The crowds have returned. A new trail mix of idiot-kind is cheering and waving from the marina, watching as I steer my big boat into that tight slip. I look at Ana, who's still seated between my legs in the captain's chair, and grin. Yeah, I've had good practice with that.
"Back again," I say, and once securely docked I lift us both to standing and wrap my arms around her waist.
"Thank you," she says, her eyes sweet and sincere and I don't want to let go of her just yet, so I don't. "It was a perfect afternoon."
"Perfect?" I ask.
"Perfect," she says. And her lips wrapped around the purr of that word has me swooning.
"I thought so, too. Perhaps we can enroll you in sailing school, so we can go out for a few days, just the two of us." Without Mac! That would be a dream come true. She could ride me in the captain's chair and I'll perform all the hoisting activities.
"I'd love that. We can christen the bedroom again and again," she says.
"Hmm...I look forward to it, Anastasia." I lean down, tilt her chin up with my fingers, and kiss her softly. "Now, let's get going, before I take you back down to my bed and have my way with you again." I give her a light slap on the ass and she squeals.
"Are we going back to the hotel?" she asks as I take her hand and start to move us across the upper deck.
"No, the apartment is clean. We can go back there now."
"What about our things? Don't we have to check out?"
I smile. I think the last time I packed up and checked out of a hotel on my own was before I could drink legally. And even then I think my mom did it.
"Taylor has collected them already," I say.
She looks at me like I'm speaking Swahili while spinning on my head to Polka music.
"Earlier today, after he did a sweep of The Grace with his team," I say.
"Doesn't that man ever sleep?" she asks.
"He sleeps." I think. Although, I've never actually seen it with my own eyes. It's probably more like hanging upside down in a closet for forty winks with his ringer turned on full volume awaiting my call. Why the hell is she so worried about Taylor's bedroom activities, anyway? "He's just doing his job, Anastasia, which he's very good at. Jason is a real find."
"Jason?" She scrunches her nose.
"Yes, Jason Taylor."
"I thought his first name was Taylor. Why don't you call him Jason?" Oh great; now that she knows his first name they'll be even more familiar. She better not try to friend him on Facebook. Then again, she better not have a Facebook at all! I have to speak to Barney about this, maybe he can unfriend all males on the sly.
"I rarely call anyone by their first names, Anastasia."
"Why not?"
"Because then they expect things—like for you say hello and talk about weather and ask about their day—"
"You mean be friendly?"
"Exactly," I say. "I don't need that kind of negativity in my life." She laughs. She thinks I'm kidding.
"Well, I'm glad you call me by my first name," she says.
"That's because I want to be overly, inappropriately friendly with you, Anastasia." I stop our walk and lean down to nip her ear. She giggles and squirms and I'm tempted to take her in the galley and then take her in the galley, but instead we just stand there and I look into the bluest eyes I've ever seen. "And I want you to ask about my day, because I want it to be part of your day, too." Part of it? I want you to take it all, Anastasia.
"I want you to be a part of my day, too." She smiles, a blush dusting her cheeks as she leans up to kiss me.
"You're fond of Taylor," I say, and I intently monitor her reaction.
"Yes, I suppose I am." She nods. What the hell? She agreed so quickly and so affirmatively. Why is she so fond of a man who fantasizes about hand-to-hand combat and automobile pistons? Maybe it's his gorilla-like hands or his twelve-pack abs. No, I know what did it—it was those damn apples! Women just can't resist men with firearms and decorating tips.
"I'm not attracted to him, if that's why you're frowning. Stop," she says. Was I frowning? Fuck.
"I'm not frowning, that's just my listening face." She's not buying it.
"I think Taylor looks after you well," she says. "That's why I like him. He seems kind, reliable, and loyal. He has an avuncular appeal to me."
Avuncular?
