“Coffee?” He offered. He was resisting the urge to help, but was one step behind her in case she fell. The gesture was uncomfortable in spite of, or maybe because of, their recent intimacy.
Ana nodded. “Jon?”
“Yes?” She almost laughed when she saw his face. Bless his heart, he thinks I’m about to get girly on him.
“We shouldn’t tell Finn about this.” She took the coffee from in his hands, their eyes meeting briefly as she spoke. Jon was clearly relieved at her suggestion.
“For sure,” he said with a hollow chuckle, and she thought again how unnatural, but nice, it was to hear him laugh. “This never happened.”
Well, I wouldn’t go that far…but if that’s what it takes. “What never happened?” She gently teased back.
The atmosphere in the room lightened after that. They both relaxed as they sat in rockers in the family room, looking out the large bay window toward the cold sea. She recalled the afternoons that she would sit out and wait for Finn, just for that brief exchange of waves. Like a silly girl. But no one had ever accused Anasofiya Deschanel of being a silly girl.
She could only imagine what Finn thought after everything she had revealed to him, but it hadn’t been enough to chase him away. He didn’t seem put off at all, even going so far as to invite her to come home with him. She wondered how he felt now that they had shared this unlikely trauma together. Well, you did ask me to come over.
“He’s so not your type, Muffins,” she could hear Nicolas saying.
Maybe that’s why I like him.
“I hope he returns soon,” Ana said and meant it. She did like Finn. At first she thought he reminded her of the life she was escaping, but instead he reminded her that not everything was as it seemed. He gave her a startling hope that life could be different, if she allowed it.
Even in her healing sleep, she had sensed a comforting presence. She knew Finn had not left her side. He could have…he wouldn’t have known she sensed him. But he stayed. When Ana spoke with him again, she would uncover if he had done it out of obligation or something deeper.
She wished she could have reassured him somehow. Don’t worry about me, Finnegan St. Andrews, she would say. I come from a unique family, and the one thing I do well is take care of myself. I’ll be good as new, don’t you fret. But he was across the snow-covered town now, and she didn’t know when she’d be able to tell him any of that.
“If there is a classification somewhere in between mortal and invincible, that’s Finn. He’s fearless, but not reckless. He will be home as soon as he can,” Jon reassured her. Ana thought that might have been the second longest statement she had ever heard him make.
Did I really just have sex with him? That really happened? Well, according to him, it didn’t.
She sipped her coffee. So many thoughts. Where to start?
When teenage Ana started dating Oz Sullivan, she had been very hesitant to tell Nicolas. She didn’t know how he would feel about his two closest friends seeing each other. But he had simply shrugged and told her she could do worse.
“You could do worse,” had been his exact words.
“Is that all you’re going to say?”
“If you give me a little bit of time I can have Oz prepare me a speech,” Nicolas joked, referencing the not-so-secret fact that Oz had been doing Nicolas’ schoolwork for years.
Ana had known Oz since she was a very young girl. The connection existed mostly through Nicolas, but Oz was also related to Ana’s cousin Tristan (though not to Ana herself). The Sullivans were always a welcome addition to any Deschanel table. She never really assessed her exact thoughts on Oz, but her general opinion of him was positive. He was one of the good guys, in a time where it seemed like goodness was in short supply. Even Nicolas, whom she loved beyond measure, was not one of the good guys, although she knew he was not really a bad guy either.
Dating was something that required an openness and sharing of oneself that Ana found uncomfortable. As she grew older, she would understand that she enjoyed physical connections, but at sixteen she had not had her sexual awakening yet. Relationships meant exposing herself; and worse, being put in a position where she would be required to at least try to explain who she was, and why she was the way she was. She envisioned her mind laid bare, all her thoughts exposed and analyzed. She did not understand that friendships and romantic relationships did not have to be so different, and that she had already, without realizing it, shared herself with both Nicolas and Oz.
She refused any of the boys who asked her out, so there came a time when boys asked less and less. It was her stepmother, Barbara, who persuaded her to accept Calvin Whittaker’s invitation to her junior prom. You will regret it if you don’t go to your prom. You don’t have to marry him, Ana.
Then, it was her father who convinced her to wear her mother’s wedding dress. Except…it wasn’t exactly a wedding dress. It was a strapless white satin gown with a sequin-beaded top and a wide taffeta skirt that resembled the White Swan costume from Swan Lake. Where were few images that brought Ana joy more than the pictures of her happy, smiling mother wearing the dress, clutching her new husband’s arm.
Ana’s father never got excited about anything outside of the magazine, and even then it was a subdued kind of excitement. When she agreed to try it on, at his suggestion, she was rewarded with a smile unlike any she’d ever seen from him. Her heart swelled with joy at the sight of it.
“It fits you perfectly, Anasofiya,” he had said. There were tears in his eyes. “You look so much like her…”
Early in the night she had first lost her date–after he made a move on her and what was promptly shot down–and then Nicolas, who left to host an after-prom party. The latter had rented out a suite of rooms upstairs, at the Monteleone, for an event that people talked about for years after. She hadn’t expected him to stay at the dance long, but still felt a knot form in her stomach at being left to fend for herself.
