Sunday, June 12 2011
.
We make love slowly, softly and gently in the hotel king-sized bed.
When we're done, we lie silently in the afterglow, my head on her stomach, her hands in my hair.
"I will never get enough of you," I murmur into her fragrant, silky skin, "Don't leave me." I plant a kiss on her belly, just below her ribs.
"I'm not going anywhere, Christian," she promises me, and the words are like a salve to a wound I didn't know I had, "And I seem to remember that I wanted to kiss your belly." Her voice is soft, faded, sleepy, and I grin.
"Nothing stopping you now, baby."
"I don't think I can move," she barely murmurs, "I'm so tired."
Everything in me is aching for another round, for her mouth on my cock, but I know I'm being greedy, and she needs rest. So I shift, re-positioning myself beside her. I drag the covers over the both of us and gaze down at her, enamored by her.
She looks gorgeous, hair a mess, eyes bright, a gorgeous pink flush across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose.
"Sleep now, baby," I urge her, kissing her hair, then wrapping myself around her. No sooner have I laid my head on the pillow than her breath evens out, slower, deeper, and as I listen to its lullaby, I am overcome by blissful exhaustion too, and I fall into sleep alongside her.
.
I wake a little over six hours later, just after ten in the morning.
I lay there, for a long moment, beside Ana as she sleeps, lips slightly parted, lashes like butterfly wings draped across her cheekbones. Again, I am reminded that I am the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the world. She is mine, and I am hers, and if luck is on my side, she won't be leaving me anytime soon.
She keeps saying she won't, but something inside me, some reflexive part of me, has a hard time believing it.
I get up and dress, then head into the main room. I reorganize Dr. Greene to come here-which will cost extra, but who gives a fuck?-order breakfast, as well as sift through various work e-mails, with no real commitment. It's a Sunday-aren't Sundays for taking the day off from work? The day of rest and all that?
I do a little research on the Saab dealership, and think about calling, but decide that maybe Anastasia would like to be involved.
The inspiration hit me in the bathroom, while I was brushing my teeth, as I reminisced on our conversation in the car.
No, Ana has never been my submissive. Why replace the typical submissive car, when I can get her something that is all her own? I'll have to call and cancel the order I've already placed, but that's easy enough.
I call both Taylor and Welch for an update-not much in the way of things, unfortunately-and empty the brandy glasses, setting them on the mini bar. I open the curtains, and as I'm doing so, there's a knock on the door.
The person on the other side calls through, "Room service!"
I retrieve our breakfasts, tipping the man, and set them on the table, taking a quick indulgent sip of coffee before I head back into the bedroom.
I'm ravenous, but I need to wake Ana first. Dr. Greene will be here soon.
Ana is on her front in bed, most of her naked back exposed. The sunlight streaming through the window plays with the facets in her skin, and with her hair, casting strange and beautiful shadows across her shoulders and back. Her face is turned toward me, and she breaths deeply and evenly.
I stretch out on the bed beside her, over the covers, and I watch her sleep.
Christ, she's like an angel. My heart swells at the sight of her, and I'm reminded of all the things she's done, tried, and sacrificed for me. No one deserves to have gone through what Anastasia has gone through over the course of our short relationship, and yet she's still here with me, still promising not to go anywhere.
I can't help but reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She stirs, and I retract my hand immediately, but I've done it now. Her eyes blink open groggily.
"Hi," I greet her, grinning down at her.
"Hi," she responds, cheeks going a little pink, "How long have you been watching me?"
"I could watch you sleep for hours, Anastasia"-and I have before-"But I've only been here about five minutes." I lean over, kissing her softly on the mouth, which is warm and slow to respond. "Dr. Greene will be here shortly."
"Oh." She suddenly seems more alert.
"Did you sleep well? Certainly seemed like it to me, with all that snoring," I tease her.
"I do not snore!" she whines.
"No. You don't," I assure her, grinning.
Her eyes flicker to my neck. "Did you shower?" she asks. Oh, she's looking at the lipstick line... Which I rather like, actually... But I'm ready for a shower, to be honest.
"No. Waiting for you."
"Oh... Okay. What time is it?"
"Ten fifteen. I didn't have the heart to wake you earlier."
"You told me you didn't have a heart at all." Her tone is joking, but it sobers my mood.
I smile sadly.
No, baby, I don't.
"Breakfast is here," I inform her, "Pancakes and bacon for you. Come, get up, I'm getting lonely out here." I smack her on the ass through the covers and she jumps.
