“That’s great. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll leave you two to get on with a list.” Grace raises her cheek to me and I give her a quick peck. “Good-bye, darling,” she says. “Ana, good-bye. I’ll call.”
“Great,” Ana replies, though I think she lacks conviction. Is she not happy with the wedding planner? Is she as bewildered as I feel? I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, and together we walk my mother out to the foyer. Grace turns to me as we wait for the elevator.
“Please call your father, Christian.”
I sigh. “I’ll think about it.”
“Stop sulking,” she warns, quietly.
“Grace!” Back off.
Ana glances at the two of us, but wisely holds her tongue and says nothing. I’m saved by the ping of the elevator and its opening doors. I reach for Ana’s hand as Grace steps inside. “Good night,” she says, and the doors close.
“You’re not talking to your father?” Ana asks.
I shrug. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.”
“Is this from last weekend? Your fight with him?”
I return her curious gaze, but say nothing. This is between him and me.
“Christian, he’s your dad. He’s only looking out for you.”
I hold up my hand in the hope that she’ll stop. “I don’t want to discuss this.” She folds her arms and raises that stubborn Steele chin. “Anastasia. Drop it.”
Her eyes flash cobalt blue, but she sighs and lowers her arms, regarding me with what I think is a mixture of frustration and compassion.
Fifty Shades, baby.
“We have another issue,” she says. “My dad wants to pay for the wedding.”
“Does he, now?”
No way. It will cost a fortune, which he doesn’t have. I’m not bankrupting my father-in-law. “I think that’s out of the question.”
“What? Why?” Ana’s hackles are up.
“Baby, you know why.” I don’t want to debate this. “The answer’s no.”
“But—”
“No.”
Her mouth forms that mulish line I know so well.
“Ana, you have carte blanche on this wedding. Whatever you want. But not that. You know it’s not fair to your father. It’s 2011, not 1911.”
She sighs. “I don’t know what I’ll say to him.”
“Tell him my heart is set on providing everything for us. Tell him it’s a deep-seated need that I have.”
Because that’s the truth.
She sighs again, resigned, I think.
“Now, shall we work on the guest list?” I ask, in the hope that starting this process will relieve her anxiety and also distract her from Ray.
“Sure,” she acquiesces, and I know I’ve avoided a fight.
I nuzzle her ear as she gasps for breath, fresh from her orgasm. Sweat beads on her forehead and her fingers still grip my hair.
“How was that, Anastasia?”
She garbles my name and I think she says “fantastic.”
I grin. “Please move in with me.”
“Yes. But not this weekend. Please. Christian.” She’s breathless. Her eyes flutter open and she implores me. “Please,” she mouths.
Damn.
“Okay,” I whisper. “My turn.” I nip her earlobe and flip her onto her front.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Leila wants to talk to you,” Flynn says, and I know from the narrowing of his eyes that he’s focusing on my reaction. I think this is a test, but I’m not sure.
“About what?” I ask, cautiously.
“I would guess that she wants to thank you.”
“Should I?”
John leans back in his chair. “Talk to her? I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“What harm could it do?”
“Christian, she has strong feelings for you. She’s displaced all that she felt for her deceased lover onto you. She thinks she’s in love with you.”
My scalp tingles and anxiety grips my heart.
No! How can she love me?
The thought is intolerable.
It will only ever be Ana. The sun, the moon, the stars—they rise and set with her.
“I think for Leila’s sake you’ll need to establish clear boundaries if you’re going to engage with her,” Flynn says.
Probably for my sake, too. “Can we keep all communication between Leila and me through you? She has my e-mail address, but she hasn’t been in touch.”
“I suspect that’s because she’s afraid you won’t answer.”
“She’s right. I’ll never forgive her for holding Ana at gunpoint.”
“If it’s any consolation, she’s full of remorse.”
I blow out a breath in exasperation; I’m not interested in her remorse. I want her healed and gone. “But doing well?” I ask.
“Yes. Very much so. The art therapy is working wonders; I think she wants to return to her hometown and pursue a fine-arts program.”
“Has she found a school?”
“She has.”
“If she stays away from Ana—and me, for that matter—I’ll fund her studies.”
“That’s very generous of you.” Flynn frowns, and I suspect he might be about to object.
“I can afford to be generous. I’m just glad she’s recovering,” I add quickly.
“She’ll be discharged this week. She’s going back to her folks.”
“In Connecticut?”
He nods.
“Good.” She’ll be on the other side of the country.
“I’ve recommended a psychiatrist for her in New Haven, so she doesn’t have to travel too far. She’ll be well looked after.” He pauses, then changes the subject. “Have the nightmares ceased?”
“For now.”
“And Elena?”
“I’ve avoided all contact, but I signed the contracts yesterday. It’s done. The Esclava group is hers now.” The name Elena chose for her salons and the group has always made me smile. Even now.