“How much do you need?”
“About 100K.”
I smirk at the irony. That’s what I started my business with.
“It’s yours.”
Elliot balks. “You’re not going to ask for a business plan? A pitch?”
“No. You may be an utter fucking asshole sometimes, but you work hard. I see that. You’re passionate about what you do. This is your dream. And I believe in it, too. We should all be striving for sustainable living. Besides, you’re my brother, and what are brothers for?”
When Elliot smiles, he lights up a room.
Feeling uncomfortable at the sudden swell of feelings for my brother, I dial Welch’s number for an update on his investigation.
Night shrouds my study at Escala. I’ve been poring over the documents Marco sent me regarding Geolumara. Based in Nevada, their solar farms are already producing enough kilowattage to light up two neighboring towns. They have the expertise to bring cheaper renewable energy to other parts of the U.S. I think they have a great deal of potential. I’m excited to acquire the company and see what we can add to their business model. I e-mail Marco to confirm my enthusiastic interest, then go find Ana.
She’s in the library, curled up in her armchair, laptop on her knees and Snow Patrol playing quietly over the sound system. I assume she’s working on an upcoming book, and it occurs to me that we should get her a desk and chair in here.
“Hi,” I say when she looks up.
“Hi.” She smiles.
“Are you reading another manuscript?”
“I’m doing the first draft of my vows.”
“I see.” I saunter into the room. “How’s that going?”
“It’s intimidating, Mr. Grey. A little like you.”
“Intimidating? Moi?” I press my hand to my chest and feign surprise.
She purses her lips to hide her smile. “It’s your specialty.”
Settling into the armchair beside Ana’s, I lean toward her, my elbows resting on my knees. “Oh. I thought I had other specialties…” Even from this distance I catch a whisper of her fragrance.
Pure Ana. It’s intoxicating.
A pretty pink stains her cheeks. “Well, yes. You are blessed with other specialties. This is true.” She closes her laptop, tucks her feet beneath her, and raises her chin with the air of a prim, old-fashioned schoolteacher.
I laugh. I know better. Ana has an inner freak. “As long as you promise to love, honor, and obey, I’m sure your vows will be perfect.”
Ana laughs. “Christian, I am not promising to obey you.”
“What?” She thinks I’m joking?
“No way,” she says simply.
“What do you mean you’re not going to obey?” My stomach feels like it’s dropped twenty feet. I meant my comment to be an amusing quip, but I’m thrown by her response. Ana flicks her hair over her shoulder, and it captures the light from the table lamp, highlighting the few red and gold strands; it’s beautiful, distracting me. But my attention shifts to her mouth. Her lips flatten into a stubborn line, as she folds her arms and straightens her shoulders in that way she does when she’s gearing up for a fight.
Hell. She’s going to argue with me?
“You can’t be serious! I’ll love and honor you always, Christian. But obey? I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” I’m perfectly serious.
“Because it’s the twenty-first century!”
“And?” How can she oppose me on this? The conversation is not going the way I expected.
“Well, I’d hope that we could come to some consensus on issues within our marriage through discussion. You know…communicating with each other,” she continues.
“I’m hoping for that, too. But if we can’t, and we reach an impasse and you go off and put yourself in unnecessary danger—” All manner of horrific scenarios flit through my mind, and unease spawns exponentially in my gut.
Her face softens as she relaxes, her eyes glowing with understanding. “Christian, you always think the worst. You worry too much.” She reaches out to stroke my face, her fingers soft and gentle against my skin.
“Ana. I need this,” I whisper.
With a heavy sigh, she withdraws her hand and stares at me, as if she’s trying to convey a message via telepathy. “Christian, I’m not religious, but our wedding vows will be sacred, and I’m not prepared to make a vow I might break.”
Her response is a gut punch, echoing Carrick’s words when he lectured me about Elena. We are talking about the sanctity of marriage. And if you have no respect for that, then you have no business being married.
I stare at her as my anxiety boils over into frustration. “Anastasia, be reasonable.”
She shakes her head. “Christian. You be reasonable. You know you have a tendency to overreact. The answer’s no.”
Me? Overreact?
I glare at her, and for the first time in a long while I don’t know what to say.
“You’re just tense about the wedding,” she says, gently. “We both are.”
“I’m a hell of a lot more tense knowing you’re not willing to obey. Ana, reconsider. Please.” I sweep my hand through my hair and stare into her big blue eyes, but I see nothing except her determination and courage. She’s not budging.
Fuck.
This is getting us nowhere, and the grasp on my temper is slipping. It’s time to back away before I say something I regret. I get up and try one last attempt. “Think about it. But for now, I have some work to finish.” And before she can stop me, I leave the library and head back into my study, trying to think of some way to get her to see sense.
One of us has to be in charge, for fuck’s sake.
I stomp over to my desk and slump into my chair, feeling blindsided by her attitude and resentful that I’m only now finding out that she won’t obey.
To hell with it.
I’ll have to make her see reason.
How?
Shit.
I’m too wound up to think clearly, so I shelve my frustration and open my computer to look through my e-mails. The good news is that my new sailplane will be arriving from Germany next week. It’s being shipped to my hangar at the Port of Ephrata. I allow myself a moment of excitement, a glider built for two. I want to run and tell Ana, but right now I’m mad at her.
Damn.
It’s depressing. To cheer myself up I reread the specs for the new aircraft, and when I’ve exhausted all there is to read, I get back to my financial reports.