Chapter 7

Christian

Christian stays silent, as he enters the highway. An exposure. He doesn't have time to quarantine.

"The drive-through testing location doesn't open until Tuesday," Ros says, "Gwen's fever is at 102 now. She also lost her sense of smell."

Ros's partner, Gwen, is in her fifties. It could be anything-allergies, food poisoning, the flu. No other cars crowd the road, so Christian increases his speed. The Audi SUV glides on the road at 90 miles an hour.

"Slow down, Christian," Ana hisses, holding on to the armrest.

Christian scowls. But slows the SUV down, now going 80 miles an hour.

"Do you have a fever?" Ana asks.

Christian swerves the SUV, towards the first exit. She's asking the hard questions. Fuck. No time for this. He drives into an empty parking lot.

"Not yet," Ros says, "Mostly fatigue. But with Gwen's symptoms, I think it's the virus. It affects people differently."

Christian stares at the closed sign hanging from the restaurant where he parked. They should have worn masks. Or talked on the phone. Christian rolls down the window, averting his gaze. He makes a fist with his right hand.

"But Christian, you know Gwen. She went to the dog park at 6:00 AM this morning." Ros sighs. "I just didn't know."

Christian grunts. Where are the testing centers? Have the developed rapid tests? He needs a specialist.

"Does Gwen have any pre-existing conditions?" Ana squeaks.

Christian unclenches his fist and starts scrolling through his contact list on the Audi's entertainment system, looking for Dr. Matthews number.

"We're worried because she's older. I'm sorry Christian. I had to tell you. We were together a lot longer than fifteen minutes this morning."

"I'm so sorry Ros," Ana whispers.

Christian tenses, knowing he needs to redirect this conversation. He wants to regain control.

"Maybe it's just a flu," Ana offers hopefully, her voice abruptly cheerful. "She might feel better tomorrow."

Both Christian and Ros groan. Not likely. They know the odds.

"How about we– "

Christian grabs Ana's hand. He squeezes it, quieting her.

"Ros, it's a virus. No one's at fault. I get us tests," Christian says. "Rest. I'll call you later tonight." Christian hangs up. He forgets his growing fatigue and focuses on finding a solution.

"Christian, that's too tight." Ana whimpers.

"Sorry," Christian mutters. He withdraws his hand, which had been tightly holding hers, and places it on the steering wheel. What now?

º-º-º-º-º

They've been driving for five minutes in silence on the mostly empty interstate when Ana suddenly speaks up.

"I can't get Kate sick," Ana says. "She's my roommate."

Christian sighs. She's right. For now, they need to stay away from others.

"Well, maybe Kate could stay with her parents. Her family owns the condo. My stepdad is older. I can't stay with him–"

"You're right," Christian says, pulling off on the next exit. "We need to quarantine together." He presses the virtual assistant button on his steering wheel and starts talking to the Audi's navigation system. "New Destination."

"Where to, Sir?" A distinctively British voice asks.

"Casa Maria."

Ana rustles next to him, going through her backpack.

"You will arrive at your destination in twenty-five minutes."

Christian mutes the system and starts following the arrows on the screen. "Don't tell anyone about the exposure yet," Christian commands, "We don't know if we have it." He doesn't need rumors.

"Okay," Ana whispers, putting her phone away. "Maybe I can say we're doing another project."

Christian drives back to the marina, taking backroads. They drive in silence until they've entered his exclusive neighborhood. The houses here are worth multi-millions.

Ana gasps. "Are you moving from Pike Place?"

"We're heading to my other house. There's lots of space, over 20,000 square feet."

She lowers the passenger window, scanning the neighborhood. "Your penthouse looked pretty big."

"Casa Maria's a recent acquisition." Christian answers. He takes a left down a boulevard with freshly paved sidewalks and majestic trees. "The property used to be on the historic registry. I bought it this spring before a Nursing Home franchise could."

Asking his car assistant to dial Dr. Matthews number, he turns down a private drive. He needs to get those tests. Otherwise, he's stuck playing house with her. A nuisance. Or an opportunity.

She admires the historic homes, while he stops from a traffic light. She doesn't ask too many questions.

