Applause thundered everywhere as the actors and actresses took their bows. No sooner had "The King and I" let out, the opulent Ritterdorf Theater became a bustle of murmurs and swishing garments. A tall, elegant brunette wearing a black ruffle bandeau dress stood out in the crowd. Her ruby earrings sparkled in the warm, flattering light of the chandeliers above. Slender yet curved, with rich brown eyes and luxuriant long hair sweeping to the tops of her breasts, the feminine figure caught more than a few glances from envious females—and hungry males. The strapless dress showed off the young woman's shoulders, and the cleavage...well, the dress left little to the imagination.
Carissa felt like the center of attention as Anders' hand grasped hers tightly.
"Come, darling. We go now."
"But I have to use the restroom," she protested. In response, his grip only hardened as he led the two of them through the post-performance jumble of theater-goers, making a beeline for the rear exit. As soon as he pushed open the door, she could feel half the tension drain out of his body. He looked both ways, then ushered them across the street, towards the parking garage.
Carissa's eyes flashed with annoyance. "Did you hear me? I have to pee. I can't wait until we get home."
Gruffly, Anders replied, "You'll just have to hold it." Moments later, he had whisked her into the parking garage and up two flights of stairs to his silver sedan.
Carissa looked up at her captor. She wondered what he was thinking just now. It had been two weeks since Carissa had made her breakthrough with Anders. Their new agreement had been simple: Anders would take her out on 'dates.' He would even buy her clothes, whatever she wished. In return, she promised not to run from him AND she promised to always be naked whenever he was at home.
From the standpoint of a sex-slave captive, which is what Carissa had been at first...she could have done worse. Her decision to not give up on the twisted man who was Anders, this handsome, contradictory, and disturbed Frenchman, was paying off. Or was it?
This had been their sixth outing in the past two weeks. The performances he took her to were always lovely. To actually be able to go out, even if it required him always at her elbow, that made a huge difference to her sanity. But there was just one problem. Him. Anders was still as vigilant as a sentry on guard duty every time they went anywhere.
He was always so on edge! Carissa had hoped that she could coax out the romantic in him, free him from the chains of this hyper-paranoia and jealousy that had compelled him to take her captive in the first place. That still compelled him to keep her as his virtual prisoner, even though he claimed to love her. He DID love her, in his own very demented way...but Carissa couldn't leave it at that...not if she was going to retain her sanity or make any progress.
Now the 22-year-old woman got in the car, crossing her legs as she heard Anders work the clutch. The car sped down the ramp and onto the streets of Berlin. A drizzle started, obscuring the window as she tried to look out.
"Anders..."
"Yes, Mein Schatz?" She was about to insist that they stop somewhere. She really did have to pee! He needed to get over his paranoia.
"Why do you call me that?"
He raised an eyebrow at her as he turned the wheel. In no time they would be on the highway. She realized that he was driving more aggressively than usual.
"Mein Schatz? It means 'my treasure,' in German."
"I know WHAT it means. I asked why," the young woman replied. "I mean, you're FRENCH." When he didn't respond to her expectant look, she sighed.
He chuckled at her exasperation. Anders' blue-gray eyes crinkled with a trace of good humor. "Because I am a Frenchman, it means I can be nothing else?" He gestured at the city of Berlin, buildings of concrete and steel cast in the eerie light of the full moon despite the pitter-pattering drizzle. "I have lived in this city for nearly ten years. France will always be my home, but I have made a conscious choice to become more German. It is important to be adaptable—to not let the past define you."
'If that's true, then why can't you change?! Why can't you become the good man that I love, and not this creepy control-freak?!' she all but wanted to shout at him. Still seething, still needing to pee badly, she threw up her arms.
"Anders, this has to stop."
The rugged face turned toward her. His sharply chiseled nose and high cheekbones gave him a Viking-like look in the half-light. "What has to stop?"
"This." She gestured between them. "You can't be so protective and paranoid that you don't let me use the restroom when I have to go in public."
"Letting you go out with me was part of our new deal. There was no specifying bathroom privileges. I dislike crowds AND what's more, I dislike strangers ogling my woman." He threw a dark glance out the window, as if the entire male population of Berlin were his enemy. Carissa would have laughed if the situation weren't so dire.
"Anders, I wasn't kidding. I really, really need to pee." Soon enough, he found a rest stop and pulled to the side. Technically it was closed, but there was no one about this late. No one stopped him when he broke the door open.
"In you go," he murmured.
Carissa gratefully took care of business. The rest area bathroom was the very essence of stereotypical German cleanliness. In fact, it was so spotless, Carissa almost smiled. She was just turning around after washing her hands and cleaning up at the sink when suddenly Anders was right there, looming over her.
"What—?"
