Thank you so much for your kind words and the alerts, it was so unexpected and really pushes me to update quicker, even if I am nervous with this! Thank you! Hoping you enjoy this one! Again, it's probably slow building, but I hope you enjoy nevertheless. Feel free to let me know if you have any suggestions or constructive advice.
Chapter Four Temptation Builds
Since it's dinner time, and I am hungry and eager to discover what vegan concoction Gail has made up for me tonight, I grab my phone, padding barefooted into the kitchen. The bright glare of flickering candles assault me from in the center of the table. I still don't understand why Gail insists on the whole lighting-candles-thing.
I check my phone again just for the sake of it as I pull up my chair and sit. Still no reply from my mother. I sigh loudly, leaning back to watch Christian as he strolls over to his large refrigerator. While there's another crystal jug at the table with chilled water and two glasses, he is obviously opting for something a bit stronger tonight. I watch as he uncorks a bottle of wine, then he pours himself a glass. He doesn't even ask if I want one, which honestly, doesn't surprise me. I am underage, after all.
"No, thank you," I mutter stiffly as I watch him. He pauses from putting the bottle back in the refrigerator to glance over at me questioningly. "I actually don't feel like a glass of wine myself, but thanks for asking me anyway."
"I wasn't going to ask you."
"No shit," I mumble beneath my breath. "I kind of figured that you wouldn't."
"I hardly think your mother would be pleased if I did offer you a glass of wine." He carries his glass over to the table, kicking back his chair. "Last thing I need is for her to think I'm encouraging you to indulge in underage drinking."
My belly clenches at his words as I grab myself a glass of water, pouring it out from in the jug. Wait. Has he spoken to my mother? Has he been able to contact her?
"Have you been able to reach her?" I ask in surprise, watching him.
He does that thing with his napkin in shaking it out and tucking it in beneath the neck of his collar to protect his shirt like he had last night at dinner. God, he must be so predictable. "I haven't, Anastasia. I'm just merely guessing that she wouldn't be too pleased with me." He looks at me while folding up his sleeves on each arm up to his elbows. "Have you heard from her?"
"No, I haven't." It hurts, even simply talking about it. "It's really annoying. She still hasn't tried to contact me or to return my call. I hope she's okay."
"I'm sure her and Bob are fine. They are probably just preoccupied with celebrating the start of their new life together." He picks up his cutlery, beginning to eat, slicing a large chunk of steak with ease.
Sighing again, I force myself to glance down at my plate while picking up my own cutlery. Just like last night, Gail has surprised me yet again. Tonight is what looks like a vegetable stir-fry with chickpeas and fried tofu pieces.
"Anyway, you're so lucky to have Gail," I mutter while stabbing a slice of tofu with my fork. I hold it up to my mouth, nibbling on it curiously. It actually tastes really good; She's outdone herself from last night's sauce, I think. This one tastes like it has a little bit of lime drizzling with a hint of spice to it. "She's an extremely good cook. I wish I had someone like her that could cook me all of these wonderfully creative meals." Talking about food seems to curb my depression over my mother's lack of contact, at the very least.
"She'll be pleased to hear it. I'll let her know."
I realize I should probably thank him for the clothes, unnecessary and as expensive as they may be. "Thanks for the clothes, by the way." I lift my gaze to meet his, trying not to let my eyes focus on his mouth as he chews. "I'm perfectly fine with all the clothes that I already brought here, but thanks anyway. They're pretty."
He nods once at my expression of gratitude, his eyes shining. "You're welcome," he mutters after swallowing. "It was the... least I could do." He clears his throat as he glances down at his wine glass, reaching out for it. I might be mistaken, but in the candlelight he seems rather... awkward about something.
Suddenly, I remember coming across his porn book this morning while shoveling a large forkful of chickpeas into my mouth, the Karmasutra book in his work/office area on the bookshelf. A giddy laugh escapes through my throat as I feel my cheeks reddening. I can feel the chickpeas sliding down my throat almost the wrong way, and quickly, I have to reach for my water, sipping a few quick mouthfuls in order to make it go more smoothly down.
"What?" Christian asks, and when I bring my eyes up, I discover he is staring at me, rather suspiciously. "What's so funny, Anastasia?"
"Um, nothing." I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand quickly, then another giggle erupts from it again. Wow, what is wrong with me?
"You say it's nothing, but... somehow I'm not convinced. Are you laughing at me?"
