“It makes me feel cheap,” she says.
“It shouldn’t. You’re overthinking it. Don’t place some vague moral judgment on yourself based on what others might think. Don’t waste your energy. It’s only because you have reservations about our arrangement; that’s perfectly natural. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Anxiety is etched all over her lovely face.
“Hey, stop this. There is nothing about you that is cheap, Anastasia. I won’t have you thinking that. I just sent you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that’s all.”
She blinks a couple of times and stares at the package, obviously conflicted.
Keep them, Ana—they’re for you.
“Have some champagne,” I whisper, and she rewards me with a small smile.
“That’s better.” I open the champagne and fill the dainty teacups she’s placed in front of me.
“It’s pink.” She’s surprised, and I haven’t the heart to tell her why I chose pink.
“Bollinger La Grande Année Rosé 1999—an excellent vintage.”
“In teacups.” She grins. It’s infectious.
“In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Anastasia.”
We touch cups, and I drink. It tastes good, as I knew it would.
“Thank you.” She raises the cup to her lips and takes a quick sip. “Shall we go through the soft limits?”
“Always so eager.” Taking her hand, I lead her to the sofa—one of the only remaining pieces of furniture in the living room—and we sit, surrounded by boxes.
“Your stepfather’s a very taciturn man.”
“You managed to get him eating out of your hand.”
I chuckle. “Only because I know how to fish.”
“How did you know he liked fishing?”
“You told me. When we went for coffee.”
“Oh, did I?” She takes another sip and closes her eyes, savoring the taste. Opening them again, she asks, “Did you try the wine at the reception?”
“Yes. It was foul.” I grimace.
“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”
“I’m not knowledgeable, Anastasia, I just know what I like.” And I like you. “Some more?” I nod toward the bottle on the table.
“Please.”
I fetch the champagne and refill her cup. She regards me suspiciously. She knows I’m plying her with alcohol.
“This place looks pretty bare. Are you ready for the move?” I ask, to distract her.
“More or less.”
“Are you working tomorrow?”
“Yes, my last day at Clayton’s.”
“I’d help you move, but I promised to meet my sister at the airport. Mia arrives from Paris early on Saturday. I’m heading back to Seattle tomorrow, but I hear Elliot is giving you two a hand.”
“Yes, Kate is very excited about that.”
I’m surprised Elliot is still interested in Ana’s friend; it’s not his usual MO. “Yes, Kate and Elliot, who would have thought?” Their liaison makes matters complicated. My mother’s voice rings in my head: “You could bring Anastasia.”
“So what are you doing about work in Seattle?” I ask.
“I have a couple of interviews for intern places.”
“You were going to tell me this when?”
“Um… I’m telling you now,” she says.
“Where?” I ask, hiding my frustration.
“A couple of publishing houses.”
“Is that what you want to do, something in publishing?”
She nods, but she’s still not forthcoming.
“Well?” I prompt.
“Well, what?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Anastasia. Which publishing houses?” I mentally run through all the publishing houses I know of in Seattle. There are four…I think.
“Just small ones,” she says evasively.
“Why don’t you want me to know?”
“Undue influence,” she says.
What does that mean? I frown.
“Oh, now you’re being obtuse,” she says, her eyes twinkling with mirth.
“Obtuse?” I laugh. “Me? God, you’re challenging. Drink up, let’s talk about these limits.”
Her eyelashes flutter and she takes a shaky breath, then drains her cup. She’s really nervous about this. I offer her more liquid courage.
“Please,” she responds.
Bottle in hand, I pause. “Have you eaten anything?”
“Yes. I had a three-course meal with Ray,” she says, exasperated, and rolls her eyes.
Oh, Ana. At last I can do something about this disrespectful habit.
Leaning forward, I take hold of her chin and glare at her. “Next time you roll your eyes at me, I will take you across my knee.”
“Oh.” She looks a little shocked, but a little intrigued, too.
“Oh. So it begins, Anastasia.” With a wolfish grin I fill her teacup, and she takes a long sip.
“Got your attention now, haven’t I?”
She nods.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, you’ve got my attention,” she says with a contrite smile.
“Good.” I fish out her e-mail, and Appendix 3 of my contract, from my jacket. “So, sexual acts. We’ve done most of this.” She shuffles closer to me and we read down the list.
APPENDIX 3
Soft Limits
To be discussed and agreed between both parties:
Does the Submissive consent to: