It's been summer this evening on the winding drive up. Not because of the season or the temperature, but rather the feeling. That lazy twilight of barbecues and lemonade and no school the next morning. When the sun stays until nine and the fireflies take its place. Boys who've been kissed with pimples but not yet girls play basketball with a hoop nailed to a four car garage, while a mom wrangles a six-pack of uniformed little leaguers into an SUV. Pigtails bounce between hopscotch boxes drawn with fluorescent pink chalk on a sidewalk canopied by trees with strong arms for rope tied swings.

And I bring a girl to a house.

"Where are we going?" Ana asks, perched at her window. She's asked me that question three times and I've yet to answer. I just smile and raise a conspiratorial brow.

The sun is dipping and I find myself in a race with it. There are only so many moments allotted to a man that he can give his girl the rest of her life in a colored sky. And I know that I've only been given this one. I still feel like a thief who, when God wasn't looking, stole someone else's future. And every day, but especially this one, I fear they'll come to take it back.

"What is it, Christian?" Ana asks softly, stroking my shoulder.

"An idea," I say, my voice cracking at the end. I was never a cracker before Ana, but now I'm King Ritz. Christ, I've never been so nervous. Of course, I've also never been a man in a sweater showing a girl a house before.

She starts to say something, but stops herself again. Her eyes hold focus ahead. Stripes of falling sunlight and tall tree shadows move across her face, but I can still see her wheels turning. She's either trying to solve the puzzle of what the hell we're doing out here, or Flynn told her something that makes her fear I'm going to chop her up and bury her in an abandoned house basement hidden by dense woods.

"Will you keep an open mind?" I ask.

"I've kept an open mind since the moment I met you, Mr. Grey."

"That you have, Miss Steele." I grin.

I have to get her to her view!

Hell, how long is this driveway? I feel like we've been traveling up this thing for twenty minutes. Maybe it's only been three, but still. I'm delighted we'll be safely secluded and she can't run out on me easily when I do something monumentally stupid, but I'll have to have Taylor allow for an extra half-hour in the morning just to get us from our front door to the street. And if we have children we'll have to leave for school before their bedtime.

Children?! Bedtimes?! Me anywhere near a school?! Stop with the madness, Grey! They'll have flying cars and robot Taylors before that ever happens. I mean, even more robot than Taylor already is.

Finally, as the sky glows a pink that couldn't be a more fitting shade of welcome, we reach the front. I look over to Ana and imagine—if she gives me the privilege—the thousands upon thousands of drives we'll make up here, and how this one is the first.

And she doesn't even know it yet.

My plan is to pull up in dashingly dramatic fashion, like one of those old black and white movie romantics, open her car door and then revel in the splendored gasp she lets out as she takes everything in. I envision her throwing her arms around my neck, then wildly kissing me under that willow while the breeze blows through her hair and sunlight halos her crown.

But instead, Olga Kelly's ass is in my face.

Well, the ass of her Beamer, but with realtors that's the same thing. I'm perturbed, to say the least, that Ms. Kelly decided to park her eyesore right out front, in my spot. And by eyesore I mean a plank of wood soaked in isopropyl alcohol staked through your eye and coming out the other side. Who the hell gets metallic puce with white leather and expects to have respect anywhere but a shady acres retirement community. I'll tell you why those places are always shady—so they can't see this shit! I know one thing, Audi would never sponsor such carnage.

"What is going on here?" Ana asks.

"Sacrilege," I mutter under my breath. That's not even white leather. It's like old paper.

"What?" Ana asks.

"Nothing." I wave it off and then pull in front of that dreadful thing. I don't want Ana's first memory of our Shangri-La to be of puce BMW ass.

After a winding, nerve racking, beautiful and exhilarating drive toward this monumental unknown, I stop, take a deep breath and then turn the key in the center to a powerless position. And I realize that pretty much sums up the story of my life since Ana.

"You know how Flynn said to give me the benefit of the doubt?" I ask, nerves pinning my eyes dead ahead.

"Yes."

"Well then, proceed."

I hop out to open her door and escort her beneath the shouldered archway, beyond the rose bushes—so much fertilizer it's like a cow's got a job with stock options shitting out here— and to the front door, nearly tripping on the welcome mat as I reach for the worn brass knob. The "Hell You're Home" (Yes, it's missing the o!) does welcome us, but sideways and stage right.

