I flush. "Your age," I mutter.
"Look, Anastasia, as I said to her, she's part of my past. You are my future. Don't let her come between us, please. And quite frankly, I'm really bored of this subject. I'm going to do some work." He stands and gazes down at me. "Let it go. Please."
I stare mulishly up at him.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he adds. "Your car arrived a day early. It's in the garage. Taylor has the key."
Whoa... the Saab? "Can I drive it tomorrow?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"You know why not. And that reminds me. If you are going to leave your office, let me know. Sawyer was there, watching you. It seems I can't trust you to look after yourself at all." He scowls down at me, making me feel like an errant child - again. And I would argue with him, but he's pretty worked up over Elena, and I don't want to push him any further, but I can't resist one comment.
"Seems I can't trust you either," I mutter. "You could have told me Sawyer was watching me."
"Do you want to fight about that, too?" he snaps.
"I wasn't aware we were fighting. I thought we were communicating," I mumble petulantly.
He closes his eyes briefly as he struggles to contain his temper. I swallow and watch anxiously. Jeez, this could go either way.
"I have to work," he says quietly, and with that, he leaves the room.
I exhale. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath. I flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Can we ever have a normal conversation without it disintegrating into an argument?
It's exhausting.
We just don't know each other that well. Do I really want to move in with him? I don't even know if I should make him a cup of tea or coffee while he's working. Should I disturb him at all? I have no idea of his likes and dislikes.
Evidently he's bored with the whole Elena thing - he's right, I need to move on. Let it go. Well, at least he's not expecting me to be friends with her, and I hope that she'll now stop hassling me for a meeting.
I get off the bed and wander to the window. Unlocking the balcony door, I open it and stroll over to the glass railing. Its transparency is unnerving. The air's chilly and fresh, as I'm up so high.
I gaze out over the twinkling lights of Seattle. He's so far removed from everything up here in his fortress. Answerable to no one. He'd just told me he loves me, then all this crap comes up because of that dreadful woman. I roll my eyes. His life is so complicated.
He's so complicated.
With a heavy sigh and a last glance at Seattle spread like cloths of gold at my feet, I decide to call Ray. I haven't spoken to him for a while. It's a brief conversation as per usual, but I ascertain he's fine and that I'm interrupting an important soccer match.
"Hope all is well with Christian," he says casually, and I know he's fishing for information but doesn't really want to know.
"Yeah. We're cool." Sort of, and I'm moving in with him. Though we haven't discussed a timetable.
"Love you, Dad."
"Love you, too, Annie."
I hang up and check my watch. It's only ten. Because of our discussion, I am feeling strangely innervated and restless.
I shower quickly, and back in the bedroom, decide to wear one of the nightdresses that Caroline Acton procured for me from Neiman Marcus. Christian's always moaning about my T-shirts. There are three. I choose the pale pink and put it on over my head. The fabric skims across my skin, caressing and clinging to me as it falls around my body. It feels luxurious - the finest, thinnest satin. Holy crap. In the mirror, I look like a 1930s movie star. It's long, elegant - and very un-me.
I grab the matching robe and decide to hunt out a book in the library. I could read on my iPad - but right now, I want the comfort and reassurance of a physical book. I'll leave Christian alone. Perhaps he'll recover his good humor once he's finished working.
There are so many books in Christian's library. Scanning every title will take forever.
I glance occasionally at the billiard table and flush as I recall our previous evening. I smile when I see that the ruler is still on the floor. Picking it up, I swat my palm. Ow! It stings.
Why can't I take a little more pain for my man? Disconsolately, I place it on the desk and continue my hunt for a good read.
Most of the books are first editions. How can he have amassed a collection like this in such a short time? Perhaps Taylor's job description includes book buying. I settle on Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. I haven't read this for a long time. I smile as I curl up in one of the overstuffed armchairs and read the first line: Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again...
I am jostled awake as Christian lifts me in his arms.
"Hey," he murmurs, "you fell asleep. I couldn't find you." He nuzzles my hair. Sleepily, I put my arms around his neck and breathe in his scent - oh, he smells so good - as he carries me back to the bedroom. He lays me down on the bed and covers me.
"Sleep, baby," he whispers and he presses his lips against my forehead.
I wake suddenly from a disturbing dream and am momentarily disorientated. I find myself anxiously checking the end of the bed, but there's no one there. Drifting from the great room, I hear the faint strains of a complex melody from the piano.
What time is it? I check the alarm clock - two in the morning. Has Christian come to sleep at all? I disentangle my legs from my robe, which I'm still wearing, and clamber out of bed.
In the great room, I stand in the shadows, listening. Christian is lost to the music. He looks safe and secure in his bubble of light. And the tune he plays has a lilting melody, parts of which sound familiar, but so elaborate. Jeez, he's good. Why does this always take me by surprise?