Christian takes Ana to see the Grace for the first time, but he's not prepared for her reaction.
Everything Ana says about her previous experience and her feelings about it are mine in real life. Reviewers, you can be critical, but please be gentle and respectful.
The Grace of sailing.
We step onto The Grace and a quiet stillness seems to descend upon Anastasia.
Is something wrong? Is this too much?
"Quick tour?" I offer, trying to gauge her state of mind.
"Can you give me a minute?" she asks in a strangely subdued voice. Ana is a few steps ahead, her back to me so I can't read her face and guess what she might be thinking.
"Humm… sure," I answer, puzzled. My voice is tight. Ana is making me nervous and still won't look at me.
She bends down, giving me a fine view of her perfect behind, but I'm too rattled to really enjoy it. She removes her shoes and socks and walks away, barefoot. Suddenly, for some reason I can't fathom, she drops slowly to her knees and presses the palms of her hands to the teak floor of the deck. She seems to be taking very deep breaths.
I'm rooted to the spot, at a loss for what to do or what she's doing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mac standing in the sliding door to the main saloon. He's staring at Ana too. We exchange a look, and I see my own puzzlement mirrored in his eyes.
What the hell is happening?
I return my gaze to my beautiful girl. She's on her feet again, padding across the deck toward the mast of The Grace. Ana seems to be moving as if in a trance, oblivious to anything or anyone around her. It's unnerving.
With the wind whipping her hair around her head, the late-spring sunshine making a halo around her as it streams through the windblown strands, highlighting them in gold, and her slow, graceful movements, Ana barely seems real. There's something almost ethereal about her. She's breathtaking.
I can't tear my gaze away from her, and neither, it seems, can Mac. But for the first time since I met Ana, I'm not jealous. There's no desire in his gaze. Only the kind of awe-struck expression one wight wear while beholding an angel walking the Earth.
Ana has reached the mast. As I watch, she places her hands almost reverently on either side of it, then touches her forehead to the cold metal cylinder.
I need to understand this.
The thought shakes me out of my stupor and I stride towards her across the deck. "Anastasia?" Calling her "Ana" seems too casual for whatever strangeness is happening right now. I place a hand on the small of her back.
The contact breaks whatever spell she was under. She shudders, finally turns to face me, and I'm floored by the expression on her face. Silent tears are running freely down her rosy cheeks, her deep blue eyes shining but still dazed and faraway.
"Ana, are you..? What..?" I'm fumbling for words. I cup her face with both hands and wipe her tears with my thumbs.
She takes a deep, hitching breath, the distance leaves her eyes, and I see she's fully back in the present. "I'm okay," is all she says before offering me a brilliant, open smile.
"Baby… Are you, really?" I'm reeling. I can hear the panic in my voice, sense it rising in my body as every muscle tenses.
She lifts a hand to my cheek, her fingertips teasing the stubble there. "I am," she promises in a soft and reassuring voice, her eyes clear.
"You sure? You looked so lost. If something about sailing makes you so sad, we can do something else this afternoon…" I let my words trail off before I start really babbling.
"I'm not sad, Christian."
"Then what is it? Baby, you were crying."
She shakes her head and her gaze drops to her bare feet. "You'll think I'm crazy."
I place a finger under her chin, lift her face back to mine and offer her my best pleading look. Please, sweetheart, tell me. You scared me, and I want to know you. I need to understand where your mind went just now.
She takes another deep, steadying breath. "Okay, if you insist, I'll explain. Sit down. But I warn you, it's kind of weird, and there's a rather long story I need to tell you for you to have any hope to understand."
We sit at the foot of the mast, cross-legged, facing each other. She places one of her hands in both of mine, the other on the deck, as if the contact with the wood is somehow reassuring, grounding her. She avoids my gaze, staring at the water, like what she's about to say is too shameful or personal to look me in the eyes. I sense she is bracing herself, which does nothing to pacify my frayed nerves.