A voice inside him bellows, it's an opportunity. Don't fuck it up. He shakes his head. Stop this. His arms weigh heavy and he wants another nap. But that's not what concerns him. His mindset does. He's obviously going crazy if he thinks it's a good idea to live with Ana.

º-º-º-º-º

Christian types in the gate passcode to the Spanish Revival mansion and enters the property. The house was renovated recently. The exterior and four-car green garage are freshly painted.

"It's beautiful," Ana says, breaking the silence. "It's like a piece of history."

"Duke Ellington played here and Louis Armstrong." Christian says, as he parks in the recently repaved circular drive.

"What a great place for parties!" Ana gushes. Her face grows red. "I mean once COVID's over."

Christian smiles. He doesn't like hosting parties. The only positive consequence of COVID.

"Were the original owner's bootleggers?" Ana asks, exiting the SUV. Her hands graze the refurbished tiles that border the large entryway.

Christian chuckles as he watches her appreciate the artwork. "Good guess." Searching his pockets, he tries to find his house key. "The home was built by a liquor magnate during Prohibition."

Ana smiles, touching the latticework on the heavy wooden door. The biometric keylock still needs to be installed.

"This way," Christian says, walking through a few growing weeds in the yard. Scowling, he reminds himself to get Andrea to contact the yardman. Ana catches up with him. She doesn't notice the weeds, instead she's drawn to the rose bushes.

"Look you have roses!" She moons over a bush of recently bloomed white flowers. She picks one. "Ouch," she cries, obviously hitting a thorn, a small prick on her finger, bleeding. She sucks her finger, stopping the bleeding.

Her action gets him hard. He grabs her other hand, as they trudge through some tall weeds. "Watch out for Poison Ivy." He growls, as he unlocks the side door.

Ana ignores him and leans up against the exterior wall, placing the white flower in her hair.

His heart now racing. He wants to take her up against that wall. No. Pushing the code into the metal keypad, he slows his breathing. He needs to get those tests.

She lets her black bra strap fall to her side.

Christian uses square breathing to work through the pain that's now pulsing in every part of his body. He's grinding his teeth, trying to avoid any evidence of weakness.

The house alarm blares, a thundering sound.

Ana cover her ears, as Christian turns off the alarm and the flashing lights stop. They enter the house's mudroom together. They walk past several large laundry machines and the former servants' quarters until they reach a sitting area.

"We'll get supplies delivered." Christian says, his mind troubled. He sits on a cream couch. His desire waning again. Fatigue overwhelming him. Recent events keep spiraling out of his control. The mansion feels unfamiliar. Seeing the fresh paint on the walls, he forgets who chose the deep purple color. It's hideous.

Ana walks past him, giving herself a tour.

Relaxing into a cream couch, Christian closes his eyes for a second thinking of Ana admiring his house. She'd see the hand-painted ceilings, the sitting room, the sunroom. The house has character, yet with his renovations, it also has comfort. A work of art.

In a few minutes, he's completely passed out.

º-º-º-º-º

Anastasia

I find Christian in the magnificent kitchen, with quartz countertops and a large island, gripping a bottle of pills. Most of the white cabinet doors are open–he's been searching for something. Why does he need Zinc pills? Self-medication. Not a good idea.

"Let me have these," I say, tugging the pill bottle out of his hands. "We need to wait for the tests."

"Fine," Christian says, opening the stainless-steel fridge door.

I peer into the fridge. Nothing's there. We'll need some supplies if we stay here. There's an open laptop sitting on the island countertop. I try to read the open article, a scholarly medical journal. "What's Hydroxychloroquine?"

Christian comes up to my side, closing the laptop. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask, touching him on the forehead. His fever's back.

He jerks away at my touch and grabs the laptop from the counter. "I'm fine."

"Christian," I chastise, following him into a living area. "Wait for Dr. Matthews before taking anything."

He growls, but I'm not deterred.

"Give me that laptop." I screech, pulling the laptop roughly from his hands. I don't care if I break it.

Christian stares at me dumbfounded, like I'm an enigma.

I take the laptop and leave him in the living area.

He glares at me.

"Take a breather. How about you watch some TV?" I say, "I'm going to explore this beautiful house."

He doesn't respond. But sits on the plush chair, with his arms crossed. Good enough.

