“I’ve missed you . . . really missed you, Christian. The
past few days ha一ve been . . . difficult.” I swallow, and a
lump in my throat swells as I recall my desperate anguish
since I left him.
This last week has been the worst in my life, the pain
almost indescribable. Nothing has come close. But reality
hits home, winding me.
hits home, winding me.
“Nothing’s changed. I can’t be what you want me to
be.” I squeeze the words out past the lump in my throat.
“You are what I want you to be,” he says, his soft
voice emphatic.
“No, Christian, I’m not.”
“You’re upset because of what happened last time. I
beha一ved stupidly, and you . . . So did you. Why didn’t you
safe word, Anastasia?” His tone changes, becoming
accusatory.
What? Whoa—change of direction. I flush, blinking
at him.
“Answer me.”
“I don’t know. I was overwhelmed. I was trying to be
what you wanted me to be, trying to deal with the pain,
and it went out of my mind. You know . . . I forgot,” I
whisper ashamed, and I shrug apologetically.
Jeez, perhaps we could ha一ve a一voided all this
heartache.
“You forgot!” he gasps with horror, grabbing the sides
of the table and glaring at me. I wither under his stare.
Shit! He’s furious again. My inner goddess glares at
me, too. See, you brought all this on yourself!
“How can I trust you?” he says, his voice low. “Ever?”
The waiter arrives with our wine as we sit staring at
each other, blue eyes to gray. Both of us filled with
unspoken recriminations, while the waiter removes the
cork with an unnecessary flourish and pours a little wine
into Christian’s glass. Automatically Christian reaches out
and takes a sip.
and takes a sip.
“That’s fine.” His voice is curt.
Gingerly the waiter fills our glasses, placing the bottle
on the table before beating a hasty retreat. Christian has
not taken his eyes off me the whole time. I am the first to
crack, breaking eye contact, picking up my glass and
taking a large gulp. I barely taste it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, suddenly feeling stupid
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