Now confusion, mixed with a stubborn flare of anger, comes into her thoughts. His words are saying one thing, his actions another. He had tried to keep her on the otherside of a door, had turned away from her, but still he is holding her hand, running another over her hair. He is so tender, but so uncertain. Anya keeps hearing him say that he won't make a choice, that he doesn't want to ask that she be with him, but it doesn't quite fit.

"Yes, of course I would be happy." Astonishment is plain on her face as she shakes her head slightly in confusion. Dmitry isn't in the room with them. She didn't wait outside his door. Even knowing that certain expansive concepts of relationships are possible here, she doesn't know if Dmitry would even want that sort of thing. He said that he just wanted her alone without making any sort of attempt to woo her.

But what Dmitry might or might not want isn't relevant now. It is just Gleb, the man in front of her, holding her hand.

Bearing her shoulders back, she has a hint of a smile on her face as she looks up at him. "Gleb, no one has ever been able to make me do something in my entire life that I didn't want. That hasn't changed. Why won't you let us be happy?"

She doesn't mention the fact that there have been exceptions to this rule, but all of them involved men holding guns to her back. They don't need that right now.