I decide I may as well tell the truth. "How come you didn't tell me you had some books that I could read?"
He looks back down at his food as he slices another bit of steak with his knife. As he pops another piece of steak into his mouth, he chews slowly as he meets my eyes again. I can tell he's confused.
"In your office or work area?" I explain, elaborating. Gently, Christian places his fork and knife down against his plate, reaching for his napkin. He dabs around his mouth, digesting my words down. "I was curious so I may have... been a little sneaky and decided to investigate some of the other rooms downstairs that you never showed me on your tour yesterday. How come you didn't tell me that you do have some books? I mean, you showed me all the CD's and DVD's you have?"
"You went into my study, Anastasia?" I scrutinize his face carefully while nibbling on another bit of tofu. It's impossible to know how he feels on that. He won't meet my gaze, and he lifts a hand, running his fingers slowly through his hair.
"I did. Like I said, I was simply... curious."
Finally, he leans back in his chair a little, lifting his chin up to meet my eyes. There's a weird moment there where he simply stares at me, and I stare back while chewing on tofu. Is he pissed off that I helped myself into his study? Gee, if it's that much of a big deal to him, then why didn't he lock the door like he did the room upstairs?
"It wasn't locked, so I was assuming it was okay to go in there," I explain quietly with a shrug. "The door was left open, so... I just assumed you wouldn't have minded. I was curious." I get a very vivid flash, a mental image, of the extremely descriptive drawings in the book again, drawings on the verge of pornography. I feel my cheeks flush with heat again as I try not to smile. I have to press my lips tightly together. "Were you hiding it from me?" I ask, my voice taking a teasing edge.
He arches his eyebrows at me. "Hiding what?" he murmurs, then he reaches for his wine glass. He puts his mouth over the glass, his eyes still holding mine.
"I saw your secret porn stash?" This is said at the same time he so happens to take a sip of his wine. I can tell it goes down the wrong way, all because of my words, probably due to the unexpectedness of them, the shock.
He coughs loudly, slamming his glass back down onto the table while he reaches for his napkin. He turns away from me with his mouth covered by the napkin, coughing and spluttering into it. I know I probably shouldn't feel that way, but his reaction amuses me to no end.
"My secret porn stash?" he repeats once he has recovered from his choking fit. He yanks his napkin out from his collar, scrunching it up between his fingers.
"Yeah, the book with the extremely descriptive pictures that you bookmarked with pieces of paper? The Karmasutra: Styles of Sex book?"
I think he finally gets it. "Oh, Jesus," he groans under his breath, and he rests both elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. He uses his hands to cover his mouth as he glances away from me, tossing his head. I think I've gotten him embarrassed. "That isn't my secret porn stash, Anastasia. Far from it."
"But is that what you want?" I cannot help asking. "Is that what you want to do?"
He laughs at my words quietly, an uncomfortable look on his face. "Do what? I don't understand what you're saying, Anastasia?"
"Well, is that what you want a woman to do to you?" I ask curiously. I know he fully comprehends what I am asking when he drops his hands away from his mouth. He glances down at his plate, clearing his throat roughly, before picking up his fork again. "Is that the sort of... thing you want? Like in those pictures?"
"Anastasia," he breathes quietly, still not looking at me. It sounds like a warning.
"What?"
"I hardly think that talking about it's appropriate. Particularly not at dinner." He keeps his eyes on his food as he shoves his steak around the plate.
"Oh, okay then," I mutter. I reach out, wrapping my fingers over my glass of water. I watch him while I swallow a few sips of water, noticing how he refuses to look at me. He'll just shake his head and smile to himself. A few times he'll chuckle, like he cannot believe it. "I didn't realize you were so prudish," I add before I can help myself. Maybe my mother was right? Maybe, one of these days, my teasing truly was going to get me into deep trouble.
"Prudish, did you say?" At my lighthearted words, Christian's eyes immediately dart up to meet mine. All trace of humor is gone in his face, his gray eyes. He suddenly looks so stern, so serious. "Believe me, Anastasia, if you knew me well, 'prudish' is very last thing you would describe me as. In fact, I'm the polar opposite of 'prudish.'"
I am stunned at his sudden swift change in mood. I guess my assessment of him was totally right this morning. He really can't differentiate between whether something is a joke or not.
"Okay," I whisper with a nod. "Consider me put in my place then. I take it back with calling you 'prudish'."
