadows under her eyes. "A little."

He wanted to push, to demand she tell him what was wrong. But he held back, afraid of pushing her too far. Instead, he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You don't have to pretend with me," he said softly. "Not anymore."

She didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either. It was a start.

---

Leonidas spent the next few days trying to show her how much she meant to him. He wasn't good with words, but he could show her through actions.

He brought her breakfast in bed, his hands clumsy as he arranged the tray with her favorite foods. He watched her carefully as she ate, his chest swelling with pride when she smiled at the effort.

He took her for walks in the garden, his hand never leaving hers as they wandered through the blooming flowers. He pointed out the ones she loved, the ones she'd planted herself, and he smiled when she laughed at his terrible attempts at gardening humor.

He even started leaving little notes for her—on her vanity, in her books, tucked into the pockets of her dresses. Simple messages, like "You're beautiful" or "I'm proud of you." He didn't know if they helped, but he hoped they reminded her that she was loved.

---

Despite his efforts, Anastasia's insecurities lingered.

One evening, as they sat by the fireplace, she turned to him, her expression troubled. "Leonidas," she said, her voice hesitant. "Do you ever… regret it?"

He frowned, his heart sinking at the question. "Regret what?"

"This," she said, gesturing between them. "Us. Do you ever wish you'd chosen someone else? Someone who fits into your world better?"

He stared at her, his chest tightening at the vulnerability in her eyes. "No," he said, his voice firm. "Never."

She looked away, her fingers twisting in her lap. "But what if I'm not enough? What if I can't be the person you need?"

He reached for her, his hand cupping her cheek as he forced her to look at him. "Anastasia," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "You're already the person I need. You always have been."

Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't pull away. "I'm scared," she whispered. "I'm scared I'll disappoint you."

"You won't," he said, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "You could never disappoint me."

She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as she let out a shaky breath. "I want to believe that," she said. "I really do."

"Then let me prove it to you," he said, his voice low. "Every day. For the rest of our lives."

---

That night, as they lay in bed, Anastasia turned to him, her eyes searching his in the dim light. "Leonidas," she said, her voice soft. "Can I ask you something?"

He nodded, his hand reaching for hers. "Anything."

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around his. "Why did it take you so long to say it?" she asked. "To tell me you loved me?"

The question caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn't know how to respond. Then he sighed, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "I was scared," he admitted. "I've never… felt like this before. I didn't know how to handle it. I didn't know how to put it into words."

She studied him, her expression softening. "And now?"

"Now I know I can't live without you," he said, his voice raw. "And I don't want to."

Her eyes filled with tears, but this time, they were tears of relief. "I can't live without you either," she whispered.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if he could shield her from the world. "Then don't," he said. "Stay with me. Always."

She nodded, her face buried in his chest. "Always."

The days that followed were… better.

Anastasia started to open up again, her laughter returning, her smiles more genuine. She still had moments of doubt, moments where she pulled away, but Leonidas was there to pull her back.

He didn't have all the answers. He didn't know how to fix everything. But he knew one thing—he loved her. And he would spend the rest of his life proving it to her.