Wishing you Happiness, Health and Peace in 2015

We lie silently gazing into each other's eyes. There are times when words say nothing at all. But our eyes… Our eyes say the things we don't dare speak out loud. They tell our secrets, our fears, the sadness and joy in our soul, desires in our heart.

Things we aren't consciously aware of… our eyes know.

Right now, with his eyes sparkling, I know he's happy… mirroring my happiness. It may have been a rocky road that lead us here, but it was all worth it because it brought us to this single quiet moment, this beautiful moment where we can just… be.

"Penny for your thoughts," he asks.

"I'm thinking about us."

"What about us?"

"I like us," I say sincerely.

A shy smile curls from the side of his mouth. "I like us, too," he whispers as he glides his index finger up and down my arm.

"So tell me about tomorrow. What's a charity ball like?"

"The usual. Big Band. Dancing. The only reason I show up is my mother would have my head if I didn't put in an appearance; anyway it's good for networking. My mother pulls out all the stops and organizes one hell of an event."

"What charity is it?"

He pauses and frowns for a moment. "It's called Coping Together. It's a charity for abused children."

"That's so sad. Being a pediatrician, I guess she sees a lot that."

"Yes, she's familiar with it."

"It's an important cause. Thank you for inviting me."

He takes my hand and kisses the back of it. "You're welcome. Did you choose a dress?"

I turn my head and glance toward his closet where four gowns are hanging.

"No, not yet. I still can't believe you did this for me. I feel like Cinderella. You're no fairy godmother, so I guess that makes you my Prince Charming."

"Prince Charming?" He laughs. "More like the Prince of Darkness."

I smack his arm playfully. "That's Ozzy Osbourne. You're hardly interchangeable."

"Did you just smack me?" he teases.

My hand flies over my mouth to hide my grin. "I think I did."

"Oh Miss Steele, the things I'd like to do to you," he says darkly as he grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away.

I twist my hand to loosen it from his grip as I'm giggling like a schoolgirl. Finally I break free, and rest my hand on his chest, laughing at how ridiculous our conversation has turned.

Christian's eyes widen in panic as he glances down at his chest and freezes. His chest rising and falling rapidly, his breathing ragged and harsh as he quickly pulls away from me.

I stare at my hand and back at him. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." What have I done? I touched him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He swallows hard and collects himself. "It's fine. We have a busy day tomorrow. Let's just get some sleep."

"Christian, I'm sor…"

He stops me mid-word. "Anastasia, it's late. Let's just call it a night. Alright?"

I nod. "Okay," I whisper. I knew he had an issue with touch, but the sheer panic written on his face… I fucked-up big time. The best I can do is to do what he asks. "Good night, Christian."

"Goodnight, Ana," he says dully, turning his body away from me.

He can't even look at me. Did I break him even more? Did I break us?

I wake up in a daze. Despite the blanket covering me, I'm cold. I turn around in Christian's bed, only to discover he's gone. I look at his alarm clock and see it's three a.m. My heart sinks. I did this to him. I did this to us. He trusted me, something I know he doesn't give freely, and I breached it.

Turning to face the ceiling, I exhale a long breath. Should I look for him? Leave him alone to sort out his thoughts? I'm not sure what the right thing to do is.

I close my eyes, fighting the tears from falling when I hear the faint sound of a piano playing. I roll out of bed and slip on one of the long silk nightgowns left strewn on the floor after our earlier sexcapades.

After heading down the hallway, I find Christian in a pair of pajama bottoms, playing the same sad Marcello concerto he played the first night I stayed here.

He looks up when he hears me. He looks pained, his mood reflected in the music he's playing.

What I'd give to be his eyes right now, if only for a few stolen moments, so I can see what they're seeing. Know the secrets they know. Understand his fears, his sadness.

I walk over to him. Not sure if he'll let me in or reject me. As I approach him, he slides over, making room for me to sit on the piano bench next to him. I sit in silence, resting my head on his shoulder as he continues to play this beautiful, sad music.

Once he finishes, he stares out, looking straight ahead.

"This is who I am, Ana. A fucked-up imperfect man with walls a mile high," he says softly, never making eye contact with me.

"Yes, you have walls. But I listen to the sound of the beautiful music you play and I see your soul. I look within those gray eyes and I see a good man. In my heart, I know what's on the other side of that wall—the part of you no one else sees—I see it, Christian. I do. Occasionally I've peeked through the tiny cracks in the walls you've built— and what I've seen is lovely."

"You deserve better. I long for you to touch me. I know that's what you want. But I can't." He looks down to his lap and shakes his head.

"I don't understand why I can't and one day I hope you'll help me understand. But I do touch you. I know I do."

He turns his face to me and frowns.

"I touch your heart. You can deny it exists, but you're wrong. If I could only touch one part of you, that's exactly where I'd choose," I tell him honestly.

"You deserve perfect. I know I said we were…" he says, as he drifts off in his thought. I need to get Christian out of his own head.

"Actually, you said we were 'fucking perfect'," I correct, hoping to lighten the mood.

He laughs softly and nods. "Yes, I did."

"We don't have to be perfect to be extraordinary. I don't want perfect if you're not a part of it." I reach across and skim my index finger over his soft lips. "I'll take perfectly imperfect with you over perfect with anyone else any day. I've told you, I'm yours. Are you throwing me back to the dating pool?" I tease.

He shakes his head slowly and kisses my fingertip. "No. You're mine and any fucker who even thinks about having you…" He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring. Possessive Christian is back; his moods can swing from somber to stormy in a split second.

"You're the only one who is going to do anything to me," I promise him. "I don't want anyone else."

"Damn right." He stands from the piano bench extending his hand out to me.

I put my hand in his and stand. Quietly, he leads me back to his bedroom.

"So, does the Prince fuck Cinderella before the ball?" he asks.

I smile. "I think you're right, you're certainly not Prince 'Charming'," I say, stressing the last word.

"I'm willing to bet this 'Prince' can 'charm' an orgasm out of you"

"Take me back to bed and we'll see if you're right."

The fact that he wants me intimately lets me know that I still have his trust.

I'm forgiven.

I open my eyes and sit up, stretching out in Christian's bed. The sun is shining brightly in the room.

"Good morning, Baby," Christian says as he walks into the bedroom in a pair of sweatpants and a sweat-soaked T-shirt. It's obvious he's already hit the gym. He bends down and gives me a quick peck on the cheek.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Noon."

"I slept until noon?"

"You did. Stay up late last night?" he teases, raising a brow. He knows exactly what I was doing last night.

"Yeah, some Prince was charming the hell out of me all night long."

He laughs. "Lucky Prince. Come on. You have a busy day ahead. I'm spoiling you with a day at the Spa."

"Spoiling me?"

"Yes. Come. Out of bed. Shower, eat and we'll go."

"A Spa day? You don't exactly strike me as a Spa type-of guy. Where exactly are we going?"

"Oh, I know a place," he says cryptically.