Sadly, our escape to Paris is far too brief. We need to return to Brinard by early afternoon as Brooks' contact with the Gendarmes believes that an announcement about the 672's fire will be made late today. Ana lets me take a shower with her after I take a scouting oath to give her 'very sore and achy lady bits just a bit of a respite.' We have fun lathering each other down as we continue to get to know every speck of each other's bodies. At some point Ana pauses with a look of fear. Neither of us has noticed that she has lathered up my chest with her hands. Odd, this feels nothing but delightful. I place her hands back on my chest and move them around in the same motions she was just using. We break into matching grins of delight. I am so thrilled with this development that I break my pledge and take her against the shower wall. I don't think that Ana really minds, because she keeps screaming, "Yes, Christian!"
Following our oath breaking shower, Ana decides to soak her now 'broken and decimated lady bits' in the enormous porcelain tub. I am banished from the bathroom as Ana is worried that even being in the same room may lead to further lady bit usage. My girl is a wise one. I throw on my clothes and make my way out to the sitting room. Sitting on the coffee table is a leather-bound album filled with the pictures the photographer took of us on the terrace. I decide to wait for Ana to go through the photos together. I grab a peony from the terrace and press it in the back of the album. I want to remember everything about our night in Paris.
Far too soon, we are shuttled back to the Hermès helicopter and returned to the Victorian holiday rental in Brinard as we wait to hear the results of the Gendarmes' investigation.
It turns out that we could have lazed in Paris longer. It is not until noon on our fifth day in Brinard that we are summoned to the harbor for the official results of the fire investigation. While Brooks has his theories regarding the nature of the fire, he feels strongly that the worst that we can expect is for a ruling of human error. Leo and I have already prepared a statement that I will read to the press in response to a human error ruling.
Grey Enterprise Holdings stands behind the experience and capabilities that Captain Hennigan and his crew bring to the GEH Maritime team. Everyone at GEH is in agreement that this error occurred because more extensive safeguards and warning systems were not in place at the time of the incident. If not for the extraordinary abilities of the five GEH crew members aboard the 672 at the time of the fire, this incident would surely have resulted in the loss of life. The GEH Maritime team looks forward to continuing our relationship with Captain Hennigan and his extraordinary crew. The GEH Maritime team will use the lessons learned from this incident to improve the safeguards and usability of the 672 as we strive to bring the safest and first luxury yacht of its kind to the market.
Ana and Leo have revised my statement so many times that all of us have it memorized to the word. I finally had to tell them to quit messing it.
Leo, Brooks, and I have met with the crew of the 672. We assured them that we will not let them take the fall for the engine room fire. We value their expertise and loyalty throughout this entire event. They have all expressed their gratitude for GEH's support. When Captain Hennigan learned that the verdict will most likely be human error, he attempted to turn in his resignation on the spot. I refused. After a tall bottle of Scotch between us, Hennigan agreed to stay on with the us.
Ana, being the brilliant mind that she is, suggested that we fly over the crew's significant others to be with them while we wait out the verdict. With the 672 now in dry docks for a complete engine overhaul, we rented a large holiday house for the crew and their families. They are all invited to stay in Brinard for a proper vacation once the inquisition is over.
A soft knock comes to the door of the room that I am using as my study. Ana peeks her head in.
"It's time. Arnaud called Brooks. We need to start heading down to the harbor."
I nod and go to don a suit and tie. It has been several days since I last wore a suit and it feels somewhat odd. Ana is in our room changing into her navy pencil skirt with a cream blouse. When she sits on the side of the bed to fasten her navy, patent leather, Mary Jane heels, I feel a strain against my pants zipper. My heart skips a beat when she dons all of the jewelry that I gave her in Paris.
"For luck," she says as she kisses my cheek.
We walk hand in hand out to the waiting SUVs. Our group caravans together down the narrow streets to the harbor. The Gendarmes have set up a podium where the press are congregating. We stay in our vehicles until we see Arnaud and her company approach the podium in their dress uniforms. We exit the SUVs and make our way down to an area just in front of the podium. Taylor and the rest of our security work in synchrony to keep the press from getting too close to us. Camera flashes blind us as we stand together, the 672 crew, Ana, Leo and I. Anticipating the myriad of photographers, Leo has us all in sunglasses.
Arnaud takes the podium. She reads her statement in French and then repeats herself in English. As the only member of the group fluent in French, I know moments before the rest of the GEH group. The official findings for the 672 engine fire is not human error. The fire is officially ruled a design flaw. Furthermore, it is the recommendation of the Gendarmes Maritime investigators that all 672 prototype vessels by immediately dry docked until a sufficient redesign can be engineered, approved, and implemented.
