She has to obey: she has to understand. I can't do this without rules. I can't. Why won't she understand? She knows that I need this. What if something happened to her? What if I couldn't protect her because she was disobeying me? Fuck. No! She has to understand.
And even though I'm staring out of the window, I feel her presence behind me. She lays her soft hand on my neck and I lean into her touch, aching to feel her, aching to bury myself in her.
"Christian, please. Don't be like this. It's so... I want our vows to show who we are as people - to show our love for each other - not just repeat some old words."
But it's her words that infuriate me.
"I'm busy, Anastasia. Can this wait."
And it's not a question.
She sighs and turns to go.
I'm desperate to run after her: I'm like a man dying of thirst in the desert without her touch. Death Valley - in an office thirty stories up, overlooking half of Seattle.
The failing sun throws blazing arrows, flashes of red light glinting off a thousand windows. Slowly the darkness creeps over the city. And I sit.
The apartment is quiet. Mrs Jones and Taylor, wisely, haven't come near me since supper. Nor has Ana, since I snarled at her to leave me alone. She'll be asleep by now: my beautiful angel, lost in dreams. Good ones, I hope.