His eyes seem to soften with relief, then he glances away, back down at his plate of food again. He begins to eat again, but I can't help sensing there is still tension there, in the way he eats, the way he chews and handles his knife. I think he's pissed at me, deep down inside.
"What wine are you drinking?" I force myself to ask, hopefully to ease the tension. "What's it called?" Talking about wine is neutral, right?
He finishes chewing and swallowing his mouthful of food, before he says, "It's Chateau Mouton-Rothschild. A 1945 blend."
I wouldn't even begin to know what that means anyway, so I just play along. "Sounds nice, then."
"At four thousand dollars a bottle, you'd certainly hope so," he mutters offhandedly, and I know he isn't saying it as a joke, but I end up laughing anyway.
"You're kidding me?" I mutter in disbelief. "So now you're paying four thousand dollars for one bottle of wine?" I cannot believe it. It just seems so ridiculously extravagant, so posh and fancy.
He shrugs, still not meeting my gaze as he eats. I can still sense a little bit of sullen moodiness there over the prudish comment.
"I suppose, in all fairness, if I had money like you do, I'd indulge every now and then," I confess. "It's just... wow." I cannot believe one bottle of wine can even cost that much, let alone that he would happily buy it when there are so many other better ways he could put that amount of money to use. "I'd feel really bad if I spent that amount of money on a bottle of wine or something like clothes. I'd just end up feeling... selfish. Like I could put it to better use, rather than for myself?" I'm rambling, but the topic has made me feel passionate. "Like the same amount of money for that bottle of wine could have helped multiple animals in shelters or... or help poverty stricken communities."
"Well, I get what you're saying, Anastasia. I get that it can seem... selfish and extravagant, but I do try to give back to the community as much as I possibly can." His mouth tightens, and I realize how inconsiderate my words just were to him. Me and my stupid mouth and my opinions sometimes. "Believe it or not, I do donate to multiple charities. I help with fundraisers and raising awareness, and I do try to give back as much as humanly possible. It isn't always just me being selfish and buying stupid shit that I don't need."
"I'm sorry," I burst out belatedly. "I... I didn't mean to imply that you were selfish, or that you don't give back to the community. Sometimes I have a habit of speaking before I truly think how my words will be interpreted."
"Anastasia, it's fine," he assures me quietly, but he still won't meet my gaze.
"I think it's something I got from my mother," I mumble in embarrassment, cupping my forehead with my hand. I feel so rude, so insensitive. "I didn't mean to be rude. Like I said, I just speak sometimes and voice what's on my mind without truly thinking. I get that from my mother, I'm sorry."
He nods, so I know my apology is accepted. I still feel bad, though. God, my mouth.
"So you were adopted?" I try to change subject to something hopefully easier while I start eating again. "You and Bob?"
"Yes, Robert and I were adopted."
"Is it just you two?"
"No, we also have a sister and another brother. We were all adopted."
"I wonder why Robert never told me this," I say with a mouth full of food. "Well, maybe he told my mother, but... I guess he doesn't really have to tell me anything, does he? I guess my mother's the main concern, seeing as they're... in a relationship and now married and all. It just would have been nice to know."
"Well, we were all adopted at an extremely young age," Christian explains. "It gets tiresome after a while telling people that. Now, we aren't all so much adopted as we are like your regular normal family. I don't think any of us feel... adopted anymore. We just see ourselves as a regular family."
"I guess that makes sense," I mutter thoughtfully.
"Your mother was married before?" he asks, and finally, he meets my gaze. He holds my gaze with interest, our previous conversations evidently forgotten and put aside.
"Yes, once before. I have a stepfather Ray, that she was married to previously, but they are divorced now. My real father, my biological father, I never knew him. He died when I was about... one, I think. So Ray was mainly who I consider to be my father, the man who raised me from childhood."
"And why couldn't you go live with him? How come your mother insisted you stay here as the only option for the six months?"
That's what I kind of don't understand myself in some ways. "Well, Ray's been in and out of hospital. He's very sick. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about four or five years ago. He's undergoing treatment a lot for that."
"I'm sorry," Christian says sympathetically. "That must be hard for you."
