The kiss is so light Dmitry could almost convince himself he imagined it, except that Anya is so close to him and he can see the tears in her eye. He raises a hand and wipes them away as gently as he's able, the touch as restrained and gossamer as the kiss. His other arm slides around her and he indulges in that moment. In Anya's training to become the Grand Duchess that she always was, he's played the role of servant, courtier, and dance partner already. Why not, for a moment, pretend he can also be a lover?

"I don't know what to do," How can he be happy when she's out of his reach? And how can he be happy, he wonders, if he tries to force her to choose and to choose him. The thought occurs to him at the same moment that there's no making Anya do anything. Not with that temper and that will. He almost smiles.

"I'm happy that you're safe. That you know who you are." In the end, hadn't that mattered so much more than the money? Still does. He made a stupid choice, but he thinks it was the right one.