Текст книги "Fifty shades darker"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

photographs belong in my safe.”

“Who moved them?” I whisper.

He swallows. “There’s only one person who could have done that.”

“Oh. Who? And what do you mean, ‘it’s not what I think’?”

He sighs and tilts his head to one side, and I think he’s embarrassed. So he should be!

My subconscious snarls.

“This is going to sound cold, but—they’re an insurance policy,” he whispers steeling

himself for my response.

“Insurance policy?”

“Against exposure.”

The penny drops and rattles uncomfortably round and round in my empty head.

“Oh,” I murmur, because I can’t think of what else to say. I close my eyes. This is it.

This is Fifty Shades of Fucked-Up, right here, right now. “Yes. You’re right,” I mutter.

“That does sound cold.” I stand to clear our dishes. I don’t want to know any more.

“Ana.”

“Do they know? The girls . . . the subs?”

He frowns. “Of course they know.”

Oh, well, that’s something. He reaches out, grabbing me and pulling me to him.

“Those photos are supposed to be in the safe. They’re not for recreational use.” He

stops. “Maybe they were when they were taken originally. But—” He stops, imploring me.

“They don’t mean anything.”

“Who put them in your closet?”

“It could only have been Leila.”

“She knows your safe combination?”

He shrugs. “It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s a very long combination, and I use it so rarely.

It’s the one number I have written down and haven’t changed.” He shakes his head. “I

wonder what else she knows and if she’s taken anything else out of there.” He frowns, then

turns his attention back to me. “Look, I’ll destroy the photos. Now, if you like.”

“They’re your photos, Christian. Do with them as you wish,” I mutter.

“Don’t be like that,” he says, taking my head in his hands and holding my gaze to his.

“I don’t want that life. I want our life, together.”

Holy cow. How does he know that beneath my horror about these photos is the fact

that I’m paranoid?

“Ana, I thought we exorcised all those ghosts this morning. I feel that way. Don’t you?”

I blink at him, recalling our very, very pleasurable and romantic and downright dirty

morning in his playroom.

“Yes,” I smile. “Yes, I feel like that, too.”

“Good.” He leans forward and kisses me, folding me in his arms. “I’ll shred them,” he

murmurs. “And then I have to go to work. I’m sorry, baby, but I have a mountain of busi-

ness to get through this afternoon.”

“It’s cool. I have to call my mother.” I grimace. “Then I want to do some shopping and

bake you a cake.”

He grins and his eyes light up like a small boy’s.

“A cake?”

I nod.

“A chocolate cake?”

“You want a chocolate cake?” His grin is infectious.

He nods.

“I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Grey.”

He kisses me once more.

Carla is stunned into silence.

“Mom, say something.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you, Ana?” she whispers in horror.

“No, no, no, nothing like that.” Disappointment slices through my heart, and I’m sad-

dened that she would think that of me. But then I remember with an ever-sinking feeling

that she was pregnant with me when she married my father.

“I’m sorry, darling. This is just so sudden. I mean, Christian is quite a catch, but you’re

so young, and you should see a little of the world.”

“Mom, can’t you just be happy for me? I love him.”

“Darling, I just need to get used to the idea. It’s a shock. I could tell in Georgia that

there was something very special between you two, but marriage . . . ?”

In Georgia he wanted me to be his submissive, but I won’t tell her that.

“Have you set a date?”

“No.”

“I wish your father was alive,” she whispers. Oh no . . . not this. Not this, now.

“I know, Mom. I would have liked to know him, too.”

“He only held you once, and he was so proud. He thought you were the most beautiful

girl in the world.” Her voice is a deathly hush as the familiar tale is retold . . . again. She

will be in tears next.

“I know, Mom.”

“And then he died.” She sniffs, and I know this has set her off as it does every time.

“Mom,” I whisper, wanting to reach down the phone and hold her.

“I’m a silly old woman,” she murmurs and she sniffs again. “Of course I am happy for

you, darling. Does Ray know?” she adds, and she seems to have recovered her equilibrium.