"He hasn't been well so I don't think my mother wanted me to be near him while he's sick. In some ways, I understand, because it's heartbreaking enough to know he's sick, that he has to go through chemotherapy. I don't think I can handle it if I had to stay with him and see him have to go through all that." I remember the last time I saw Ray, how much thinner he looked, how tired. "Last time I saw him, he looked as though he'd lost a decent amount of weight. He looked really exhausted too, and you could tell it was taking a toll on his health. I guess it's lucky I didn't go stay with him right now." I shrug, glancing up at him. "But he contacts me a lot usually, just to let me know how he is. Sometimes even listening to his voice on the phone, it gets... hard." I've never really spoken about it in such depth to someone before, Ray's illness. But it seems to help, talking to Christian about it, surprisingly.
"Do they think he'll get better eventually?" he asks after a moment. "Is the treatment helping?"
"I'm not sure whether the treatment is helping him or not. I think they said it was in the advanced stages though, his cancer. He explained to me that usually, in the advanced stages, it spreads and its more serious."
"Are you doing okay with it all?" He asks unexpectedly, and the question takes me by surprise. He sounds so caring, so concerned. And when I peek up at his face, I find him watching me, gentleness shining in his eyes. It takes my breath away, his compassion.
"I think so." I inhale in deeply, forcing a smile. "Mainly, I just wish he'd get better, that's all. I always seem to fear the worst."
"I'm sure that's completely normal and expected," Christian says. "I'm sure a lot of people always fear the worst, particularly when knowing those that they care the most about are sick. It's always... there in the back of your mind." It stuns me, how right he is on that.
"Have you lost someone close to you?" I ask, getting the feeling that he has. "Has someone close to you been sick? It seems like you have, and that you're... well-versed in that experience?"
"I had someone close to me die when I was a child," he explains quietly. "Before I was adopted, I had... my mother die."
I try to conceal my shock as I blink at him. He doesn't meet my gaze again as he eats a forkful of food, but I can somehow sense some misery there over it, some sadness. "I'm sorry. Do you... remember her well and what she was like?"
"Not really," he simply says with a shrug. "I was barely four when she died. I can't remember her all that much, to be honest. It seems so... long ago."
It's nice that he is telling me this. It's nice to hear someone else has gone through something, too. Also, it helps to know him a bit more on a personal level, especially if I am to be staying here for six months."Thank you for telling me," I say gratefully. "It somehow... helps a lot to know I'm not alone, that... other people have to go through things as well."
He smiles tightly down at his food. "You're welcome, Anastasia."
Now, due to where our conversation has taken us, it feels so depressing and sad, the atmosphere. I try think of something else to say. "I was thinking about getting out of your house tomorrow and checking out Seattle," I begin.
"Well, that's good to hear. Seattle's great. There's a lot to see."
"I bet." I stare at him while taking a sip of water. "Do you have any suggestions?"
"Well, depends on what you're interested in?"
"Anything. I'm interested in basically anything there is."
"Well..." Christian pauses to take a drink of his wine, thinking deeply. "You could always try the Pike Place Market, for starters?"
"Cool. What do they have there?"
"Everything. Gourmet food, crafts. That sort of thing."
It definitely seems interesting. "I'll have to check it out then, sure. What else do you recommend?"
"If you're interested in seeing the sights, there's the Space Needle, one of the main landmarks here. You might like checking it out. And, if you're also interested, you can always fly with me by helicopter and I'll show you what the city looks like from high up?"
"Fly with you?" I repeat in confusion.
"Yes, I have my pilot's license," he explains proudly. "Also, I have my own helicopter."
"Seriously?" I don't know why I'm reluctant to take him so seriously, to believe him. Of course he'd have his own helicopter, obviously. "Wow, I'd really like that if you could take me one time to see the view of Seattle high up? That would definitely be great."
"Of course. I'll have to get things arranged and then we can go sometime. Possibly next week, at the latest."
"Great," I mutter with a smile. "I can't wait for that then. But tomorrow, I will definitely check out Pike Place Market and the Space Needle, for sure." I am pretty sure I packed a map in my bag- a tourists handbook of Seattle that I brought somewhere, specifically for when my mother informed me of this two weeks ago. I should find whereabouts the market and the Space Needle are rather easily hopefully.
"I just ask that you tell either Sawyer or Taylor where you plan to go and when you are about to leave," Christian points out seriously, and it's like my heart has deflated. Oh, great. Here he goes with his rules. "I would hate to think what could happen to you if you got lost, and you couldn't find your way back to here. Seattle's probably far different from where you lived before, with your mother."