I stand and watch her stretch, the sheet inching down to reveal a teasing glimpse of her breasts, and just the edge of her left nipple... Hmm.
I force myself to turn away and head back into the main room.
Ana takes longer in the bathroom than I've expected, and so by the time she's emerged in one of the fluffy hotel bathrobes, I've eaten my breakfast and am drinking my coffee, reading the Times.
Seems the gala got a good review, as always.
She sits at the table across from me, and I smile at her.
"Eat up," I urge her, "You're going to need your strength today."
"And why is that? You going to lock me in the bedroom?"
"Appealing as that idea is, I thought we'd go out today. Get some fresh air," I suggest. Fresh, briny, ocean air that is...
"Is it safe?" she jokes, and my mood falls quickly.
This is not a fucking joking matter. Does she not realize that she could potentially be in very real danger?
"Where we're going, it is," I force myself to say calmly, or as calmly as I can, "And it's not a joking matter."
I think my reprimand has made its way across, because she blushes scarlet and looks down at her food. After a contemplative moment, she begins to eat.
I go back to my reading, scanning the stocks and then the comics, for good measure, trying to put Ana's ill-placed joke behind me, but struggling.
As Anastasia is reaching the midway point of her meal, there is a knock at the door.
"That'll be the good doctor." I stand and go to answer it.
.
As I shut the door behind Dr. Greene, I note the expression on Anastasia's face. She looks a little pale, and more than a little fazed.
"Everything okay?" I ask her, wondering how she is with needles.
She nods, not saying anything, and now the curiosity-and the concern-pique. I tilt my head to the side and appraise her more closely.
"Anastasia, what is it?" I demand, "What did Dr. Greene say?"
She shakes her head, brushing me off. "You're good to go in seven days."
"Seven days?" I'm distracted momentarily by the prospect of that. For some reason, I thought it would have been longer.
"Yes."
"Ana, what's wrong?" The anxiety returns. Has she finally gone into shock over it all? Is this where she'll run screaming for the hills? All sorts of possibilities fill my mind, surely the worst. I just wish she'd tell me, so I didn't have to be so concerned.
"It's nothing to worry about," she assures me, "Please, Christian, just leave it."
I step closer to her, tipping her head back by the chin, gently, so that I can gaze into her eyes. Yes, she definitely looks panicked, and the sight of it eggs my own on.
"Tell me." I mean to be gentle, but it comes out harsher than I've intended.
"There's nothing to tell," she insists, "I'd like to get dressed." She pulls her chin out of my grasp.
I sigh, raking my fingers through my hair. It's obvious she's not going to tell me. Damn, I'd like to beat it out of her... Shit, but I can't. I shake the thought from my mind. It's an impossibility. And I know she wouldn't want it. Deep down, I know I don't want it either.
"Let's shower," I finally suggest.
"Of course," she agrees, but she's obviously still distracted. For god's sake, I wish she'd just tell me what's wrong!
"Come." I take her hand and head toward the bathroom.
I turn on the shower, and quickly disrobe, trying to push back the ambush of horrible thoughts. I turn to her now.
"I don't know what's upset you, or if you're just bad-tempered through lack of sleep, but I want you to tell me. My imagination is running away with my, and I don't like it." I undo the sash of her robe.
She rolls her eyes-which earns a glare from me-and relents.
"Dr. Greene scolded me about missing the pill. She said I could be pregnant."
"What?" I hear myself say, all of the blood draining from my face, and fingertips too. I'm aware that I've stopped moving, but all I can really focus on is the panic, much more potent than before, rearing in my mind. The answer was so far from what I expected to hear, and so much worse.
No. No. No no no.
"But I'm not," she blurts, "She did a test. It was a shock, that's all." Yeah, a shock. "I can't believe I was that stupid."
I feel my shoulders relax, from where they've been tensed, nearly touching my ears.
"You're sure you're not?"
"Yes."
I release the breath I've been holding. "Good. Yes, I can see that news like that would be very upsetting."
Her lips turn down into a frown. "I was more worried about your reaction," she admits.
I gaze at her, confused. "My reaction? Well, naturally I'm relieved... It would be the height of carelessness and bad manners to knock you up." The relief has me giddy, cracking jokes.
"Then maybe we should abstain," she snaps.
I stop, my bubble of joy and relief popping. What the fuck? What's her issue? She was the one who seemed so upset about it.