I walk towards the grand staircase without him. I didn't ask permission. But an inner voice tells me, it's okay. He won't mind. I stomp up the stairs, wondering why I'm so confident. Maybe I do have the virus.

º-º-º-º-º

I enter a small room with a hand-painted scene. The paint's fading so I have to go right up to the wall to make out the design. Placing the stolen laptop on the ground, I feel the gold leaf. Oh wait. It's Snow White. The seven dwarfs are faded but visible.

"This must have been a nursery," I murmur to out loud. A few rolls of wallpaper lie near my feet. A gray striped design. Christian must be planning to decorate. Does Christian plan on having kids?

Chuckling, I imagine him in this room talking to a little girl. He'd squat down, his facial expression serious and harsh, while commanding a little girl to go brush her teeth. Taking a last glance at the artwork, I leave the room, frowning. I'm not sure he'd make a good dad. It's unclear.

My heart beats faster. I don't know about Christian's plans, but I think I want kids one day. I should start by getting a boyfriend. It's never been a priority. But maybe it should be.

I walk out the nursery, staring at the various doors. Enough exploring. I need to face reality and ask Christian some basic questions. When can we get the COVID tests? Ros mentioned Tuesday…that's two days away.

I check my phone. I texted Kate earlier, despite Christian warning me to keep our possible exposure a secret. Kate's trustworthy, most of the time. I read her reply: My dad said you can use his other Pike Place condo to quarantine. His former tenants just left for Texas, so it's vacant. You can do your two weeks there.

Hmmm…Do I want to leave Christian alone? No. Not yet. But maybe I should.

I walk downstairs and head towards a bay window to the left of the staircase. Sitting stoically on the off-white cushions, I take the small white rose out of my hair and start plucking the petals. Foolishly, I pluck one, thinking Christian loves me, then another, saying he loves me not. The last petal lands on loves me not. I stiffen. The childish fortune telling method is probably right.

The dirty hands clenched around my waist, the sound of Christian's voice, my bloody knees scrapped on the concrete–it all comes back. I sit up and hug my knees into my chest. "Christian's inspiring," I murmur, talking to myself.

My breathing quickens. He does care about me. I know it. I put my hand over heart, feeling the pounding. "There's something I'm missing here."

My stomach turns. Maybe it's obvious. He's avoids me. He often looks pained around me. He never asks me any questions. He's had plenty of opportunities. This isn't going to work.

I bite back tears and focus on the window, admiring the gardens. It'll be easy to forget about him. Sighing, I know I'm lying. My thoughts unexpectedly clear, I think back to when I lived in Kansas, "Christian's like a tornado."

One experience with him is like a pressure change in the air. There's no way to know what he's about by taking one sample, having one experience. I put my hands in my hair, exasperated, and I think of my mom and her string of complicated boyfriends. Moaning, I confess, my voice confident and low, "This is a fucking bad idea."

º-º-º-º-º

Christian

Christian picks up the Italian delivery from the doorstep. His last round of pain killers is starting to work. He bites back a smile, as he brings the food to the kitchen. At least he won't be dining alone. It could be worse.

"Ana, the food's here," he calls. No answer. Walking toward the staircase, he calls out again, "Food's here." Where did she go?

"Hi," Ana says, softly, tapping him on the shoulder. "I was admiring your gardens."

Christian swallows the desire to hug her, to thank her for being here. Restraining himself, he walks towards the kitchen and grabs the plastic bag from the countertop. He brings it the meal to his dining room. Stop it. But he can't suppress the thought. This inconvenience is also an opportunity.

When Ana comes in, she stares at the dining room chandelier. "It's beautiful!" She exclaims, pointing to the shining crystal.

Christian smirks, thinking of how he purchased the Venetian glass. He imagines taking Ana to Italy then shakes the image of her on a Gondola away. Travel isn't happening until 2022, and he's not bringing her. Another submissive. That's what he needs.

"Do you think you've been infected?" Ana asks, timidly, unpacking the plastic bag.

Christian's jaw slackens. Her question, bringing him back to reality. They need to get tested. Otherwise, they're stuck together. An opportunity. No. An inconvenience.

"I'm a little tired. Maybe I have," she says, picking the Bolognese and taking a seat in one of the reupholstered antique chairs. The to-go containers look out of place on the recently refinished antique mahogany table which seats ten.

