Chapter 22

Ana PoV

I was so happy that Christian showed up. We hadn't talked about anything, but perhaps the physical connection in our love making was all we needed. I certainly felt that he loved me, and I hoped he felt it from me too. Also, I was so proud of Christian for not going thermonuclear on José. Perhaps it was because he was still injured or perhaps he felt that I handled it well on my own. One thing was for sure, if José tried anything again, his ball-sack would be introduced to my knees, just like Flynn's.

Once we were cleaned up and dressed again, Christian sat opposite me at my desk. "Are we going to talk?" he asked.

"Yes, by all means. Fire away," I replied. I was still slightly miffed at him; perhaps that was why the sex was so good. I heard make up sex was pretty stellar. Then again, any sex with Christian was out of this world.

"First, I need to apologize to you. I understand now how you felt. You thought that because I assumed Elena and Hyde being related to us would affect your feelings for me, that I thought little of your love. That isn't true. I see how it could be construed that way, but it's more an internal battle than anything," he began.

"Go on," I urged.

"Flynn has said this about me several times, and I know it to be true. I tend to think the worst of myself. I tend to assume that if I do one thing wrong that I'll ruin everything. Also, I have a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that anyone could love me. Particularly as much as you do. That's why I have the need to be in control of everything around me. If I control it, then I can't ruin it. Usually, anyway. But when it comes to you, there are no rules; there is no controlling the situation. I'm flying blind every time and it terrifies me."

"So what you're saying is, you don't think very highly of yourself, therefore, how could anyone else?" I stated. He gave me a grim nod. "And you've been working on this with Flynn?" He nodded again. "Will you continue to work on it with him?" He shook his head.

"I don't like Flynn any more. His first strike was laying out all your demons that day in therapy, which caused you to be away from me that night. And then he kept us away from each other for five days. That's two strikes in one. He's on my shit list, Ana," he explained. "And, while I know have no right to tell you what to do, I don't want you seeing him either."

"Well, he's on my shit-list, too," I replied. "After kneeing him in the balls, I don't know that I could look him in the eye again anyway." That earned a chuckle from my man.

"Yes, remind me never to make you upset like that. I like my balls intact, thank you very much."

"Well, their being intact is beneficial for me as well, so you've little to worry about in that regard."

"I love you Anastasia, I'm so sorry if I made you think differently. I shall spend the rest of my days trying to convince you that you're my entire universe. My sun rises and sets on you."

"You should put that in your vows," I said. I clapped my hand over my mouth, surprised at what just came out of it.

"My what?" he asked. "Anastasia, are you saying you want to marry me?" His eyes were so wide I thought they might pop out of his head.

"I umm… well, we sort of already talked about that. But, umm... someday. Yes, yes I would." I recalled our conversations about the matter. We both had mentioned wanting to be together forever, and that neither of us had considered marriage until we met, but we hadn't officially talked about it yet. Hell, we hadn't even known each other a month. "This is one thing I don't want to rush, though, Christian. I want to be with you, as your girlfriend for a while before you attempt to put shiny things on my finger."

"Shiny things?"

"Sparkly ones, too. No shiny and/or sparkly things on my finger for the time being. Understood?"

"Understood," he replied. Then he began chuckling. "Oh Ana, I never knew it was possible to be this happy." I reached across the table and grasped his good hand in mine. "Am I still allowed to move in with you?" he asked.

"Of course, baby," I replied. "I wouldn't have it any other way. Speaking of which, where were you last night?"

"At my parents' house," he answered. "My mother helped give me some perspective, then I spent the rest of my time thinking about you, worrying that I ruined everything, and making sure the movers didn't break anything. They should be en-route to your house as we speak."

"Excellent," she replied. "Where shall we put all your things? It's not like you're furnishing an empty house."

"Well most of what is coming to your place is clothes and a few other necessities. Most of my furniture is staying at Escala, as Taylor and Mrs. Jones will be living there. As far as the artwork, sculptures and other knick knacks, I thought we could go through them together and decide what to keep and what to give away."

"Perfect idea, babe," I said. "Speaking of home, let's go there now. I'm done here for the day." I clicked off of my computer and closed everything up. I told Anita to go home as well and not return until the following Monday. "I don't care if the sky is falling, Anita. Stay home, go out with friends, be with your family." She smiled and nodded at me before packing up her own belongings.

The three of us rode down the elevator together in companionable silence. "Have a lovely rest of your week, Miss Steele," Anita said.

