by E. L. James
“Christian,” says Flynn, holding out his hand. Christian shakes it gladly.
“John. Rhian.” He kisses the dark-haired woman on her cheek. She’s petite and pretty.
“Glad you’re still with us, Christian. My life would be most dull—and penurious—without you.”
Christian smirks.
“John!” Rhian scolds, much to Christian’s amusement.
“Rhian, this is Anastasia, my fiancée. Ana, this is John’s wife.”
“Delighted to meet the woman who has finally captured Christian’s heart.” Rhian smiles kindly at me.
“Thank you,” I mutter, embarrassed again.
“That was one googly you bowled there, Christian,” Dr. Flynn shakes his head in amused disbelief. Christian frowns at him.
“John—you and your cricket metaphors.” Rhian rolls her eyes. “Congratulations to the pair of you and happy birthday, Christian. What a wonderful birthday present.” She smiles broadly at me.
I had no idea Dr. Flynn would be here, or Elena. It’s a shock, and I rack my brains to see if I have anything to ask him, but a birthday party hardly seems the appropriate venue for a psychiatric consultation.
For a few minutes we make small talk. Rhian is a stay-at-home mom with two young boys. I deduce that she is the reason Dr. Flynn practices in the United States.
“She’s good, Christian, responding well to treatment. Another couple of weeks and we can consider an outpatient program.” Dr. Flynn’s and Christian’s voices are low, but I can’t help listening in, rather rudely tuning out Rhian.
“So it’s all playdates and diapers right now …”
“That must take up your time.” I flush, turning my attention back to Rhian, who laughs sweetly. I know Christian and Flynn are discussing Leila.
“Ask her something for me,” Christian murmurs.
“So, what do you do, Anastasia?”
“Ana, please. I work in publishing.”
Christian and Dr. Flynn lower their voices further; it’s so frustrating. But they stop when we’re joined by the two women I didn’t recognize earlier—Ros and the bubbly blonde whom Christian introduces as her partner, Gwen.
Ros is charming, and I soon discover they live almost opposite Escala. She is full of praise for Christian’s piloting skills. It was her first time in Charlie Tango, and she says she wouldn’t hesitate to go again. She’s one of the few women I’ve met who isn’t dazzled by him … well, the reason is obvious.
Gwen is giggly with a wry sense of humor, and Christian seems extraordinarily at ease with both of them. He knows them well. They don’t discuss work, but I can tell that Ros is one smart woman who can easily keep up with him. She also has a great, throaty, too-many-cigarettes laugh.
Grace interrupts our leisurely conversation to inform everyone that dinner is being served buffet-style in the Grey kitchen. Slowly the guests make their way toward the back of the house.
Mia collars me in the hallway. In her pale pink, frothy babydoll dress and killer heels, she towers over me like a Christmas tree fairy. She’s holding two cocktail glasses.
“Ana,” she hisses conspiratorially. I glance up at Christian, who releases me with a best-of-luck-I-find-her-impossible-to-deal-with-too look, and I sneak into the dining room with her.
“Here,” she says mischievously. “This is one of my dad’s special lemon martinis—much nicer than champagne.” She hands me a glass and watches anxiously while I take a tentative sip.
“Hmm … delicious. But strong.” What does she want? Is she trying to get me drunk?
“Ana, I need some advice. And I can’t ask Lily—she’s so judgmental about everything.” Mia rolls her eyes then grins at me. “She is so jealous of you. I think she was hoping one day that she and Christian might get together.” Mia bursts out laughing at the absurdity, and I quail inside.
This is something I will have to contend with for a long time—other women wanting my man. I push the unwelcome thought out of my head and distract myself with the matter in hand. I take another sip of my martini.
“I’ll try and help. Fire away.”
“As you know, Ethan and I met recently, thanks to you.” She beams at me.
“Yes.” Where the hell is she going with this?
“Ana—he doesn’t want to date me.” She pouts.
“Oh.” I blink at her, stunned, and I think, Maybe he’s just not that into you.