"Avuncular?" I test the word. Ana considering Taylor to be like an uncle is comforting and yet troubling all at once. Although you can't fuck family, you can still wear your pajamas around them. And that'll happen the fuck over my dead body and my subsequent trip to hell and back, now and for-never.
"Avuncular," she says, with no room for further argument.
"Okay, avuncular," I begrudgingly concede. Although I don't particularly like it, at least she didn't say she was hot for his twelve-pack and guns.
"Oh, Christian, grow up, for heaven's sake."
Hell, where did that come from? I just conceded! My mouth drops open in surprise at such a bold statement, but even more surprising is the fact that nothing comes out but a sigh.
"I'm trying," I say.
"That you are. Very." She rolls her eyes, but then bursts out into giggles and I'm lost in them.
"Oh what memories you evoke when you roll your eyes at me, Anastasia." I grin. We're teasing again! It's so hot!
"Well, if you behave yourself, maybe we can relive some of those memories, Mr. Grey."
"Behave myself?" I raise a brow as something else rises down below. My, my, my... Such the saucy little lady today. If a sub had said that to me they'd get a few good lashes, but right now all I want is a few good strokes. "Really, Miss Steele—what makes you think I want to relive them?"
"Probably the way your eyes lit up like Christmas when I said that."
I have to bite my own lip to stop my smiling. "You know me so well already."
"I'd like to know you better," she says and she holds tight to my hand again.
"And I you, Anastasia." I lift it to my mouth and we start to move again.
#######
"Sorry to rush off like this, Mac," I say with a grimace, shaking his hand as we ready to leave. "But, we have plans." I give him a look that says we're going back to our place to fuck on every possible surface, in every possible way, for as long as humanly possible, and then we're going to live happily the fuck ever after. Believe me, you can get all that into a look.
"It was a pleasure, Miss Steele," Mac says in that over-the-top accent of his. Hell, to listen to him now you'd think he was fresh off the ship from Ireland via the end of the rainbow.
"You, too," Ana says, and she shakes his hand so sweetly. Why is she so sweet with him? She better not think he's avuncular, too.
"Good day, Mac. And thank you." I say, and pull her hand from his and put it in mine.
"You as well, mucker!" he says And though he's jolly as he says it and I've learned from him prior that mucker is mate, I can't help but think he's added an other after m and an f before ucker in his mind.
"Where's Mac from?" she asks as we make our way down the boardwalk. One of the cheering contingency is still waving at us even though we aren't waving back. Waving really is the sport of the mindless.
"Ireland...Northern Ireland," I say. Why the hell does she want to know Mac's lineage? Did that accent really turn her on? Maybe I should start speaking French to her more. I get the delicious idea to orally please her while reciting poetry en français.
"Is he your friend?" she asks, like she's trying to be casual about it, but she's definitely after information.
"Mac?" Ha! "He works for me. Helped build The Grace."
She's looking up at me like she wants to say something more, but is almost afraid. Oh god, is she into him? Is this the moment she tells me it's over and my life ends? My mind flips to a fast coming future of me giving Mac the knife.
"Do you have many friends?" she finally asks, and though I'm relieved, I suddenly feel like I'm in my psychiatrist's office as a child, with my parents, and that asshole shrink is evaluating me again. Is he behaved? Is he learning well? Do the other children like him?
"Not really," I say. "Doing what I do...I don't cultivate friendships." I don't really have a good answer for her. My brother and I hike now and then. Flynn and I have golfed. I think it was over a year ago, but still. Congratulations Grey, the only people who will tolerate you are you're brother and current psychiatrist, and it's marginally at best. "There's really only—" I stop immediately. Almost walked right off the pier on that one, both figuratively and literally. Because, if I would've said Elena's name Ana may have pushed me off.
"Hungry?" I ask, attempting to get the focus off of old news and onto dinner, and she nods. "We'll eat where I left the car. Come."
