She might love him too. Dmitry's seen the way she looks at him. At the café it had been quick and fleeting but he'd seen it and he'd known exactly what that look meant because he'd once wanted her to look at him like that too. And now those looks go to Gleb, a man who already had precious little care for Dmitry before this all began.

Anya places a hand on his chest and he knows she must feel the way it beats harder. It was already pounding as he convinced himself to come here, to confess and get it over with. He's not sure what response he'd expected and somehow this still isn't it. The hand on his cheek makes him close his eyes and, for a moment, he pretends.

"I knew in the hotel room that I never had a chance," he says, is trying to convince himself. It all seems so much less clear when she's holding his face, looking at him so gently and so sadly. It's a dangerous game but he puts his hands on her shoulders, so ready to slide them around her and pull her close in an embrace he knows he won't get.

"You don't have to tell me." He's not sure if he wants to know, truthfully. It's enough to confirm that she's chosen Gleb.