Aleksandr can still recall the seven times he's been with the little princess.
--
They met when they were mere children. Already at that age, Aleksandr's life had been clouded by the smell of gunpowder and blood. He was trained to be a stone-cold killer, beaten by the hands of his own mother to ensure he'd be able to withstand pain.
It was often darkness that greeted him in his sleep. Long gone were the days he used to have nightmares about the tortures he'd endure in the name of training. Even in his waking hours, his life remained dreamless, robbed of the joy and hope one would expect from a boy his age.
He'd known nothing but black and red. Granted, he was a child hidden from the rest of the world, ignorant yet much too aware for his parents' methods to be considered humane.
Aleksandr knew better than to await a better life. No amount of aging could save him from his fate as the heir of his father's billion-dollar legacy and his mother's mob. All he would ever know were those two colors reminiscent of death, which was fine, really, because he'd already grown indifferent to the sight of lifeless bodies.
So when he was introduced to a bright bundle of pink at the age of ten, the title "husband" just another responsibility on his already heavy shoulders, he was stunned to say the least.
His fiance had been plump in areas he was never allowed to be, all full cheeks and pouting lips.
He recalls her first words, "Is that him? Is that my husband?"
She spoke freely in the presence of adults, something he'd never been allowed to do.
It took a lot of self-restraint not to scold the little girl, her actions opposing everything Aleksandr had been taught. The sheer arrogance irritated him, and the questions weren't even his to answer.
His mother's sharp voice had pierced through his thoughts. "Yes. Aleksandr, this is your fiance, Dahlia. Dahlia, this is my son Aleksandr, the two of you will be bound to each other by marriage when you come of age."
In all honesty, he had expected her to be another person that'd treat him like an object. His mother saw him as a weapon, his father saw him as an ideal, there was no way a stranger, now supposedly his future wife, would treat him any better.
"Oh, I see!" It bothered Aleksandr how the little girl didn't even so much flinch at the information. Her bright eyes remained bright.
Perhaps he'd be a source of entertainment to the colourful girl, just another toy to boost her ego and vanity. She'd seemed full of herself, after all, blissfully unaware of the responsibilities she'd be burdened with as his wife and painfully doted on by her own father—something Aleksandr had been secretly jealous of at the time.
That's one thing Aleksandr can't remove from his head when it comes to Dahlia. She was spoiled, but for some godforsaken reason, never unkind.
"Hey, there! You seem like a really cool person. Would you like to come to my room?"
Formalities seemed to have been forgotten. No titles, just a harmless invitation, and a handshake....?
Her father looked displeased by the offer. His overprotectiveness was expected, seeing as how he'd worshipped the ground his daughter stepped on.
But Aleksandr's mother seemed to encourage it. A glint of satisfaction gleamed in her silver eyes; the same pair he was gifted with in birth.
Perhaps Aleksandr's longing for his mother's approval was what pushed him to accept Dahlia's offer. Without another word, he took her hand in his and opted to kiss the top of it instead.
Martial arts hadn't been the only thing he mastered at ten. Charm was a part of the deal as well. The act made Dahlia's father visibly livid, a hilarious expression on the rather intimidating man. However, the blush on his fiance's face let him know that he'd accomplished his goal.
"Keep the stupid girl happy and your efforts will be rewarded." His mother whispered into his ear before letting them go. That was when the reality of the arrangement was made clear to him.
It was just another means to an end, another transaction that was, much to his annoyance towards his fiance, set in stone.
Surprisingly, the rest of the day had been silly.
Nothing like what he expected it to be.
Dahlia's room was much bigger than his, not that he spent much time there anyway. It came with a balcony and a second-floor. He thought calling it a palace would be much better suited than calling it a bedroom.
Aleksandr took it as one more reason to hate on the girl. Materialistic and excessive to a fault, a pain in the ass to deal with in future dealings.
The hand-painted walls and the frilly curtains were nothing like the rest of the lifeless mansion. The room, overall, was much too bright and childish for his tastes.
But really, what else did Aleksandr expect from someone dressed like a pink Christmas tree?
She'd introduced her oversized dolls to him. All of them had individual names and different backgrounds. Their beaded eyes creeped the hell out of Aleksandr which says a lot considering he'd already witnessed the most heinous parts of humanity.
A particular doll, red-headed and frazzled stuck out to him.
"Why does she look like she'd been beaten to death?" He let the words slip out by accident.
His irritation from his fiance's liveliness, never-ending stream of meaningless chatter, and worst of all, her seemingly easy life accumulated into the violent bout of words.
But he'd never intended to snap at her; doing so was against his mother's will. And for a moment, he'd returned to being a ten-year-old boy, frightened that he'd gotten caught in the middle of a rebellious streak.
Aleksandr is surprised to hear laughter from Dahlia.
"Lola wasn't beaten to death! She works in the amusement park, silly! Were you even listening to my explanation?"
The smile on her face is sincere; reflecting something he hadn't ever seen in his life.
"My.. my apologies, may you explain their livelihoods to me once more?"
