by James, E L
I chuckle. “I know. And it’s made me so happy.”
“Even though I’m fat?” She pouts.
I laugh. “Even though you’re fat.” My lips capture hers once more, and she tightens her hold on my hair as we lose ourselves in each other.
The elevator pings, and we are back at Escala for the first time as husband and wife. “Very happy,” I whisper, my body stirring. I carry her into the foyer and I want to bypass everything and everyone and take her to bed. “Welcome home, Mrs. Grey.” I kiss her once more.
“Welcome home, Mr. Grey.” Her face is alight with joy.
I carry her into the main living room and set her down on the kitchen island. From the cupboard, I take down two champagne flutes, and from the fridge I retrieve a chilled bottle of Grand Année Bollinger, our favorite rosé. Opening the bottle with a quick twist of the cork, I pour the pale pink sparkling liquid into each glass. I hand one to Ana, who’s still sitting on the counter, and stand between her legs. “Here’s to us, Mrs. Grey.”
“To us, Mr. Grey,” she answers with a shy smile.
We clink glasses and each take a sip.
“I know you’re tired.” I run my nose against hers. “But I’d really like to go to bed, and not to sleep.” I kiss the corner of her sweet mouth. “It’s our first night back here, and you’re really mine.”
She moans, closes her eyes, and raises her head, giving me access to her throat.
Ana. You goddess.
My love.
My life.
My wife.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
I’m expecting the smooth roll of the Fair Lady as she floats on the Mediterranean, and the sounds of the crew readying her for the day. But when I open my eyes, I’m at home. Outside, the golden dawn heralds a beautiful morning, and beneath my arm Ana tenses. She’s staring at the ceiling, trying to stay still.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment she looks lost. “Nothing.” Her face softens as she smiles. “Go back to sleep.” My dick responds enthusiastically to her smile, far more roused than me. Blinking, I rub my face and stretch my limbs in an effort to wake my mind and the rest of my body.
“Jet lag?” I ask.
“Is that what this is? I can’t sleep.”
“I have the universal panacea right here, just for you, baby.” Grinning, I nudge her hip with my erection. She giggles, rolling her eyes, and her teeth tease my earlobe as her hand skates down my body to my waiting cock.
When I stir an hour or so later, it’s early morning. I’ve slept well, and Ana is still asleep beside me. I let her rest and get up quietly; a quick run in my gym is what I need. While I’m on the treadmill with Four Tet blaring in my ears, I check the markets and watch the news. It’s going to be quite the adjustment to return to my routine. Ana and I have been in a blissful bubble for the last few weeks, but now I’m ready to go back to work. I’m excited. My wife and I are going to forge this new life together, and as of yet I have no idea what that will entail. Maybe we could travel; I could take Ana to see the Great Wall of China, the Pyramids—hell, all the Wonders of the World. I could ease up at the office—Ros has done a great job since I’ve been away—and Ana could stop working. After all, she won’t need the money.
But she loves her job, and she’s good at it.
Maybe she has great ambitions in publishing.
I shake my head; she would be safer if she stayed at home.
Damn. Don’t dwell on the negative, Grey.
Ana is in the shower when I enter the bathroom, and I cannot resist. I step in behind her. “Good morning. Let me scrub your back, Mrs. Grey.” She hands me the sponge and body wash with a distracted smile. Lathering up the sponge, I start soaping her neck. “Don’t forget we’re going to my parents’ for lunch. I hope you don’t mind. Kate will be there.” I kiss her ear.
“Hmm,” she murmurs, eyes closed.
“You okay?” I ask. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m good, Christian. Getting pruny.” She wiggles her fingers.
“I’ll let you go.”
She smiles, exits the shower cubicle, and grabs her robe on the way out. She seems happy enough, but I think my girl is preoccupied. Something’s up.
Ana is in the kitchen making breakfast when I enter. She looks lovely wearing a black strappy top and the skirt she wore on our walk around Saint-Paul-de-Vence.
“Coffee?” she asks.
“Please.”
“Sourdough toast?”
“Please.”
“Preserves?”
“Apricot. Thanks.” I kiss her cheek. “I’ve got some things to do before we leave for lunch.”
“Okay, I’ll bring breakfast to you.”
In my study, I find Gia Matteo’s latest plans for the house on my desk where Gail must have left them. Setting them aside to review later, I fire up my iMac and get to work. Welch and Barney are combing through all of the past week’s footage from the CCTV cameras at Grey House, but there’s no news on the arsonist yet. Welch has been rolling out additional security at each of the GEH sites. I read through the schedule for our personal protection, to find it includes an additional operative. Her name is Belinda Prescott. But today, it’s Ryan and Sawyer who will accompany us to my parents’ place—Taylor, quite rightly, has gone to visit his daughter after so many weeks away.
Ana pushes the door open using her back, and places coffee and toast on my desk.
“Thank you, wife.”
“You’re welcome, husband.” Her smile is thin. “I’m going to unpack.”
“You don’t have to, Gail can do it.”
“It’s okay. I want to be busy.”
