Chapter 96


    Seizing the opportunity this distraction presents, I lean over and whisper to Ana, “I am going to take


    you to the boathouse and finally spank you in there if you don’t snap out of this mood.”


    She gasps and checks that no one is listening. “You wouldn’t dare!” she challenges, her voice husky.


    I raise a brow.


    Bring it, Ana.


    “You’d have to catch me first—and I’m wearing ts,” she hisses for my ears only.


    “I’d have fun trying.”


    Ana turns a delightful and familiar shade of pink and stifles her smile.


    There she is, my girl.


    Mom serves us strawberries and whipped cream, which reminds me of London; this and Eton mess


    were the staple summer desserts there. As we finish up, we’re caught short by a sudden shower. “Ah!


    Everyone inside,” Grace cries as she gathers the serving dish.


    We all grab tes, cutlery, and sses and bolt back into the kitchen.


    Ana looks happier, her hair a little wet, while she giggles with Mia. It warms my heart to see her with my


    family—they have fallen in love with her, like I have. Perhaps Mia will tell her what’s happening with


    Ethan. I smile; inquiring minds need to know.


    We head into the den to shelter from the rain and I take a seat at the upright piano. It’s an old, worn,


    but much-loved Steinway, with a warm, rich tone. I press the middle C key and the sound rings through


    the room perfectly in tune. I smile, thinking of Grace. I suspect she keeps it tuned, as she ys on the


    odd asion, though I haven’t heard her y for years. And I haven’t yed here for so long—I can’t


    even remember thest time. As a child, music was my refuge. It was somewhere I could escape and


    lose myself, at first in the tedious repetition of scales and arpeggios, and then in each piece I learned.


    Music and literature got me through puberty.


    There’s sheet music on the rest, and I wonder who it belongs to, maybe Grace, maybe her


    housekeeper—she ys, I think. It’s a song I know, “Wherever You Will Go” by The Calling. My family


    gathers, continuing their conversations, while I read the music. My fingers flex, instinctively following


    the song.


    I could y this.


    And before I know it, I’ve started to y. The words are on the sheet music and I sing along. A few bars


    It’s a beautiful song. About loss…and love.


    “I’ll go wherever you go…”


    Slowly, the silence in the room intrudes into my consciousness. The chatting has ceased. I stop


    ying, and turn around on the stool to find out what has caught everyone’s attention. All eyes are on


    me.


    What the hell!


    “Go on,” Grace prompts, her voice wavering with emotion. “I’ve never heard you sing, Christian. Ever.”


    She’s almost inaudible, but I can hear her because of the oppressive silence in the room. Her face


    glows with pride and wonder and love.


    It’s a gut punch.


    Mom.


    A well of feeling pours from my heart into my chest, filling me up and threatening to drown me.


    I can’t breathe.


    No. I cannot do this.


    I shrug and surreptitiously take a deep breath and look at my wife, my anchor. She seems puzzled,


    possibly by the weird reaction of my family. In an effort to blot them out for a moment, I turn and stare


    through the French windows.


    This is why I distance myself.


    This.


    To escape these…feelings.


    There’s a sudden and almost spontaneous burst of chatter, and I get up and stand at the window. From


    the corner of my eye, I see Grace embrace my wife with an unbridled enthusiasm that surprises Ana.


    My mother whispers in her ear, and my throat burns with the same choking emotion from a moment


    ago. With a beseeching look, Grace kisses Ana’s cheek, then announces in a throaty voice, “I am going


    to make some tea.”


    Ana takes pity on me andes to my rescue. “Hi,” she says.


    “Hi.” I slip my arm around her and tug her to my side, findingfort in her warmth. She slides her


    N?velDrama.Org content.


    hand in the back pocket of my jeans. Together, we watch the rain through the French window, the sun


    still in the distance. Somewhere there must be a rainbow.


    “Feeling better?” I ask her.


    She nods.


    “Good.”


    “You certainly know how to silence a room,” she says.


    “I do it all the time.” I grin down at her.


    “At work, yes, but not here.”


    “True, not here.”


    “No one’s ever heard you sing? Ever?”


    “It appears not.” My tone is wry.


    She stares up at me as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle.


    It’s just me, Ana. “Shall we go?”


    “You going to spank me?” she whispers.


    What?


    Ana is, as ever, unexpected. Her words twist and turn through me, awakening my desire. “I don’t want


    to hurt you, but I’m more than happy to y.”


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