"You are in a bad temper this morning," I observe.
"It was just shock, that's all."
I grip the edges of her robe in my hands, dragging her to me, into an embrace, and I kiss her hair, easing her head against my chest. Hmm... She's warm, her cheek smooth...
"Ana, I'm not used to this. My natural inclination is to beat it out of you, but I seriously doubt you want that."
"No, I don't," she confirms, "This helps." She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes me tighter.
I let my eyes shut, let myself just be in this moment for once, standing here in front of the shower, embracing the woman I... The woman that I would do anything for.
Finally, I realize that we're going to run out of hot water.
"Come, let's shower." I let her go, and step back to remove the garment.
We step into the chamber together, and I reach for the shampoo, squeezing some into my palm and beginning to lather it into my hair.
Oh, it's been days since I've had a shower, and this feels good...
I hand the bottle to Anastasia, and she takes some, doing the same.
I rinse the soap from my hair, reaching for the bottle of body wash, planning on washing myself first, but a thought hits.
I could let Ana wash me...
The internal suggestion is immediately met with a resounding NO! but I mostly ignore that, and try to think about it logically.
I let her draw on me with lipstick. It only seems fitting that she wash it off, and I did fine with the boundary lines... As long as she sticks to those...
I turn to her as she is rinsing her own hair, lathering soap in my hands, and I begin to soap her up, lingering on every inch of that flawless, perfect skin. The unfamiliar scent of the soap permeates the air around us. It smells good.
Anxiety mounting as I watch the soap swirl down the drain, from her body, I turn her to face me.
"Here." I pass her the bottle. "I want you to wash off the remains of the lipstick."
Her eyes have been closed up until now, but at my suggestion, they pop open wide. My, I'm sure, anxious, wary gaze is met with blue-eyed shock.
"Don't stray far from the line, please," I beg her, feeling that reaction begin to take hold in my body once more. My heart is pounding so hard I think I'll collapse on the floor of this shower.
"Okay." She squeezes some soap into her palm, and then rubs them together. I watch intently as she brings her hands up toward me, coming down on my shoulders.
Automatically, my breathing rockets, my eyes squeeze shut, and I'm braced for pain, feeling it, though it might not really be there.
Her hands and thumbs rub the lipstick line from my skin in rhythmic circles, but all I can think about is the fear-and it is solely fear now-that ravages my body like a disease. It consumes me, and I try to fight back the flashbacks, but they keep coming, keep overwhelming me.
Why the hell did I think this was a good idea? What possessed me to allow her to do this? Hope? For more?
What a fucking idiot I am.
I can feel her fingers tremble against my skin as she traces the line, which I know flows down the side of my chest, washing me softly.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
I feel my jaw lock shut, my teeth clenched so hard I think they'll burst to dust.
Suddenly, her hands are gone, and the relief is instantaneous. I open my eyes, but she's not looking at me. I can't make out her face very clearly from where her head is ducked down, but she looks... Stricken.
"Ready?" Her voice is tense.
"Yes," I whisper, even though I'm not. I wish she'd just stop now. I'll go another week without showering if it meant she didn't have to touch me any longer.
Suddenly, her hands are on my chest again, and every muscle in my body locks.
Fuck!
The panic consumes me once more, whirling in my head, turning everything into a garish gray whirlpool. I can't make out images, only fear, only hateful, disgusting panic.
As she moves down the line, her breath hitches, and automatically, my eyes open.
I'm shocked to see tears coursing down her face.
"No. Please don't cry." It hurts so much to see her so anguished, and I encase her in my arms, hugging her tightly. "Please don't cry for me."
She bursts into sobs, burying her face in my neck, and I hold her as her shoulders tremble, bewildered by her grief. I can't make sense of it. Why is she crying for me? Is she thinking of small, four-year-old me, and how my life was royally and totally fucked-up by a crack whore I was unfortunately birthed to?
I pull away, taking her head in my hands and kiss her on the mouth.
"Don't cry, Ana, please," I beg her, my lips moving against hers, "It was long ago. I am aching for you to touch me, but I just can't bear it. It's too much. Please, please don't cry."
"I want to touch you, too," she whimpers, "More than you'll ever know. To see you like this... So hurt and afraid, Christian... It wounds me deeply. I love you so much."
Where those three words would usually startle me, or cause me to freeze, I'm getting used to them, though she's only said it a few times. Anxiety twists my stomach in knots, and my heart rockets into high gear again, but from fear in a different form.