"I don't have it," Christian says. He grinds his teeth. Mind over matter. He doesn't have time for COVID. The breach. The merger. No time.

Ana raises her eyebrows. A small gesture. But doesn't comment.

He picks the Pesto pasta and sits down, forcing himself to take a bite. His sense of smell is off. The green pasta doesn't taste good without the familiar flavor. He pushes the plastic container away. "This is garbage."

"Mine is delicious," Ana says, between bites. "Thank you for ordering so much. I was starving."

"You should eat more," Christian commands, leaning toward her. His echo fills the grand room. He goes over to the buffet server and takes out a bottle of red wine from the bottom drawer. The room suddenly spins, so he puts the bottle down on the dining table and holds on to a chair to steady himself.

"Are you sure you're not sick?" Ana asks. "You might have lost your sense of taste. And I swear you have a fever. I don't think allergies–"

"I'm fine." Gathering all of his energy, Christian stands up. "Excuse me, I need to make a call."

She stands up and starts putting the containers back in the bag.

Christian's head grows heavier as he starts walking out the dining room.

Catching up to him, Ana pulls her long hair to one side. "Wait, Christian."

He cringes then flashes her a confident smile. "I'm fine, Ana."

"Maybe you should rest!" Ana pleads.

Christian doesn't answer as he slogs towards the staircase. His body crouches forward when he reaches the railing. His head spins.

"Fuck," Christian says, agitated. He grips the railing. It's time for another pain pill.

Ana comes up to his side.

He didn't notice her walk up, so he jerks when she touches his shoulder.

"Christian," Ana says, slowly. "Let's get you to bed."

Facing away from her, toward the staircase, Christian groans.

"Here, let me help you." She directs, taking one of his arms and resting it over her shoulder.

Begrudgingly, he accepts her support because he's so dizzy. He leans up against her as she takes him into the nearest downstairs guest bedroom.

"Let's take off your shirt," Ana whispers, directing him towards the queen-sized bed onto the burgundy colored comforter.

"No," Christian replies, sullenly.

Ana starts unbuttoning his white oxford. She's pulling the covers back, when she says, "You need to cool down. Take off your pants."

"No, this is fine."

"Please Christian," Ana says. "You need to cool down."

"Fine." He unbuttons his navy slacks and shakes his pants down showing a pair of fitted boxer briefs.

"I'll get you up soon," Ana says, pulling a light sheet over Christian's almost naked body.

It's the last thing he hears before he falls asleep.

º-º-º-º-º

Anastasia

Christian's changed positions on the bed. He looks childish, in the fetal position, vulnerable. We've been in the mansion together, since Saturday evening. It's Tuesday now. We're still waiting on getting the tests, which hopefully will come this afternoon. I haven't had any COVID symptoms, besides oversleeping, but Christian keeps getting worse. He's had a consistent fever, he's been wheezing, and he won't eat.

I point the temperature gun towards Christian's forehead. It was part of the delivery package that was dropped off on Sunday. The gun flashes red. Nothing's changed. He's still at 101 Degrees. He squirms as I place a cool compress on his head.

"Christian, you need to drink more water." I say, while lightly stroking his naked back. I put his water glass up to his face, trying to get him to take a sip.

He turns his head away from me, refusing it.

"I'll try again soon," I mutter, leaving him to check on his three phones.

I found his phones on Sunday in the purple room and decided to commandeer them. At least until he gets better. I threatened to drop them in the pool if he didn't unlock them. I figured he shouldn't be handling his own calls, and he said he didn't want anyone to know about the exposure. People would notice if he stopped responding. I must have been convincing because he gave me the passwords.

I've sent reply messages on Christian's behalf, cross-referencing his past texts, making sure my texts replicate his. He's so out of it, he doesn't know any of this has been done.

I've deceived everyone, including my boss. I told Andrea I won't be teleworking this week because Christian put me in charge of a special research project. She hasn't questioned me about it yet. Only Taylor and Dr. Matthews know the truth–Christian's in bad shape.

The passwords are all the same date–061892. I asked him if it was his birthday when I tried to get him to eat something earlier and he nodded. He's twenty-eight, going on twenty-nine. Younger than I thought. June 18th is coming up.

