A/N

Disclaimer: I have never been to Cuba. Some of the cultural assumptions I'm making in this chapter are partly based on the research I did. They're also based on my experience of living in a Latin American country for a number of years. I speak Spanish fluently and I currently live in the United States. If you have lived in Cuba and I get anything wrong, let me know.

Chapter eight

After a few hours of fitful sleep, Christian got up the following morning, showered and put on a pair of long shorts and t-shirt and ventured down the hall toward the kitchen. He could smell breakfast cooking, so much, in fact, that was what woke him up in the first place. At first, he was disoriented, but then he remembered he was back in the States. Except he no longer lived alone.

As soon he'd dragged himself out of bed, he'd sat on the side of his bed, feet on the floor and had checked his phone. He'd blinked, surprised at the number of notifications on his screen. The only message he'd remembered reading was the one from Raymond Steele demanding that he return his daughter immediately as if she were some merchandise of his he'd stolen. Christian's first reaction was to let out a yawn. What an entitled moron, he thought.

Ana woke up an hour earlier, at the crack of dawn, disoriented and unusually tired. Jet lag, she supposed. Her eyes felt like sandpaper, and yet she knew there was no way she'd go back to sleep. Her mind was too preoccupied with her new surroundings and with the Adonis of a man sleeping beside her. His hair had fallen across his forehead, and she resisted the urge to brush it back. Biting her lip mindlessly, she wondered if he would allow her to give him a haircut; from the look of things, he hadn't gotten one in a long while.

And to think this was the first time ever sleeping next to someone of the opposite sex. She wasn't was of those lucky girls who'd grow up with a slew of cousins like some of her female friends who routinely attended large family gatherings and sleepovers. If it weren't for Jose, she would know next to nothing about men.

Poor Jose. She really hoped he was okay. She felt a pang thinking of the people back home. A huge lump formed in her throat thinking of mami. Dios, she missed her so much already.

Determined not to linger in a sea of sadness, Ana eased out of bed being careful not to wake Christian, used the bathroom and changed into a plain white top and her one good pair of jeans. She didn't have a lot of choices when it came to clothing; whoever packed her suitcase had been in a hurry. She envisioned her grandmother side by side the courier sent by Heather, discussing wardrobe choices. Mami, overwhelmed by grief by the sudden departure of her only granddaughter had just mindlessly thrown in whatever she'd found hanging in her closet. That certainly explained why she'd given preference to other items like books and photo albums and a stack of documents. She shook her head as she glanced at the papers that her grandmother considered indispensable. Baptismal and first Communion certificates. Copies of all her grades from early elementary thru high school as well as her graded essays. As if she would ever need those.

Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, Ana grabbed her hairbrush and attempted to brush away the wave of nostalgia that suddenly engulfed her. She had finally left Cuba and everything and everyone she knew.

After a thousand strokes, she tiptoed out of the room and gave herself a tour of the penthouse. To say that it was impressive was an understatement. There were 10 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms ( including the one in the master), a living room with separate dining room, a den, plus carpeting in some rooms, hardwood floors in others. There was so much space, it was something to behold. It was simply gorgeous. Now that she wasn't as nervous as last night, she really could take the time to take everything in.

Her eyes kept moving through the living room with its streamlined couches, glass-topped coffee table and flat screen TV mounted on the wall. At least she believed it was a TV. Although it could have easily been a computer, judging by the funny looking keyboard shaped like a remote control. Back in Cuba, their TV didn't have a remote control; although people she knew had Televisions with remotes with a button for volume and another one to flip the channels.

She ran her hands through the flat letter keys, and at once, her finger pads struggled to maintain a proper typing position.

Last night, at the airport, she'd watched Christian's fingers fly on his phone screen like he was mad at it. Twenty seconds later he told her that he'd called an uber, which was basically a taxi, he' d explained. Ana hated feeling so clueless. She'd stared at him feeling like a complete idiot.

After putting the keyboard away in the same spot where she found it, she surveyed the entire room again in greater detail. It was all spare, colorless and yet, absolutely dramatic. Her bare feet loved sinking deliciously into the plush carpeting. This place made Ana feel as though she'd stepped into another dimension as the guest star in an episode of one of her favorite shows, the Twilight Zone.

When Ana was growing up, she usually had no trouble obtaining pirated copies of movies and TV shows on Betamax and later on VHS. Much of what she knew about American culture was through these TV shows. Most of the movies and shows she'd watched had been dubbed in Spanish and lost some of its original content. She'd also received shipments from her father on a regular basis (in English of course) from some of her other favorite shows like Beverly Hills 90210, Friends, Party of five and Full House.

