Vronsky kissed her soft lips, gentle and slow at first. But she responded immediately to him, and soon the two of them were kissing hungrily, the truth now finally clear: this, them, here, now, was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that had ever mattered.

Anna broke away, her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes wild with want. She hadn’t even realized they were lying in each other’s arms on the bed.

“We have to stop,” she gasped, sitting up. “It can’t be like this. It’s not right. I want you, but you’re not mine to have.”

“That’s not true,” Vronsky said quickly, sitting up and kissing her again. “I’m all yours.”

“No,” Anna said, and pulled away, now standing up and straightening her dress. “I can’t think straight, I meant I’m not yours to have. We can’t do this now. It’s not fair to him. I’ll feel terrible tomorrow.” She looked out the window. The sun would be coming up soon and tomorrow would be upon them.

“Don’t make me leave,” Vronsky said in a husky voice. “I can’t. I won’t. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Anna knew it would be impossible to watch him walk out the door without running after him. “I know it’s up to me now,” she said. “I need to do the right thing. Give me some time to handle things properly, okay?” When Vronsky didn’t answer right away, she went to him and kissed him. She wanted to prove she was telling him the truth and to remind herself why she wanted him so bad. Vronsky nodded, resigning himself to obey her every word. He had hope now, hope that they would soon be together, as she tucked him in on the window seat cushion under the pink bedspread. She wasn’t sure she would be able to fall asleep with Alexia lying ten feet away, but eventually she did.

She awoke with a start, totally disoriented, to someone banging on the door. It opened and Beatrice entered wrapped only in a bedsheet, looking a little groggy herself. Beatrice sized up the situation immediately, seeing Anna still in her dress from the night before, and Vronsky, kilt-clad, on the window seat running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry to wake you like this,” Beatrice said, her face a somber mask. “Your mom just phoned the house because you weren’t answering your cell. It’s Alexander. There’s been an accident.”

Part Three

I

Life’s not a bitch, it’s actually a dick.
You’ve got to go out and kick it in the balls.