I'm tempted to go through his photos but restrain myself and just check his messages. Nothing new. My face scrunches up. I shouldn't keep lying to his family. They should know. But he said no one needs to know, and I have to consider his wishes. Would I be able to move him if I needed to take him to the Emergency Room?

º-º-º-º-º

The past week has passed quickly. We've entered into a routine and received our test results. Christian's COVID positive. I tested negative. But the health department says I still have to quarantine. They'll need me to take another test, after fourteen days have passed. When I talked to the contract tracer, he said they would be contacting Mac, Christian's boat captain. He's the only one we were around in the timeframe we could have been infectious. Thank God!

I'm in the sunroom, which is shaped like a conservatory, finishing up one of the books on sailing I found in his library. The sun drips perfectly into the room, there's a pleasant breeze. It's almost vacation like. My stomach knots up. I shouldn't consider this a vacation.

"Christian needs to eat," I say out loud, closing the book. He's refused everything so far. He'll drink water. It's gotten to the point that I probably should tell his family. I shudder, imagining his reaction.

A ringing sound breaks my thoughts. I check my phone. It's Andrea. Shit!

"How's the work assignment going?" Andrea asks, curtly.

"The research is almost complete," I lie, swallowing my fear.

"Good, let me know when it's finished." Andrea hangs up and my heart beats rapidly. I've been fibbing a lot lately. I get why Christian wants to keep it a secret, but it's still awkward. It puts pressure on me.

º-º-º-º-º

I head to the kitchen and plate up sandwiches for both of us. Christian's probably not going to eat much, but it's past time that he takes a bite.

I head to the guestroom and find his burgundy comforter on the ground.

Christian's huddled up, slightly shivering. His facial hair has grown into a noticeable stubble. He needs to change those boxers.

I feel myself squirm. I don't know how to approach that.

I put the plate on the bedside table and tap his back, sitting next to him on the bed. "Christian, you need to eat."

Christian grunts, in response. What's worse, betraying his trust or risking his health by lying for him? He needs to eat.

I grab half of the ham sandwich off the plate and put it to his mouth.

"No," Christian says, pushing my hand away.

Err…that man. I put the sandwich back on the plate. I'm running out of options.

He scoots his body further away from me.

I need a new plan. "I'll call Dr. Matthews's office and tell them you're not eating."

Christian groans. "Go away."

"He'll want you to go to the hospital." I don't know if that's true but I'm definitely ready to do something drastic. This isn't my fault. I get off the bed. Fine. He's made his choice.

"Ana, Stop!" Christian says, as I'm walking away. His voice is weak.

I turn to face him.

His eyes beg me to stay.

"Are you going to eat? Or, am I going to have to get you around the clock care?"

Christian's eyes, while strained, manage to look angry.

I'm not bluffing. I'm not.

"Fine," Christian spits out, wheezing.

I hand him the sandwich and watch as he takes a small bite. I stroke his back, trying to encourage him, as he manages to finish a quarter of the sandwich. He's finally getting some nutrients. It's hard for a man like him. To be seen in this position, so weak.

He hands me the unfinished sandwich, then closes his eyes again.

At least, we made progress.

º-º-º-º-º

Christian

Christian wakes up in the guest room, a little disoriented. He's only wearing a pair of blue boxers. He feels his face, he must be growing a beard. What day is it? He's lost track of time. Wincing, he remembers a large figure, wearing a Hazmat suit, sticking a large probe up his nose. The unpleasant sensation comes back to him, the desire to sneeze– it's his last clear memory.

He reaches for his phones. Where are they? Sitting up, a paper towel wrapped icepack falls off his head. He picks it up, staring at the chilly white square. Why's this here? Anastasia.

"Fucking Covid," he curses, forcing himself to get out of bed. The stench is horrible. Walking towards the shower, his body aches.

He turns on the water and scrubs himself clean. He has to hold onto the tile walls to keep himself steady. Fucking weak. His body's failing him. A new experience. He gets out and shower and starts toweling off. The worst is over.

"Christian," a feminine voice says. It's Ana. She raises the volume of her voice, shouting "Christian! Christian, where are you?" She swings open the bathroom door.