#######
"What date is this?" Ana asks as we walk into the little Italian place I've chosen—the one directly next to SP's. I've only been here once, and though the food was good, I was quite uncomfortable as this place oozes romance. With all the flowers and low lighting and the cozy tables that look out over the water, you'd think this was on the island of Capri and somebody might get down on one knee. It made me uncomfortable to be here alone before, but tonight I'm looking forward to it. And I'm surprised by the itch in my knee that yearns to find the floor.
"What's the date?" I look at my watch. "Six-and-a-half days before I throw the rubbers to the road!" I grin.
"No," she laughs. She thinks I'm joking, but this is how I tell time right now—when I can be inside of her bare again. It only happened briefly before, but it was heaven. "I mean what date is this for us?"
"What do you mean?" I ask as I motion to the hostess for a table for two. And though I don't frequent this place, she definitely knows it's me and leads us to their best. And the whole walk assholes are eyeing my girl. I put my arm around her protectively and stare down some cheap suit with a three-strand combover. Yeah, watch and weep, fucker! She's mine.
"Now, I know our first real official big dress-up date was last night," she says. "But, we've been out to dinner and breakfast and soaring before—and now sailing." She's beaming as I pull out her chair and so am I.
"I'd like to think this isn't a date," I say as I find my seat across from her, which is really almost next to her as the tables are so small. I like this; I can reach her thigh without getting my collar caught in my soup. "In fact, I don't want to date you anymore."
"What?" Her face falls into a frown.
"No; you see a date implies that it's a plan." I lean in and fiddle with her hands. "I ask you somewhere, you agree to go or not, and it may or may not happen again. And some other asshole could do the same." Believe me, if some other asshole tried that his plumbing would be so permanently rearranged he'd piss out of his ear forever.
"So, you're saying..."
"I'm saying..." I take her hand and bring her knuckles to my lips. "I want today and tonight and every time we're together to be a regular, assumed, taken for granted that you'll be with me from now on type of thing." Did I just kind of, sort of, in a roundabout way say I want to marry her. I don't think she noticed, but I sure did. And I also notice the bare finger I'm kissing on her left hand. The itching in my knee intensifies.
"So you're not breaking up with me?" she asks.
I actually laugh out loud at that one and the guy pouring water in glasses nearly spills his pitcher. "Most definitively the polar opposite of that, Miss Steele."
"Okay...so tonight is definitely not a date." She smiles.
"Definitely, positively not." I smile in return and the words 'will you move in with me—forever?' are on the tip of my tongue. But, like a timid child on a high diving board, they just won't jump off.
"Good evening," some painfully animated voice calls out to me from behind. The way he says it makes me think I just arrived in Transylvania and knocked on Dracula's door. I look up at him and now I'm almost sure I have. "Can I interest you in some wine? Perhaps a cocktail?"
"Wine, Petit Syrah." Go away!
"We have several bottles to select from—"
"Whatever's the best," I say. Scram!
"Our best is $400—"
"Good, make it two."
"Glasses?"
"Bottles!"
"Yes, sir." He scurries away. Big money always gets them going.
"Why did you get two bottles?" she asks, completely baffled by my outlandish purchase. Now, I really can't tell her about the house!
"Because he was pissing me off," I say and she laughs and all is right in the world again. "We'll take the other bottle home and celebrate with it there."
"Celebrate what?" she asks. You moving in with me. You monogramming you towels and Louis Vuitton luggage with G. You having to do wrist strengthening exercises because the rock on your hand is too heavy for you to hold it up. Well, that and you please me often and well. I step to the edge of the board...
"You in my bed," I say instead, still not able to take that jump. Fuck, Grey! Grow some balls! And some diving abilities.
She dips her head down, bashful, then looks up at me with a completely transformed expression and the eyes of a pure seductress. "I can think of better ways to celebrate that than just drinking wine."
Oh, my balls have grown alright, right along with my other diving abilities. And this table is awfully low. One more comment like that and a bite of her lip, and I'm going to raise it to the roof with my geyser. Talk about water sports.