Stepping into the kitchen was awe inspiring. It was huge, but the most impressive of all were the stylish black kitchen cabinets and stainless steel appliances. After opening the cupboards and drawers and inspecting their contents to her heart's content, Ana's gravitated to the island that dominated the center of the room and ran her finger along the shiny white marble countertop. She'd never seen a kitchen island like this one except perhaps in the movies. Her gaze shifted again to the black cupboards. Ordinarily, she would have thought of black as too dark and ugly of a color, but standing here barefoot in this pristine white marble floor, she had to admit the bold color contrast was striking.

After locating a medium sized skillet, Ana went about fixing breakfast.

"I see you made yourself at home, muchacha," Christian murmured, sniffing the aroma of eggs and ham.

Ana turned to see Christian standing there, smiling. His hair was still wet from his shower, and she once again felt the urge to brush that wayward strand that stubbornly fell across his forehead.

"Good morning," She murmured and waited for his answer. Her next words were completely spontaneous. "This is a lovely kitchen. My mother used to say the kitchen is the heart of a home." Her mother taught her a lot of things. She taught her to always greet others politely whenever you enter a room. And make sure to ask them first thing in the morning how they slept. This last rule, in particular, was of paramount importance, it was the sign of a well-bred young lady.

"How did you sleep?"

Christian looked at her impassively. "Fine... thanks." He answered while taking a seat at a barstool around the kitchen island. At that moment, he looked very much like a man who had the thinnest veneer of interest in social niceties. Ana wondered why it suddenly bothered her that he had not asked her how she'd slept and why hadn't she noticed this before. She honestly had no clue. She'd always been a bit of a rebel in the sense of never being afraid to rock the boat; it was a bit of a shock to suddenly find herself clinging desperately to the values she grew up with.

"I looked for bread to make toast, but I couldn't find it." She'd also looked for a toaster and found all kinds of fancy appliances but no toaster.

Christian moved to open the freezer, which seemed utterly strange to her. This freezer was a huge drawer that pulled out. Her freezer at home was small, barely a single compartment located at the top and accessible from the inside only. It was rarely used except to store ice trays; this freezer, on the other hand, clearly player a greater role, it was packed full of stuff.

Next thing she knew, Christian pulled out a cylinder from the freezer and cracked it open. Out popped something gooey. He promptly scooped the gooey substance on a cookie tray, slid it in the oven, and pressed a button. "We got to wait, it's preheating."

"What is that?" Ana asked, wide-eyed, standing next to him.

Christian handed her the can of Pillsbury butter flake crescent rolls.

"Is that canned bread?" She said, staring at the doughboy with button-like blue eyes pictured on the can.

Christian laughed. "They're croissants. It will take about 15 minutes to bake. But, since the eggs are ready, why don't we sit down and eat while we wait for the croissants?" Noting that she had the eggs served on two plates, he reached for a drawer and grabbed two black cloth placemats.

Ana placed the hot plates on the placemats and stood there awkwardly watching Christian set the silverware and take a seat in one of the bar-stools.

He motioned for her to take a seat and eyed her curiously.

Ana wordlessly sat down across from him and took a bite of her eggs, expecting them to taste like the eggs from back home. But they didn't taste the same. Maybe it was the ham that was giving the eggs a different flavor?

"Nice apartment," she said to break the ice.

Christian nodded. He was really enjoying his eggs. They were nice and fluffy. "These are really good." He cocked his head, studying her. "Did you cook them with butter?"

"I did." She'd also added some water. Back home, it was sometimes necessary to add water to stretch the dish out.

Christian gazed at the butter stick on the counter next to the stove. It looked like most of the stick was gone. He distinctly remembered buying butter before his trip and never getting a chance to open it. Wow, did she really use half a stick of butter on these eggs? Unlike every woman he knew, she obviously not watching her fat intake. Not that she needed it. She was thin, too thin in his opinion. Still, he made a mental note to show her the cooking spray.

He thought about telling her about her father's email message, but she spoke before he had a chance, shifting his train of thought.

"This is a great kitchen," she gave him a small smile which he reciprocated. "Let me guess... your favorite color is black." She smiled. She had to admit, even the food looked more attractive served on black plates.

"I didn't decorate this place. It belonged to my folks."

When he said that she realized how little she knew about this man she'd married. She looked up from her plate. "Oh. Where are they now?"

Christian looked away, his body closed off to her. "They're gone now," he replied vaguely. Obviously, he didn't want to talk about them.

Ana was confused. She didn't know exactly what he meant. Were his parents dead? Or were they gone somewhere...?

