Chapter 18

The interview aired at eight o'clock on Friday night, and I couldn't bring myself to watch it.

Christopher and I sat in our living room, the television on, but I spent most of the hour staring at my hands while Christopher's thumb traced circles on my palm. I caught glimpses of us on screen—me talking about meeting Christopher, him explaining why he'd hidden his identity, both of us discussing the challenges we'd faced.

Watching myself on television felt surreal, like looking at a stranger who happened to have my face and voice.

"You're beautiful," Christopher murmured during a segment where I was talking about the bookstore. "Have I told you that today?"

"Only three times," I said, managing a weak smile.

My phone was face-down on the coffee table, deliberately silenced. I didn't want to see the real-time reactions, the social media commentary, the hot takes from people who'd watched thirty seconds of clips before forming definitive opinions.

When the interview finally ended, Christopher picked up the remote and turned off the television.

"Well," he said. "It's done."

"It's done," I echoed, not sure if I felt relieved or terrified.

Diana called moments later. "Early reactions are mixed but trending positive," she reported, her voice brisk and professional. "The authenticity came through clearly. People are responding well to your chemistry and the honest discussion about the challenges you've faced."

"What about the negative reactions?" I asked, needing to know.

"The usual suspects. People who were never going to be convinced no matter what you said. Victoria has already released a statement saying the interview was 'carefully crafted PR' and doesn't reflect reality. But honestly, she's losing credibility. Most people see through it."

After we hung up, I finally allowed myself to look at my phone. The notifications were overwhelming—hundreds of messages, tags, mentions. I scrolled through them, my stomach churning.

Some were supportive: "They're clearly in love. People need to leave them alone." "Finally, an honest conversation about the pressures of wealth and public life." "Anastasia handled those tough questions like a boss."

Others were critical: "Still seems like a gold digger to me." "He's going to regret this in a year." "She's out of her depth and doesn't even realize it."

And then there were the ones about Emily and Thomas: "Convenient that she didn't mention her sister married a criminal too." "The whole family is probably corrupt." "Christopher Zane should have investigated his wife's background before marrying her."

Each negative comment was a small cut, even though I'd prepared myself for this.

"Stop reading," Christopher said gently, taking my phone from my hands. "You're just torturing yourself."

"I need to know what people are saying," I protested weakly.

"No, you don't. What you need is to remember that the people who matter—the ones who actually know us—support us completely." He set my phone on the table, out of reach. "Everyone else is just noise."

I wanted to believe him. But the noise was so loud, so persistent, that it was hard to ignore.

My phone buzzed again, and Christopher glanced at the screen. "It's Emily."

I grabbed it quickly. "Em?"

"Ana, I just watched the interview." Emily's voice was thick with emotion. "You were incredible. So strong and honest. I'm so proud of you."

Relief flooded through me. "You're not angry that I mentioned Thomas?"

"Angry? No. You handled it perfectly. You defended me without making excuses for him. That's exactly what needed to be said." Emily paused. "Christopher was amazing too. The way he looked at you, the way he talked about you—Ana, that man is completely in love with you."

"I know," I whispered, glancing at Christopher, who was watching me with concern. "I'm in love with him too."

"Then don't let the haters get to you. You're building something real, and that's more important than what strangers think."

After we said goodbye, I felt steadier. Emily's approval mattered more than a thousand anonymous comments online.

Christopher pulled me close, and I rested my head on his shoulder, letting his steady heartbeat calm my racing thoughts.

"We should celebrate," he said suddenly. "We faced the cameras, told our truth, and survived. That deserves recognition."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, tilting my head to look at him.

"How do you feel about getting out of the city for the weekend? Just the two of us, somewhere quiet where we can breathe without reporters watching."

The idea sounded like paradise. "Where would we go?"

"I have a house in the Hamptons. Small, private, right on the beach. We could leave tomorrow morning, spend the weekend doing nothing but relaxing." His expression turned hopeful. "What do you say?"

"Yes," I said immediately. "God, yes. I need to get away from all of this."

Christopher's smile was genuine, reaching his eyes in a way that made my chest warm. "Then pack a bag. We're leaving first thing tomorrow."

That night, I slept better than I had in days, Christopher's arms around me, the promise of escape lending a sense of peace I desperately needed.

We left Saturday morning before sunrise, Christopher driving us in a car I'd never seen before—a sleek silver Aston Martin that made me laugh when I saw it.

"How many cars do you own?" I asked as I slid into the passenger seat.

"A few," he said evasively. "I don't use most of them. They're investments."

"You have investment cars," I said, shaking my head. "That's the most billionaire thing I've ever heard."

Christopher's lips quirked. "Would you prefer I drive my investment yacht?"

"You have a yacht?" I stared at him.

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

"Not even a little bit."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and pulled out into the pre-dawn streets. The city was quiet at this hour, the usual chaos subdued, and we drove through Manhattan in comfortable silence.

As we left the city behind and headed east toward the coast, I felt the tension that had been building for weeks slowly begin to ease. No reporters could follow us here. No cameras, no interviews, no Victoria making snide comments. Just Christopher and me and the open road.

"Tell me about this house," I said as we hit the highway.