"Christian, this is someone's house," Ana whispers, aghast, as I open the front door and walk her right inside.

"Yes, I know."

Again, what I envisioned for this moment was crossing the threshold hand-in-hand and being met with the scents and relative sights of home. But not ten steps in we're knocked out with something that smells like it was burnt up in a Betty Crocker meth lab. The only comparison I have would be if those hot tamale candies were dipped in hundred proof vodka, smashed onto tinfoil and torched—for hours.

This is definitely worse than raisin cookies, and that's saying a lot.

"Is something burning?" Ana asks.

"Yes, whoever did this when I send them to the afterlife," I mutter. It's somehow cleared my sinuses and destroyed them all at once.

"Welcome," Olga says, practically singing it as she approaches from the kitchen, all paisley and pumps, carrying a silver tray that looks like it's been looted from the ruins of some fallen monarchy. "Can I offer you a warm cookie?" She removes a lid from a plate holding two dozen or so half burnt, misshapen things. Are those crescent moons or rectangles that lost confidence?

Why didn't I have Gail come over here and bake the cookies? Hell, even Taylor could've managed one of those little tubes you squeeze out and blob onto a pan. Even I could've—no I won't go that far. But seriously, what the hell kind of realtor has a bad sedan and no baking qualifications?

"I prefer to smell my cookies, not eat them," I say without parting my teeth.

"Oh, of course," Olga says, and then sets the tray down on the circular stone table thing that centers the foyer. "I just couldn't resist baking in the high end La Cornue oven or utilizing the twin French white marble islands, custom cabinetry and long style pantry that allows for easy navigation and temperature control for optimal food storage." She smiles at Ana. Ana smiles back, but more in the way you smile at the insane so they won't lash out and stab you with a magic marker.

Why the hell is Olga trying to hard sell a place she's already sold to the girl who unknowingly owns it?

As I try to ponder that question, a song cudgels its way through the speakers of the archaic sound system. It's vaguely familiar with lots of hoppy bell action and a woman who keeps attempting to break a glass with her marathon high notes.

"Is that Mariah Carey's Christmas song?" Ana asks.

Oh my God. It is. Mia used to play that non-stop. She'd have Barbie sing it to Ken.

"Christmas music?" I whisper to Olga, still not parting my teeth.

"You said you wanted it to feel like a family holiday home," she whispers back.

She took me literally? When does anyone do that? Well, actually everyone does or they face my wrath. But hell, if she was going to play holiday jingles why not at least give us Bing?

"Turn it off!" I say to Olga.

"Yes sir—" She scrambles for a little remote on the stone table.

"Oh, I kind of like it," Ana says and Olga stops.

"You do?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says, nodding in time with the jingle bell beat. "I loved this song growing up."

"But it's not Christmas."

She shrugs. "Christmas in July, then."

"But, it's not July."

"Yes, but if people put up trees in November, then we can listen to Christmas in July carols in June."

"Fair point well made, Miss Steele."

God, I love her.

"Leave it on!" I say to Olga and she relinquishes her hold on the remote control.

"Can I take your things? Perhaps your sweater, Mr. Grey?" Olga asks.

"No, we're fine," I say, highly annoyed. "I'll keep it on in here." I adjust my lapels. The sweater is the whole fucking point!

"Christian, I think you forgot to introduce us," Ana says just as I notice the light really pinking through the windows.

"Right. Anastasia Steele this is Olga Kelly, Olga Kelly this is Anastasia Steele," I say. "Now if you'll excuse us, Ms. Kelly, Miss Steele and I will be in the master bedroom." I take Ana's hand and pull her away.

"Christian!" Ana squeals as I rush us to the staircase in a flurry. I imagine playfully chasing Ana through these halls and having my wicked way with her on these stairs and in these closets, or maybe over a good, sturdy ironing board... I've never shared with anyone my erotic domestic fantasies before. Anything like that was contraband to Elena, so I suppressed them for years. But being with Ana and buying this house has brought to the surface the most illicit of all my fantasies—her, sipping tea at breakfast with me, bearing my last name.

"You know your friend is still downstairs with her cookies!" Ana says as I rush us down the hallway.

"Good. We should all sit with our failures awhile."