Ana sat in the corner alone, watching the events of the prom unfold around her, feeling like an outsider. She saw people move from group to group, talking, laughing. She envied people who were good at small talk. It wasn’t that she couldn’t think of anything to say, because there was always a million things on her mind. When she was close to someone–like Nicolas–she could talk for hours. With the rest of the world, she wished only that they would leave her alone.
People continued to leave the Monteleone ballroom in droves. It was still early, so she knew they must be heading to one of the many parties going on; most likely Nicolas’, which was expected to be the most extravagant of all. The chaperones had to know what was going on but either they didn’t care, or they understood that the kids behind the shenanigans were the children of the men and women who kept the city’s economy afloat.
Her gaze fell on a familiar face: Oz Sullivan. Oz had taken a girl named Melodie as his date. Ana wasn’t even sure of her last name, but she was blonde and popular and otherwise unmemorable. Ana was often surprised at the girls Oz dated because they were so unlike him. Other times, she gave him silent credit for his intelligence. Oz was different too, but he had found a way to fit in, while she was still hiding in corners.
He spotted her and walked over to her corner. There was comfort and relief in a familiar face, although she knew it would not last long as his date was already glancing over in their direction. All of a sudden she was struck with a pang of awkwardness; somehow, wearing her mother’s dress in front of someone she knew so well felt more uncomfortable than around others whom she knew very little. It was as if this knowing her brought more attention to it.
“Don’t say a word,” she warned him, looking straight ahead.
“About?”
“The dress,” she said, shifting. The taffeta rustled and she felt horrified, as if everyone could hear that small noise over the loud music. “It was my father’s idea. I feel ridiculous.”
“Oh, the dress. I figured nothing needed to be said about that.” He t
eased. Ana readied a look that suggested he was a jerk, but upon seeing his playful smile, she laughed instead.
“I see you’ve made quite the impression on your date,” he said, scanning the room and noticing Calvin was nowhere to be found. “Did the dress run him off?”
She sighed in feigned irritation, when in truth Oz’s presence was already putting her at ease. “I really shouldn’t have come.”
“Not with him,” he agreed. Then he asked her to dance.
“I might injure myself...or more likely, you,” she said, looking at his extended hand.
“Well, my father has good insurance,” he replied. “And if things get too bad, he is also a lawyer.”
“Well, here’s to being the first person to get sued for terrible dancing,” she predicted, but took his hand and let him lead her to the floor.
Ana had never been this close to anyone before. The warmth she felt when he put his arms around her waist made her realize how real he was. The weight of that realization was overwhelming. His breath was hot near her ear, and she detected his heartbeat through their joined hands. She would never forget that feeling; the subtle pulsing through his warm hands transferring through to her like soft vibrations. She wondered if everyone noticed things like this.
She found this feeling not just bearable but somehow welcoming. Knowing that once this moment was over, she would go back to having nothing like it in her life, brought upon her an unexpected sadness.
The sudden rush of despair sucked the air right out of her. It took great self-control not to break away and leave Oz standing there on the dance floor. Ana’s heart raced so fast that, to her horror, Oz actually asked if she was okay. When the song ended, she squeezed his hand and walked away from him, threading through the crowds, into the quiet hallway. Alone, she leaned against an empty desk and tried to regain control of herself. It was at times like this that Anasofiya Aleksandrovna wished she knew how to escape from her own head.
She looked up and he was standing there. He said nothing, and his face was not full of pity, which she would have resented greatly, but understanding. If anyone could understand, it would be him, although no one would ever really know the intricacies of Ana’s mind, not even her.
Someone else might have stood there helplessly and asked polite questions, but Oz just nodded at her. She understood all the things left unsaid and appreciated them, especially as she needed to say nothing as well. Ana was too young and inexperienced at the time to recognize it, but this would be one of the most intimate moments of her life.
“So, I know you get as excited to party as I do, but I think I could get drunk. You?” He asked.
She gave him a half-laugh and smiled, her face as usual not matching what was in her head. “I’ve never been drunk,” she said.
“Never? I’ve never known a Deschanel holiday that did not include its share of liquor,” he said.
“Oh that. Deschanels like to drink properly, in private,” she said and they both laughed. “What about your date?”
He bit his lip and looked down guiltily. “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t a big fan?”
She laughed. “Okay, let’s do it.”
He led her to one of the suites upstairs that Nicolas had rented out, and by the time Ana and Oz had arrived, it was already packed.
Everything about this party had an air of gratuitous wealth; from the champagne fountains to the high-end dancers flown in from New York, to the live entertainment. The music was loud and it was evident that half the suite would be in shambles by night’s end. But Nicolas was a Deschanel. This would all be swept under the rug, like everything else he did.
Ana could read Oz’s amazement. Oz grew up on the outskirts of their world, only a visitor. Even after all his time with Nicolas, things like this could still shock him.
