Topic: Pas Seule - La Femme

Anya De Luca

Date: 2014-02-01 10:06 EST
A great deal of fuss is made over a woman on her wedding day. So much so, in fact, that Anya had summarily dismissed her sisters-in-law, along with the rest of the bridal party, a good ten minutes before she was required to make herself known downstairs in the house her family had rented for the duration of their stay in Rhy'Din. She needed the quiet time to herself, time to calm herself down and focus on the happy reason for all the stress she'd willingly allowed herself to be put under for one day only. It was only when the first car had left, bearing with it the maid of honor, bridesmaids, and ring-bearer, that she made her own way down the stairs, careful to keep herself from standing on the delicate hem of her wedding gown.

Long lace sleeves beaded with crystal cascaded from her elbows to sweep that soft plain hem as she stepped down in search of her father, blonde hair twisted into an intricate knot, kept from obscuring her face. She paused in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, tilting her head toward the living room curiously. "Papa?"

"Dorogaya," he greeted her in his native Russian, holding out his arms to her as she stepped into the room. Sweetheart. "You are a vision of loveliness." He was dressed in a simple but smart black tuxedo jacket and slacks, offset by a gray vest and tie over a white button-down shirt, the boutonniere not yet pinned to his lapel. He was no longer young, but neither was he old, handsome for his age and with a distinctive voice that unknowingly commanded respect. He sighed as he looked at her, like all fathers do when they must finally admit that their daughter has grown into a woman. "It seems only yesterday you were taking your first steps." He smiled at the memory. "And then you were dancing. Always dancing, before you could talk, it seems. My little dancer."

Anya smiled, touched by her father's greeting and soft reminiscence as she moved to meet him where he stood, letting him enfold her into his embrace. For a long moment, she was a little girl again, running to hide in Papa's arms because Ilyia, Alexei, and Emile had been teasing her again. The only daughter, and the baby to boot, she had always held a very special place in her father's heart, and she knew that this day would be hard for him. "Spasibo, Papa," she thanked him affectionately, lifting her head to smile up at him. "And you are so handsome. Always my handsome otets medved'." Her father bear.

"Bah, I am old. That is what I am, Anya. And you growing up before my eyes only makes me feel older." He enclosed her gently in his embrace, careful not to crush her dress or muss her hair. "This is your special day, dorogaya. Your Anthony is a good man, but I am not so certain I am ready to let you go." Despite his words, his smiled wistfully as he pulled away from her, reaching for her hands to take a better look at her. "You are as lovely as your mother when she was your age."

"Mama already had two boys at her feet when she was my age," Anya objected laughingly, selfishly enjoying this chance to be the center of her father's attention for as long as these few minutes would last. Her hands parted, holding out her arms to show off the modest cut of the gown Miranda Granger had designed and made for her before she released him to twirl girlishly. "You will never let me go, anyway. I will always be your little Anastasia. I will just be someone's wife, as well."

He smiled, remembering her first dance recital - how nervous she was and excited, how she searched for his face in the crowd and how, when she found him, her whole face lit up as bright as sunshine. That day it was almost as if she was dancing just for him, but now she was grown, and she had the whole world at her feet. She had a new dance partner, a man who adored her as much as he did, a man who was about to make her his wife. "Do you know why your mother and I decided to have four children, dorogaya?" he asked, reaching for her hand with a soft smile when her twirling came to an end.

Anya's smile was just a little cheeky as she slid her hand into her father's, evidence of a little too much time spent with two of the De Luca sisters. "Ah, I know this," she giggled softly. "Iliya was too big, Alexei looked at you funny, and Emile smelt strange. That was why, was it not?"

He laughed at her explanation. Amusing though it was, it was wrong. He loved his sons dearly, but there would always be a special place in his heart for a daughter that no one else could fill. "Nyet," he replied. "It is because it took us four times to get it right. Why do you think we stopped once we had you?"

"I always thought it was because you had your hands full," she pointed out with a smile, but there was a suspicious sheen in her eyes as she drew in a deep breath. She'd always known she had a special place in her father's heart, but to hear him put it like that was beautifully touching. After struggling for a moment to compose herself, she laughed, poking her Papa in the stomach. "If I make my mascara run, Mama will pull all your hair out."

He was, in his own way, trying to tell her just how special she was to him, to all of them, an only daughter among three older brothers who adored her as much as their father did. He chuckled at her teasing, touched by her tears and feeling a strange lump growing in his own throat. "Well, then I won't have to worry about a receding hairline anymore," he teased back. He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss against the back of her hand. "I am very proud of you, Anya. We both are. All we want is for you to be happy."

Her smile deepened as he kissed the back of her hand, always the perfect gentleman. "I am very happy, Papa," she promised him faithfully. "I should have done this five years ago, instead of walking away from him. I won't make that mistake again. I love Tony, so very much. Try not to frighten him too much today, okay?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Andrei Komarov replied with an amused smirk. "I shall leave that for your mother." He leaned in and planted a feather-light kiss against her cheek before offering her his arm. "Shall we, dorogaya, before your mother sends a search party?"

His daughter beamed up at him as she took his arm, pausing for just a moment to pick up her unique bouquet and his boutonniere. "Da, Papa," she agreed with a gentle nod. "I am ready."

"Your Anthony has waited long enough. Let us not keep him waiting any longer," he told her with an equally gentle and affectionate smile. Though she was ready to be married, he was not so sure he was ready to let her go, nor did he think he would ever be ready, but it was time. Though she might have loved him first, her heart no longer belonged only to him. It was time to let her go and give her to another man, to trust him to care for her the way he always had. God help him if he ever hurt her.

((Part 2 is done! Parts 3 & 4 coming shortly!))