I wanted this trip upstairs to be quick, exciting, and romantic, but I have to keep halting my hurry to peek into different empty rooms to figure out where I am. Where the hell is the master suite? This hallway is almost as long as the driveway. The real concern living in this place may not be Ana leaving me. It may be that I can never find her.

Oh, but hide and seek could be so much naughty fun...

Finally, hooked around the corner at the end of this maze of opulent domesticity, we reach a set of double doors. I release her hand and then grasp both knobs. I'm shaky, so I pause before turning the brass. Behind them is either what could be the beginning of a lifetime with her or the absolute end of my own.

"Is something wrong?" Ana asks, softly touching my shoulder.

"Finally no, so yes, definitely." I close my eyes and take a deep breath, hoping against all hope that there is still color and light in that sky and the moon hasn't told the sun to drop it like it's hot early just to fuck with me.

And yes, I seriously believe the universe would change all its laws just to do this.

I can't stall anymore. I must face my fate. I turn both knobs in unison and push the doors apart, and when I open my eyes it's heaven.

"Christian..." Ana says, fingers to her mouth as she passes me and crosses through. I follow quickly behind.

The French doors to the balcony are open and the most perfect breeze is billowing through the gauzy drapery. For a moment we're transported to French Polynesia or one of the Saintly islands. Honeymoon spots. Soft hues of magenta and coral reflect through and it blushes her skin. I don't have to lead Ana to the balcony. She's drawn to it all on her own. And the gasp I was hoping for when we arrived happens when she steps outside.

The universe didn't let me down. It's been doing that a lot lately. Who knew there was a possibility we could be friends.

"Oh Christian," she says, placing her hands on the edge of the railing. "This is why you brought me here." She looks over to the water. It's crystal blue and sparkling in this light, mirroring her eyes. Both are like nothing I've seen and I have to pinch myself to prove that they're real.

"Yes," I whisper, shadowing behind her.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"I agree," I say, and I don't take my eyes off of her.

"Thank you," she says, leaning her head back onto my chest. I don't flinch, marveling that it's so marvelous to feel her warmth and her cascading tresses over my heart. And without even realizing it, I'm wrapping my arms around her and pulling her closer to that place I thought no one could ever go.

I want more.

"I'll always remember this," she says as the sun descends.

This is it, Grey. Here and now or forever hold your peace.

"What if you didn't have to remember?" I ask and she stills, lifting her head.

"What do you mean?"

"How would you like this view for the rest of your life?"

I'm gut clinchingly hoping for a yes and heartbreakingly wincing for a no—which basically feels the same, but with different subtext of pain—but she doesn't say anything at all. She just turns in my arms and regards me in this dazed, sort of confused silence. She's not angry, but she's not really happy, either. She's thinking and that's even worse for me. When left in thought over the things I do, one ends up calling Flynn—or worse yet, a cab.

"I've always wanted to live on the coast," I say, motioning toward the water. "I've sailed up and down the sound for years, coveting these houses." Did I really just say coveting? I sound like my father preparing a Sunday school lesson. Maybe it's the sweater.

She's still watching me, but I think she's actually listening to what I'm saying.

Keep talking, Grey!

"I thought the land was perfect. It just came on the market and I just happened to see it..." Happened to? Idiot, Grey. Who just happens to see multimillion dollar estate listings?

"The view is spectacular," I continue. "I mean, the house is quite old, I know, so we can demolish it and start fresh. Anything you like. The sky's the limit." I brush her cheek with my fingertips and then gently hold the tip of her chin, tilting her head up so her eyes see mine. "I'm serious, Ana. I want this to be the house you've always dreamed of. The home you want to grow old with me in."

I think she's going to say something, as she's looking straight at me, getting a college degree in the study of my face, but she doesn't. She slips from my reach and walks back into the bedroom. And all I'm left with is the setting sun.

Oh God, what did I say?

I follow her quickly inside, panicked that she's leaving, but I find her standing in front of the stone fireplace as if examining a piece of art. Maybe she's imagining what I did when I first saw it—us making love in front of a lit fire.

Can we just do that now?

"Why do you want to demolish it?" she asks.

"Well, it's so lived in." I motion to some peeled paint and cracked plaster. "Plus, I want to make it ecologically sound and this place isn't anywhere near up to standard, let alone what I have planned." I step closer behind her and place my hands on her shoulders. "And most importantly, I don't want to give you someone else's house."