I am in shock. I cannot breathe. We were prepared for a much better outcome from the investigation. How could we have been so wrong? Suddenly the press are going crazy. Microphones are being shoved in our faces while cameras are flashing from every direction. Is it my imagination or have the number of photographers increased ten fold since we arrived just a few short moments ago?
Our security is straining to make a path for us back to our vehicles. A hundred security officers could not contain the pandemonium that Arnaud's statement releases. Leo jumps quickly to the podium. He taps on the microphone and introduces himself and announces that he will be reading a prepared statement on behalf of GEH. Leo's quick thinking distracts the press long enough for us to make a hasty retreat.
I am in the front SUV as our group begins to pull away from the harbor.
"Taylor, where's Ana? She's not in the vehicle?" My panic is exponentially increasing.
"Not to worry sir, Ana is in the vehicle directly behind us. Sawyer directed her to get in the first available spot."
I turn and see Ana through her vehicle's windshield. My phone pings with a text from her.
Don't worry, Grey. I've got your back. – A
I smile at her words but doubt that even my magical, jedi-mind-tricking girlfriend can calm the pressure that is beginning to build in my chest. We traverse a different route than we took to the harbor. We wind through the narrow streets of this Victorian, seaside resort until we arrive at an Irish pub of all places.
"Ms. Steele rented out the pub for lunch, sir. She knew that our group would need a meal. With the crew and their families, neither holiday rental is large enough for our size."
We exit the vehicles and make our way into the odd Irish pub in this French town. The crew members' families are there waiting for us. Staff usher us straight away to our tables. Without having to order, servers begin shuttling out large platters of bangers and mash, shepherd's pie, and corned beef. This really feels rather like a Hollywood take on an Irish pub. What do I know? I've never been in a legitimate pub in Ireland.
Ana makes her way over to sit with me.
"You ok, Grey?" She asks in a very maternal way. I bet Ana will be a great mom to our kids. Wait, where did that come from?
I nod, unable to take a deep breath due to the pressure continuing to build in my chest and now in my head. I try to take deep breaths but end up panting like a dog. Ana rubs my leg, but I still can't catch my breath. I'm having trouble getting my eyes to focus.
"Fuck," she exhales. "You aren't ok, are you?"
I shake my head no. Ana leaps from her seat and grabs my hand, pulling me up and to the bar.
Ana claps her hands twice and hollers, "Bartender, the customer is going to need three shots of Amnesia Juice, STAT."
I look at Anastasia like she has lost her mind or maybe I have lost mine?
Playing along with Ana's pretend doctor-in-a-bar routine, the bartender responds with an Irish lilt, "Got it, three Mind Erasers, coming right up."
He grabs various bottles, pours, shakes, and slides three shot glasses down the bar. With expert precision, the shot glasses stop in front of me one-two-three in a perfect line.
I look at Ana, still stunned and unable to piece together logical thoughts.
She slaps her palm on the bar, "Drink, Grey!"
I knock back the first shot. Hum, tart with hints of tequila. Ana looks at me, silently asking if my chest pain is relieved. I shake my head 'no.' I down the second shot. I pause to assess the pressure that is building inside my head. Yep, I still feel like a defective Instapot. I knock back the third Mind Eraser. I shake my head at the burn it causes going down.
Before I have time to reassess, my brown-haired fireball grabs my cheeks and looks into my eyes. She studies me carefully.
"This isn't working," she declares.
She grabs my hand and pulls me towards the exit.
I struggle to keep pace when we hit the sidewalk. Thank god the paparazzi didn't tail us to the pub. The mid-day sun causes me to squint. I reach into the breast pocket of my suit coat for my sunglasses only to realize that I'm no longer in possession of the jacket. Ana gives me no pause to retrace our steps. I resign myself to squinting.
"Where are we going?"
"More walking, less talking, Grey!"
I can't help but laugh at the petite beauty pulling me along in focused determination. She returns my laugh with a brief stink eye while never missing a step. She's so good at power walking in heels.
Ana pulls me along until we reach an intersection. The little general looks back and forth as though she cannot decide whether to turn or continue going straight. I give her hand a little tug.
"Are we lost?" I ask. "You can tell me. We are lost aren't we?" I think that I am starting to feel the effects of the Mind Erasers.
I reach into my pants pocket for my phone. Taylor will find us.
"Put the Batphone away, Grey," she barks. I slide the phone back in my pocket. Note to self: General Steele is scary.
I am back to being dragged along. She must have a plan. She is a woman on a mission.
We weave through the crooked village streets, taking rights and lefts every so often. Have we made a circle? I swear we pass the same bakery twice.
I dutifully follow my leader down a pedestrian side street.
"Stay," she says. I stand where I am told like the faithful dog that I am. Ana owns me.
She disappears into a little souvenir shop and soon reappears with a small bag.
"Hold this." I wag my tail and do my owner's bidding.