"You look lovely, Anastasia. The outdoors agrees with you," I say, as we both sip our wine that has just arrived. It's a good year and vineyard, but they've stored it improperly. I won't make a fuss, but I'm giving the second bottle to Taylor. Ana and I will celebrate with Bollinger later.
"I feel rather windburned, to tell the truth," she says "But I had a lovely afternoon. Thank you."
"My pleasure," I murmur.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything, Anastasia. You know that." I gulp my next sip. If I have to answer more sex questions about Elena, I'm going to need that second bottle of wine, myself.
"You don't seem to have many friends. Why is that?"
Hell—this again!
"I told you, I don't really have time. I have business associates—though that's very different from friendships, I suppose. I have my family and that's it. Apart from..." I sip my wine and garble, "Elena." And though I said it practically under water—or rather Petit Syrah—I watch her carefully at the mention of that name.
"No male friends your own age?" she asks. I can't believe she didn't react to Elena. I may live to fuck her later in our bedroom after all.
"Why would I want that?" I set down my wine.
"You know, to let off steam with?" She raises her brow for me to get some sort of inference in her words. What the hell? Why would I want to let off steam with other men? I pick my glass up and take another sip. I think I'd rather answer questions about Elena collaring me than this.
"Steam? What kind of steam?" I ask, and she rolls her eyes. "You know how I like to let off steam, Anastasia." My mouth twists and so does hers as she strokes the back of my hand with her fingertips. "And I've been working, building up the business. That's all I do—except sail and fly occasionally." Don't fucking ask about Mac again! The only steam I'll let off with him now is a knee straight to his lucky charms.
"Not even in college?"
"Not really." I went out to coffee with a speech and debate nerd once, but he definitely had heard the rumors and didn't want to speak or debate anything but my dorm or his.
"Just Elena, then?" she asks. She says the name like it's hellfire, which is rather accurate.
I just nod slowly. Where is she going with this?
"Must be lonely," she says.
"Contrary to popular belief at this table, I'm not a friendly kind of guy. I told you that. I don't get lonely. Except for you." I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her fingertips.
"People would like you if they got to know you."
"What would you like to eat?" I set her hand down and open the menu.
"Are you changing the subject?"
"Yes."
"Okay, fine." She sighs. "I'm going for the risotto."
"Good choice." I summon the waiter.
"Yes, sir, have you decided?" he asks. I've never heard someone with a lisp enunciate like this guy. If I didn't know we were inside I'd think it was raining. Disgusting.
"One risotto, a ribeye bone-in medium and an assortment of vegetables. The lobster mashed potatoes if you have them... And a vanilla soufflé for dessert." I hand him the menus. "We'll speak again when you bring the check."
"Yes, sir." The waiter scurries off and I'm pleased he's gone and accomplishing something, but when I look back to Ana, I see she is still deep in thought.
"Anastasia, what's wrong? Tell me." She looks up and examines my face, but she doesn't say anything. This makes me nervous. "Tell me."
She inhales sharply and after a long breath, she speaks," I'm just worried that this isn't enough for you. You know, to let off steam."
What the fuck? She wants me to be friends with other men to let off steam? I definitely need that other bottle.
"Have I given you any indication that this isn't enough?"
"No."
"Then why do you think that?"
"I know what you're like. What you...um...need."
And she thinks I can get that with other men? I close my eyes and rub my face. It feels like my past is always going to haunt us.
"What do I have to do?" I ask, quietly. "Because I'll do anything."
"No, you misunderstand—you have been amazing, sweet, romantic, and I know it's just been a few days, but I hope I'm not forcing you to be someone you're not."
I sigh. I've been amazing. I've been sweet. I've been romantic. That should make me happy to hear those words from her. But, all I hear is those last three— someone I'm not.
