“Bed,” I whisper.
Grandpa Trev-yan and I are picking apples.
See these red apples on this green apple tree.
I nod.
We put these here. You and me. Remember?
We fooled this old apple tree.
It thought it would make bitter green apples.
But it makes these sweet red apples.
Remember.
I nod.
He holds the apple to his nose and sniffs.
Smell it.
It smells of good. It smells of full.
He rubs the apple against his shirt and gives it to me.
Taste it. I take a bite.
It is crunchy and yummy and apple pie.
I smile. My tummy is happy.
These apples are called fu-gee.
Here, you want to try the green one?
I don’t know.
Grandpa takes a bite and his shoulders shake.
He makes a yuk face. That’s nasty.
He offers it to me. He smiles. I smile and take a bite.
A shiver goes from my head to my toes.
NASTY.
I make a yuk face, too. He laughs. I laugh.
We pick the red apples and put them in the bucket.
We fooled the tree.
It’s not nasty. It’s sweet.
Not nasty. Sweet.
The smell is evocative. My grandfather’s orchard. I open my eyes and I’m wrapped around Ana like swaddling. Her fingers are in my hair and she’s smiling shyly at me.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I murmur.
“Good morning, beautiful, yourself.”
My body has another greeting in mind. I give her a swift kiss before disentangling my legs from hers. Balanced on one elbow, I look down at her. “Sleep okay?”
“Yes, despite the interruption to my sleep last night.”
“Hmm. You can interrupt me like that anytime.” I kiss her again.
“How about you? Did you sleep well?”
“I always sleep well with you, Anastasia.”
“No more nightmares?”
“No.”
Only dreams. Pleasant dreams.
“What are your nightmares about?”
Her question catches me off-guard, and suddenly I’m thinking of my four-year-old self—helpless, lost, lonely, hurting, and filled with rage. “They’re flashbacks of my early childhood, or so Dr. Flynn says. Some vivid, some less so.”
I was a neglected, abused child.
My mother didn’t love me.
She didn’t protect me.
She killed herself and abandoned me.
The crack whore dead on the floor.
The burn.
Not the burn.
No. Don’t go there, Grey.
“Do you wake up crying and screaming?” Ana’s question brings me back, and I’m running my finger along her collarbone, keeping contact with her. My dreamcatcher.
“No, Anastasia. I’ve never cried. As far as I can remember.”
Even that evil fucking bastard couldn’t make me cry.
“Do you have any happy memories of your childhood?”
“I recall the crack whore baking. I remember the smell. A birthday cake, I think. For me.”
Mommy is in the kitchen.
It smells of nice.
Nice and warm and chocolate.
She sings.
Mommy’s Happy song.
She smiles. “This is for you, Maggot.”
For me!
“And then there’s Mia’s arrival with my mom and dad. My mom was worried about my reaction, but I adored baby Mia immediately. My first word was ‘Mia.’ I remember my first piano lesson. Miss Kathie, my tutor, was awesome. She kept horses, too.”
“You said your mom saved you. How?”
Grace? Isn’t it obvious?
“She adopted me. I thought she was an angel when I first met her. She was dressed in white and so gentle and calm as she examined me. I’ll never forget that. If she’d said no, or if Carrick had said no…”
Fuck. I’d be dead by now.
I glance at my alarm clock: 6:15. “This is all a little deep for so early in the morning.”
“I have made a vow to get to know you better,” Ana says, looking both earnest and mischievous at once.
“Did you, now, Miss Steele? I thought you wanted to know if I preferred coffee or tea. Anyway, I can think of one way you can get to know me.” I nudge her with my erection.
“I think I know you quite well enough that way.”
I grin. “I don’t think I’ll ever get to know you well enough that way. There are definite advantages to waking up beside you.” I nuzzle her ear.
“Don’t you have to get up?”
“Not this morning. Only one place I want to be up right now, Miss Steele.”
“Christian!”
I roll on top of her and grab her hands so they are above her head, and kiss her throat. “Oh, Miss Steele.” Holding both her hands in one of mine, I skim my other hand down her body and at a leisurely pace hitch up her satin nightgown, until my arousal is cradled against her sex. “Oh, what I’d like to do to you,” I whisper.
She smiles and tilts her pelvis up to meet me.
Naughty girl.
First, we need a condom.
I reach over to my bedside table.
ANA JOINS ME AT the breakfast bar. She’s wearing a light blue dress and high-heeled pumps. Again, she looks stunning. I watch her devour her breakfast. I’m relaxed. Happy, even. She’s said she’ll move in with me and I started my day with a bang. I smirk and wonder if Ana would find that funny. She turns to me. “When am I going to meet your trainer, Claude, and put him through his paces?”
“Depends if you want to go to New York this weekend or not—unless you’d like to see him early one morning this week. I’ll ask Andrea to check on his schedule and get back to you.”
“Andrea?”
“My PA.”
She’s back today. What a relief.
“One of your many blondes?”
“She’s not mine. She works for me. You’re mine.”
“I work for you.”
Oh yes! “So you do.”
“Maybe Claude can teach me to kickbox,” Ana says, but she’s grinning like a fool, too.
Clearly she wants to improve her odds against me. Now, this could be interesting. “Bring it on, Miss Steele.”
Ana takes a bite of her pancake and glances behind her. “You put the lid of the piano back up.”
“I closed it last night so as not to disturb you. Guess it didn’t work, but I’m glad it didn’t.”
Ana blushes.
Yes. There’s a lot to be said for piano sex. And sex first thing in the morning. It’s great for my mood.
Mrs. Jones interrupts our moment. She leans over and places a paper bag with Ana’s lunch inside in front of her. “For later, Ana. Tuna, okay?”
“Oh yes. Thank you, Mrs. Jones.” Ana gives her a broad smile, which Gail reciprocates, and then Gail leaves the room to give us some privacy. This is new to Gail, too. It’s unusual for me to have anyone here during the week. The only other time has been with Ana.
“Can I ask you something?” Ana interrupts my thoughts.
“Of course.”
“And you won’t be angry?”
“Is it about Elena?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t be angry.”