Just moments ago, Anastasia had been a storm of pure rage. Now, she was walking calmly beside Adam, a serene expression on her face.
The villagers who saw them were amazed.
They all knew Anastasia's temper. It was a legendary force in the village, a fire that, once lit, was almost impossible to extinguish.
Only her father, with his own formidable anger, could ever bring her to heel. Most people believed she had inherited her fiery spirit directly from him. But now, here she was, placid and quiet.
As they walked, Adam let go of Anastasia's hand. He had achieved his goal. He had seen the look of pure, impotent fury on Andrew's face as they left. A small, satisfied smile touched Adam's lips. Anastasia saw it and a warmth spread through her chest.
She misunderstood his smile completely. She thought he was happy to be with her.