I run my thumb over her damp bottom lip. "I know. I know."
"You're very easy to love. Don't you see that?" she asks.
"No, baby, I don't."
"You are," she insists, "And I do and so does your family. So do Elena and Leila-they have a strange way of showing it-but they do. You are worthy."
"Stop," I whisper, putting my finger over her lips to stifle her flow of words, which only bring pain and grief. There was potential, before. But not now. Not after what I've become. "I can't hear this. I'm nothing, Anastasia. I'm a husk of a man. I don't have a heart."
"Yes, you do. And I want it, all of it. You're a good man, Christian, a really good man. Don't ever doubt that. Look at what you've done... What you've achieved." Her breath hitches as a sob escapes her. "Look what you've done for me... What you've turned your back on, for me. I know." Her voice lowers to an intense whisper. "I know. I know how you feel about me."
When I think it's impossible for it to beat any harder, any faster, my heart does. It's almost painful in my chest, and I can't draw enough breath.
I stare down at her in silence, feeling how wide and terrified my eyes must be.
She's caught me. I'm caught in her web, staring her down, a deer in the headlights, and I am completely at her mercy, because she's figured me out.
"You love me."
I realize I've stopped breathing now, and I can't feel my heart beating anymore. I can only hear it, the blood pounding in my ears, but I can't feel it. Nor can I feel my fingers or toes. I feel numb with disbelief, numb with panic, numb with vulnerability. I am so exposed in this moment, more exposed than I have ever been in my entire excuse of a life.
"Yes. I do."
Her face broadens in a grin so wide I think it'll split her face in half. Her reaction makes my heart ache, for reasons I can't decipher, and sensation returns.
As I stare into her face, heart still pounding, aching, some unanswerable emotion blooms in her eyes-I can't make sense of it. Before I can begin to investigate it, she reaches up, gripping my face, and crushes her lips to mine.
Her kiss is altogether urgent, completely needful, and I find myself confused by the intensity of it all. It's as if she's pouring everything she has into this kiss, and automatically I am overwhelmed.
She is overjoyed by my confession, so totally opposite from what I felt her reaction would be, and it calls to me on some deep, deep level.
I groan as I feel my body respond, and finally reacting, I wrap my arms around her, beneath the hot water of the shower, which washes over us like a flood, or a baptism.
She is everything to me, my walking savior. I never believed in anything divine until Ana came along, but now, I do. I believe it's a possibility, because she's resurrecting something in me, a man I thought I'd left behind, had died long ago.
"Oh, Ana, I want you, but not here."
"Yes," she breathes, her lips, warm and soft, moving against mine.
I turn off the water. We step out of the chamber, onto the bathmat, and I wrap her in the bathrobe she was wearing before. I snatch a towel from the pile and tuck it around my waist, then pick up a smaller one and begin to dry her hair, rubbing the terrycloth softly through her tresses, damp and slightly curled from the shower.
When it's mostly dry, I swaddle her head in the towel. In the mirror we stand in front of, our eyes lock.
"Can I reciprocate?" she inquires.
Automatically, wariness rises, a reflex I don't know if I'll ever lose, but I nod anyway, trying to ignore the feeling.
I watch her as she takes another small towel from the stack, turns to face me and stretches up on her tiptoes.
As her hands, through the towel, touch my head, massaging my scalp, unexplained giddiness explodes inside me, and I can't stifle my boyish grin.
"It's a long time since anyone did this to me," I say, "A very long time." I frown as I think about it further, pressing the vestiges of my memory for any similarities to this experience. "In fact, I don't think anyone's ever dried my hair," I confirm.
"Surely Grace did?" Ana asks, "Dried your hair when you were young?"
I shake my head back and forth.
No. Even if I can't clearly remember-which I'm pretty sure I can-I don't think I ever would have allowed her to.
"No. She respected my boundaries from day one, even though it was painful for her." If I think about it hard enough, I can remember the sadness in her eyes as I, the ever-so-independent child, did everything for myself, things that were surely beyond my means, but that I succeeded at doing anyway. "I was very self-sufficient as a child." My voice sounds quiet, veiled by the memories which take me back to my childhood.
Ana is quiet for a moment.
"Well, I'm honored," she finally says. I can hear the smile in her voice.
"That you are, Miss Steele," I tease, "Or maybe it is I who am honored." Surely it is I.
"That goes without saying, Mr. Grey," she replies smartly.
