NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THANKS FOR ALL THE COMMENTS AND REVIEWS. SORRY THAT I HAVEN'T HAD TIME TO REPLY TO ALL OF YOU TODAY BUT I HAVE READ THEM ALL AND TAKEN IN YOUR IDEAS. KEEP THEM COMING!

Ana:

Christian calls just as I'm getting into bed, his confession still fresh in my mind. I have been turning it over, examining it from different angles. It's not your job to analyse it, the voice chides. It's your job to decide if you can live with it.

He tells me he's phoning to see how I am. I can hear his anxiety and I find a few words to reassure him. I know how guilty he feels and that his guilt hurts him but the voice and I firmly believe that he must experience this so he'll never do it again. My pain is as strong as his, they sit on a balance, perfectly weighted.

He wants to see me – one day as Mrs Grey, the next as Anastasia. I can tell he's worried that I may decline, that the confession has driven a wedge between us but I say yes. I am under no illusion that this is going to be hard and that it will get even harder before it gets better. I want the hope that we experience as Christian and Ana. For without that, what are we even fighting for?


We have a date in Escala. Each time I enter the apartment, it gets easier. I feel like the lingering ghosts are fading, being chased away by our efforts to heal.

He has cooked us dinner and I pull a face when he tells me. My husband is not the world's best cook. He laughs at my comical expression.

"I promise you'll like it. It's the one thing I can cook well." Stir-fry. That meal has punctuated our relationship throughout the years. It was the first meal he ever cooked for me. He made it again on the anniversary of the day we met, making sure the chicken was cooked all the way through as I was pregnant with Teddy. He used to cook it for the four of us when the children were little. We even referred to Sunday nights as 'Stir-fry Sundays'. The kids used to love it. I can't remember when it stopped. I wonder if he remembers all this. I wonder if this dish holds as much meaning for him as it does for me. The way he's looking at me tells me that it does.

I smile. "I love stir-fry," I say.

"Me too," he says, his eyes still shining with amusement at my teasing.


After dinner, we curl up on opposites sides of the couch. We have kept our conversation light, as usual. The heavy stuff is the domain of The Greys with Dr Black presiding over as capable facilitator.

Christian carries the wine over from the dining table and tops up my glass. I raise it to my mouth but stop as I realize he wants to make a toast.

"I want to thank you, Ana. For...giving me...this chance. I've been...I've been thinking a lot about us. I think I got...complacent. But...I...I believe in us," his eyes are boring into mine, flashing with honesty. He pulls an embarrassed face under my gaze. "OK, this must be the world's worst toast. I'm sorry." I smile him through it, showing my support. "I've got so much to say to you...so many things have occurred to me..." I watch him take a deep breath to compose himself. He raises his glass to me and I follow suit. "To you, Ana." Our glasses tinkle together, and shine as they catch the light.


I stay the night. We lie together, holding each other in the dark. I hear a distant siren, and roll over. His whisper finds me.

"Are you OK?" he asks.

I sigh. "Sort of." He goes to put the lamp on but I hold his arm to prevent him.

"Leave it off," I say. I can hear his confusion in the dark. "It's tomorrow," I say. "Let's pretend I'm Mrs Grey." I don't know if this is dangerous, talking without Black in the room but she can't see us for the next few days and I don't want us to regress. I will follow Dr Black's rules – I will just let him talk. He seemed to want to before, to want to make his thoughts palpable words. We had a whole lot of life to live without Black. We needed to do some of this on our own.

"You said you'd been thinking. What about?"

"Us." His voice sounds flat. He sounds worried at my experimentation.

"Talk into the dark, Christian. Pretend I'm not here."


Christian:

My wife is awake beside me in our apartment. I have my arms around her, I'm holding her. I almost have to pinch myself to believe it. I can't believe what I almost lost through my sheer stupidity. What scares me more than the beast inside which I thought needed placating every now and then, is the fear that she may never come back to me. I can see that she's trying, both on our dates and in Dr Black's office but I hate that I only have her in my arms for a few nights.

She stirs as a siren screeches into the night, the sound a synonym of despair.l I hug her a little tighter but she turns from me.

"Are you OK?"

My heartbeat quickens as I wait for the answer.

"Sort of." I wince at the reply.

I reach across to put the lamp on, to see her expression, to gauge how she's feeling. She holds my arm to prevent me. "Leave it off. It's tomorrow." So, she's going to leave me now that our date is over. Now that she's no longer Anastasia. "Let's pretend I'm Mrs Grey." Her statement makes me gulp. She wants me to talk. I don't know if I can. Can I talk to her about Alice, unchaperoned? Even her name on my lips in this room could hurt us.

"You said you'd been thinking. About what?"

"Us." I notice how much worry is in that short word.

"Talk into the dark, Christian," she coaxes. "Pretend I'm not here."


"I said before, how I'd got complacent. I had." I wait for her response but none comes. It's slightly unnerving. "I think I...took you for granted. Thought you'd always be there. That you'd never leave. This sounds perverse but," my swallow is audible, "it's like you gave me the ability to cheat." I rush on, trying to explain myself. "Shit, that sounds wrong, like you're culpable, but you're not. It's just, you were everything I needed at home, you loved me almost unconditionally, like a mother should. This is going to sound selfish," I realize that tears are gathering at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over, as I lie face up, staring at the dark. "I loved you for loving me so much. Of course I'd felt that love within my adoptive family but I always felt that they were duty-bound to love me. But you...you didn't have to and yet...you did. And you probably loved me more than anyone ever has. Your love...spoiled me. Christ, this is too hard to explain."

"Go on," she encourages.

"I thought you'd never leave me, no matter what I did. That I thought you'd never leave me, stopped me from having to be strong,strong enough to resist. I was wrong. I see that now. I will...never...take you for granted again. If you come back to me." I'm crying now and she reaches over and clasps my hand. "Tell me we'll be OK, Ana. Please." I pull her hand up to my mouth and kiss it with intense fervor.

"Shhh," she soothes. "Sleep, now. Sleep."

And I drift off, holding her hand.