“Me, too,” she says.
I grip her chin and kiss her once more.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me a second chance.
“Don’t leave me again,” I whisper. Ever. And I’m in the confessional, disclosing a dark secret: my need for her.
“Okay,” she answers with a tender smile that flips my heart into overdrive. With one simple word she stitches my torn soul together. I’m elated.
My fate is in your hands, Ana. It’s been in your hands since I met you.
“Thank you for the iPad,” she adds, interrupting my fanciful thoughts. It’s the first gift I’ve given her that she’s accepted with grace.
“You’re most welcome, Anastasia.”
“What’s your favorite song on there?”
“Now, that would be telling,” I tease her. I think it might be the Coldplay, because it’s the most apt.
My stomach growls. I’m starving, and it’s not a condition I tolerate well. “Come cook me some food, wench. I’m famished.” I sit up and pull her onto my lap.
“Wench?” she repeats, giggling.
“Wench. Food. Now. Please,” I order, like the caveman I am, while nuzzling her hair.
“Since you ask so nicely, sire, I’ll get right on it.”
She wriggles in my lap as she gets up.
Ow!
When she climbs off the bed she shifts her pillow. Beneath it is a rather sad, much deflated helicopter balloon. I pick it up and look at her, wondering where it’s from.
“That’s my balloon,” she stresses.
Oh yes, Andrea sent a balloon with flowers when Ana and Katherine moved into this apartment. What is it doing here? “In your bed?”
“Yes. It’s been keeping me company.”
“Lucky Charlie Tango.”
She returns my smile as she wraps a robe around her beautiful body.
“My balloon,” she warns, before she sashays out of the bedroom.
Proprietary, Miss Steele!
Once she’s left I remove the condom, knot it, and toss it in the trash basket at Ana’s bedside. I fall back onto the pillows, examining the balloon. She kept it and slept with it. Every time I stood outside her apartment pining for her, she was curled up in this bed and pining for me, holding this.
She loves me.
I’m suddenly awash with mixed, bewildered emotions and panic rising in my throat.
How can this be?
Because she doesn’t know you, Grey.
Shit.
Don’t dwell on the negative. Flynn’s words fog my brain. Focus on the positive.
Well, she’s mine once more. I just have to keep her. Hopefully we’ll have the whole weekend together to get to know each other again.
Hell. I have the Coping Together Ball tomorrow.
I could skip it—but then my mother would never forgive me.
I wonder if Ana will accompany me?
She’ll need a mask if she agrees.
On the floor, I find my phone and text Taylor. I know he’s seeing his daughter in the morning, but I hope he can source a mask.
I’m going to need a mask for
Anastasia for tomorrow’s event.
Do you think you can source something?
TAYLOR
Yes, sir.
I know just the place.
Excellent.
TAYLOR
What color?
Silver or dark blue.
And as I text I have an idea, which may or may not work.
Could you get me a lipstick, too?
TAYLOR
Any particular color?
No. I’ll leave that to you.
ANA CAN COOK. The stir-fry is delicious. I’m calmer now that I’ve had something to eat and I can’t remember being this casual or relaxed with her. We’re both sitting on the floor, listening to music from my iPod, as we eat and sip chilled pinot grigio. What’s more, it’s gratifying to see her devour her food. She’s as hungry as I am.
“This is good.” I’m appreciating every forkful.
She glows in response to my compliment and tucks a stray strand of unruly hair behind her ear. “I usually do all the cooking. Kate isn’t a great cook.” She’s cross-legged beside me, her legs on display. Her rather worn robe is a fetching shade of cream. When she leans forward it hangs open and I glimpse the soft swell of her breast.
Grey, behave.
“Did your mother teach you?” I ask.
“Not really.” She laughs. “By the time I was interested in learning how to, my mom was living with Husband Number Three in Mansfield, Texas. And Ray, well, he would’ve lived on toast and takeout if it weren’t for me.”
“Why didn’t you stay in Texas with your mom?”
“Her husband, Steve, and I—” She stops, and her face clouds with what I assume is an unpleasant memory. I regret asking her and want to change the subject, but she continues. “We didn’t get along. And I missed Ray. Her marriage to Steve didn’t last long. She came to her senses, I think. She never talks about him,” she adds quietly.
“So you stayed in Washington with your stepfather.”
“I lived very briefly in Texas. Then went back to Ray.”
“Sounds like you looked after him.”
“I suppose,” she says.
“You’re used to taking care of people.”
It should be the other way around.
She turns to study my face. “What is it?” she asks, concerned.
“I want to take care of you.” In every way. It’s a simple statement, but it says everything for me. She’s taken aback.