The conversation continued smoothly to Aleksandr's surprise. He never really came to understand how working in an amusement park would lead to looking so haggard, something about repeatedly using the rides or something, but he'd just learned to accept Dahlia's imaginative reasoning.
The bubbly girl didn't seem to mind his sarcasm throughout. She found it hilarious in plenty of circumstances, and the subtle acceptance eased him.
They discussed another doll, Piper, supposedly a baker, but Aleksandr thought she would thrive better as a wrestler, putting into consideration her chunky doll arms.
So they'd renamed her Rowdy Ramona as per his suggestion.
He'd laughed at Dahlia's hesitance to do so; a sound foreign even to himself. After that, she seemed to have no qualms with changing her doll's entire backstory, her face questionably red.
In the middle of banter, Dahlia pulled something from beneath the dolls' tea table, something that looked much too cheap to be hers.
Green bold letters "FACE PAINT" glared back at the hardened boy. The cover consisted of a couple of poorly done movie makeup. Aleksandr had no idea how Dahlia got ahold of it, and he was given no time to ask before the girl was already trying to tug the plastic open.
"What is that?" Aleksandr sounded much too accusatory towards something so trivial. Dahlia learned that that was how he usually was.
"Face paint, duh! And here I thought my husband was smart."
That was the first time throughout the entire day she'd refer to him by the title. Something light arises from Aleksandr's chest and instead of pressure to comply, he feels pride.
He had turned away from embarrassment, however, and his tone was sharper than before. "I'll have you know that I am smart. That thing just looks too stupid to comprehend."
She only glared back at him, defiant whenever he stepped out of line. "I can't believe you're ten and you talk like that!"
His grin only widened in mischief as he repeated the words to her, "I can't believe you're ten and you talk like that."
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"
It took a lot of convincing for Aleksandr to finally sit down and allow Dahlia to paint his face. She hadn't offered him a clue as to what she was working on his skin and Aleksandr didn't put it above her to paint literal crap to mess with him.
Her hands were gentle, smooth with no sign of ever having to execute hard work. The opposite of his. Still, he had relished in her grace, drinking whatever affection she had eo generously handed to him in a platter. Dahlia moved his face like he was made of porcelain; fragile.
And although he wanted to tell her that he was in no way weak, he didn't think his heart could handle harsher treatment from the only person to have ever shown him kindness.
"You're so beautiful..." She mumbled and it had to be the worst way possible to break the peaceful silence because something in Aleksandr's unbeating heart tightened.
"Ta-da!" Dahlia handed him a mirror in place of her touch and for a moment, he found himself wanting to pull her back into his arms.
Aleksandr had been pleased to find that instead of anything related to human waste, he'd taken the form of a white tiger, the paint beautifully contrasting the blond strands that had escaped the rest of his slicked back hair.
"You reminded me of one, so..."
That was a good thing apparently because he couldn't stop himself from saying, "Thank you."
He couldn't stop himself from staring at the girl's smile. His gesture of gratitude seemed to do something for her because it had only grown to be more blindingly bright.
"Let me paint yours." He offered after a moment of thinking.
She seemed startled at the proposal, eyes widening. "Oh! I didn't think you'd..." Her usual demeanour returned in a split second. "Sure!"
He took the paint in his hands, carefully debating in his mind what animal suited the girl the most. Just as he was about to settle, she'd chimed in.
"Can you make me a horse?"
The suggestion caused him to splutter, broken chuckles leaving his throat. He'd been caught off guard.
After his fit, he asked. "Why a horse? Horses aren't exactly appealing from the front."
Despite the harsh implications of his words, he was gentler than he usually would be.
"Don't say that! Horses are the prettiest. Daddy's getting me one for my next birthday."
He had no clue how to draw a horse on a human face, so Dahila's face ended up being smeared with a single dark tone of brown and her nose painted with a black splotch.
Still, she seemed pretty happy with the results.
Dahlia pulled him into an embrace, her joy never once faltering as he found difficulty in hugging her back. He'd never received something so intimate from his parents in the past, so to be completely submerged in her warmth.
He was speechless, his rapid heartbeat doing all the talking necessary.
"You're the best!"
"Of course." He cleared his throat, fortunate to have his blushing face be concealed by face paint. "It's my job as your husband."
They spent the rest of the day discussing make-believe politics with the dolls. It was perhaps the most disgraceful Aleksandr had even been, but he enjoyed being prime minister of Dahlia's country more than he'd like to admit.
Aleksandr couldn't recall how it led to it, but he'd ended up in Dahlia's bed next to an ocean of cushions, facing away from her as she'd put bundles of his hair in elastic bands.
"And these will be your ears, Mr. Tiger..." She narrated to herself, a habit he'd grown to find endearing.
When they had to leave, Aleksandr was shaken awake from deep slumber, the first one that actually contained dreams. Whatever it had been about, it was pleasant enough for him to forget in mere seconds.
His mother lets him know that meeting with his princess-like fiance was a yearly arrangement and for the first time since birth, he looked forward to something with a feeling akin to wonder in his chest.