"Well, luckily for me, I thought to buy a tourists handbook specifically for here," I inform him happily. "It has a map and I like to think I'm rather streetwise so I should be fine out there on my own."
"Still, before you leave, tell either Sawyer or Taylor before you go, Anastasia. If Taylor isn't here because he's driving me to work, then your first point of reference is to go to Sawyer." He sound so bossy, so stern.
"I don't believe I've met Sawyer? Of course, I've met Jason Taylor because he picked me up yesterday from the airport, but... Sawyer? How am I meant to know who he is if I've never seen him?"
Sighing loudly, Christian rises from his chair, beckoning me to follow. Ignoring my almost empty plate of food, I rise from my chair, following him out to the foyer. I see Jason Taylor sitting in a chair, reading.
"Mr Grey, sir," he greets.
"Hi, Taylor. Where's Sawyer?"
"Just through the door, sir. He's keeping guard."
Christian looks at me, to make sure I'm following I suppose, before he opens the door. I notice a youngish man, heavily suited, standing by the door. "Sawyer, I thought I'd introduce you to Anastasia," Christian explains. "Anastasia, this is Sawyer. Sawyer, Anastasia is staying here for six months, so if she intends to leave, make sure she notifies you beforehand. Is that understood?" It's irritating, how no-nonsense bossy he is.
"Yes, sir. That's understood."
"Excellent," Christian mutters, pleased. Then he guides me back to the dinner table with his hand pressed against my back. "Now you know who Sawyer is and what he looks like, so inform him before leaving. There's no excuses not to now."
"You're very domineering," I observe, sliding back into my chair.
To my surprise, it doesn't offend him. No, he acts almost as though it's a compliment. He smiles at me while taking another sip of wine. After swallowing, he licks his lips. "I get called that quite a lot, yes."
"You act like it's a compliment or as if it's flattering to be thought of like that, when it isn't," I point out tartly. "In fact, it's rather annoying. Most people don't like domineering people."
He shrugs, resting both elbows on the table. "Well, believe it or not, I'm not like most people, Anastasia. I don't care whether I'm not liked."
"Well, you should care," I mutter. "Otherwise you're setting yourself up for a lonely, lonely life of misery."
"Well, I'm not afraid of being alone," he retorts back at me confidently.
I hold his gaze as I lean both elbows on the table, arching in, trying to engage him in a cheeky staring contest. "I've noticed you're not. I think your house and the way you are living right now, single and old, is self explanatory for that."
"Single and old?" he repeats in a whisper, and he feigns hurt, his forehead creasing in pain. "Ouch yet again."
"Well, that's what you are, isn't it?" I tease, rubbing the salt in. I swear he's touchy when I call him old at thirty one. "Single and old?"
He stares me down, and I can tell he's trying to look serious and menacing. Only he fails; He has to press his lips together to stop himself from breaking into a smile. "Remember to tell either Taylor or Sawyer that you're heading out," he says, and it's a high-handed order.
"And what if, say... I accidentally forget?" Although it's difficult trying to hold his gaze, to win the staring contest, I try with all my might. "What happens then?"
"There's no 'accidentally forgetting' when it comes to this."
"But what if I do? What will you do?" I'm sincerely curious. I win the game, just like that; He glances away from me, and I've won the staring contest. I kick my feet beneath the table in glee. "I win," I mutter triumphantly.
"You win with what, Anastasia?"
"The staring contest. You just looked away, so that means that I won."
He sighs loudly through gritted teeth, not impressed. I don't think I have ever met a man so serious before. Not to mention bossy. "Just do what I say, Anastasia. Tell Taylor or Sawyer when you leave. And remember your curfew. You can stay out for no longer than nine thirty. Later than that, then you're in trouble."
I still find his rules about the curfew ridiculous. Fair enough, I'll try remember to tell this Sawyer or Jason Taylor when I intend to leave his house. But I am truly curious and interested to see what will happen if I do 'accidentally' break his curfew rule and turn up later than nine thirty. I wonder what he'd do to me. Would he try ground me like a father would? Somehow, it isn't hard imagining that he would. He seems that controlling, that overbearing. I think I'd like to see him try grounding me.
Once we've finished eating dinner, I help him clear up. He insists on leaving the dirty plates for Gail to deal with, which seems wrong, but since he's insisting...
"So you like The Rolling Stones?" he asks me as we head back out into the living room.
"Yeah, how'd you know, though?"