“Hey.” I get up and catch her hand before she leaves, scrutinizing her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She leans up to kiss my cheek. “I’ll be ready to leave midday.”
I frown and release her. “Okay.”
Something’s up.
But I have no idea what it could be.
It’s unsettling.
Perhaps Ana needs time to readjust to this time zone. She leaves, and I turn my attention to work, setting aside my disquiet for now. I have an e-mail from Gia Matteo, who wants to see us tomorrow to discuss her latest plans. I let her know that’s fine and suggest a meeting for early evening.
There’s good news from Eurocopter: they can replace both of Charlie Tango’s engines, so she should be back, fully functioning, within a couple of weeks; however, there’s still no progress in the FBI investigation into her sabotage. It’s irritating.
Why is it taking so long?
I move on and review the latest e-mails from Ros; the sooner I get through these, the sooner I can get back to my wife.
The drive to my parents’ home is a joy. I haven’t driven my R8 for weeks, and with my wife by my side, I’m enjoying the lush greenery of urban Seattle. After the old-world charm of the South of France, the landscape is pleasingly familiar. It’s good to be home. I’ve missed driving, especially in this car. I check the rearview mirror and, sure enough, Sawyer and Ryan are on our tail.
Ana is quiet beside me, gazing at the scenery that’s dappled with summer sun as we speed, top down, along I-5. “Would you let me drive this?” she asks out of the blue.
Is that what she’s been thinking about?
“Of course. What’s mine is yours. If you dent it, though, I will take you into the Red Room of Pain.” I give her a wolfish grin, knowing that I’m using her spurious name for the playroom, not mine.
Her mouth drops open. “You’re kidding. You’d punish me for denting your car? You love your car more than you love me?” She sounds incredulous.
“It’s close,” I tease, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “But she doesn’t keep me warm at night.”
“I’m sure it could be arranged. You could sleep in her,” Ana retorts.
I laugh, loving her banter. “We haven’t been home one day and you’re kicking me out already?”
“Why are you so pleased?”
I flash her a quick grin, while keeping my eyes on the road. “Because this conversation is so…normal.”
Isn’t this what marriage is all about? The to and fro between us?
“Normal!” she scoffs. “Not after three weeks of marriage! Surely.”
What? My smile withers. She was serious? She’s gonna kick me out?
“I’m kidding, Christian.”
Hell. So was I!
She presses her lips together, looking sullen, then mutters, “Don’t worry, I’ll stick to the Saab.” She turns to stare at the scenery once more.
So much for marital banter. “Hey. What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You’re so frustrating sometimes, Ana. Tell me.”
She turns her head to me, a smirk twisting her lips. “Back at you, Grey.”
I’m the problem? Me?
Shit.
“I’m trying,” I respond.
“I know. Me, too.” She smiles, and I think she’s okay. But I’m not sure. Maybe her heart is still in the Côte d’Azur.
Or perhaps she’s upset over the arson?
Maybe the increased security?
Hell, I wish I knew.
“Bro!” It’s Elliot who answers the front door at my parents’ home. “How’s it hanging?” He grabs my hand and pulls me into a bear hug.
“Perpendicular,” I mutter. “How are you, Elliot?”
“It’s great to see you, hotshot. You’re looking good. You got a little sun.” Then he turns his attention to Ana. “Sister!” he bellows, and he sweeps my wife off her feet.
“Hello, Elliot.” She giggles, and it’s a relief to hear her laugh. He sets her down.
“Looking beautiful, Ana. He treating you well?”
“Mostly.”
“Come in.” Elliot steps aside. “Dad’s in charge of the BBQ.”
My parents are expert hosts and love entertaining. We’re on the terrace in the backyard, sitting around the table. Across the lawn, there’s the familiar view of the bay and Seattle’s skyline in the distance. It’s still stunning. Grace has gone all out, as usual, so there’s plenty of food. Carrick holds us captive with family camping stories and his BBQ skills, and we’re seated with Elliot, Kate, Mia, and Ethan. It’s weird, I’ve always felt removed from my family, not that they excluded me—it’s more that I siloed myself, to protect myself. Sitting here now, watching them laugh and tease one another—and me—and take such a keen interest in my wife and our honeymoon—I kind of regret having been so guarded. To think of all those years I missed locked in an ivory tower of my own making—an accusation that Ana frequently levels at me.
Perhaps she’s right.
Our hands are entwined, and I fondle the rings on her finger, reluctant to release her. She seems to have brightened up, the way she’s laughing with Kate, whatever was bothering her forgotten, I hope.
Elliot is talking about the new house. “So if you can get the plans finalized with Gia, I have a window September through to mid-November and can get the whole crew on it.” Elliot puts his arm around Kate and clasps her shoulder. His thumb lightly brushes her skin. I think he really likes her. This has to be a first.
“Gia is due to come over to discuss the plans tomorrow evening,” I reply. “I hope we can finalize everything then.” I look at Ana.
“Sure.” She smiles, but some of the light in her eyes fades.
What is it?
She’s driving me crazy.
“To the happy couple.” Dad raises a glass, and a smile, and everyone seconds the sentiment.