She's quiet again. Fuck.

She turns to face me. "Can we look around?"

"Of course." I clear my throat and back away, allowing her to exit the door. I wonder why she wants to peruse a house we're going to tear down, but I welcome any opportunity to parade around a domestic environment for her in my patriarchal wool.

She makes her way out of the bedroom and into the hallway, peeking her head into each empty room that I peeked my head into earlier.

"There's nothing in them," I say, but from the look on her face she's seeing something I don't.

How many bedrooms?" she asks, catching a hand on a doorframe and moving inside one that's painted pink and spotted with daisies and ladybugs.

"Eleven," I say.

"Eleven?" She raises a brow. I guess I shouldn't tell her I was thinking of making it a baker's dozen.

"Well, that's only if you count, you know... all of them."

"You coveted a home with eleven bedrooms?" She smirks up at me. "Whatever would you do with all of them?"

"What can I say? I'm a man who likes to have a lot of... empty sleeping arrangements surrounding him."

I immediately bite my tongue to prevent more word vomit from projecting forth.

She giggles and then traces a finger along a shelf of a towering built-in bookcase. A ceiling-to-floor ladder is attached to the wall next to it. All I can think of is the neck breaking injuries that could occur if one would climb such a thing, and of course at that exact moment she hops on and climbs such a thing.

No self preservation.

"Ana, what are you doing?" I ask as she heads for the top.

"Counting books."

"There are no books."

"Okay, counting possibilities." She looks down at me and if my sweater wasn't holding in a dam of sweat before, it's fending off the ocean waters now.

"Ana, please get down."

"I like this room."

"Of course you do. It's giving me a heart attack. Your favorite past time!"

She giggles. "No, this room is sweet."

"It's a little girl's room, it's supposed to be."

"A little girl turned teenager turned all grown up and moved away young woman's room," she says.

"There's a country song in there somewhere," I say and she laughs.

"I'm serious."

"I'm serious, too. Get down!" She playfully sticks out her tongue. "Ana!" Of course she doesn't listen. "How do you know all that anyway?

"Know all what?"

"Everything about the girl. How do you know all that from an empty room?"

"The daisies were for the little girl, but you can see she got tired of them by the peeled paint where tape held posters that the teenager put over them. And these shelves..." She motions toward them. "They're loose." She demonstrates this with a shake of a plank and my heart nearly stops. "They have scuffs and scratches. The books grew heavier over the years. She was smart."

"You know, you should replace Welch." I smirk. She's CIA worthy in her investigative work.

"And I like that it feels so empty now," she says, a bit wistful.

"Why?"

"Because once it was so full." She smiles and looks down at me. "And a thing can't truly be empty if it never really held anything."

I sigh. "You're right, Miss Steele." A truth I knew well the morning she left.

"I am jealous she grew up with such a library." She looks up as if looking at a million books, lining a million shelves.

"You'll have your own here. Bigger and better than Escala or anywhere. In fact, the British Library will call wanting to borrow a few titles. And I'll hire a book retriever so you won't climb high ladders. Just please come down."

"What's a book retriever?" she asks with a giggle as she swings a bit on the ladder.

"A very old female librarian."

"You'd have an old lady climb up here?"

"I'll put in a lift. Please, if you don't want to kill me, come down."

She smiles, and I wonder if she's debating it, but then she quickly climbs down. I don't breathe until both feet touch the floor.

"I don't want to kill you," she says, now standing in front of me. "I want to do too many things with you first that you have to really be alive for." She reaches up and brushes my cheek with soft fingers and a smile that does more for me than anything ever has. And suddenly, in this room of books and ladybugs and all of its emptiness, I see Ana as a little girl. She's curled up reading or playing with dolls. I can see her as a princess with a crown, twirling in a tutu and ruffled socks slipping out of her mother's high heels. But then, all of a sudden, she's different. The little girl has Ana's hair and fair complexion, but my eyes...

I shake my head. There's no way anyone like me could ever have a daughter. But, I have to admit, there's a small part of me that doesn't want to have to believe that anymore.

"Shall we look around downstairs?" I ask and she nods. I need to get away from the ladybugs.

"Where's the kitchen?" Ana asks, sliding the hand with the vacant ring finger along the banister. This just proves Ana wasn't altogether right. A thing can be empty if it never held anything before.