"I do like black though, so you were right about that," he smiled and studied her closely. "So how does it feel being in the good ol' USA?" He asked, wondering if she was homesick already.

"Seattle is quite different from Havana," she murmured looking out the kitchen window to the western sky. It was such a bright sunny morning.

"Here we just don't go exploring on foot. Everyone drives their own car," he pointed out. The last thing he needed was for Ana to try venturing out into the streets of Seattle on her own.

"Okay," Ana hesitated. "What time do you have to go to work? When can go shopping for groceries?"

"I'm my own boss. That means that I don't have to report to work at a certain time." As a bounty hunter, he got to choose which cases to take. Usually, unless he was working on a private case, he placed a call to the police department and put his name down on a list. But since no one knew he was back in the country, technically he didn't have anywhere to be at the moment. "But back to your question. We can go shopping tomorrow." He hated grocery shopping; it was the most boring thing in the world.

Ana's eyes widened. "But you don't have any food here...except for eggs and yogurt."

Christian chuckled and moved to open the freezer and motioned for her to take a look. He pulled out a bunch of rectangular boxes with pictures of dishes on them. He sorted through them, showing her each title. Spaghetti and Meatballs. Chicken Teriyaki. Mexican Enchilada. The boxes had the words: Healthy choice printed across the top.

Ana was shocked beyond her wildest dreams. Was he suggesting they eat whatever was packed in that frozen box?

"So...which one looks good to you?"

She looked at him like he had grown three horns on his head.

"Oh," he chuckled. "You put these in the microwave and heat them. They're as good as though they came straight out of the oven."

"Christian...is this what you normally eat at home?"

He didn't like the sound of that question; it sounded just a tad too critical. "These are actually pretty good," he said sincerely even though it was a losing battle. There was no way she was eating his frozen meals.

"I'm going to make us lunch," she announced cheerfully just as the stove timer beeped.

Christian moved to take the croissants out of the oven. Ana had to admit, they did smell good but not nearly as good as the bakery back home. He then served them on small dessert plates. Since the croissants were plain, he asked if she wanted some butter on hers while layering a spoonful of butter. She shook her head no.

Ana eyed at the croissants suspiciously. From the look of things, she had no other choice but try a bite of the pastry even though she was already full from the eggs. Forcing herself to get it over with once and for all, she took a bite and swallowed. Hmm. Spongy. Not much substance there. It was also overly sweet. She tried to discern the ingredients by taste, but the sweetness seemed to overpower all the other flavors.

Christian realized right away that she didn't like the croissants but decided not to comment. "So what are you fixing for lunch?" He asked, intrigued.

Ana smiled. Cooking was one of her favorite activities. "I'm in the mood for black beans, and rice and tostones. How does that sound?"

Christian had tried tostones before at a restaurant in Havana, and he wasn't particularly thrilled by them, but he didn't hate them either. The problem was that they needed to go grocery shopping for that.

"We can just go out to a restaurant instead," he coolly suggested. It was fast and a lot easier. He was surprised when she looked almost offended.

"No, no. A restaurant? Restaurants are for special occasions. We need food to prepare at home."

"This is your first day in America, muchacha," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "It doesn't get more special than that."

"Christian, I-"

"Grocery shopping is a pain," he cut in. But then seeing the look of dismay on her face, he added. "Alright, alright. I will call the store and arrange for home delivery."

The idea of having their groceries delivered seemed grossly unappealing. She needed to go to the store and handpick the beans and plantains. The idea of trusting a third person to do it for her was so foreign.

"It will save us a lot of time...time that could be better spent getting to know each other better," Christian eyed her critically, "We only have three weeks before the interview. It's not a lot of time, trust me...I've lived a lot longer than you. We need to be wholly prepared to answer any question.

How ironic, Ana thought, for him to say that when moments ago he'd avoided telling her about his family.

"We have to know everything there is to know about each other and prove our marriage is real."

Our marriage. It sounded foreign and yet so intimate, Ana sighed. There was something that didn't add up. How could they ever hope to prove anything beyond any reasonable doubt if they weren't intimate in that way like a real husband and wife? Her doubts must have been written all over her face, judging by his next words.

"What's going on in that pretty little head, muchacha?"

"Are you going to keep on calling me muchacha all the time now?... Even when we're out and about? People are going to start thinking it's my name."

Christian threw his head back and laughed. He had to admit he'd become quite fond of the nickname in the last few days. "Okay., then. What do you want me to call you?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "How about Ana?"

"Your wish is my command," he grinned, tipping an imaginary hat, "my lady."

Ana grinned back and he was happy they were having a good morning.