I grin.
She finishes with my hair, but I'm surprised when she picks up another towel and moves to stand behind me.
What is she doing now?
The humor elicited in our former conversation evaporates, replaced by caution once more.
Our eyes meet in the mirror again.
"Can I try something?" she asks.
I feel I've been lenient enough this morning, and hesitate for a moment, but in the next find myself nodding. I can't deny her anything... Well, almost anything. I do have my boundaries. They seem blurred in her presence, however, despite the hysteria that comes on when we push them.
I watch her warily as she lifts the cloth, presses it down on my left arm, and drags it down, soaking up the moisture from the shower.
Warmth, slow and burning, opens up inside me. It feels like lust, but more concentrated, tinged by some other emotion-trust? ...Love?
She glances up into our reflection, her eyes meeting mine once more. I blink at her.
In the next moment, she leans forward and plants a soft kiss on my now-dry bicep, and the action stirs the coals inside me, stoking the fire.
To accommodate my suddenly quickened breath, I part my lips slightly.
She repeats the same actions on my right arm, drying and then kissing.
I feel a smile tug my lips up at the corners.
She moves to my back, careful to stay inside-or outside-the boundaries.
"Whole back," I whisper before I can stop myself, "with the towel." I take a breath and screw my eyes shut, bracing myself for the onslaught of the pain. She dries me quickly, and I wonder if she's taking care to touch me only with the towel.
It's not as bad as I thought, and when she finishes, I sigh out in relief. She leaves another kiss on my shoulder.
She puts her arms around me and dries my stomach. Suddenly, I'm wishing she'd move lower...
"Hold this," she says, handing me a face towel.
I frown at her, confused.
"Remember in Georgia?" she prompts, "You made me touch myself using your hands."
My mood darkens, the lust erupts, at the recall.
She reaches for my hand, and I let her take it. She guides it to my chest, running the towel across my skin as best she can, what with the position we're in.
This is worse, the chest, and I find my heart pounding again, trying in vain to control my breathing, and to keep myself in the moment, to not go back to the horrid memories.
At the same time, the lust roars to an incredible pique.
"I think you're dry now," she finally breathes, dropping her hand, her eyes still on mine in the mirror.
"I need you, Anastasia."
"I need you, too."
"Let me love you," I beg her.
"Yes," she consents.
.
I lead her back into the bedroom, every fiber in my being thrumming with a strange, soft sort of bliss, and of incredible, insatiable need.
I sweep her into my arms, crushing my lips to hers. She sighs against my mouth, her sweet breath washing over my face, and I take advantage of her open lips, easing my tongue into her mouth. She immediately pushes back, her tongue sweeping against mine, and we linger here, in this kiss.
Not as if battling for dominance, but merely... Sharing each other, drinking the other in.
Without parting my lips from hers, I reach down to undo the sash on her bathrobe, and push it over her shoulders. She groans as I take her breasts in my hands. Her nipples immediately pebble beneath my palms, and the feel of it makes my cock twitch under the towel.
She groans into my mouth as I twirl her nipples between thumb and forefinger, her back bowing slightly.
I break the kiss, pulling back slightly so that I can see her eyes, darkened by lust, the irises a storm of color, staring up into mine.
"You are in incredible woman, Anastasia. And you're all mine."
"All yours," she repeats.
I ease her back onto the bed, tugging my towel free and abandoning it on the floor. I crawl up over her, sweeping my hands up her body as I go, feeling every curve of her delectable body.
She hinges on knee, so that as I come to settle over her, her body cradles mine.
I kiss her again, softly, grinding against her, so that she can feel me.
Her eyes widen, and I can feel the slickness of her as I rub against her once more.
Everything around me fades out of focus, and the only thing I can concentrate on are those eyes, staring back into mine.
I ease her other leg apart, kneeling up to roll on a condom, and oh so slowly, never taking my eyes off of hers, sink into her.
She gasps as I fill her, those lush lips parting, and I lean in to kiss her, easing almost all the way out, and then back in, taking my time, bathing in this moment, in me, and her, and the declaration I made in the shower.
I can't believe I've exposed myself to her like this, but more than that, I can't believe it's gone over so well. I can't imagine why I've been blessed with her, but I'm not about to question it.
"Faster," she pleads.
I comply, picking up the pace, and as I do, the sensations build, that delicious pressure deep in my body. She begins to quicken around me, her breathing faster, shallower.
"Ana," I pant, and she detonates.
