“Gone.”
Ana grins. “I’m sorry you lost a friend.”
“Are you?”
“No,” she says, sardonically.
“Come.” I stand and offer her my hand. “Let’s join the party in our honor. I might even get drunk.”
“Do you get drunk?”
“Not since I was a wild teenager.” We walk down the stairs. “Have you eaten?”
Ana looks guilty. “No.”
“Well, you should. From the look and smell of Elena, that was one of my father’s lethal cocktails you threw on her.”
“Christian, I—”
I hold up my hand. “No arguing, Anastasia. If you’re going to drink and toss alcohol on my exes, you need to eat. It’s rule number one. I believe we’ve already had that discussion after our first night together.”
An image of her lying comatose on my bed at The Heathman comes to mind. We stop in the hallway and I caress her face, my fingers skimming her jaw. “I lay awake for hours and watched you sleep,” I whisper. “I might have loved you even then.” Leaning down I kiss her, and she melts against me.
“Eat.” I motion toward the kitchen.
“Okay,” she says.
I CLOSE THE DOOR, having bid farewell to Dr. Flynn and his wife.
Finally. I can be alone with Ana. It’s just the family left. Grace has had too much to drink and is in the den, murdering “I Will Survive” on the Karaoke machine with Mia and Katherine.
“Do you blame her?” Ana asks.
I narrow my eyes. “Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”
“I am.”
“It’s been quite a day.”
“Christian, recently, every day with you has been quite a day.”
“Fair point well made, Miss Steele. Come. I want to show you something.” I lead her through the hall into the kitchen.
Carrick, Elliot, and Ethan Kavanagh are arguing about the Mariners.
“Off for a stroll?” Elliot taunts us as we head to the French doors, but I give him the finger and otherwise ignore him.
Outside, it’s a mild night. I usher Ana up the stone steps to the lawn, where she takes off her shoes and pauses for a moment to admire the view. The half-moon is high above the bay, illuminating a bright silvery path across the water. Seattle is lit up and twinkling as a backdrop.
We walk, hand in hand, toward the boathouse. It’s lit inside and out and the beckoning light is our guide.
“Christian, I’d like to go to church tomorrow,” Ana says.
“Oh?”
When was the last time I was in church? I recall her background information; I don’t remember her being religious.
“I prayed you’d come back alive and you did. It’s the least I could do.”
“Okay.” Maybe I’ll go with her.
“Where are you going to put the photos José took of me?”
“I thought we might put them in the new house.”
“You bought it?”
I stop. “Yes. I thought you liked it.”
“I do. When did you buy it?”
“Yesterday morning. Now we need to decide what to do with it.”
“Don’t knock it down. Please. It’s such a lovely house. It just needs some tender loving care.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Elliot. He knows a good architect; she did some work on my place in Aspen. He can do the remodeling.”
Ana smiles, then chuckles with amusement.
“What?” I ask.
“I remember the last time you took me to the boathouse.”
Oh yes. I was in the moment. “Oh, that was fun. In fact—” I stop and scoop her up over my shoulder and she squeals.
“You were really angry, if I remember correctly,” Ana observes while she bounces on my shoulder.
“Anastasia, I’m always really angry.”
“No, you’re not.”
I swat her behind and slide her down my body when I get to the door of the boathouse. I take her head in my hands. “No, not anymore.” My lips and tongue find hers and I pour all the anxiety that I’m feeling into a passionate kiss. She’s breathless and panting when I release her.
Okay. I hope she likes what I have planned. I hope it’s what she wants. She deserves the world. She looks a little intrigued and caresses my face, running her fingers along my cheek, to my jaw and chin. Her index finger pauses over my lips.
Showtime, Grey.
“I’ve something to show you in here.” I open the door. “Come.” I take her hand and lead her to the top of the stairs. Opening the door, I glance inside, and it all looks good. I step aside to let Ana go first, and I follow her into the room.
She gasps at the sight that greets her.
The florists have gone to town. There are wild meadow flowers everywhere, in pinks and whites and blues, all lit by tiny fairy lights and soft pink lanterns.
Yes. This will do.
Ana is stunned. She whips around and gapes at me.
“You wanted hearts and flowers.”
She stares at me in disbelief.
“You have my heart.” And I wave at the room.
“And here are the flowers,” she murmurs. “Christian, it’s lovely.” Her voice is hoarse and I know she’s close to tears.