“Look, that sounded all wrong. He doesn’t want to date because his sister is going out with my brother. You know—he thinks it’s all kind of incestuous. But I know he likes me. What can I do?”
“Oh, I see,” I mutter, trying to buy myself some time. What can I say? “Can you agree to be friends and give it some time? I mean you’ve only just met him.”
She cocks her eyebrow.
“Look, I know I’ve only really just met Christian but …” I frown, not sure what I want to say. “Mia, this is something you and Ethan have to work out together. I would try the friendship route.”
Mia grins.
“You’ve learned that look from Christian.”
I flush. “If you want advice, ask Kate. She may have some insight as to how her brother feels.”
“You think?” Mia asks.
“Yes.” I smile encouragingly.
“Cool. Thanks, Ana.” She gives me another hug and scuttles excitedly—and impressively, given her high heels—to the door, no doubt off to bother Kate. I take another sip of my martini, and I’m about to follow her when I am stopped in my tracks.
Elena breezes into the room, her face taut, set in grim, angry determination. She closes the door quietly behind her and scowls at me.
Oh, crap.
“Ana,” she sneers.
I summon all my self-possession, slightly fuzzy from two glasses of champagne and the lethal cocktail I hold in my hand. I think the blood has drained from my face, but I marshal both my subconscious and my inner goddess in order to appear as calm and as unflappable as I can.
“Elena.” My voice is small, but steady—despite my dry mouth. Why does this woman freak me out so much? And what does she want now?
“I would offer you my heartfelt congratulations, but I think that would be inappropriate.” Her piercing cold blue eyes stare frostily into mine, filled with loathing.
“I neither need nor want your congratulations, Elena. I’m surprised and disappointed to see you here.”
She arches an eyebrow. I think she’s impressed.
“I wouldn’t have thought of you as a worthy adversary, Anastasia. But you surprise me at every turn.”
“I haven’t thought of you at all,” I lie, coolly. Christian would be proud. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have much better things to do than waste my time with you.”
“Not so fast, missy,” she hisses, leaning against the door, effectively blocking it. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, consenting to marry Christian? If you think for one minute you can make him happy, you’re very much mistaken.”
“What I’m consenting to do with Christian is none of your concern.” I smile with sarcastic sweetness. She ignores me.
“He has needs—needs you cannot possibly begin to satisfy,” she gloats.
“What do you know of his needs?” I snarl. My sense of indignation flares brightly, burning inside me as adrenaline surges through my body. How dare this fucking bitch preach to me? “You’re nothing but a sick child molester, and if it were up to me, I’d toss you into the seventh circle of hell and walk away smiling. Now get out of my way—or do I have to make you?”
“You’re making a big mistake here, lady.” She shakes a long, skinny, finely manicured finger at me. “How dare you judge our lifestyle? You know nothing, and you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. And if you think he’s going to be happy with a mousy little gold digger like you …”
That’s it! I throw the rest of my lemon martini in her face, drenching her.
“Don’t you dare tell me wh
at I’m getting myself into!” I shout at her. “When will you learn? It’s none of your goddamned business!”
She gapes at me, horror struck, wiping the sticky drink off her face. I think she’s about to lunge at me, but she’s suddenly shunted forward as the door opens.
Christian is standing in the doorway. It takes him a nanosecond to assess the situation—me ashen and shaking, her soaked and livid. His lovely face darkens and contorts with anger as he comes to stand between us.
“What the fuck are you doing, Elena?” he says, his voice glacial and laced with menace.
She blinks up at him. “She’s not right for you, Christian,” she whispers.
“What?” he shouts, startling both of us. I can’t see his face but his whole body has tensed, and he radiates animosity.
“How the fuck do you know what’s right for me?”
“You have needs, Christian,” she says her voice softer.
“I’ve told you before—this is none of your fucking business,” he roars. Oh crap—Very Angry Christian has reared his not-so-ugly head. People are going to hear.