Her explosion sets mine off, and I pour myself into her, groaning unintelligibly into her neck as bliss fills me, and overtakes me.
.
"I wanted to ask you something," Ana says afterwards, as we lay, replete, on the bed. She lays on her stomach, pillow to her chest, and I am sprawled out beside her on my side, a hand on her back.
"Go ahead."
"Your biological father," she begins, "Do you know who he was?"
I feel myself frown. Why the hell would she want to know that?
"I have no idea," I tell her, "Wasn't the savage who was her pimp, which is good," I add.
"How do you know?" she pushes.
"Something my dad... Something Carrick said to me."
She merely looks at me, eyes wide, questioning.
"So hungry for information, Anastasia," I halfheartedly scold her, sighing. "The pimp discovered the crack whore's body and phoned it in to the authorities. Took him four days to make the discovery, though. He shut the door when he left... Left me with her... Her body..." As I speak, I feel myself falling back through time, to when I was a four-year-old boy, left with the reeking, dead body of his poor excuse for a mother, eating frozen peas from the icebox, draping her body in his blanket, playing cars at her side... Waiting for her to wake up... So stupidly dependent on her, and the love she never gave, never showed...
"Police interviewed him later," I say, catapulting myself out of the horrible memories, "He denied flat out I had anything to do with him, and Carrick said he looked nothing like me."
"Do you remember what he did look like?"
His face flashes, clearly, in my mind.
"Anastasia, this isn't a part of my life I revisit very often. Yes, I remember what he looked like. I'll never forget him." The memories overtake me, his abuse, his anger toward the crack whore and myself, and as the clarity of the recall mounts, so does my rage. "Can we talk about something else?"
"I'm sorry," she apologizes-she must see the emotion on my face. "I didn't mean to upset you."
I shake my head at her. "It's old news, Ana. Not something I want to think about."
"So what's this surprise, then?" she asks, changing the subject.
Immediately, my mood lightens at the reminder. Sailing! Oh yes!
"Can you face going out for some fresh air? I want to show you something."
"Of course," she consents.
I grin at her, elated by her agreement. I can't wait to take her out on the water.
I reach over, smacking her playfully on the ass.
"Get dressed. Jeans will be good. I hope Taylor's packed some for you."
.
As we drive through traffic, I am reminded of the car. Glancing at the in-car clock, I realize that we have more than enough time.
"I need to make a detour," I tell her, "It shouldn't take long." I know what I want, unless Ana decides on something else.
"Sure," she mumbles, and I can hear the curiosity in her voice.
I pull into the Saab dealership, and park the car. Once we're situated, I turn to face her.
"We need to get you a new car."
Her jaw drops, just as I suspected it would.
"Not an Audi?" she blurts.
Embarrassment, an unfamiliar emotion, smacks me in the face, zings up my neck, and warms my cheeks.
"I thought you might like something else."
She smirks at me. "A Saab?"
"Yeah. A 9-3. Come." I try to sound defensive, but I don't think I succeed.
"What is it with you and foreign cars?" she demands.
"The Germans and the Swedes make the safest cars in the world, Anastasia," I inform her.
"I thought you'd already ordered me another Audi A3?" she points out.
"I can cancel that. Come," I say again, and climb out of the car. I go to her side and pull her door open for her. She doesn't budge. Uh oh. Is this going to be a fight?
"I owe you a graduation present," I try, offering my hand to her.
"Christian, you really don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do," I insist. She won't have a car otherwise. Besides, there are other reasons I don't wish to share with her at the moment. "Please. Come."
She gives in, taking my hand. I help her out of the car, and we head into the showroom.
.
Sale taken care of, we get back into the car.
As I slide into the driver's seat, Ana says, "Thank you."
I smile, pleased by her cooperation.
"You're most welcome, Anastasia."
I turn the key in the ignition, and the engine and radio come to life once more.
"Who's this?" Ana asks, referring to the song.
"Eva Cassidy," I tell her after a second of listening.
"She has a lovely voice," she comments.
"She does, she did."
"Oh." She sounds sad.
"She died young," I explain.
"Oh," she says again. She sounds as if she's in a far off land, and I wonder what she's thinking. Once I let myself think about it a little, I wish I hadn't.
"Are you hungry?" I ask to distract myself, "You didn't finish all your breakfast." I glance sideways at her. In fact, she left half of it on her plate.
"Yes," she replies quickly.
"Lunch first, then."
.