19

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since he last saw her. But the last time, he really had seen her, more of her than they should have allowed. But he gave her space- he could feel that she needed it, and in all honesty he did too. He didn't know what to think. Still.

He had almost been involved, almost known what was happening. But he was pushed out again. John had a feeling that Ana would be in the same situation. She would always understand.

So, finally, he stood by her door, not bothered by the fact that it could be her sister or aunt or even the priest who opened the door. He didn't care about their reactions.

Until Tatiana slid it open and almost barked out a laugh as her eyes fell to his face.

"Back for seconds?" She drawled, her gaze both disapproving and full of humour.

He bit back a growl at her insinuation and before he could reply, she held the door open further.

"The library."

He didn't bother saying anything back, and instead brushed past walking through the hallway to the back door behind the stairs. The gold accents of the walls seemed to gleam, even in the dull lamplight, as if guiding him to her. John knew the way already. He had met her there, once.

He knocked, letting out a deep breath. How had he thought this would be a good idea? It took ounces of strength to keep his feet glued to the floor, to stop him turning in his heels and running for the door.

But he remembered what Tommy had said: "Say it how it is, eh, John. You want to know what you're getting into.". He had been right. He did want to know. He wanted to know whether he was risking too much for a woman who would bite him on the back as soon as it was necessary. He wanted to know whose side she was on. He wanted to know that he wasn't doing the worst thing anyone could possibly think of. But he wouldn't speak of that.

Ana opened the door swiftly, ready to glare at the housekeeper for the second time that day. But Mrs Barker was incredibly short, and as she stared down to where her face should have been, her sharp eyes were met with a smart jacket. A man's jacket.

She narrowed her eyes as she glanced to see his face, unsurprised.

Why are you here? What do you want?

Ana didn't need to say what she was thinking to receive an answer from John Shelby. That didn't mean it would be a good one, though.

"I came to see you."

He stepped into the room after her, shutting the door behind to the only familiar room in the house. She had been alone, a book bent and resting on the edge of the seat by the window.

"Just because I am a Petrovna, doesn't mean that you can have your way with me." She felt bitter, her teeth clenched as she didn't face him. "You can't come as you please."

"I am not my sister," she whispered afterwards. It would have earned her a slap, had Tatiana been in the room. But Ana wasn't in a particularly good enough mood to even care.

He stepped forward to meet her, but Ana found herself stepping backward, her hand snapping away from his reached out touch. John frowned.

"I've told you this before. When I look at you, I don't see your family or their name or anything to fucking do with them."

This time, as he stepped forward, she let him. She let him reach up to take her face in his hand, his thumb rubbing across her cheek, her skin not perfectly smooth beneath his touch.

"I see Anastasiya, my Ana."

I don't see a Petrovna.

I only see Ana.

I don't believe that you want to be like that. Unfeeling. Unloved.

I think you want this.

All things he had said to her. All things that had been so true that it pained her to hear them, her stomach twisting as the words had left his mouth.

She wanted to cry. To scream. To growl and screech. She was so frustrated. He made her that way, just as she did to him.

"When did we let this happen?" She said lowly, dipping her chin to remove her face from his soft hold. She stepped back.

"Would you go back?"

He looked so hopeful, so eager to hear her answer as he asked it, that she didn't have the heart or energy to tell him the truth. To tell him that she would. She would take it all back. She would stay away. Be a good girl and not get involved. Then they both would have been saved the heart ache and yearning.

"To having a gun to your head and an arm to my throat?" She said instead. "It's funny how things were simpler then."

It wasn't a straight answer, but it was an answer enough, even if it hid the truth. John sighed.

"Ana, I trust you. Alright? I want you to know that."

He knew what he was saying, she thought. He knew what trust meant to her. She clenched her jaw.

"Tommy. He's in hospital. He almost died, took that bad of a beating."

Ana knew why he was asking. John was testing her- not as thick as he had lead on. But he had no reason to test. At that moment, she was more confused and unsure and tired, than she had been through the whole mess. Who could she trust? Who would she follow? Who would she help? She felt that tug on each side again.

She nodded unsure of what to say until she said, "I thought as much."

She had seen him that night, after all. Dripping with sweat and struggling to get a word out, something had clearly happened. It had been the reason why she had agreed to help her mother. It didn't settle right.

"I know why you're here John," she said slowly, her back turning away from him. "I want to tell you that everything is fine. I really do. But I can't. You understand that, surely?"

He did understand. He knew she would never be able to trust him, it was for the same reason he had come to her too. They couldn't feel stable- not until their business was over. Until the priest was out of their sights.

John edged forward, testing the waters as he slid his arms down her sides, stopping at her waist as he wrapped them forward. She let him, leaning back into his hole, savouring it, even if it would just be for a moment. He felt her hand rest on his.

Not a word of that night.

And yet it was one of the first times that they had openly showed something other than painful obliviousness or anger. They were good at anger.

She thought of that night as his arms enveloped her. He could never deny that it had happened, she knew as much, but would she? Would she be ashamed? He had come to her, so earnestly, passionately and now she let him hold her despite all that had been said.

He sighed, as if sensing what she thought.

"You know I had to come?" Ana nodded.

"I know," she said. "I know."

Ana hated the fact that there was no trace of the cheeky boy left behind her. John seemed so solemn- mature yet always frowning, as if a piece of his childlike wonder had left him. It was all her fault. She had made him feel this way.

She turned, facing him and leaning into his hold. She saw him smile, and even that small gesture made her feel much better. Perhaps being with him wasn't so bad. She would just have to make it work.

So she kissed him again.

Needs to be edited