"Follow the scent of sulphur," I say and she giggles.

"I have two questions," Ana says. "First, who is Olga, and second, why was she baking cookies to Christmas music?"

"First, she's the realtor, and second... uh, let's just find the kitchen." I shuffle us along.

Thankfully most of the smoke has cleared by the time we get to it and Olga's keeping her distance. I see she's opened up all the windows and doors. Probably because the fire department was about to launch their hoses and issue citations.

"So, who lived here?" Ana asks, as she notices those children's heights marked on the wall at the pantry that I saw before. She touches the top one, the second, then the smallest, and lets her fingers rest for a moment over the height mark just short of four feet.

"A banker and his wife and children," I say. "I don't know much. They were old, Olga told me, and she died last winter. He couldn't stay here without her..." I take a breath. "Well, the kids are selling it for him." Ana opens a cabinet and I eye an empty coffee canister that must've been left. I wonder if that's what they drank every morning of their life together. I always thought special dinners out are what's memorable, but suddenly a can of grounds holds more romance than a top Michelin five star. "

"They were happy here?" she asks.

"Yes, I think very."

She smiles and then heads to the west island. Yes, the kitchen is so big there are west and east.

Being in here with her is a strange mix of feeling like I don't belong at all and this is the place I was meant to be my entire life. That thief in the night feeling again.

"Ana, we can make this place anything you like. I'll rip it down and build you Rome. Just say yes."

"No," she says too fast.

No.

"No?" I gulp.

"No."

"Okay..." I gasp. "Does that mean no?"

"I don't want you to build a new house for me."

I run a hand through my mop and pull a fistful nearly hard enough to release my brain. "But I was serious before, you can have anything, absolutely anything! Just please don't leave me—"

"Leave you?" she asks, with an incredulous nose scrunch. She steps to me and takes my hand. "I'm not going to leave you. I just don't want another house."

"I don't understand." Maybe she's an apartment kind of girl. Or does she want a castle? I can do that.

"I like this one."

"You do?" I ask in my bewilderment.

"Sure. It's a little beat up and maybe not so pretty in parts..." She squeezes my fingers. "But I love it." She leans in closer. "And just because a thing has a past doesn't mean you just give up on it. I think all it needs is some tender loving care."

I'm floored. And I didn't think it was possible, but I love her even more.

"Oh, Ana," I say, cupping her face with both hands.

"What?"

"Thank you for loving old houses." And before I even realize it my lips are on hers. The kiss deepens and we disappear into it. I push us up against the west island, right beneath the rack that holds pots and pans.

And amazingly, without a cookie baking, the whole place smells like home.

########

"So, you're going to buy it?" she asks as I drive us away in her car. The sun is gone now, but it feels brighter than when we arrived.

"Yes." We're going to buy it, baby. Actually, we already did.

"You'll put Escala on the market?" If I'm not mistaken, she's a little disappointed by this.

"Why would I do that?"

"To pay for it—"

I hold up a hand. "Trust me, I can afford it." I grin.

"Do you like being rich?" she asks as she scrunches her nose. Oh baby, you'll like it too. I'll give you the world.

"Yes. But, mainly because I know what it is to be poor."

"Wealth isn't something I've ever aspired to."

"I know." I smile. "But, you've never been hungry."

Ana rests her head back on the seat and looks out the window. The face striping shadows of early evening now replaced by the lights of night.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"It's a surprise."

She pops up. "Another surprise? I don't know if my heart can take it."

"Well,..." I reach over and clasp her hand. "This one is to eat and to celebrate." I bring her knuckles to my lips and kiss them.

"Celebrate the house?"

"Celebrate your new job."

"Oh right." She smiles and tucks herself back into the seat. I keep hold of her hand. I will as long as I can. "So where to?"

"My club."

"Your club?"

"Yes, I have a few." I wink.

########

"What's Taylor doing here and why is he holding your blazer?" Ana asks, arm tucked in mine, as we step into the lobby of the building that's home to the Mile High Club.

"It's a jacket and tie place," I say as we approach him.

"Good evening, Mr. Grey, Miss Steele," he says as he opens and holds out my coat. I shrug out of my sweater and he helps me into my jacket sleeves. And remarkably we don't have to stop our walk to the elevator to do this.