“You said you wanted to get drunk, right?” Ana said, taking his hand as they entered the party together.
Ana felt a sense of ease knowing she was in Nicolas’ realm now; as if she belonged here second only to him. She drank down her first glass of champagne, quickly emptied a second, and then grabbed two more as she walked ahead of Oz, in search of her cousin.
“Easy,” Oz laughed, catching up to her.
She smiled and led him to where Nicolas was sitting with his date and another girl. Both women were beautiful, and far too old to be hanging out with Nicolas, but there was nothing unusual about that. His face brightened to see her, and he fist-bumped Oz. “Didn’t expect to see you here!” He yelled over the music.
She nodded at Oz. “Your friend is a bad influence.”
“Or a good one,” Nicolas said with a wink. “Try not to be so uptight. You have all of this at your disposal, and a place to crash afterwards. Live a little tonight, Anasofiya!”
She decided to embrace his advice. She accepted drink after drink, and dance after dance, and at some point during the night her hair had literally come down and was flowing wildly down her back. The world was spinning and she saw everything in colors brighter than she had ever seen. She danced with everyone and did not shy away from the hands on her, on her hips, waist, back, neck. For one night, she was free of herself and the confines of her own self-imposed limitations.
All night, Oz was there. He did not leave her side for more than a minute or two; when he did, always he would reappear, arms around her waist, leading her, guiding her, watching over her. As the night crept into morning he declined drinks on her behalf, and stopped her from taking a pill that she was ready to take without question. As people started to leave, or retire to private rooms, Oz said to her, “Ana, I am going to take you back to your room.”
She stumbled on his arm, too intoxicated to argue or even care. He walked her down the hall and she threw her arms in the air, in submission of inhibitions. In happiness. For the joy of freedom. His arms never left her, even when he put the key in her lock and let her in.
He laid her gently on the bed and as he stood up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. The taffeta rustled brusquely as she held onto him. He returned the kiss, but then he pushed her back gently. “Not like this,” he said, and disappeared, returning when he had a nightgown for her.
He helped her change and, that accomplished, she stood up to kiss him again. But then the room began to spin and she could not make it stop. “Ahhh!” she cried, reaching to grip the bed, finding only air instead. Once again, his arms were there to catch her.
“You okay?” He asked and she shook her head no.
“I am going to be sick.”
He led her to the bathroom. He held back her hair, and patted her back for several hours as she threw up everything that she regretfully consumed throughout the long evening. She cried, wondering if she was dying, and he comforted her, assuring her she wasn’t. Finally, when she was done, he took her to bed.
Oz laid down next to her on the bed, holding her as she fell asleep. When she woke up several times during the night, he was still there, still cuddling up next to her, still watching over her.
Ana woke before he did the next morning, and her first thought was: I am a damn fool. She remembered every last moment of idiocy from the night before, with painful clarity.
Wanting to cry at her complete loss of self-control, she would not allow herself that relief. She would not lose further control with tears. Live a little, Nicolas had said. Ana could not understand how living like this was enjoyable for anyone. She was ashamed of her behavior, and horrified that both Nicolas and Oz had seen her like that.
Oz. Ana had thrown herself at her friend. Of all the behaviors of the night before, this one was the most dismaying to her. Then he had rejected her, and even her bruised ego understood that he had shown restraint for her sake.
Face buried in her hands, Ana sat at the edge of the bed, her mind whirling. She did not hear Oz wake, but felt his strong legs slide on either side of hers and his arms moved around her waist. He kissed the back of her neck and his face rested against
her shoulder blades.
Ana put her hands over his, and he squeezed her fingers. Tipping her head back so that he could see her face, he rewarded her bravery by gently kissing her chin, and cheeks and neck. She led his hands over the curves of her hips, her stomach, her chest.
Turning fully to face him, they reclined together on the bed. He pushed her back softly, peeling her nightgown up, kissing her stomach, hips, and softly between her legs. She ran her hands through his hair…that soft, raven black hair of his that she had always found lovely and mysterious. His body brushed up against hers, sending chills throughout her; his hardness, his soft skin, and his lips met hers. “Colin,” she said, realizing that the intimacy she had been missing was upon her, it was happening, and it was real. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Woken up next to a stranger in a hotel room?”
She laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“Me either, Ana,” he said, serious now. “But I want to. With you.”
Later experiences for Ana would be more wild, more creative, more carnal, but none would ever be as intense for her as this first time. Ana opened herself up to Oz and laid herself completely bare, without a hint of self-consciousness. She completely surrendered to him, without fear. Understanding then, for the first time, that intimacy could be so much more than a burden or something to fear.
Later, they lay in the bed, talking for hours and hours. He played with her hair; she traced pictures on his belly. Neither of them wanted for it to end.
As the morning passed into day, and day passed into evening, their conversations moved from very superficial things to more important things. Finally, as the evening passed into morning yet again, the eagerness of their conversations turned to silence.
The Storm and the Darkness Page 18