“What is this?” He pauses, glaring at her. “Do you think it’s you? You? You think you’re right for me?” His voice is softer but drips contempt, and suddenly I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to witness this intimate encounter. I’m intruding. But I’m stuck—my limbs unwilling to move.
Elena swallows and seems to draw herself upright. Her stance changes subtly, becoming more commanding, and she steps toward him.
“I was the best thing that ever happened to you,” she hisses arrogantly at him. “Look at you now. One of the richest, most successful entrepreneurs in the United States—controlled, driven—you need nothing. You are master of your universe.”
He steps back as if he’s been struck and gapes at her in outraged disbelief.
“You loved it, Christian, don’t try and kid yourself. You were on the road to self-destruction, and I saved you from that, saved you from a life behind bars. Believe me, baby, that’s where you would have ended up. I taught you everything you know, everything you need.”
Christian blanches, staring at her in horror. When he speaks, his voice is low and incredulous.
“You taught me how to fuck, Elena. But it’s empty, like you. No wonder Linc left.”
Bile rises in my mouth. I should not be here. But I’m frozen to the spot, morbidly fascinated as they eviscerate each other.
“You never once held me,” Christian whispers. “You never once said you loved me.”
She narrows her eyes. “Love is for fools, Christian.”
“Get out of my house.” Grace’s implacable, furious voice startles us. Three heads swing rapidly to where Grace stands on the threshold of the room. She is glaring at Elena, who pales beneath her Saint-Tropez tan.
Time seems suspended as we collectively take a deep gasping breath, and Grace stalks deliberately into the room. Her eyes blaze with fury, never once leaving Elena, until she stands before her. Elena’s eyes widen in alarm, and Grace slaps her hard across the face, the sound of the impact resounding off the walls of the dining room.
“Take your filthy paws off my son, you whore, and get out of my house—now!” she hisses through gritted teeth.
Elena clutches her reddening cheek and stares in horror for a moment, shocked and blinking at Grace. Then she hurries from the room, not bothering to close the door behind her.
Grace turns slowly to face Christian and a tense silence settles like a thick blanket over us as Christian and Grace stare at each other. After a beat, Grace speaks.
“Ana, before I hand him over to you, would you mind giving me a minute or two alone with my son?” Her voice is quiet, husky, but oh-so-strong.
“Of course,” I whisper, and exit as quickly as I can, glancing anxiously over my shoulder. But neither of them looks at me as I leave. They continue to stare at each other, their unspoken communication blaringly loud.
In the hallway I am momentarily lost. My heart pounds and my blood races through my veins … I feel panicked and out of my depth. Holy fuck, that was heavy and now Grace knows. I can’t think what she’s going to say to Christian, and I know it’s wrong, but I lean against the door trying to listen.
“How long, Christian?” Grace’s voice is soft. I can barely hear her.
I cannot hear his reply.
“How old were you?” Her voice is more insistent. “Tell me. How old were you when this all started?” Again I can’t hear Christian.
“Everything okay, Ana?” Ros interrupts me.
“Yes. Fine. Thank you. I …”
Ros smiles. “I’m just going to get my purse. I need a cigarette.”
For a brief moment, I contemplate joining her.
“I’m off to the bathroom.” I need to gather my wits and my thoughts, to process what I’ve just witnessed and heard. Upstairs seems the safest place to be on my own. I watch Ros stroll into the drawing room, and I bolt two stairs at a time to the second floor, then up to the third. There’s only one place I want to be.
I open the door to Christian’s childhood bedroom and shut it behind me, taking a huge gulping breath. Heading for his bed, I flop onto it and stare at the plain white ceiling.
Holy cow. That has to be, without doubt, one of the most excruciating confrontations I’ve ever had to endure, and now I feel numb. My fiancé and his ex-lover—no would-be bride should have to see that. Having said that, part of me is glad she’s revealed her true self, and that I was there to bear witness.
My thoughts turn to Grace. Poor Grace, to hear all that. I clutch one of Christian’s pillows. She’ll have overheard that Christian and Elena had an affair—but not the nature of it. Thank heavens. I groan.
