Anastasia's POV “Anastasia dear, your soup is getting cold."I looked up as she was seated at the head of the table, her hawkish eyes revealing nothing, her expression utterly composed. If she suspected anything and I knew that she did, because my grandmother suspected everything….. she gave no indication."Thank you, Grandmother," I said, picking up my spoon with shaking hands.The conversation resumed, but it seemed awkward and forced. But I could feel every pair of eyes at that table, watching me with varying degrees of curiosity, disdain, and in my father's case, barely concealed fury, not like i cared.I didn't look at Nikolai. I didn't need to. I could already feel his satisfaction radiating from beside me like heat from a burning fire.The rest of dinner passed in a blur. I couldn't taste the food, couldn't focus on the words being spoken around me. I simply survived, counting down the minutes until I could escape.Finally, mercifully, my grandmother set down her napkin. "I be
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