“No,” I whisper, as the darkness makes an unwelcome return to my chest, ready to claw its way out. I take a deep breath. “Please don’t,” I plead. “I couldn’t bear it. I was never tickled as a child.” Ana puts her hands down and I continue, “I used to watch Carrick with Elliot and Mia, tickling them, and it looked like such fun, but I, I—”

She puts her finger on my lips. “Hush, I know.” She removes her finger and plants a sweet kiss in its place. Scooting down, she rests her cheek to my chest, and I hold her, pressing my nose into her hair. Her scent is soothing, mixed with the pungent fragrance of sex. We lie for several minutes in our calm after the storm, before she interrupts our quiet, comfortable silence. “What is the longest you’ve gone without seeing Dr. Flynn?”

“Two weeks. Why? Do you have an incorrigible urge to tickle me?”

“No.” She laughs. “I think he helps you.”

I snort. “He should. I pay him enough.” I stroke her hair and she turns her face to me. “Are you concerned for my well-being, Mrs. Grey?”

“Every good wife is concerned for her beloved husband’s well-being, Mr. Grey.”

“Beloved?” I whisper, wanting to say the word out loud, to hear it ring between us with all its significance.

“Very much beloved.” She leans up to kiss me.

It’s a relief that she knows the truth and yet she still loves me. My anxiety has evaporated, replaced by hunger. I smile down at her. “Do you want to go ashore to eat?”

“I want to eat wherever you’re happiest.”

“Good. Aboard is where I can keep you safe. Thank you for my present.” I reach for it and, turning it around, hold it at arm’s length and snap a picture of the two of us wrapped around each other.

We take coffee post-dinner inside the impressive dining room on the Fair Lady. “What are you thinking about?” I ask, as Ana looks wistfully out the window.

“Versailles.”

“Ostentatious, wasn’t it?”

Ana looks at our surroundings.

“This is hardly ostentatious,” I observe.

“I know. It’s lovely. The best honeymoon a girl could want.”

“Really?” I smile. Pleased.

“Of course it is.”

“We only have two more days. Is there anything you’d like to see or do?”

“Just be with you,” she says.

I rise and come around the table and drop a kiss on her forehead

“Well, can you do without me for about an hour? I need to check my e-mails, find out what’s happening at home.”

“Sure,” she says.

“Thank you for the camera.”

As I head into the study, I notice that for some reason, I’m feeling far more settled. Could it be the delicious dinner, the sex, or telling Ana about the arson? It could be a combination of all those. I pull my phone out of my pocket and notice a missed call from my dad.

“Son,” he says when he answers his phone.

“Hi, Dad.”

“How’s the South of France?”

“It’s great.”

“And Ana?”

“She’s great, too.” I can’t help my smile.

“You sound happy.”

“Yes. The only fly in the ointment is the fire.”

“Your mother told me about that. But not much damage, I hear.”

“No.”

“What’s the matter, Christian?” He adopts a serious tone, probably in response to my monosyllabic reply.

“It was arson.”

“Shit. Police involved?”

“Yes.”

“Good. This and your helicopter. It’s a lot to deal with.”

“Welch is on it. But we don’t have a clue who it might be. Have you noticed anything unusual?”

“No, I can’t say that I have. But I’ll keep a watchful eye.”

“Do,” I insist.

“Is the jet safe?” he asks.

“The Gulfstream? Yes. I think so.”

“Perhaps you should fly back commercial.”

Why?

“It’s just a thought. I don’t want to worry you. I’ll let you go.”

“Thanks for checking in, Dad.”

“Christian. I’m here for you. Always. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He hangs up, and I wonder what he’s going to do with the information I’ve just given him. I don’t dwell on it, but call Ros for an update.

I’m still on the phone when Ana pops her head around the door later. She blows a kiss at me and leaves me to my conversation with Andrea, who is sorting our flights back to Seattle.

Ana is curled up asleep when I return to our cabin. I slip into bed beside her and pull her into my arms without waking her. I kiss her hair and close my eyes.

I have to keep her safe. I have to keep her safe…

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Through the lens, I watch my wife sleep soundly at last. Earlier, Ana was talking, begging someone in her dreams not to go. I wonder who? Me? Where would I go without her? She’s been plagued by nightmares since the arson at Grey House was confirmed. She’s even taken to sucking her thumb on the odd occasion while she sleeps. I wonder if it might have been better for us to fly home earlier. But I was reluctant to leave the tranquility of Fair Lady, and so was Ana. And at least I’ve been able to comfort her after her night terrors—hold her. Soothe her. Like she holds me, when I have mine.