"I think we're beyond the formalities, Anita. Call me Ana," I replied. She beamed at me again. As we stepped out of the elevator, I saw a figure standing in the doorway. The sun was behind the person, so I couldn't tell who it was. Panic set in as my mind went directly to Jack Hyde. I froze in my tracks, my breaths coming out in short pants.

"Ana?" Christian called out. He turned to me and saw the panic in my eyes. "You're okay. It's not Hyde, baby. Though it is José. Would you like me to deal with him?" My mood changed from panic to anger instantaneously. I stepped out of Christian's arms and around him to face José.

"Did you not get the hint, Rodriguez? You've been fired," I spat. He knew that whenever I used his surname that I was royally pissed.

"Ana, please. Don't do this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries with you. I misread the situation. Please, I don't want to lose you." I could tell he was being sincere, but he did more than overstep a boundary. Plus, I knew Christian would flip out if I forgave him so quickly.

"That's Miss Steele to you. You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew I was in a relationship, you said so in one of your countless voicemails. I've told you hundreds of times that I don't see you that way. And it had nothing to do with my previous intimacy issues. Also, you did way more than 'overstep a boundary.' You ran past it like an Olympic sprinter."

"Ana," he whined.

"So help me, if you 'Ana' me one more time," I hissed. I clenched my fists at my sides and planted my feet. As he looked at my glare, he realized that I meant business; I wasn't kidding when I fired him, nor when I told him to get out. I was done playing his games, and he needed to move on. If that meant I had to pull out the bitch-Domme CEO persona, then so be it.

"I'm sorry Ana," he whispered. Hanging his head, he turned and headed out the door. I waited while he hailed a cab, got in and drove away before I stepped out of the building.

"I'm very tempted to have you on the lobby floor," Christian panted. "That was without a doubt the sexiest thing I have ever seen."

"Perhaps another day, cowboy," I purred. "When you're not hindered by your injury, you can have me six ways to Tuesday all over this lobby. How does that sound?"

"It's good to date the CEO," he agreed.

We headed back to my house where most of his things had been moved in. Mrs. Jones even accompanied the movers and helped organize the closet in my room, adding his clothing to it. Luckily, I had a gigantic closet that wasn't even half full, so it more than accommodated his wardrobe.

"The movers are asking where your library is," he said. "I told them I had no clue and to ask you."

I chuckled. "Follow me." I led him down the corridor which appeared to end at a wall of books. "This is it? Um, all the shelves are full."

"Silly Christian, don't you know me at all?" I asked. I pulled on one of the books on the middle shelf that was actually a door latch disguised as a book. The two sides of the bookshelves opened inwards towards a cavernous room that was lined with bookshelves on each wall. "We'll have to install some more shelves, but for now, your boxes of books can be put here."

"You have a hidden library?!" Christian exclaimed.

"Of sorts," I replied. "I actually got the idea on Pinterest, believe it or not. Then Ethan made it happen."

The movers came in behind us and set the boxes neatly in the corner, thanking me for leading them to the room. "Shall we eat?" Christian suggested. I nodded and headed out of the library and down to the kitchen.

I cooked a simple meal of homemade chicken pot pie. Rather than baking it in a pie crust, I poured the mixture into individual ramekins and topped it with homemade biscuit batter. Kate and Ethan arrived just in time for dinner and the four of us dined together.

"How's the arm?" Ethan asked.

"Well, I haven't been able to move it much," Christian admitted. "But I'm hoping for a full recovery."

"Do you have a physical therapist?" Ethan followed up. "When I broke my arm a few years back, I had a great therapist, had me with full movement within weeks. Granted I know a gunshot wound is different, but perhaps she'd be willing to help you out."

She?! I thought. No way in hell would I let some other woman manhandle my man. Nope. Not a chance. Christian seemed to note my reaction and politely declined.

"My personal trainer, Claude, has volunteered to help with that. He's also got a degree in physical therapy." This was news. And good news at that. "In fact, he's due here in the morning, at five am, so I should probably be going to bed soon."

"Good idea," I chimed in, standing up from the table. "Kate, Ethan, you can clean up," I said. Christian and I went up to my bedroom and got lost in each other once or twice before falling asleep.

Christian PoV

My shoulder hurt a hell of a lot more than I was letting on. I didn't want to appear weak in front of Ana, but I knew I'd have to let her know how much I was hurting. She was fast asleep, nestled into my side. I was in bad need of a morphine shot, which I also hated to admit. The last thing I wanted was to become dependent on the stuff, but it truly was the only pain medication that worked with this blasted injury.