Christian doesn't have anything on but a towel around his waist. "Need something?" He asks. His eyes narrow condescendingly, while his back leans on the vanity.

Ana averts her gaze, her cheeks darkening. She covers her eyes and starts walking out of the bathroom. "Dr. Matthews is here. Glad to see you're out of bed."

"Ana," Christian says, trying to shout but his voice is hoarse. He follows her out of the bathroom already feeling a little winded. "Do you have my phones?"

She pulls one of his phones out of her jean pocket, handing it to him. "I'll send the doctor in. I'll give you a few minutes to get changed."

Christian nods. He needs to sit down. Moving towards an oversized chair, his body relaxes into the seat, still aching and fatigued. Unlocking his phone, he sees the date–June 10, 2020.

"Fuck," Christian mutters underneath his breath. It's almost been two weeks since they left the marina. How is that possible?

Christian scrolls through his messages. Ana's responses. He feels a wave of unease, until he starts looking at them closely.

Her punctuation, the way she uses periods to close a conversation, she almost sounds like him. She knows how to be brief, the little liar. Going through a string of messages, she even fooled his mother. His heart beats faster.

How did she pull that off? She kept his privacy.

There's a knock on the door.

"Come in," Christian says, weakly. He sits up straighter, his towel loosening some. He tucks it in tighter, while the door opens.

Two people in personal protective gear walk in. They wear blue mesh foot coverings.

"Christian, it's Dr. Matthews. We want to administer a few tests."

Christian sighs inwardly. Couldn't this have waited. His eyes track the blue blob's movement.

Ana walks in the door, carrying a glass of water. She sets the water on the small circular table next to Christian and stands by his side.

He's about to shoo her, when he realizes he wants her here. With him. He'll deal with his emotions later. Not now. He's not in the right mind.

Dr. Matthews assistant holds a phone near her chest.

Odd. But Christian doesn't question it. They're the doctors. Christian instinctively tilts his head.

Dr. Matthews comes closer, getting the nasal probe ready.

"Fuckers," Christian curses, under his breath, as he waits for the probe. This method is barbaric– the scientists should develop a drool test.

º-º-º-º-º

Christian rests in the sunroom, lying on the cushioned wicker couch. His head is propped up by a pillow and he's reading emails. He just got the report that his liver, kidneys, and heart look good. He exhales audibly, grateful this COVID mess hasn't resulted in long term damage.

Ana looks up from her book. "Everything okay?"

"No organ damage," Christian says, smiling.

"That's lucky! You were out of it for a while. I was…I mean it was concerning," Ana replies, returning his smile. "When do you think we'll be out of quarantine?"

"They said I need two consecutive negative tests. You should be good once fourteen days pass." Christian looks at his phone's calendar. "When did we get tested?"

"The first time was Tuesday, June 2nd," Ana says.

Christian does the math. It's Friday the 12th, they have until the 16th. They need to discuss when Ana will leave. He needs to tell her. Thank you. Not yet.

Christian's phone buzzes. The screen reads Elena Lincoln. The third call from her this morning. Elena won't give up. She doesn't know about his COVID case. But still, she knows now he's in criminal proceedings with her ex-husband. She should leave him alone. But she won't.

Christian listens to Elena's voicemail. Hearing her voice, he scowls. "Christian, please, I have a girl for you. She's perfect for a submissive. Check her photos."

Elena sent the girl's pictures through next message.

Christian absentmindedly looks through the photos. The girl's beautiful. She's posing on her knees in multiple shots. Nude. Why did women like this appeal to him? Snorting, Christian thinks of how an obedient girl would have handled him when he laid out with the coronavirus. They'd probably break down and be unable to cope with the change.

"Who's that?" Ana questions, pointing to his phone.

Christian gulps, nervously. He'd didn't see Ana stand up. He presses his lips together tightly and answers. "No one important." His reply comes out harsher than he intended.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Ana's eyes widen and she shakes some, like she's scared to hear the answer. "Those are nude pictures. And I've…I've been…"

"No, I don't have a girlfriend." Christian stands up and moves next to one of the large glass walls. He runs his hand through his hair and looks at the abundant greenery. He's trying to figure out how to explain this. His body aches. He should be back in bed. His mind is slow from the medications Dr. Matthew gave him.