"Thank you, Taylor," I say and he nods appreciatively. "And be careful with the sweater. It's become very important to me. Arm it with cedar!" I give him a look that means business.

"Yes, Mr. Grey. I have the balls at home." He gives another nod, but this time it's in farewell.

"Bye Taylor!" Ana waves and I think the fucker smiled. "We should've at least asked him to join us," Ana says to me.

"Uh, no." I roll my eyes. That's just what I need Taylor as my third leg watching Ana suck down oysters.

"Why not?" she asks.

"Because he only eats standing up," I say. She shakes her head. Hey, that's really not a lie.

The elevator ride up is long. Made considerably longer due to Anastasia's skirt being considerably shorter than I realized. While assessing the hem with roaming fingers, I'm also looking down at her cleavage and a peek of lace sticking out from her bra. Aside from the fact I'm pissed Flynn was in a dark room alone with her talking about feelings—and my insanity—for so long with her lingerie possibly visible, I wonder how perfectly her panties match and if she'd let me reach up her skirt and sneak my fingers beneath the elastic edge to play as we dine.

This gets me to thinking. With a sinful grin I work out a delicious plan for tonight that doesn't involve dinner. Well, at least not what's on the menu.

"Why do you look like you just ate a canary?" Ana asks.

"Because I'm thinking about it." I raise a brow. The elevator dings and the doors part.

"Mr. Grey, welcome," the hostess says as Ana and I step out and walk to the reception area.

"Thank you, Marie," I say.

"Molly," she says.

"Whatever you like. Escort us to our table." She's giving me the eye. The other one is fixed on Ana, so with those overly injected lips she officially looks like a fish.

"Tonight please," I say. She gives a quick nod and Ana and I follow Molly Mackerel to the special room I've had prepared.

We wind around the bar and dance floor where far too many eyeballs belonging to penises stare at my girl. I'm having to perform ocular karate left and right like it's my superpower. It kind of is.

"Christian, what is all this?" Ana gasps as we enter the private room that's decorated to the nines with gold balloons, a bursting floral centerpiece and the finest Cristal chilling in a silver, ice filled bucket.

Ok, I went overboard. It fucking delights me.

"I told you we were celebrating," I say with a wink as I help her take her seat in the booth facing the endless skyline of downtown Seattle.

"This is all to much," Ana says, eyes sparkling.

"Nonsense," I say as I fill our flutes with bubbly and take my seat beside her. "To SIP's new fiction editor." I lift my glass to toast.

"It's just temporary," she says as she clinks and then sips. The bubbles must tickle her nose because she scrunches it up and giggles. And the ways her lips wrap around that rim... I have to adjust.

"Until they discover how great you are," I say.

"You didn't have anything to do with this?" she asks.

"Well, I didn't personally decorate the place, but I did provide instructions to the staff. They advised silver balloons, but I insisted on gold. You're always first place."

"Not dinner." She grins. "I mean my job."

"No, you got it all on your own." And they'll take it from you over my dead body.

I peruse the menu and realize everything listed will give me an erection when I see it on her lips tonight. Fuck it, we're definitely getting those oysters. I need to see her swallow in that pouty pink lip gloss. I've never known lips so fuckable.

"Thank you," she says.

"For what?" Did I say that last part out loud?

"For believing in me. For all this. For everything."

"Of course, baby. I'll always believe in you. And protect you. And cherish you." And make sure no one fucks with your dreams.

She tucks in close under my arm.

"I miss your snuggle sweater," she says.

"Don't worry. You'll be seeing it a lot in the new place." I kiss her head.

"I have a question," she says, fiddling with my jacket lapels.

"Is it painful?" I ask.

"Is what painful?"

"The question."

"I don't think so, but I can't be sure."

"Okay." I wince for impact. "Ask away."

She stops fiddling and looks up at me. "Why didn't you buy a house out there before I came along?"

"Well, I think one man secluded on the water with all those empty bedrooms would be lunacy, don't you?" I smirk.

"No different than all those rooms in the sky."

"Ana, there were a lot of things before you I knew I couldn't have. I needed to be close to the office. I needed to devote my time there. That's just what

young successful business people do."

"Did she tell you that?"

"Ana..." I shift, annoyed, but more at the fact that she's right. She did tell me that. All the damn time.

"Why Escala?" Ana asks, sitting up again.

