ht, but he can’t mask the perplexed
annoyance etched on his face. Abruptly he shakes his
head, exasperated—but amused, too—and a faint smile of
admiration kisses the corner of his mouth. He steeples his
hands in front of him and focuses on me once more.
“It’s not what you think. I’d forgotten all about them.
That box has been moved. Those photographs belong in
my safe.”
“Who moved them?” I whisper.
He swallows. “There’s only one person who could
ha一ve done that.”
“Oh. Who? And what do you mean, ‘it’s not what I
think’?”
He sighs and tilts his head to one side, and I think he’s
embarrassed. So he should be! My subconscious snarls.
“This is going to sound cold, but—they’re an insurance
policy,” he whispers steeling himself for my response.
“Insurance policy?”
“Against exposure.”
The penny drops and rattles uncomfortably round and
round in my empty head.
“Oh,” I murmur, because I can’t think of what else to
say. I close my eyes. This is it. This is Fifty Shades of
Fucked-Up, right here, right now. “Yes. You’re right,” I
mutter. “That does sound cold.” I stand to clear our
dishes. I don’t want to know any more.
“Ana.”
“Do they know? The girls . . . the subs?”
He frowns. “Of course they know.”
Oh, well, that’s something. He reaches out, grabbing
me and pulling me to him.
“Those photos are supposed to be in the safe. They’re
not for recreational use.” He stops. “Maybe they were
when they were taken originally. But—” He stops,
imploring me. “They don’t mean anything.”
“Who put them in your closet?”
“It could only ha一ve been Leila.”
“She knows your safe combination?”
He shrugs. “It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s a very long
combination, and I use it so rarely. It’s the one number I
ha一ve written down and ha一ven’t changed.” He shakes his
head. “I wonder what else she knows and if she’s taken
anything else out of there.” He frowns, then turns his
attention back to me. “Look, I’ll destroy the photos. Now,
if you like.”
“They’re your photos, Christian. Do with them as you
wish,” I
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