He looked into her eyes as if seeing her for the first time. She held his gaze and his heart stood still, waiting. But then she stood up and picked up the empty plates from the table and took them to the kitchen sink. The spell was broken. She was about to turn on the faucet. when she turned to him with a question mark written all over her face.

"You looking for something, sweetheart?"

He stood beside her. "A kitchen... towel?"

He reached into a drawer and handed her an embroidered towel. His gaze fixated on her wedding band as their fingers touched. They were both taken aback by a sudden jolt of electricity passing between them.

"Oh, no. Not that," she said after a long moment, stepping back to put as much physical distance between them as possible. "I'm looking for something less nice. For scrubbing?"

He pointed to the one next to the dish-washing liquid.

"No, not that. I need something to wipe the counter with."

He finally understood. "You mean a rag?"

"YES!" She laughed. "YES! I need several rags for the kitchen."

"I don't have any rags. I just use paper towels," he said, pointing to the paper towel holder.

Ana looked at him as though he'd grown horns on his head. "Oh..." She said with a small voice, not critical, just genuinely puzzled. "But that's so wasteful." Back in Cuba, paper was expensive. To her, using paper towels instead of rags for everyday cleaning tasks was like literally throwing paper money down the drain.

"Ana," he looked at her intently. While they talked, she had washed his plate and hers and set them in the drain holder. "I appreciate you washing my plate for me this time...but here in America, every person cleans after themselves. Men and women are equals. Women are not here exclusively to serve while the men play cards and drink beer."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before going on to wash the skillet and the other utensils they'd used. "I'm sorry. But I have to earn my keep," she said with a bewildered expression.

Christian studied her for a long time, thinking. This girl was used to working hard from the crack of dawn until she went to bed. To her, that kind of physical labor was like breathing. You don't have to tell your lungs to take a breath, they just breathe.

"I understand you want to feel useful. But I also want you to understand you're not my servant...if anything, you're a guest in my home." He paused for effect. "And it would be rude to ask guests to do housework, wouldn't it?"

Ana finished rinsing off the last dish. She turned to look at him with an amused expression. "I thought we were practicing for the interview...we're supposed to act like husband and wife," she added with a 'got you' expression and her chin slightly tilted.

Christian shook his head and smiled. Although Anastasia Steele seemed to have a penchant for stirring up trouble, part of him seriously admired her...smart mouth and all. He'd never been in a relationship with a woman like her, so terrifyingly smart and yet so transparent in her words and actions. He didn't think she had a deceiving bone in her body.

"I'm just fulfilling my duties as your wife."

"Speaking of duties, there is one duty you've been neglecting," he said with a devilish smirk, "your wifely duty in the bedroom, sweetheart."

Ana looked into his majestic gray eyes that were suddenly filled with wanting passion, and she couldn't help but look at him with the same expression. But no, she shook her head, trying to uncloud it. If he thought she was just going to drop her panties, he had another thing coming. Her first time had to be for love, there was no way around it.

In the next moment, she broke eye contact and ran off to the bathroom. Half an hour later, she had moved to bedroom. She just hoped that by the time she came out, he had forgotten their conversation. Your wifely duty in the bedroom. The thought filled her with more excitement than she cared to admit.

By the time she was ready to join him in the living room, Christian was perched on the couch, intensely focused on his cell phone. She sat across from him and patiently waited. Rude much? She thought after fifteen minutes of silence. All at once, she was annoyed and equally disappointed. What could he be doing with that thing that was so important?

"Why did you come with me, Anastasia?" He suddenly asked startling her.

"I didn't like the way my father treated you and the demands that he made."

"Really? Seems like you could have just given him a piece of your mind. You didn't have to come with me."

Ana was momentarily speechless, which Christian found quite refreshing.

"I think you came with me because you didn't want to take any chances. You came with me because it seemed like the safest bet."

Ana looked down at her hands. What could she say? Sure, Christian, you're right...I was afraid I'd get deported? When she heard her father saying his lawyers would take care of things, she heard alarm bells ringing in her head. She just didn't think it was a done deal like Ray made it sound like. Deep down, she had a general mistrust of lawyers and the justice system. Where she came from lawyers were crooks, and justice was a man-made abstraction.

"Not that I blame you in the least. You know the Cuban justice system better than anyone, they got you blacklisted. They want names, and this time you won't get as lucky," he paused, gauging her reaction. "You know exactly what Jose has been planning, you got all the intel...Of course, you do. He's your best friend, by your own admission."

Ana lowered her gaze. "I'm not a political activist," she said weakly.

"You mean you've never played an active role? I believe that. But there are more subtle ways to participate. Delivering messages, for instance. And we both know you've done at least that."

