He stops.
“I know, and I understand why you feel so driven to
protect me. And part of me loves it. I know that if I need
you, you’ll be there, as I am for you. But if we are to ha一ve
any hope of a future together, you ha一ve to trust me and
trust my judgment. Yes, I’ll get it wrong sometimes—I’ll
make mistakes, but I ha一ve to learn.”
He stares at me, his expression anxious, spurring me to
walk round to him so that I am standing between his legs
while he sits on the barstool. Grabbing his hands, I put
them around me and place my hands on his arms.
“You can’t interfere in my job. It’s wrong. I don’t need
you charging in like a white knight to sa一ve the day. I know
you want to control everything, and I understand why, but
you can’t. It’s an impossible goal . . . you ha一ve to learn to
let go.” I reach up and stroke his face as he gazes at me,
his eyes wide. “And if you can do that—give me that—I’ll
move in with you,” I add softly.
He inhales sharply, surprised. “You’d do that?” he
whispers.
“Yes.”
“But you don’t know me.” He frowns and sounds
choked and panicky all of a sudden, very un-Fifty.
“I know you well enough, Christian. Nothing you tell
me about yourself will frighten me away.” I gently run my
knuckles across his cheek. His expression turns from
knuckles across his cheek. His expression turns from
anxious to dubious. “But if you could just ease up on me,”
I plead.
“I’m trying, Anastasia. I couldn’t just stand by and let
you go to New York with that . . . sleazeball. He has an
alarming reputation. None of his assistants ha一ve lasted
more than three months, and they’re never retained by the
company. I don’t want that for you, baby.” He sighs. “I
don’t want anything to happen to you. You being hurt . . .
the thought fills me with dread. I can’t promise not to
interfere, not if I think you’ll come to harm.” He pauses
and takes a deep breath. “I love you, Anastasia. I will do
everything in my power to protect you. I cannot imagine
my life without you.”
Holy cow. My i
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