He gestures towards my shirt before moving towards his stereo system. Oh, of course. Obviously he'd know I like them, seeing as I have a shirt with The Rolling Stones on it. Stupid me.
He finds one of their CD's, putting it on. The way it comes out through the stereo systems, the speakers, it sounds amazing. The song Wild Horses floats between us with Mick Jagger's soulful crooning.
"I love this one," I tell him. "It's one of my favorites of theirs."
"Mine, also. How come you like The Rolling Stones?"
"Doesn't everyone like them?" I can't help it. As the chorus begins, I start swaying on my bare feet around his large U-shaped couch. It's impossible not to move to the music, though. Ordinarily, I would feel nervous and self-conscious about dancing in front of someone, but with him, I just don't care what he thinks.
He watches me, like I noticed him watching me this morning in his gym room doing my playful squats and stretches. His eyes shine as they run slowly down my body, my belly that's showing, amusement glistening in them. "You're a bit... young though, don't you think?" The way he says it, sort of teasingly, it has me rolling my eyes.
"You're never too young to like The Stones, I don't think. And besides, I told you I liked a lot of different music, didn't I?"
He doesn't dance with me, probably because he's too uptight for that. I probably look like such a dork to him, but who cares? I bite my lip as I bring up a hand to run my fingers through the strands of my hair, swaying. I stare back at him as I move my hips, rocking them slowly. He tucks one hand deep into his trouser pocket, while he lifts up the other one, tracing his forefinger along his bottom lip, his gaze still glued to me.
"Are you going to just stand there gawking at me or are you going to dance too?" I force myself to ask through the music, sort of annoyed by him just standing there.
Christian raises both eyebrows at me while he rubs his chin with his fingers. His eyes land on my bare belly again, something intense and bright burning in his eyes, then he slowly runs them up, my arms, my neck. The way he looks at me, the way he stares, it's rather... sexy, like he's captivated by the way my body moves, like he's entranced. I know I shouldn't be thinking that way, because he probably doesn't even mean to watch me like that, but it's true. I find him sexy- in an older, irritating way. Then he laughs, though I can't hear him properly through the music. What? Is he laughing at me?
"You call that dancing, Anastasia?" he finally speaks up through the music, and his voice trembles with laughter.
"Yes, I do! What's wrong with my dancing?" I step forward, reaching out to grab his hand, trying to coerce him to dance with me seeing as he likes the song, too. Startling me, he whips his arm back like he's repelled by my sheer touch alone, tensing. It stings me, his reaction, I cannot pretend it doesn't, but I cover it up well with a laugh. "What? Aren't you going to dance with me, Christian?"
"I don't think that's really appropriate."
"You don't think it's appropriate? Why not?" I laugh at his behavior, trying to reach for him again. I shouldn't like teasing him as much as I do, but I cannot help it. He's just so ridiculously uptight; He really needs to let loose a little. I mean, it certainly wouldn't hurt him to. He steps back with a sigh through his mouth, his eyes flashing. Wow, he's getting really aggravated by me. "How can dancing be in anyway inappropriate, Christian? It's just silly dancing to a good song?"
Suddenly, he glances down at the watch on his wrist and, before I know it, he's wandering back over to the stereo, switching it off rudely, ending my dancing and enjoyment of Wild Horses. "It's time for bed," he says, and there's a strange hint of irritation to his voice.
"Why?" I whine unhappily. "I thought we were enjoying listening to The Stones?"
Irritation gleams in his eyes as he shakes his head at me. "It's time for bed, I said, Anastasia," he insists hardly. "Go." Reaching over the couch, he grabs something. I realize it's those shopping bags with the clothes he brought me today. "Take these with you," he urges, handing them to me. "Go to bed. Now."
Why do I get the feeling I've pissed him off somehow? I glare at him before storming into the kitchen, grabbing my phone. He's so confusing. How does ones mood change so suddenly? I thought we were having fun, just being silly listening to some good tunes?
What do you think so far? Enjoying? Or is the speed/pacing a tad too slow? Feel free to let me know if you have suggestions or advice you wish to offer. Some have asked about a Christian POV but if I do that, one of the main surprises will be revealed too early so I hope you won't mind if I don't write his view, though it will all be uncovered within time. Also, sorry for any errors, they are mine alone (I'm not perfect but I do try write as correctly as I can to my capabilities). I get anxious writing this so I hope it isn't badly written.