What am I doing? Perhaps the evil witch had a point.
No, I refuse to believe that. She’s so cold and cruel. I shake my head. She’s wrong. I am right for Christian. I am what he needs. And in a moment of stunning clarity, I don’t question how he’s lived his life until recently—but why. His reasons for doing what he’s done to countless girls—I don’t even want to know how many. The how isn’t wrong. They were all adults. They were all—how did Flynn put it?—in safe, sane, consensual relationships. It’s the why. The why was wrong. The why was from his place of darkness.
I close my eyes and drape my arm over them. But now he’s moved on, left it behind, and we are both in the light. I’m dazzled by him, and he by me. We can guide each other. A thought occurs to me. Shit! A gnawing, insidious thought and I’m in the one place where I can lay this ghost to rest. I sit up. Yes, I must do this.
Shakily I get to my feet, kick off my shoes, walk over to his desk, and examine the bulletin board above it. The photos of young Christian are all still there—more poignant than ever, as I think of the spectacle I’ve just witnessed between him and Mrs. Robinson. And there in the corner is the small black-and-white photo—his mother, the crack whore.
I switch on the desk lamp and focus the light on her picture. I don’t even know her name. She looks so much like him, but younger and sadder, and all I feel, looking at her sorrowful face, is compassion. I try to see the similarities between her face and mine. I squint at the picture, getting really, really close, and see none. Except maybe our hair, but I think hers is lighter than mine. I don’t look like her at all. It’s a relief.
My subconscious tuts at me, arms crossed, glaring over her half-moon glasses. Why are you torturing yourself? You’ve said yes. You’ve made your bed. I purse my lips at her. Yes I have, gladly so. I want to lie in that bed with Christian for the rest of my life. My inner goddess, sitting in the lotus position, smiles serenely. Yes. I’ve made the right decision.
I must find him—Christian will be worried. I have no idea how long I’ve been in his room; he’ll think that I’ve fled. I roll my eyes as I contemplate his overreaction. I hope that he and Grace have finished. I shudder to think what else she might have said to him.
I meet Christian as he climbs the s
tairs to the second floor, looking for me. His face is strained and weary—not the carefree Fifty I arrived with. As I stand on the landing, he stops on the top stair so that we are eye to eye.
“Hi,” he says cautiously.
“Hi,” I answer warily.
“I was worried—”
“I know,” I interrupt him. “I’m sorry—I couldn’t face the festivities. I just had to get away, you know. To think.” Reaching up, I caress his face. He closes his eyes and leans his face into my hand.
“And you thought you’d do that in my room?”
“Yes.”
He reaches for my hand and pulls me into an embrace, and I go willingly into his arms, my favorite place in the whole world. He smells of fresh laundry, body wash, and Christian—the most calming and arousing scent on the planet. He inhales with his nose in my hair.
“I’m sorry you had to endure all that.”
“It’s not your fault, Christian. Why was she here?” He gazes down at me, and his mouth curls apologetically.
“She’s a family friend.”
I try not to react. “Not anymore. How’s your mom?”
“Mom is pretty fucking mad at me right now. I’m really glad you’re here, and that we’re in the middle of a party. Otherwise I might be breathing my last.”
“That bad, huh?”
He nods, his eyes serious, and I sense his bewilderment at her reaction.
“Can you blame her?” My voice is quiet, cajoling.
He hugs me tightly and he seems uncertain, processing his thoughts.
Finally he answers. “No.”
Whoa! Breakthrough. “Can we sit?” I ask.
“Sure. Here?”
I nod and we both sit at the top of the stairs. “So, how do you feel?” I ask, anxiously clutching his hand and gazing at his sad, serious face.
He sighs.
“I feel liberated.” He shrugs, then beams—a glorious, carefree Christian smile, and the weariness and strain present moments ago have vanished.
“Really?” I beam back. Wow, I’d crawl over broken glass for that smile.
“Our business relationship is over. Done.”
I frown at him. “Will you liquidate the salon business?”
