Chapter 43 : The Weight of Expectations

The world outside their private sanctuary didn't stop for their reconciliation. If anything, it seemed to close in faster, demanding more from both of them. Leonidas had responsibilities—business deals, political alliances, and the ever-watchful eyes of society. Anastasia, too, was expected to play her part as his partner, a role she still struggled to feel worthy of.

The cracks in their fragile peace began to show sooner than either of them expected.

The invitation arrived on a crisp morning, its gold-embossed edges gleaming in the sunlight. It was for the annual Winter Ball, the most prestigious event of the season. Attendance wasn't optional—it was a statement, a declaration of power and influence.

Leonidas watched as Anastasia read the invitation, her face paling slightly. "We don't have to go," he said, his voice gentle.

She shook her head, her fingers tightening around the paper. "We do," she said. "You know we do."

He hated the resignation in her voice, the way her shoulders slumped under the weight of expectation. "Anastasia," he said, stepping closer. "You don't have to do this if you're not ready."

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a quiet determination. "I'm your partner, Leonidas. I can't keep hiding from the world."

He wanted to argue, to tell her she didn't owe anyone anything. But he knew she was right. This was part of their life, part of the world they were trying to navigate together.

---

The days leading up to the gala were tense. Anastasia threw herself into preparations, practicing her posture, her smile, her small talk. Leonidas watched from the sidelines, his frustration growing with each passing day.

"You don't have to be perfect," he said one evening, his voice sharper than he intended.

She froze, her hands clutching the dress she'd been adjusting. "I'm not trying to be perfect," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm trying to be enough."

The words cut through him, and he crossed the room in two strides, his hands gripping her shoulders. "You *are* enough," he said, his voice fierce. "You always have been."

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. "Then why does it feel like I'm failing?"

He didn't have an answer. All he could do was pull her into his arms, holding her tightly as she cried.

The night of the gala arrived, and Anastasia looked stunning. Her gown was elegant, her hair perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. But Leonidas could see the tension in her smile, the way her hands trembled as she adjusted her gloves.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice soft.

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you."

The ballroom was a whirlwind of lights, music, and chatter. Leonidas stayed by her side, his hand resting on the small of her back as they navigated the crowd. But the pressure was relentless.

"Lady Anastasia," a noblewoman said, her smile sharp. "You've certainly… blossomed since we last saw you. How *interesting*."

Anastasia's smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. "Thank you," she said, her voice polite but distant.

Leonidas' jaw tightened, his grip on her waist tightening protectively. "Excuse us," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He led her to a quieter corner, his eyes scanning her face. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded, but her smile was strained. "I'm fine."

He didn't believe her.

---

The breaking point came later that night.

Anastasia was talking to a group of women, her smile fixed, her laughter forced. Leonidas watched from across the room, his chest tightening with each passing moment. He could see the cracks in her facade, the way her hands trembled as she reached for her glass.

Then it happened.

One of the women—a duchess known for her sharp tongue—leaned in, her voice carrying just enough for Leonidas to hear. "It's admirable, really," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "How hard you're trying. But let's be honest, my dear. You'll never be one of us."

Anastasia froze, her smile shattering as the words hit her like a blow. For a moment, she just stood there, her eyes wide, her face pale. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away.

Leonidas was at her side in an instant, his hand gripping her arm. "Anastasia," he said, his voice low. "Wait."

She shook her head, her eyes filled with tears. "I can't," she whispered. "I can't do this."

He didn't argue. He just led her out of the ballroom, his heart pounding as he searched for a quiet place where they could be alone.

---

They ended up in the garden, the cold night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the ballroom. Anastasia stood by the fountain, her arms wrapped around herself, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Leonidas stepped closer, his hands hovering over her shoulders before he finally pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, her face buried in his chest. "It's not your fault," she whispered. "I just… I can't do this, Leonidas. I can't keep pretending."

He held her tighter, his heart breaking at the pain in her voice. "You don't have to," he said. "You don't have to be anyone but yourself."

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. "But what if it's not enough?"

"It is," he said, his voice fierce. "You are. And if anyone can't see that, they don't deserve to be in your life."

She stared at him, her expression softening as his words sank in. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I love you," she whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath mingling with hers. "I love you too," he said. "And I'm not letting anyone take you away from me. Not ever."

The next morning, Leonidas woke to find Anastasia already awake, her expression thoughtful as she stared out the window. But this time, there was a quiet determination in her eyes, a strength that hadn't been there before.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice soft.

She turned to him, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. "I'm thinking… I don't want to hide anymore," she said. "I want to be myself. For you. For me."

He reached for her, his hand brushing against her cheek. "Then don't," he said. "Be yourself. That's all I've ever wanted."

She leaned into his touch, her smile widening. "Thank you," she whispered.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as the sunlight streamed through the window. For the first time in weeks, he felt like they were on solid ground. And he wasn't going to let anything—or anyone—tear them apart.