"Sure, Dad, and will you give me away at the wedding?" I ask quietly.
"Oh, honey." His voice cracks, and he's quiet for a few moments, the emotion in his voice bringing tears to my eyes. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he says eventually.
Oh, Ray. I love you so much... I swallow, to keep from crying. "Thank you, Dad. I'll hand you back to Christian. Be gentle with him. I love him," I whisper.
I think Ray is smiling on the other end of the line, but it's hard to tell. It's always hard to tell with Ray.
"Sure thing, Annie. And come and visit this old man and bring that Christian with you."
I march back into the room - pissed at Christian for not warning me - and hand him the phone, my expression letting him know just how pissed I am. He's amused as he takes the phone and heads back into his study.
Two minutes later, he reappears.
"I have your stepfather's rather begrudging blessing," he says proudly, so proudly, in fact, that it makes me giggle, and he grins at me. He's acting like he's just negotiated a major new merger or acquisition, which I suppose on one level, he has.
"Damn, you're a good cook, woman." Christian swallows his last mouthful and raises his glass of white wine to me. I blossom under his praise, and it occurs to me I'll only get to cook for him on weekends. I frown. I enjoy cooking. Perhaps I should have made him a cake for his birthday. I check my watch. I still have time.
"Ana?" He interrupts my thoughts. "Why did you ask me not to take your photo?" His question startles me all the more because his voice is deceptively soft.
Oh... shit. The photos. I stare down at my empty plate, twisting my fingers in my lap.
What can I say? I'd promised myself not to mention that I'd found his version of Readers'
Wives.
"Ana," he snaps. "What is it?" He makes me jump, and his voice commands me to look at him. When did I think he didn't intimidate me?
"I found your photos," I whisper.
His eyes widen in shock. "You've been in the safe?" he asks, incredulous.
"Safe? No. I didn't know you had a safe."
He frowns. "I don't understand."
"In your closet. The box. I was looking for your tie, and the box was under your jeans... the ones you normally wear in the playroom. Except today." I flush.
He gapes at me, appalled, and nervously runs his hand through his hair as he processes this information. He rubs his chin, lost in thought, but he can't mask the perplexed annoy-ance etched on his face. Abruptly he shakes his head, exasperated - but amused, too - and a faint smile of admiration kisses the corner of his mouth. He steeples his hands in front of him and focuses on me once more.
"It's not what you think. I'd forgotten all about them. That box has been moved. Those photographs belong in my safe."
"Who moved them?" I whisper.
He swallows. "There's only one person who could have done that."
"Oh. Who? And what do you mean, 'it's not what I think'?"
He sighs and tilts his head to one side, and I think he's embarrassed. So he should be!
My subconscious snarls.
"This is going to sound cold, but - they're an insurance policy," he whispers steeling himself for my response.
"Insurance policy?"
"Against exposure."
The penny drops and rattles uncomfortably round and round in my empty head.
"Oh," I murmur, because I can't think of what else to say. I close my eyes. This is it.
This is Fifty Shades of Fucked-Up, right here, right now. "Yes. You're right," I mutter.
"That does sound cold." I stand to clear our dishes. I don't want to know any more.
"Ana."
"Do they know? The girls... the subs?"
He frowns. "Of course they know."
Oh, well, that's something. He reaches out, grabbing me and pulling me to him.
"Those photos are supposed to be in the safe. They're not for recreational use." He stops. "Maybe they were when they were taken originally. But - " He stops, imploring me.
"They don't mean anything."
"Who put them in your closet?"
"It could only have been Leila."
"She knows your safe combination?"
He shrugs. "It wouldn't surprise me. It's a very long combination, and I use it so rarely.
It's the one number I have written down and haven't changed." He shakes his head. "I wonder what else she knows and if she's taken anything else out of there." He frowns, then turns his attention back to me. "Look, I'll destroy the photos. Now, if you like."
"They're your photos, Christian. Do with them as you wish," I mutter.
"Don't be like that," he says, taking my head in his hands and holding my gaze to his.
"I don't want that life. I want our life, together."
Holy cow. How does he know that beneath my horror about these photos is the fact that I'm paranoid?
"Ana, I thought we exorcised all those ghosts this morning. I feel that way. Don't you?"
I blink at him, recalling our very, very pleasurable and romantic and downright dirty morning in his playroom.
"Yes," I smile. "Yes, I feel like that, too."
"Good." He leans forward and kisses me, folding me in his arms. "I'll shred them," he murmurs. "And then I have to go to work. I'm sorry, baby, but I have a mountain of business to get through this afternoon."
"It's cool. I have to call my mother." I grimace. "Then I want to do some shopping and bake you a cake."
He grins and his eyes light up like a small boy's.