flow unrestrained.
“Hey,” Christian’s says gently as he pulls me into his arms,
“please don’t cry, Ana, please,” he begs. He’s on the
bathroom floor, and I am in his lap. I put my arms around
him and weep into his neck. Cooing softly into my hair, he
gently strokes my back, my head.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, and that makes me cry
harder and hug him tighter.
We sit like this forever. Eventually, when I’m all cried
out, Christian staggers to his feet, holding me, and carries
me into his room where he lays me down in the bed. In a
few moments, he’s beside me and the lights are off. He
pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly, and I finally drift
off into a dark and troubled sleep.
I awake with a jolt. My head is fuzzy and I’m too
warm. Christian is wrapped around me like a vine. He
grumbles in his sleep as I slip out of his arms, but he
doesn’t wake. Sitting up I glance at the alarm clock. It’s
three in the morning. I need an Advil and a drink. I swing
three in the morning. I need an Advil and a drink. I swing
my legs out of bed and make my way to the kitchen in the
great room.
In the fridge, I find a carton of orange juice and pour
myself a glass. Hmm . . . it’s delicious, and my fuzzy head
eases immediately. I hunt through the cupboards looking
for some painkillers and eventually come across a plastic
box full of meds. I sink two Advil and pour myself another
orange juice.
Wandering to the great wall of glass, I look out on a
sleeping Seattle. The lights twinkle and wink beneath
Christian’s castle in the sky, or should I say fortress? I
press my forehead against the cool window—it’s a relief. I
ha一ve so much to think about after all the revelations of
yesterday. I place my back against the glass and slide
down onto the floor. The great room is ca一vernous in the
dark, the only light coming from the three lamps above the
kitchen island.
Could I live here, married to Christian? After all that
he’s done here? All the history this place holds for him?
Marriage. It
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