It makes me really nervous. Do I really want to know? Should I really have pushed her? Can I deal with whatever deep confession she is about to make? But she starts talking and her soft, sweet, beloved voice pulls me out of my fretting.
"I used to sail when I was a kid, I started when I was eight. It was my favorite thing in the world. Small dinghies on the river in my hometown, nothing as grand as this boat. But it was my escape. I got to forget the rest of the world, get out of my head and lose myself in the sensations. The rush of the current of the river flowing by. The tension of the sail and rope in my hand. The whipping of the wind on my skin and its sound in my ears. The delicate and unsteady balance of the hull picking up speed. The cool water between my toes…"
I'm staring at her profile, and she's never looked more beautiful. Her eyes are shining, her skin is glowing. Her voice is low and a little distant but in a strangely happy way, as if she were lost in her favorite dream. I listen, rapt. I let her story wash over me, and marvel at the unexpected pleasure I find in this moment of quiet intimacy, of just getting to know her mind.
Is that what love is?
"When I was fourteen," she continues after a short pause, her voice darker. And I know she's touching on an unpleasant part of the memory. I squeeze her hand in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. She barely seems to notice. "Our instructor left, followed his wife who had to relocate for a promotion at work.
"The instructor who replaced him wasn't a good man. Kind of big on military discipline and inappropriate comments directed at the girls. The atmosphere at the club was different, but I kept going because I loved it so much. And one day, the creep looked me straight in the eye and told me that, had I been older, he would have asked me to marry him. Then he tried to put his hands on me."
Fury courses through me, fast and burning. I can't stop myself, I interrupt Ana. "When you were fourteen and his student?"
She silences me with a look and keeps going. I get the feeling that this is hard for her to talk about, and if she stops, she may never finish.
"I slapped him across the face and ran back to the locker room. I changed out of my gear and walked home, scared, furious, and desperately sad. I never went back. Never told anyone but my father what happened. My parents needed to understand why I suddenly wanted to quit."
Ana finally pauses and looks at me, silently giving me permission to talk, I think.
"And stepping aboard The Grace brought all that back?" That would make sense. What a thing to happen and to keep quiet. The asshole better prays I never meet him or I'll put my training with Bastille to good use and knock him on his ass. Nobody touches my girl!
"That's not it, exactly," Ana answers, subdued. I frown, confused. As always, the unpredictable inner workings of my girl's mind throw me for a loop. "I left my hometown for High School. Went to boarding school. There was no sailing school nearby, nor when I was in college either. So I never sailed again. It's been seven years, and I've missed it every single day. For seven years I've felt like that day I left a part of me behind that I might never find again."
Ana's deep blue eyes bore into mine, half ashamed, half anxious. I imagine she's wondering if I finally think she's lost her mind. But for the first time since she started explaining, I think I can see where she is going. I am finally starting to understand. But I can feel the raw emotions going through her, and I don't want to make the wrong assumption again, so I keep quiet.
I want to reassure Ana, comfort her. It's still a new feeling for me, this protectiveness, and I can't find the words to do it. I remember this morning, when holding me tight helped her unwind after the pregnancy scare, and decide to do just that. I tug her hand gently, and when she doesn't resist, I pull Ana into my lap and put my arms around her. Instinctively, she presses her face into my shoulder, and for once I don't mind the contact, the warmth of her breath saturating the fabric of my sweater. I thread my fingers through her hair at the back of her head and hold her there for a moment that seems suspended in time.
She relaxes against me. "And today..?" I prompt, hoping to gain the full understanding of her eerie and fascinating behavior.
"When you pointed at the Grace and said it was yours, I realized today was the day I might get to sail again. I've grown so used to missing it that the force of the realization kind of shocked me, like my consciousness had forgotten exactly how big the hole in me was."
I feel her breath hitch in her throat, hear the suppressed emotion in her voice. Oh, sweetheart… I still have no words, so I tighten my hold on her.
