Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed
Page 40
“Hi, Mom.” I stretch out and smile.
“We’re going out for dinner in thirty minutes. You still want to come?” she asks kindly.
“Oh yes, Mom, of course.” I try very hard but fail to stifle my yawn.
“Now that’s an impressive piece of technology.” She points to my laptop.
Oh, crap.
“Oh … this?” I strive for casual, surprised nonchalance.
Will Mom notice? She seems to have grown more astute since I acquired a “boyfriend.”
“Christian lent it to me. I think I could pilot the space shuttle with it, but I just use it for e-mails and Internet access.”
Really, it’s nothing. Eyeing me suspiciously, she sits down on the bed and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“Has he e-mailed you?”
Oh, double crap.
“Yeah.” My nonchalance is wearing thin, and I flush.
“Perhaps he’s missing you, huh?”
“I hope so, Mom.”
“What does he say?”
Oh, triple crap. I frantically try to think of something acceptable from that e-mail I can tell my mother. I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear about Doms and bondage and gagging, but then I can’t tell her because there’s the NDA.
“He’s told me to enjoy myself but not too much.”
“Sounds reasonable. I’ll leave you to get ready, honey.” Leaning over, she kisses my forehead. “I’m so glad you’re here, Ana. It’s wonderful to see you.” And with that loving statement, she leaves.
Hmm, Christian and reasonable … two concepts that I thought were mutually exclusive, but after his e-mail, maybe all things are possible. I shake my head. I will need time to digest his words. Probably after dinner—and I can reply to him then. I climb out of bed and quickly slip out of my T-shirt and shorts and head to the shower.
I have brought Kate’s gray halter-neck dress that I wore for my graduation. It’s the only dressy item I have. One good thing about the heat is that the creases have dropped out, so I think it will do for the golf club. As I dress, I open up the laptop. There is nothing new from Christian, and I feel a stab of disappointment. Very quickly, I type him an e-mail.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Verbose?
Date: May 31 2011 19:08 EST
To: Christian Grey
Sir, you are quite the loquacious writer. I have to go to dinner at Bob’s golf club, and just so you know, I am rolling my eyes at the thought. But you and your twitchy palm are a long way from me so my behind is safe, for now. I loved your e-mail. Will respond when I can. I miss you already.
Enjoy your afternoon.
Your Ana
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your Behind
Date: May 31 2011 16:10
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I am distracted by the title of this e-mail. Needless to say it is safe—for now.
Enjoy your dinner, and I miss you, too, especially your behind and your smart mouth.
My afternoon will be dull, brightened only by thoughts of you and your eye rolling. I think it was you who so judiciously pointed out to me that I, too, suffer from that nasty habit.
Christian Grey
CEO & Eye Roller,
Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Eye Rolling
Date: May 31 2011 19:14 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
Stop e-mailing me. I am trying to get ready for dinner. You are very distracting, even when you are on the other side of the continent. And yes—who spanks you when you roll your eyes?
Your Ana
I press “send,” and immediately the image of that evil witch Mrs. Robinson comes into my mind. I just can’t picture it. Christian being beaten by someone as old as my mother, it’s just so wrong. Again I wonder what damage she’s wrought. My mouth sets in a hard, grim line. I need a doll to stick pins in, maybe that way I can vent some of the anger I feel at this stranger.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your Behind
Date: May 31 2011 16:18
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I still prefer my title to yours, in so many different ways. It is lucky that I am master of my own destiny and no one castigates me. Except my mother, occasionally, and Dr. Flynn, of course. And you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Chastising … Me?
Date: May 31 2011 19:22 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
When have I ever plucked up the nerve to chastise you, Mr. Grey? I think you are mixing me up with someone else … which is very worrying. I really do have to get ready.
Your Ana
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your Behind
Date: May 31 2011 16:25
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
You do it all the time in print. Can I zip up your dress?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
For some unknown reason, his words leap off the screen and make me gasp. Oh … he wants to play games.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: NC-17
Date: May 31 2011 19:28 EST
To: Christian Grey
I would rather you unzipped it.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Careful what you wish for …
Date: May 31 2011 16:31
To: Anastasia Steele
SO WOULD I.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Panting
Date: May 31 2011 19:33 EST
To: Christian Grey
Slowly …
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Groaning
Date: May 31 2011 16:35
To: Anastasia Steele
Wish I were there.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Moaning
Date: May 31 2011 19:37 EST
To: Christian Grey
SO DO I.
“Ana!” My mother calls me, making me jump. Shit. Why do I feel so guilty?
“Just coming, Mom.”
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Moaning
Date: May 31 2011 19:39 EST
To: Christian Grey
Gotta go.
Laters, baby.
I dash into the hall, where Bob and my mother are waiting. My mother frowns.
“Darling—are you feeling okay? You look a bit flushed.”
“Mom, I’m fine.”
“You look lovely, dear.”
“Oh, this is Kate’s dress. You like it?”
Her frown deepens.
“Why are you wearing Kate’s dress?”
Oh … no.
“Well, I like this one and she doesn’t,” I improvise quickly.
She regards me shrewdly while Bob oozes impatience with his hangdog, hungry look.
“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow,” she says.
“Oh, Mom, you don’t need to do that. I have plenty of clothes.”
“Can’t I do something for my own daughter? Come on, Bob’s starving.”
“Too right,” moans Bob, rubbing his stomach and assuming a fake pained expression.
I giggle as he rolls his eyes, and we head out the door.
Later when I’m in the shower,
cooling under the lukewarm water, I reflect on how much my mother has changed. Seeing her at dinner, she was in her element: funny and flirty and among many friends at the golf club. Bob was warm and attentive … they seem so good for each other. I’m really pleased for her. It means I can stop worrying about her and second-guessing her decisions and put the dark days of Husband Number Three behind us both. Bob is a keeper. And she’s giving me good advice. When did that start happening? Since I met Christian. Why is that?