“And congratulations to Ethan for getting into the psych program at Seattle,” Mia interjects, pride ringing in her voice. She’s obviously smitten, and I wonder if she’s gotten into his pants yet. It’s difficult to tell from the smirk he gives her.
My family is thirsty for information about our honeymoon, so I give them an executive summary of the last three weeks.
Ana remains quiet.
Is she regretting all this?
No, I can’t let myself go there.
Grey, get a grip.
Elliot makes some crude joke and stretches his arms, sending his glass flying onto the flagstones, where it smashes rather dramatically. My mother leaps up, as do Mia and Kate, while Elliot sits there like the dope he is.
Seizing the opportunity this distraction presents, I lean over and whisper to Ana, “I am going to take you to the boathouse and finally spank you in there if you don’t snap out of this mood.”
She gasps and checks that no one is listening. “You wouldn’t dare!” she challenges, her voice husky.
I raise a brow.
Bring it, Ana.
“You’d have to catch me first—and I’m wearing flats,” she hisses for my ears only.
“I’d have fun trying.”
Ana turns a delightful and familiar shade of pink and stifles her smile.
There she is, my girl.
Mom serves us strawberries and whipped cream, which reminds me of London; this and Eton mess were the staple summer desserts there. As we finish up, we’re caught short by a sudden shower. “Ah! Everyone inside,” Grace cries as she gathers the serving dish.
We all grab plates, cutlery, and glasses and bolt back into the kitchen.
Ana looks happier, her hair a little wet, while she giggles with Mia. It warms my heart to see her with my family—they have fallen in love with her, like I have. Perhaps Mia will tell her what’s happening with Ethan. I smile; inquiring minds need to know.
We head into the den to shelter from the rain and I take a seat at the upright piano. It’s an old, worn, but much-loved Steinway, with a warm, rich tone. I press the middle C key and the sound rings through the room perfectly in tune. I smile, thinking of Grace. I suspect she keeps it tuned, as she plays on the odd occasion, though I haven’t heard her play for years. And I haven’t played here for so long—I can’t even remember the last time. As a child, music was my refuge. It was somewhere I could escape and lose myself, at first in the tedious repetition of scales and arpeggios, and then in each piece I learned.
Music and literature got me through puberty.
There’s sheet music on the rest, and I wonder who it belongs to, maybe Grace, maybe her housekeeper—she plays, I think. It’s a song I know, “Wherever You Will Go” by The Calling. My family gathers, continuing their conversations, while I read the music. My fingers flex, instinctively following the song.
I could play this.
And before I know it, I’ve started to play. The words are on the sheet music and I sing along. A few bars later I’m lost in the melody and the poignant lyrics—it’s just me and the piano and the music.
It’s a beautiful song. About loss…and love.
“I’ll go wherever you go…”
Slowly, the silence in the room intrudes into my consciousness. The chatting has ceased. I stop playing, and turn around on the stool to find out what has caught everyone’s attention. All eyes are on me.
What the hell!
“Go on,” Grace prompts, her voice wavering with emotion. “I’ve never heard you sing, Christian. Ever.” She’s almost inaudible, but I can hear her because of the oppressive silence in the room. Her face glows with pride and wonder and love.
It’s a gut punch.
Mom.
A well of feeling pours from my heart into my chest, filling me up and threatening to drown me.
I can’t breathe.
No. I cannot do this.
I shrug and surreptitiously take a deep breath and look at my wife, my anchor. Sh
e seems puzzled, possibly by the weird reaction of my family. In an effort to blot them out for a moment, I turn and stare through the French windows.
This is why I distance myself.
This.
To escape these…feelings.
There’s a sudden and almost spontaneous burst of chatter, and I get up and stand at the window. From the corner of my eye, I see Grace embrace my wife with an unbridled enthusiasm that surprises Ana. My mother whispers in her ear, and my throat burns with the same choking emotion from a moment ago. With a beseeching look, Grace kisses Ana’s cheek, then announces in a throaty voice, “I am going to make some tea.”
Ana takes pity on me and comes to my rescue. “Hi,” she says.
“Hi.” I slip my arm around her and tug her to my side, finding comfort in her warmth. She slides her hand in the back pocket of my jeans. Together, we watch the rain through the French window, the sun still in the distance. Somewhere there must be a rainbow.
“Feeling better?” I ask her.
She nods.
“Good.”
“You certainly know how to silence a room,” she says.
“I do it all the time.” I grin down at her.
“At work, yes, but not here.”
“True, not here.”
“No one’s ever heard you sing? Ever?”
“It appears not.” My tone is wry.
She stares up at me as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
It’s just me, Ana. “Shall we go?”
“You going to spank me?” she whispers.
What?
Ana is, as ever, unexpected. Her words twist and turn through me, awakening my desire. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m more than happy to play.”
Ana nervously scans the room.
Baby, no one can hear us. I tilt my head and whisper in her ear, “Only if you misbehave, Mrs. Grey.”
She squirms in my arms, and her face breaks into an impish grin. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Does she know how adrift I felt a moment ago?
Does she say this stuff to bring me back?
I don’t know, but right now, my heart swells with my love for her.