"I'm still me, Anastasia—in all my fifty shades of fucked-upness. Yes, I have to fight the urge to be controlling...but that's my nature, how I've dealt with my life. Yes, I expect you to behave a certain way, and when you don't it's both challenging and refreshing. We still do what I like to do. You let me spank you after your outrageous bid yesterday." I smile; that was fun. "I enjoy punishing you. I don't think the urge will ever go...but I'm trying, and you know what, it's not as hard as I thought it would be." And that is the revelation of my life.
"I didn't mind that," she whispers, smiling shyly.
"I know." I grin. "Neither did I. But let me tell you, Anastasia, this is all new to me and these last few days..." I'm picturing our helicopter ride to Portland and how being with her again felt like coming home; our night of grocery shopping, and chopping evil vegetables, and being covered in vanilla ice cream; sleeping next to her and waking up the same; and the way her eyes sparkled in the moonlight when I danced with her and then when we really made love... "These last few days have been the best in my life. I don't want to change anything."
"They've been the best in my life, too, without exception," she says.
"Really?" I ask, and the pubescent squeak at the end of that question has me fourteen again.
"So, you don't want to take me into your playroom?" she asks and I search for a breath.
"No, I don't."
"Why not?" she whispers. She looks almost disappointed. Is she?
"The last time we were in there you left me," I say, closing my eyes, futilely trying to rid my mind of that day. "I will shy away from anything that could make you leave me again."
"Even something that makes you happy?"
"You make me happy." I squeeze her hand. "What makes you happy, makes me happy."
"But it hardly seems fair. It can't be relaxing for you—to be constantly concerned about how I feel. You've made all these changes for me, and I...I think I should reciprocate in some way. I don't know—maybe...try...some role-playing games..." I smile. Role-playing games. Her innocence is so beautiful.
"Ana, you do reciprocate, more than you know. Please, please don't feel like this." I hold to her hand, because I want to hold it and I don't want there to be a chance she could ever go. "Baby, it's only been one weekend. We need time. You need to trust me, and I you, then maybe... Maybe we could try... But, I like how you are now. I like seeing you this happy, this relaxed and carefree..." With my other hand I brush the side of her face and tuck those disobedient strands of hair behind her ear again. They never behave. I smile. And I can only hope that this will be my job for life. "Knowing that I had something to do with your happiness. I have never—" I stop, remembering Flynn's words. "We have to walk before we can run, Ana." And those words repeated have me laughing to myself.
"What's so funny?" she asks.
"Flynn. He says that all the time. I never thought I'd be quoting him."
"A Flynnism." She giggles.
"Exactly." Her giggles really are the best therapy. I could've saved millions knowing this.
The entrées arrive and they're enough to feed a family of eight—elephants. If Ana eats a tenth of that risotto, I'll declare victory on the war against her starvation. She really is too light right now. And it pains me greatly that I have been the reason for it.
"Where have you been?" I ask over a sip of wine.
"Just at college. Waiting for a boy like you to sweep me off my feet." She grins. I swept her off her feet? I swoon.
"No, I mean where have you travelled? What have you seen of the world that you've liked?" Where can I take you Ana? If she says the moon, I'll build a rocket ship. No, that may be too dangerous. I'll bring the moon to her.
"I haven't really seen any of the world..." She blows on a steaming forkful. So hot! Her blowing, not the temperature of the arborio rice. "Other than the Pacific Northwest, just Texas and Georgia." She takes the bite and it's so satisfying for her and me both.
"We're going to have to get you a passport," I say.
"Why is that?" she asks.
"Because I'm going to show you the world."
"You already have." she smiles and I feel the fluttering again.
"Besides, I still owe you that date in Paris," I say, remembering our morning and our lovemaking and our breakfast.
"I don't want a date in Paris," she says and I immediately frown.
"Why not?" I ask, panicked.
"Because..." she takes my hand. "I want it to be a regular, assumed, taken for granted that I'll be with you from now on type of thing." She smiles.
And with that the butterflies take flight.