"I don't know. I just..."

My thoughts drift back...

Elena clinked my champagne glass when I made my first billion. We dined on Kobe beef and fugu sushi—blowfish that poisons you if it's not cut by a master—flown in direct from Japan. I remember thinking how odd it was to kill a thing and then fly it first class.

We weren't dining in a restaurant that night. She had taken me to Escala.

"Christian, this is where you're meant to live, trust me," Elena said, still clinging to her last drops of bubbly as she looked out the floor to ceiling windows. "It's spacious and there's so much light. The view is unreal." She turned back to me. "This is who you want to be."

"It's nice," I said.

"Of course you'll want a full remodel."

"Oh?"

"Christian..." She blew out a breath. "You're an extraordinarily wealthy man now. You should design it to your specifications. No one wants to live with the nicks of someone else's past. You of all people should know that."

"Of course," I said.

"It has room for guests," she said, giving me the tour. Her realtor friend gave her the key and even helped her with catering. Knowing a billionaire may buy, they give you easy access. "And you could convert a bedroom upstairs to meet your needs."

"Yes, I know."

"Don't sound so excited," she said with that polished red pout.

"It's just a place to sleep." I shrugged and finished my champagne. I kept looking at the clock to see if I was out of the range of danger for the blowfish to kill me. I wasn't yet.

"Christian," she said as she walked to me, heels tapping on the marble. It made her predatory steps sound expensive. "You are this apartment now. You are finally that man." She smiled, but then it left her face quickly. "Grow some fucking balls and buy it."

I did. The next morning.

The night I moved in I pulled out a bottle of scotch to celebrate alone. It felt sneaky, like I was in high school again stealing from Carrick's liquor cabinet. And after a few sips I knew I wasn't celebrating.

I took a half-full tumbler and rolled the liquid around, my eyes sinking further into the swirling amber as I stepped out onto my balcony, so high above the world. I watched the city move in jerks and swells as my eyes blurred from drink and the lights from the cars became fuzzy lines that disappeared into the dark unknown.

I envied those blurry lines. They could soften and disappear in the blackness.

I thought of the crack whore in the pit of hell watching me living up in the sky. She'd see that my scarred chest was now covered in fine poplin. In that moment, it was important for me to think she saw that.

I lifted my tumbler to toast myself and to drink scotch that would take her a dozen or more fucks to buy. I stumbled a bit, the scotch sloshing out as my hands caught my trip on the ledge. The glass shattered against the stone and there was blood on my hand. I could smell the alcohol, and all I could think is that I smelled like a more impressive him. The alcohol burned as it slid into the gash on my palm. That felt like him, too.

Those blurred lines racing toward infinity caught my eye again. I leaned over just enough to make a bet with the reaper. And there was a profound hollowness in my gut. I could disappear into the blurred night.

"Christian, what is it?" Ana asks, pulling me from memory. From the look on her face, I've scared her.

"Uhh... I don't know..." I shake my head. "No, Elena wasn't trying to make me unhappy. She was just protecting me..."

"From what?"

"From myself. From disappointment. You don't know what I was like."

"Are you disappointed now?"

"What? No, that's the last thing I'm feeling." I take her glass away, set it down and hold to her hands. "But, she couldn't possibly know that this could be so real and so good for a person like me. And I couldn't very well carry out my lifestyle in a family home. That's what I needed then."

"So she did find Escala for you?"

"Well, yes, technically," I say and she frowns. "Let's not talk about her. It's all about you and me and the future tonight. Not Elena."

"Okay," Ana says. "Let's not talk about her tonight."

"Good." I hand her back her drink and take a sip myself. "I have an idea..." I lean in and whisper into her ear, "Go take off your panties."

"What?" she asks, surprised.

"You heard me. Go."

"My skirt is short," she squeaks.

"Don't bend over." I raise a brow. "Pass them to me when you get back from the ladies room."

She looks around, testing her bravery. And I'm delighted when my girl stands up, bites her lip and then walks away from the table. I watch her ass.

Oh Ana, we're going to have so much fun.

Thank you for all the love and sorry for the delay! There will be more soon. And thanks for those reading my other story, too! Happy Mother's Day to all the moms! If you haven't read it, there's a Mother's Day part (where the kids and Christian make breakfast for Ana) in Grey Hearts and Flowers from last year. xox