Ana's eyes get larger. "Then who's that girl?"

"I don't do girlfriends," Christian admits, making brief eye contact. "Those pictures don't mean anything."

Ana's mouth trembles. Her eyes water.

Before he can say anything else, she's left the room.

He sits back down on the couch, suddenly exhausted, and passes out. He'll come up with a better answer. Later. Ana can wait.

º-º-º-º-º

Anastasia

I slam his immaculate dishwasher closed. I can't believe it. He looked at nude pics of some other girl while I was in the same room. After I cared for him, dealt with all of his shit for the past two weeks. Forget it. Not worth it.

My phone vibrates.

I reach out to grab it off the countertop. Maybe it will be the contract tracer. I need to get out of here. "Hello."

"Ana! You finally answered!" Kate says, "When are you coming back?"

"I'm almost through the quarantine period."

"Thank God! Has anything happened between you and Christian?"

I snort.

"Well, I guess COVID's a turnoff. But still it would be tempting."

"Nope. We've been working," I say, quickly. It's too late to tell her the truth, about what happened before the exposure. It doesn't matter now."

"My dad's other condo is still available if you need a break."

"Oh," I say, twirling my hair. I could leave. Now. "That might be good...I mean if he's cool with it."

"Of course he is, sweetheart. Let me text you the address," Kate says. "I can't wait till you're done with quarantine and we can hangout. Talk to you soon!"

"Thanks Kate," I say, hanging up. My stomach unknots a little. I'm taking control. Good.

I head back to the room I've been using and throw most of the clothes Christian had delivered in the spare dresser. He can save them for that other girl. Maybe the naked one. What about him? He's recovering. Forget it. He's okay now. They are monitoring him closely. Not my problem. I'm not his girlfriend. He made that clear.

But…how do I end things in this um…friendship. His birthday is coming up.

I'll leave him a note and wish him well. I won't see him again. I'll go back to telecommute. And maybe start looking for another job.

I find a notepad and an envelope in one of the kitchen drawers. I quickly scribble a note: Happy birthday Christian. Thank you for the memories. - Ana

That should do it. End things.

º-º-º-º-º

I'm waiting for the ride share I just ordered. There aren't many drivers out. It's taking forever. I could download another e-book. I'm clicking through them when I hear the front door open.

Christian walks out of the house. He stares at my backpack, his jaw slackening. "You're leaving?"

"Yes," I answer.

Christian comes up to me, sitting next to me. He doesn't look sick anymore. His facial coloring is back. His face is shaved.

"Thank you for uh…hosting me," I say. I'm not sure how to phrase what's been happening. I turn away from him, facing the four-car garage.

"Ana," Christian says quietly.

"Thanks for helping after the protest and for the yacht tour."

Christian sighs. "I didn't mean for you to see those pictures."

I glare at him. No more of this. I'm done.

He scoots closer to me on the steps.

"Ana, please..." Christian says. He leans in to kiss me

I turn my head, and let his lips graze my cheeks.

A car honks at the gate.

"I hope you feel better Christian."

I stand up and wave to the driver. I've made the right choice. Enough.

º-º-º-º-º

August 17, 2020

Christian

Christian breathes a sigh of relief. His last echocardiogram results came in–no signs of heart damage from COVID. Good. It's over now. No lasting damage.

He leans back into his ergonomic chair in his office at his Seattle penthouse. He hasn't been following the doctor's order to rest. He no longer feels winded, and he's back to exercising. Two months have passed since he tested negative for the coronavirus, ended quarantine, and last saw Ana.

Christian pulls out the letter from Ana. She ended things between them. She thanked him for the memories and said goodbye. Christian frowns. She took control. She was the one to end things. No one's ever left him before. Ana didn't give him a chance to explain.

"Elena, fucking my life up again," he mutters, putting the card away.

Christian checks his calendar. Bad news. Flynn set up an appointment this evening. His therapist wants him to commit to cognitive behavior therapy. Flynn suggested anti-depressant medication at their last video appointment if he doesn't take this seriously. A last resort.

Christian finds the email Flynn sent him. He scrolls through the pages of self-help exercises. His homework. He pauses to read the page of cognitive distortions. Personalization and All or Nothing Thinking. He doesn't do that.