"It was my mother's," Christopher said quietly. "She bought it before she married my father, one of the few things she kept that was entirely hers. When she died, she left it to me. My father never goes there—too many memories, I think. But I've kept it maintained. I go occasionally when I need to escape."

The vulnerability in his voice made my chest ache. "You've never mentioned it before."

"I've never brought anyone there before," Christopher admitted. "It felt too personal, too much like exposing a part of myself I wasn't ready to share." He glanced at me, his expression soft. "But I want to share it with you."

Two hours later, we pulled up to a house that took my breath away.

It wasn't the massive mansion I'd been expecting. Instead, it was a beautiful but modest beach house, all weathered wood and large windows, with a wrap-around porch that faced the ocean. The beach stretched out before us, empty and pristine in the early morning light.

"Christopher, it's beautiful," I breathed, climbing out of the car.

He came around to stand beside me, his gaze on the house rather than the ocean. "My mother loved it here. She said it was the only place where she could just be herself, without the weight of the Zane name."

I slipped my hand into his, squeezing gently. "Thank you for bringing me here."

We spent the morning unpacking and exploring the house. It was cozy and lived-in, filled with comfortable furniture and family photos I'd never seen before. Christopher as a child, his mother's smile bright and genuine, moments captured before grief and obligation had hardened him.

"You look like her," I observed, studying a photo of Christopher at maybe eight years old, standing beside his mother on this very beach.

"Everyone says that," Christopher murmured. "I have her eyes, apparently."

We made lunch together in the small kitchen—sandwiches and fruit, nothing elaborate—and ate on the porch, the sound of waves providing a soothing soundtrack.

"I could stay here forever," I said, leaning back in my chair and closing my eyes against the warm sun.

"We could," Christopher said, and I opened my eyes to find him watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. "Just disappear, leave everything behind. I could sell the company, we could live simply. Just us and the ocean."

"You'd hate that after a week," I said, but there was no heat in it. "You thrive on challenges and problem-solving. You'd be bored out of your mind."

"Maybe," he conceded. "But it's nice to imagine sometimes. A life with no expectations, no obligations, just being."

After lunch, we walked along the beach, our shoes left behind on the porch, the sand cool beneath our feet. The water was too cold for swimming yet, but we walked along the shore, letting the waves lap at our ankles.

"My mother used to bring me here when things got bad at home," Christopher said suddenly. "When my father was too distant or demanding, when the pressure of being a Zane heir got too heavy. She'd pack a bag and we'd come here for a few days, just the two of us. It was our escape."

"It sounds like she was a wonderful mother," I said softly.

"She was. She tried so hard to shield me from the worst of my father's coldness, to make sure I knew I was loved." His jaw tightened. "After she died, this place became a reminder of everything I'd lost. I couldn't come here for years without breaking down."

"And now?" I asked gently.

"Now it's starting to feel like a place for new memories, not just painful ones." He stopped walking, turning to face me fully. "Because you're here with me."

The ocean breeze caught my hair, and Christopher reached out to tuck it behind my ear, his touch lingering.

"I know these past few weeks have been hard," he said. "The scrutiny, the scandal, Victoria's interference, the interview. You've handled all of it with more grace and strength than I could have hoped for. But Anastasia, I don't want you to think this is what our life will always be like."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"The media attention will eventually die down. Victoria will move on to her next target. The scandal with Thomas will fade. And then it will just be us, building our life together without all the noise." His hands framed my face, his blue eyes intense. "I want to give you everything—security, comfort, adventure, whatever you want. But most of all, I want to give you peace. The kind of peace my mother found here."

Tears pricked my eyes. "Christopher, you've already given me so much. A home, partnership, love. That's more than I ever expected."

"You deserve more than expectations," he said fiercely. "You deserve everything good this world has to offer."

He kissed me then, soft and sweet and full of promise, with the ocean waves crashing behind us and the sun warm on our faces.

When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against his, breathing in the salt air and the moment and the man who'd somehow become my entire world.

"I love you," I whispered. "Even when it's complicated and messy and hard, I love you."

"I love you too," Christopher murmured back. "More than I thought I was capable of loving anyone."

We spent the rest of the weekend in our own private world. We cooked simple meals together, walked the beach at sunrise and sunset, sat on the porch reading books while the ocean provided background music. We talked about everything and nothing—our childhoods, our dreams, our fears, our hopes for the future.

It was the most peaceful I'd felt since the day we got married.

Sunday evening, as we prepared to head back to the city, I stood on the porch one last time, memorizing the view.

"We can come back whenever you want," Christopher said, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. "This place is ours now. A refuge when the world gets too loud."

"I'd like that," I said, leaning back against him. "Having a place that's just ours, separate from everything else."

As we drove back to Manhattan, watching the city lights appear on the horizon, I felt different. Stronger, maybe. More certain that what Christopher and I had built was real and worth fighting for.

The media circus would still be waiting. Victoria would still be circling. Life would still be complicated.

But we'd survived this weekend, had found peace in the chaos, and that gave me hope.

Because if we could weather everything thrown at us these past weeks and come out the other side still standing, still loving each other, then maybe we really could handle anything.

Together.