"And then I took a step on board, and it's like something took control of me. Something stronger and completely outside of myself." She looks up at me. "Don't expect a more prosaic explanation from me, I don't have one. It was like walking down the street and coming face to face with someone you love and thought you'd never see again. Everything fell away, and that strange force directed me. I took my shoes off, touched the wood of the deck, the cold metal of the mast, because something in me felt like I needed the contact on my skin to make sure that it was real. That I was really there. That it wasn't just a dream. Does that make any sense to you?"
I remember the day of the photographer's gallery opening. Remember grabbing her hand in the car to reassure myself that she was really there beside me, that I might have a chance to win her back. I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the strength of my own emotions. I nod, not trusting myself to speak around the lump in my throat. Ana seems to understand because she starts talking again.
"I've never been a religious person, but I've always found something almost spiritual about sailing. About the freedom of the water and the wind. About existing in a space in between worlds for that moment, between the sea and the sky. It feels like being afforded a privilege, this being allowed to borrow the power of these elements so much stronger than anything humans could ever create. To enter a world of soundless peace and speed that feels neither quite like swimming, nor quite like flying, but somehow just as weightless. There's a quiet grace in the act of sailing. You really chose a perfect name for your boat."
Ana's voice trails off, her gaze is unfocused, and she looks lost in her own mental world again. But for once I'm in there with her. As with the Trouton pieces in my office, she's managed to put into words feelings I've never been able to express. Not for the first time, I wonder which superior forces of the Universe I might have to thank for putting this extraordinary, sensitive, insightful, delightful young woman into the path of my life.
Ana blinks a few times and seems to come back to reality, bringing me back with her. "Anyway, I realize I probably looked really weird. But doing all that was like getting reacquainted with a missing piece of my soul. I finally felt complete again, in a way I haven't been in years, and never dared to hope I ever would be. I feel so happy and serene, and myself, here, with you, that I was overwhelmed. That's why I was crying, Christian. I wasn't sad. Not one bit. There were just too many feelings in me to hold them inside. Thank you for bringing me here and giving me back a part of me."
I study Ana's face, and she looks so peaceful, and happy, and loving, she takes my breath away. She's even more beautiful than in Rodriguez's photographs. And to know that I'm the one who put that look on her lovely face for once makes me feel ten feet tall again.
"My dear Anastasia", and her name rolls like a prayer off my tongue. "I understand exactly what you mean. Maybe better than you'll ever know. And you'll never have to miss it ever again, I promise you. We can come anytime you want. Even for a couple of days at a time, or a whole week even. There's a really comfortable bed in the cabin."
Hold your horses, Grey. One step at a time.
Ana shoots me an amused look. "I think you overestimate my proficiency, Mr. Grey. I've never sailed a boat this big. So how about we take it slow and see how I fare as your crewmate just this afternoon, Captain?"
"Alright, let's head out!"
An incredible smile breaks across her face, and it seems to light up the whole world, more brilliant than the sun. Behind it are a joy and excitement that echo my own.
As we stand up and stretch our legs, stiff from spending so long on the hard wooden deck, Mac reappears. We've been so wrapped up in our private little bubble that I had almost forgotten he was around. But I am getting used to this, I so often lose track of the rest of the world when I am around the delectable Miss Steele.
"Everything okay?" he calls out. "Are we taking her out to sea or not?"
"All good, Mac," I answer. "Let's get her ready to head out. We're burning daylight here!" And with my arm around Ana's waist, we head toward the cockpit.
Flynn was right. There's so much joy to be found doing this her way. Why did I ever think vanilla relationships were plain, boring, and not for me? Maybe I can make this work. Maybe I could be one of those hearts-and-flowers guys after all. Let's hope she stays long enough for us to find out. Let's hope I don't drive her away again. Let's hope…
Focus on the positive, Grey!
Right.
I love her.
She loves me.
The Grace is heading to the open sea.