CUISINE SAUVAGE IS SMALL, and crowded with couples and families enjoying Sunday brunch. With Ana’s hand in mine, we follow the hostess to our table. The last time I came here was with Elena. I wonder what she’d make of Anastasia.
“I’ve not been here for a while. We don’t get a choice—they cook whatever they’ve caught or gathered,” I say, grimacing, feigning my horror. Ana laughs.
Why do I feel ten feet tall when I make her laugh?
“Two glasses of the pinot grigio,” I order from the waitress, who’s making eyes at me from beneath blond bangs. It’s annoying.
Ana scowls.
“What?” I ask, wondering if the waitress is annoying her, too.
“I wanted a Diet Coke.”
Why didn’t you say so? I frown. “The pinot grigio here is a decent wine. It will go well with the meal, whatever we get.”
“Whatever we get?” she asks, her eyes round with alarm.
“Yes.” And I give her my megawatt smile to make amends for not letting her order her own drink. I’m just not used to asking…“My mother liked you,” I add, hoping this will please her and remembering Grace’s reaction to Ana.
“Really?” she says, looking flattered.
“Oh yes. She’s always thought I was gay.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s never seen me with a girl.”
“Oh, not even one of the fifteen?”
“You remembered. No, none of the fifteen.”
“Oh.”
Yes…only you, baby. The thought is unsettling.
“You know, Anastasia, it’s been a weekend of firsts for me, too.”
“It has?”
“I’ve never slept with anyone, never had sex in my bed, never flown a girl in Charlie Tango, never introduced a woman to my mother. What are you doing to me?”
Yeah. What the hell are you doing to me? This isn’t me.
The waitress brings us our chilled wine, and Ana immediately takes a quick sip, her bright eyes on me. “I’ve really enjoyed this weekend,” she says, with bashful delight in her voice. I have, too, and I realize I haven’t enjoyed a weekend for a while…since Susannah and I parted ways. I tell her so.
“What’s vanilla sex?” she asks.
I laugh at her unexpected question and complete change of topic.
“Just straightforward sex, Anastasia. No toys, no add-ons.” I shrug. “You know—well, actually you don’t, but that’s what it means.”
“Oh,” she says, and she looks a little crestfallen.
What now?
The waitress diverts us, putting down two soup bowls full of greenery. “Nettle soup,” she announces, and struts back into the kitchen. We glance at each other, then back at the soup. A quick taste informs us both that it’s delicious. Ana giggles at my exaggerated expression of relief.
“That’s a lovely sound,” I say softly.
“Why have you never had vanilla sex before? Have you always done, what you’ve done?” She’s as inquisitive as ever.
“Sort of.” And then I wonder if I should expand on this. More than anything, I want her to be forthcoming with me; I want her to trust me. I’m never this candid, but I think I can trust her so I choose my words carefully.
“One of my mother’s friends seduced me when I was fifteen.”
“Oh.” Ana’s spoon pauses midway from the bowl to her mouth.
“She had very particular tastes. I was her submissive for six years.”
“Oh,” she breathes.
“So I do know what it involves, Anastasia.” More than you know. “I didn’t really have a run-of-the-mill introduction to sex.” I couldn’t be touched. I still can’t.
I wait for her reaction but she continues with her soup, mulling over this tidbit of information. “So you never dated anyone in college?” she asks, when she’s finished her last spoonful.
“No.”
The waitress interrupts us to clear our empty bowls. Ana waits for her to leave. “Why?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t want to. She was all I wanted, needed. And besides, she’d have beaten the shit out of me.”
She blinks a couple of times as she absorbs this news. “So if she was a friend of your mother’s, how old was she?”
“Old enough to know better.”
“Do you still see her?” She sounds shocked.
“Yes.”
“Do you still…er—” She blushes crimson, her mouth turned down.
“No,” I say quickly. I don’t want her to have the wrong idea about my relationship with Elena. “She’s a very good friend,” I reassure her.
“Oh. Does your mother know?”
“Of course not.”
My mother would kill me—and Elena, too.
The waitress returns with the main entrée: venison. Ana takes a long sip of her wine. “But it can’t have been full-time?” She’s ignoring her food.
“Well, it was, though I didn’t see her all the time. It was…difficult. After all, I was still at school and then at college. Eat up, Anastasia.”
“I’m really not hungry, Christian,” she says.
I narrow my eyes. “Eat.” I keep my voice low, as I try to check my temper.
“Give me a moment,” she says, her tone as quiet as mine.
What’s her problem? Elena?
“Okay,” I agree, wondering if I’ve told her too much, and I take a bite of my venison.