His breathing now heavy. This book reminds him of Grace. His mom keeps telling him he needs to stop blaming himself and give people a chance. Why bother? People disappoint you. Ana's a prime example. She didn't give him a chance to explain.

Christian puts the book down. He finds the old texts Ana sent on his behalf. No one ever noticed that they weren't from him. She was perfect. Why won't she call him now? He could call her. He could make up an excuse for why he needs to see her. No, Leave it alone.

He pushes Ana out of his mind and returns his focus to an article he was reading in The Seattle Times. Taylor sent the article to him this morning. Last night, GEH headquarters got vandalized.

Christian forces himself to focus. He checked the security camera footage earlier. Nothing terrible. What do the reporters think? He starts reading and surveying the pictures. A nearby shop got looted. GEH's damage wasn't bad. A few broken windows in the back. The insulated glass on the first floor helped. A mural of George Floyd on the plywood. But that's art.

Christian clicks another link and roars with laughter. Someone painted a message for him on the street in front of his building–capitalism is dead.

His laughter turns into cynicism. It's time to get out of Seattle. They don't want me here.

º-º-º-º-º

Christian's focused on work, taking notes on Russell's official investigation. It should be done soon.

"I'll hire a hacker to help with information security," Christian says out loud, scratching his chin. "I'm never going through another security breach."

His phone rings and he ignores the call. He should have silenced his phone earlier. But before he can silence it, the phone rings again. The number's blocked. Who's calling? A scammer. Or someone conducting Russell's investigation. Christian picks up the phone and answers. "Hello."

"Christian," Grace says.

"Mom," Christian says, "Are you calling from the hospital?"

"Did you see the news article?"

"The damage to the GEH headquarters building isn't bad. Don't worry about it." Christian says, yawning.

"No!" Grace snaps. "The article about you and your COVID case. I wouldn't have believed it but there's a picture of you being tested with a girl."

"What are you talking about?" Christian says, sitting up straighter.

"I'm asking you. You never told me you had a girlfriend or COVID. You said you had the cold a few months ago," She says, "I'm sending you the link to the tabloid article."

The link pops up on Christian's screen, He opens it and his jaw drops. He's sitting in his guest room chair tilting his head waiting for a nasal probe. Ana stands next to him, without a face mask, looking deeply concerned. She's stroking his back. The headliner of the article–Billionaire's Secret COVID Lover.

"Who is that woman Christian?"

Christian's speechless. How did they get this picture?

His moms waits patiently, leaving the line silent for a few long seconds.

"That's Ana," He says, quietly.

"Who's Ana?" Grace prompts.

"An employee."

"Don't lie to me Christian."

"We got exposed together. We went out on the boat together that same day. It was nothing."

"Did she stay with you?"

"Two maybe three weeks. We had to quarantine together."

"How sick were you?" Graces asks, in a hushed tone.

"I spent a lot of time in bed."

"Who fed you?"

Christian stays silent.

"Who managed your calls?"

Christian stiffens.

"Christian are you even paying attention? How could you forget to tell me you had COVID? Your own mother!"

"Everything's fine now," Christian says, "I didn't want to worry. I had to keep it a secret. We had the investigation going on. Things were hectic. I'm fine now."

Christian eyes the tabloid photo again. Ana. She's stroking his back. How did this get leaked? He can't focus on practical questions. He focuses on Ana's face.

"Christian have you–"

"I'll call you back Mom. Don't worry about this," Christian says, abruptly ending the call. Why did Ana look at him that way and stay so long? He digs his fingers into his hair. He needs to speak with Ana. Make things right.

Christian finds Ana's contact information. He takes a deep breath as he dials her number.

She doesn't answer. The call goes to voice mail. "Hey, you've reached Ana, I'm not available now. I'll call you back. Thanks."

Hearing her voice, it awakens something within him. A need. It's time to explain to her about Elena. And thank her. He was stupid. He shouldn't have looked at those pictures.A date. He'll invite her on a date. Make things right.

Most places are still closed, but they should do something outside. What if she says no? No. He'll find a way. What's provoking enough to catch her interest?

He makes up his mind and dials her number again–he'll ask her to go bouldering.