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.
