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"Don't even think about choosing Coco! She's a stuck up bitch who cares only for her looks. Dinah just yammers on and on about her "wisdom" and how she was a television star. And Mallory...Jesus Christ, I'm tired of those goddamn puppy dog eyes she gives me every time she's around! The only one I can stand is Gallant, so you better not choose anyone else unless you want me to start bitching." Ana rambled, pacing across the floor in her white nightgown.
Michael watched her in amusement, sitting bow-legged in his leather armchair. "You're not bitching, now?" He raised a brow, smirking.
"Nope." She shook her head, sitting at her piano. "Just making sure we aren't stuck with these dumbfucks for all of eternity." She rolled her eyes, leaning back against the covered keys.
He turned in his seat toward her, crossing his legs. "You seem..agitated. What's the matter?"
She glanced over at him, shaking her head. "Nothing. Just tired."
She knew it was useless lying to him, he always knew when she was lying. "Uh-huh." He pursed his lips. "You know that's not going to work. Come on, tell me." He sat up, leaning on his elbows.
Truth was, Ana didn't exactly know what was wrong with her. Her attitude that day had been nothing but irritating. Michael put up with it, simply because he couldn't bring himself to be angry with her anymore. They spent too much time apart, and all he ever was now was happy. She had a feeling, nerves, perhaps. It settled into her stomach like a rock, making her movements uncomfortable. Things had been going unbelievably amazing, overwhelmingly amazing. And in the past, when things like that happened, it never lasted long. She wasn't paralyzed by her fear, no, her body would no longer allow that. She couldn't muster up being sad anymore. At least, she didn't think she could.
She rolled her eyes, spinning around and lifting the covering to the piano. She began playing her song, hoping to rid the rock that laid in her stomach. Michael wouldn't give up, she knew that, but she still hoped. He studied the back of her for a moment, trying to decipher what was going through her brain. He still felt guilty doing it, specifically because he knew she didn't like it. However, now, they were connected. Body, mind and soul, they were one. So it was difficult to not have her thoughts and feelings full blast for him to see and feel.
Clair De Lune played from her fingers, a little faster tuned than usual. He narrowed his eyes even further, standing and slowly making his way toward her. He sat down beside her, watching the side of her face as she bit the inside of her cheek. "Hey," He grabbed her hand. "what's wrong?"
She huffed, stopping her movements in defeat. "Nothing, Michael." She didn't spare him a glance.
"Well, something's wrong." He told her, scooting closer to wrap his arm around her waist, the other holding her hip. "I'm not going to leave you alone until you tell me." He moved her hair over her shoulder, lightly kissing her neck.