She disappears into the wine shop across the way. Returning, she hands me a brown bag which I dutifully tuck under my other arm before following at her heel as I have been trained. We wind our way through a few residential blocks before descending down an ancient-appearing set of stone steps. Our descent is steep. Miss Steele is undeterred by her designer stilettos.
We walk along a paved path traversing among the boulders of the seaside. We arrive at a wooden door under a stone arch. Ana jiggles the iron handle until the creaking wood permits our passage. Where are we? More importantly, how does Ana know where we are going?
We enter into a dark tunnel carved into a cliff. For the next several minutes, we wind our way through down a damp, descending path, lit with the sunlight coming through lookouts carved to look out over the sea. Drops of water land on our heads from parts unknown. Occasionally, we are afforded handrails fashioned from old pipes. The railings are necessary to safely descend the passageway that was carved long before building codes were written. I wish I had some of Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs.
The Amnesia Juice must be working. Never would I allow myself to be led down such perilous topography with nothing more than a five foot, four inch inch warrior in designer heels to defend myself.
We finally arrive at another wooden door. Sunlight peeks through the wooden slats. Ana does more of her fancy handle jiggling and the door swings free.
Never in my life has the power of nature taken my breath away so instantaneously. I reflexively take in a deep breath. We are now at sea level. Before us is a crooked walkway paved with boulders that lead along the waters edge at the base of the cliff. The path juts out at least a hundred yards into the crashing waves. The water is a good ten feet below us, but the waves break with such force that water shoots several feet above the path before curling back into the sea. Ana turns to me and smiles at my face of wonder.
She holds onto my shoulder while removing her heels. She leaves her shoes at the doorway and takes the packages that I have so obediently toted. I tuck my socks into my shoes and set them with hers. She stoops to roll up my pants a few turns. The afternoon sun shimmers off her smile. The path is too narrow for us to hold hands. We each carry one of the packages along the breaking waves. Every so often a wave breaks in a way that bathes our feet in the seaspray. The wind whips at Ana's hair. We reach a little turn back towards the cliffs. We climb several stone steps to a hidden col-de-sac. The circular space is lined with a round bench carved into the rock. From here we have a beautiful view of the cliffs and crashing waves. The wind and waves play a symphony harmonized by seagulls and the throaty foghorns alerting ocean-going vessels to the dangers of the jagged coastline.
We sit together in our secret alcove amongst the rocks. The sun warms our bones while the wind and waves remind us of the power of the landscape. We both get lost in our own thoughts as we soak up the beauty around us. After a bit, Ana begins rustling through our packages. She produces two thick glass cups, a wine key, and an average looking bottle of wine. I expertly cut the foil and uncork the bottle, filling each of the sturdy cups.
We clink our glasses and Ana offers a "Salut!" The wine is surprisingly good.
"Yet again, you surprise me with another Ana-venture. What is this place?"
"I'm not really sure. I'd like to think this is where the old-timey Captain's wives would come to watch for their husbands' ships to return after months at sea. Can't you just see women making their way down the tunnel by candlelight in their swishing skirts, praying to catch sight of their husbands' ships making their return?"
"How very Charlotte Brontë of you. Maybe these were the tunnels used by the town's militia to protect the shoreline from pirates and marauders."
"Pirates and Marauders? How very Robert Louis Stevenson of you," Ana teases back. She playfully taps my side with her elbow.
"Maybe the tunnels were used by clandestine lovers sneaking away for secret rendezvous," Ana suggests with wiggling eyebrows.
"How very…" I pause, at a loss for a classic author of such works.
"How very D.H. Lawrence of me?" Ana suggests with laughter and another poke of her elbow.
"Ooh, Lady Chatterly's Lover, how scandalous Miss Steele!" I tease. Our witty academic banter pleases me greatly. We speak our own secret code of dusty tomes, recognized by the masses but known to few.
Ana smiles sweetly and tucks a blowing strand of hair behind her ear. When it soon rejoins the rest of her swirling hair, she pulls an elastic from somewhere and fashions her locks into a lovely, messy bun.
"It's nice to see you smile. It's a good look for you, Grey."
She is bold and honest and flirty. All of this during the most expensive crisis GEH has ever faced. I find her…beguiling?
We stay on our perch sipping our wine in companionable silence. Not once do I think about the 672 fire and what the investigation means for the future of GEH Maritime. I do hope that someone remembered to go back for Leo whom we abandoned on the podium at the harbor. I feel no pressure in my chest nor pain in my head. All is right in my world as we sit in this little stone alcove on this random as fuck path through a cliff. I have no idea what is going through little Anastasia Rose Steele's mind, but whatever it is I know that I am better for it.
I reach over to hold Ana's hand. She looks up with those big, blue eyes, and I can see my future. The 672 fire crisis will pass. The Germans will have a string of great quarters. All is right in the world.