Ana bit her lip, which stirred in him feelings he didn't know he had. "Okay, I did some favors for Jose every now and then," she readily admitted. "I happen to know a lot of people. It's always about who you know. But I never wanted to get involved, believe me. All I ever wanted was to come to America and be reunited with my father," she went on all choked up. "I still can't believe what happened at the airport!" It was hardly the homecoming she had dreamed about for so many years.

Christian's gaze softened. "I appreciate your honesty. It would have been so easy for you to deny your involvement," he exhaled deeply. "Regarding your father, it was never my intention.,."

"I know, I know, you were doing your job. You brought me back. You even went the extra mile and sacrificed your own freedom and married me."

"Duly noted. Now, You're making it sound like marrying you was a terrible ordeal," he said with a hint of amusement in his eyes. "It wasn't."

Ana found herself holding his gaze for the longest time, losing herself in the depths that were as tempting as sin. There was something so invigorating in the way he was teasing her. So marrying her wasn't an ordeal. Hmm..Did that mean he had no regrets despite the horrible way her father had treated him upon their return?"

Christian put his cell phone aside and came beside her. His sudden proximity made her nervous, so she immediately sprung to her feet.

"We need to go to the store. Beans take a long time to prepare," she looked at the Casio watch on her wrist. The watch had once belonged to her mother, and it had cost her a small fortune to replace the battery a couple of years ago.

"We need to leave now so I can have enough time to fix them before dinner. And we have to go in person."

Christian shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't believe they were back to that. She was really determined to cook those beans, wasn't she?

"Speaking of dinner. Are you hungry? It's lunchtime, you know."

"Not really. I had a big breakfast."

Oh, yeah. She eats like a baby bird.

You like pizza?" He asked, and she nodded. Bingo! Now that was something they could agree on, a food that almost everyone on the planet loved. In the next moment, Christian rubbed his hands together and reached for his phone. This was gonna be great. "I"m ordering a pizza. Pineapple and onions okay? He asked, glancing up for a moment as he waited for her answer.

"Are you calling the pizza place?"

"No. I'm using their app, Almost every business has an app nowadays. It's a lot faster than calling," he mumbled matter-of-factly. "Tomorrow I'm gonna get you a phone and show you what I mean," he paused, realizing she still hadn't given him an answer. "You like anchovies?"

She gave him a blank look. "I...I don't know."

"I'm not a fan of them either. So...what do you like on your pizza?"

She didn't know what to say. She'd only had pizza three or four times in her life at a sit-down restaurant. She remembered loving the taste of melted cheese. She didn't realize there were choices for toppings. She'd simply enjoyed a slice of a large pizza that was served for the entire table. She'd only been to fancy restaurants on special occasions.

In his haste to get the order placed, Christian realized he'd not taken into consideration that all of this was new to her. He was going to need to slow down and discuss this in greater detail. "Come," he said, patting the cushion beside him. "I'm going to show you pictures of different toppings."

Instead of sitting by him, Ana moved to closer to the window and pretended to be absorbed in the scenery. "That's okay. Why don't you just order what you like? I'm sure I will like it too."

"Okay. I'm going to order a Hawaiian pizza, one of my favorites," Christian murmured, before going back to his phone to place the order. After he was done, his attention shifted to Ana who was still looking out the window, lost in her thoughts. "A penny for your thoughts?"

She met his gaze. "Huh?"

"It's just an expression."

"How about dinner?" She pressed. She still wanted to go to the store and get the beans, rice, and plantains. She hoped he wouldn't insist on calling the store instead.

"We just took care of lunch. How about we worry about one meal at a time?" He joked, but she was still concerned. "Let's not worry about that. Your father wants to meet with us. I say the safest thing is to meet him down at a restaurant."

Ana tried to remember when was the last time she'd had two restaurant meals in one day. Probably never. "You talked to my father?"

"No, he sent me an email...electronic messaging."

"I know what an email is," she was quick to add, quite glad there was at least something she was somewhat familiar with. She'd created an email account once at an internet cafe. She'd used it to email her father, but then she forgot the password, and she got locked her out of her account. It had been extremely frustrating, and her responses timed out. She threw her hands in the air, giving up. It seemed too much of a hassle.

Anyhow, she was appalled her father hadn't called. Email seemed so impersonal. "What if he insists we get an annulment?"

"We tell him that's completely off the table," he paused, gauging her reaction.

Ana nodded. "Absolutely."

A/N:

I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing. What's new? My muse received a wake up call and is now on a roll :D that means I will be updating more frequently!

Also, did any of you notice that I recently tagged this story as a slow burn? If you love slow burns, stay tuned, you're in for a treat! Have a wonderful week!