When I’m done, I dry myself quickly, keen to get back to Christian. There’s an e-mail waiting for me, sent just after I left for dinner a few hours ago.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Plagiarism
Date: May 31 2011 16:41
To: Anastasia Steele
You stole my line.
And left me hanging.
Enjoy your dinner.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Who are you to cry thief?
Date: May 31 2011 22:18 EST
To: Christian Grey
Sir, I think you’ll find it was Elliot’s line originally.
Hanging how?
Your Ana
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Unfinished Business
Date: May 31 2011 19:22
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele,
You’re back. You left so suddenly—just when things were getting interesting.
Elliot’s not very original. He must have stolen that line from someone.
How was dinner?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Unfinished Business?
Date: May 31 2011 22:26 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dinner was filling—you’ll be very pleased to hear I ate far too much.
Getting interesting? How?
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Unfinished Business—Definitely
Date: May 31 2011 19:30
To: Anastasia Steele
Are you being deliberately obtuse? I think you’d just asked me to unzip your dress.
And I was looking forward to doing just that. I am also glad to hear you are eating.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Well … There’s Always the Weekend
Date: May 31 2011 22:36 EST
To: Christian Grey
Of course I eat … It’s only the uncertainty I feel around you that puts me off my food.
And I would never be unwittingly obtuse, Mr. Grey.
Surely you’ve worked that out by now. ;)
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Can’t Wait
Date: May 31 2011 19:40
To: Anastasia Steele
I shall remember that, Miss Steele, and no doubt use the knowledge to my advantage.
I’m sorry to hear that I put you off your food. I thought I had a more concupiscent effect on you. That has been my experience, and most pleasurable it has been, too.
I very much look forward to the next time.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Gymnastic Linguistics
Date: May 31 2011 22:36 EST
To: Christian Grey
Have you been playing with the thesaurus again?
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Rumbled
Date: May 31 2011 19:40
To: Anastasia Steele
You know me so well, Miss Steele.
I am having dinner with an old friend now so I will be driving.
Laters, baby©.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Which old friend? I didn’t think Christian had any old friends, except … her. I frown at the screen. Why does he have to still see her? Searing, green, bilious jealousy courses through me unexpectedly. I want to hit something, preferably Mrs. Robinson. Switching the laptop off in a temper, I clamber into bed.
I should really respond to his long e-mail from this morning, but I’m suddenly too angry. Why can’t he see her for what she is—a child molester? I switch off the light, seething, staring into the darkness. How dare she? How dare she pick on a vulnerable adolescent? Is she still doing it? Why did they stop? Various scenarios filter through my mind: If he had had enough, then why is he still friends with her? Ditto her—is she married? Divorced? Jeez—does she have children of her own? Does she have Christian’s children? My subconscious rears her ugly head, leering, and I’m shocked and nauseated at the thought. Does Dr. Flynn know about her?
I struggle out of bed and fire the mean machine up again. I am on a mission. I drum my fingers impatiently waiting for the blue screen to appear. I hit Google images and enter “Christian Grey” into the search engine. The screen is suddenly littered with images of Christian: in black tie, be-suited, jeez—José’s pictures from the Heathman, in his white shirt and flannel trousers. How did they get on the Internet? Boy, he looks good.
I move quickly on: some with business associates, then picture after glorious picture of the most photogenic man I know intimately. Intimately? Do I know Christian intimately? I know him sexually, and I figure there’s a lot more to discover there. I know he’s moody, difficult, funny, cold, warm … jeez, the man is a walking mass of contradictions. I click to the next page. He’s still on his own in all these photographs, and I remember Kate mentioning that she couldn’t find any photographs of him with a date, prompting her gay question. Then, on the third page, there’s a picture of me, with him, at my graduation. His only picture with a woman, and it’s me.
Holy cow! I’m on Google! I stare at us together. I look surprised by the camera, nervous, off balance. This was just before I agreed to try. For his part, Christian looks impossibly handsome, calm and collected, and he’s wearing that tie. I gaze at him, such a beautiful face, a beautiful face that could be staring at Mrs. Damned Robinson right now. I save the picture in my favorites and click through all eighteen pages of search results … nothing. I won’t find Mrs. Robinson on Google. But I have to know if he’s with her. I type a quick e-mail to Christian.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Suitable Dinner Companions
Date: May 31 2011 23:58 EST
To: Christian Grey
I hope you and your friend had a very pleasant dinner.
Ana
P.S. Was it Mrs. Robinson?
I press “send” and climb despondently back into bed, resolving to ask Christian about his relationship with that woman. Part of me is desperate to know more, and another part wants to forget he ever told me. And my period has started, so I must remember to take my pill in the morning. I quickly program an alarm into the calendar on my BlackBerry. Setting it aside on the bedside table, I lie down and eventually drift into an uneasy sleep, wishing that we were in the same city, not twenty-five hundred miles apart.
After a morning of shopping and an afternoon back at the beach, my mother has decreed we should spend the evening in a bar. Abandoning Bob to the TV, we find ourselves in the upscale bar of Savannah’s most exclusive hotel. I am on my second Cosmopolitan. My mother is on her third. She is offering more insights into the fragile male ego. It’s very disconcerting.
“You see, Ana, men think that anything that comes out of a woman’s mouth is a problem to be solved. Not some vague idea that we’d like to kick around and talk about for a while and then forget. Men prefer action.”
“Mom, why are you telling me this?” I ask, fai
ling to hide my exasperation. She’s been like this all day.