“Of course. What’s mine is yours. If you dent it, though, I will take you into the Red Room of Pain.” I give her a wolfish grin, knowing that I’m using her spurious name for the playroom, not mine.
Her mouth drops open. “You’re kidding. You’d punish me for denting your car? You love your car more than you love me?” She sounds incredulous.
“It’s close,” I tease, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “But she doesn’t keep me warm at night.”
“I’m sure it could be arranged. You could sleep in her,” Ana retorts.
I laugh, loving her banter. “We haven’t been home one day and you’re kicking me out already?”
“Why are you so pleased?”
I flash her a quick grin, while keeping my eyes on the road. “Because this conversation is so…normal.”
Isn’t this what marriage is all about? The to and fro between us?
“Normal!” she scoffs. “Not after three weeks of marriage! Surely.”
What? My smile withers. She was serious? She’s gonna kick me out?
“I’m kidding, Christian.”
Hell. So was I!
She presses her lips together, looking sullen, then mutters, “Don’t worry, I’ll stick to the Saab.” She turns to stare at the scenery once more.
So much for marital banter. “Hey. What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You’re so frustrating sometimes, Ana. Tell me.”
She turns her head to me, a smirk twisting her lips. “Back at you, Grey.”
I’m the problem? Me?
Shit.
“I’m trying,” I respond.
“I know. Me, too.” She smiles, and I think she’s okay. But I’m not sure. Maybe her heart is still in the Côte d’Azur.
Or perhaps she’s upset over the arson?
Maybe the increased security?
Hell, I wish I knew.
“Bro!” It’s Elliot who answers the front door at my parents’ home. “How’s it hanging?” He grabs my hand and pulls me into a bear hug.
“Perpendicular,” I mutter. “How are you, Elliot?”
“It’s great to see you, hotshot. You’re looking good. You got a little sun.” Then he turns his attention to Ana. “Sister!” he bellows, and he sweeps my wife off her feet.
“Hello, Elliot.” She giggles, and it’s a relief to hear her laugh. He sets her down.
“Looking beautiful, Ana. He treating you well?”
“Mostly.”
“Come in.” Elliot steps aside. “Dad’s in charge of the BBQ.”
My parents are expert hosts and love entertaining. We’re on the terrace in the backyard, sitting around the table. Across the lawn, there’s the familiar view of the bay and Seattle’s skyline in the distance. It’s still stunning. Grace has gone all out, as usual, so there’s plenty of food. Carrick holds us captive with family camping stories and his BBQ skills, and we’re seated with Elliot, Kate, Mia, and Ethan. It’s weird, I’ve always felt removed from my family, not that they excluded me—it’s more that I siloed myself, to protect myself. Sitting here now, watching them laugh and tease one another—and me—and take such a keen interest in my wife and our honeymoon—I kind of regret having been so guarded. To think of all those years I missed locked in an ivory tower of my own making—an accusation that Ana frequently levels at me.
Perhaps she’s right.
Our hands are entwined, and I fondle the rings on her finger, reluctant to release her. She seems to have brightened up, the way she’s laughing with Kate, whatever was bothering her forgotten, I hope.
Elliot is talking about the new house. “So if you can get the plans finalized with Gia, I have a window September through to mid-November and can get the whole crew on it.” Elliot puts his arm around Kate and clasps her shoulder. His thumb lightly brushes her skin. I think he really likes her. This has to be a first.
“Gia is due to come over to discuss the plans tomorrow evening,” I reply. “I hope we can finalize everything then.” I look at Ana.
“Sure.” She smiles, but some of the light in her eyes fades.
What is it?
She’s driving me crazy.
“To the happy couple.” Dad raises a glass, and a smile, and everyone seconds the sentiment.
“And congratulations to Ethan for getting into the psych program at Seattle,” Mia interjects, pride ringing in her voice. She’s obviously smitten, and I wonder if she’s gotten into his pants yet. It’s difficult to tell from the smirk he gives her.
My family is thirsty for information about our honeymoon, so I give them an executive summary of the last three weeks.
Ana remains quiet.
Is she regretting all this?
No, I can’t let myself go there.
Grey, get a grip.
Elliot makes some crude joke and stretches his arms, sending his glass flying onto the flagstones, where it smashes rather dramatically. My mother leaps up, as do Mia and Kate, while Elliot sits there like the dope he is.
Seizing the opportunity this distraction presents, I lean over and whisper to Ana, “I am going to take you to the boathouse and finally spank you in there if you don’t snap out of this mood.”
She gasps and checks that no one is listening. “You wouldn’t dare!” she challenges, her voice husky.
I raise a brow.
Bring it, Ana.
“You’d have to catch me first—and I’m wearing flats,” she hisses for my ears only.
“I’d have fun trying.”
Ana turns a delightful and familiar shade of pink and stifles her smile.
There she is, my girl.
Mom serves us strawberries and whipped cream, which reminds me of London; this and Eton mess were the staple summer desserts there. As we finish up, we’re caught short by a sudden shower. “Ah! Everyone inside,” Grace cries as she gathers the serving dish.
We all grab plates, cutlery, and glasses and bolt back into the kitchen.
Ana looks happier, her hair a little wet, while she giggles with Mia. It warms my heart to see her with my family—they have fallen in love with her, like I have. Perhaps Mia will tell her what’s happening with Ethan. I smile; inquiring minds need to know.
We head into the den to shelter from the rain and I take a seat at the upright piano. It’s an old, worn, but much-loved Steinway, with a warm, rich tone. I press the middle C key and the sound rings through the room perfectly in tune. I smile, thinking of Grace. I suspect she keeps it tuned, as she plays on the odd occasion, though I haven’t heard her play for years. And I haven’t played here for so long—I can’t even remember the last time. As a child, music was my refuge. It was somewhere I could escape and lose myself, at first in the tedious repetition of scales and arpeggios, and then in each piece I learned.