"Ana baby," I purred, shaking her gently to wake her. She groaned and stretched a bit before opening her eyes to me.

"Hi," she said groggily. "What time is it?"

"Just after midnight. I need your help," I told her.

"What's wrong?" Suddenly she was wide awake and alert.

"I'm in some pretty intense pain and I need another shot of morphine. They're in my bag on the dresser," I told her. "Can you help me with that?"

"Of course," she replied. She hopped off the bed, careful not to jostle me and went to rifle through my duffel bag. She procured the bottle and a syringe. "How much?" she asked.

"Thirty CCs," I answered. Like a pro, she stuck the syringe through the rubber top, tipped it upside down and pulled the proper dosage into the syringe. Then she tapped the side to ensure no air bubbles were in the syringe or the needle.

"Where do I stick you?" she asked. I pointed to a spot on my shoulder. She swabbed the area with an alcohol wipe, took a deep breath and stabbed me with the needle.

"You've done this before," I commented. She merely nodded her reply. I watched as she pressed the plunger and then felt the sweet oblivion of the medicine working its way through my shoulder, targeting my pain head on.

"When are you allowed to have another dose?" she asked.

"Not for another six hours, but I'll probably wait twelve or so," I answered. She furrowed her brow. "Ana, the last thing I want is to become dependent on this stuff. You know how I feel about drug addiction. So I'll take as little as possible as rarely as possible. I have a high pain tolerance, so don't worry about me."

She snorts. "Please tell me you see the irony of that statement."

"Which statement?" I asked, befuddled.

"'I have a high pain tolerance,' says the sadist," she answered, giggling.

"I see your point," I replied. "So, answer this… when did you learn to give a shot?"

"I can't say I ever really learned, per se. My mother shot up heroin multiple times a day. Sometimes she was so blitzed she'd have me do it. I watched and figured it out. And with my eidetic memory, I haven't forgotten how to do it." That wasn't the answer I expected. "Also, my Mammaw was diabetic, so I gave her shots sometimes as well," she added.

"Oh," I said quietly. "I can't say I expected that first part to be your answer." She shrugged again.

"Would you like a midnight snack?" she asked. "I've got a hankering for a warm chocolate chip cookie and a glass of milk."

"Sounds great, but won't that take a while?"

"Have a little faith in me," she said, winking. With her help, I got off the bed and followed her down to the kitchen. She sat me at one of the bar stools and instructed me to stay put.

I watched as she melted a pad of butter in two ramekins, added white sugar, brown sugar and an egg yolk to each, and then stirred them up. Then she added a bit of flour, a sprinkle of salt and a splash of vanilla extract. Next, she threw in a few chocolate chips in each and stirred the mixture, spreading it out across the bottom of the ramekins. She put the ramekins in the microwave and set the timer for two minutes.

While they cooked, she poured two tall glasses of organic whole milk, grabbed a couple forks and set the bar. About twenty seconds before the timer was done, she pulled the ramekins from the microwave and set them on the bar. "There, a chocolate chip cookie in a cup," she called it. I leaned down and took a whiff of it… it looked like a cookie, it smelled like a cookie, and if her track record with making flavors explode in my mouth was any indication, it was about to be the best cookie I ever had.

I took a bite and moaned in delight. "Fantastic," I said. Chasing it with a sip of the ice cold milk, I was in heaven. "Perfectly moist, just enough sweetness in the chocolate, and a great flavor. Yet another thing to add to the menu of your restaurant."

"Again with the restaurant," she said. "Do you really think I should open one?"

"Absolutely!" I replied. "Every meal of yours that I've tried has been simply phenomenal. You're creative with your recipes, you love to cook, why not do it for a living?"

"I'd only want something small though, not a huge restaurant, but more like a cozy diner. We could call it Mammaw's. A lot of my recipes are from her collection, anyway. I tweak them a bit here and there, but she was the original culinary genius."

"Fantastic idea, baby. You just let me know when and how I can help, me and all my resources are at your disposal." We finished our midnight snack and headed back up to bed. In just a few short hours, Bastille would be knocking down the door to start my physical therapy sessions.

The Morphine had fully set in and I was dog-tired. I fell asleep within seconds, Ana securely wrapped around me. I couldn't wait to wake up with her every day of the rest of our lives.