“Christian’s just asked him.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. Good.” She sounds melancholic, but she’s making an effort.

“Yes, it was,” I murmur.

“Ana, darling, I love you so much. I amhappy for you. And you must both visit.”

“Yes, Mom. I love you, too.”

“Bob is calling me, I have to go. Let me have a date. We need to plan . . . are you hav-

ing a big wedding?”

Big wedding, crap. I haven’t even thought about that. Big wedding? No. I don’t want

a big wedding.

“I don’t know yet. As soon as I do, I’ll call.”

“Good. You take care now and be safe. You two need to have some fun . . . plenty of

time for kids later.”

Kids! Hmm . . .and there it is again—a not-so-veiled reference to the fact that she had

me so early.

“Mom, I didn’t really ruin your life, did I?”

She gasps. “Oh no, Ana, never think that. You were the best thing that ever happened

to your father and me. I just wish he was here to see you so grown up and getting married.”

She’s wistful and maudlin again.

“I wish that, too.” I shake my head thinking about my mythical father. “Mom, I’ll let

you go. I’ll call soon.”

“Love you, darling.”

“Me, too, Mom. Good-bye.”

Christian’s kitchen is a dream to work in. For a man who knows nothing about cooking, he

seems to have everything. I suspect Mrs. Jones loves to cook, too. The only thing I need is

some high quality chocolate for the frosting. I leave the two halves of the cake on a cooling

rack, grab my purse, and pop my head around Christian’s study door. He’s concentrating

on his computer screen. He looks up and smiles at me.

“I’m just heading to the store to pick up some ingredients.”

“Okay.” He frowns at me.

“What?”

“You going to put some jeans on or something?”

Oh, come on. “Christian, they’re just legs.”

He gazes at me, unamused. This is going to be a fight. And it’s his birthday. I roll my

eyes at him, feeling like an errant teenager.

“What if we were at the beach?” I take a different tack.

“We’re not at the beach.”

“Would you object if we were at the beach?”

He considers this for a moment. “No,” he says simply.

I roll my eyes again and smirk at him. “Well, just imagine we are. Laters.” I turn and

bolt for the foyer. I make it to the elevator before he catches up with me. As the doors close,

I wave at him, grinning sweetly as he watches, helpless—but fortunately amused—with

narrowed eyes. He shakes his head in exasperation, then I can see him no more.

Oh, that was exciting. Adrenaline is pounding through my veins, and my heart feels

like it wants to exit my chest. But as the elevator descends, so do my spirits. Shit, what

have I done?

I have a tiger by the tail. He’s going to be mad when I get back. My subconscious is

glaring at me over her half-moon glasses, a willow switch in her hand. Shit. I think about

what little experience I have with men. I’ve never lived with a man before—well, except

Ray—and for some reason he doesn’t count. He’s my dad . . . well, the man I consider my

dad.And now I have Christian. He’s never really lived with anyone, I think. I’ll have to ask

him—if he’s still talking to me.

But I feel strongly that I should wear what I like. I remember his rules. Yes, this must

be hard for him, but he sure as hell paid for this dress. He should have given Neimans a

better brief. Nothing too short!

This skirt isn’t that short, is it? I check in the large mirror in the lobby. Damn. Yes, it is

quite short, but I’ve made a stand now. And no doubt I’ll have to face the consequences. I

wonder idly what he’ll do, but first I need cash.

I stare at my receipt from the ATM: $51,689.16. That’s fifty thousand dollars too much!

Anastasia, you’re going to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes.And so it begins. I

take my paltry fifty dollars and make my way to the store.

I head straight to the kitchen when I arrive back, and I can’t help feeling a frisson of alarm.

Christian is still in his study. Jeez, that’s most of the afternoon. I decide my best option is

to face him and see how much damage I’ve done. I peek cautiously around his study door.

He’s on the phone, staring out the window.

“And the Eurocopter specialist is due Monday afternoon? . . . Good. Just keep me

informed. Tell them that I’ll need their initial findings either Monday evening or Tuesday

morning.” He hangs up and swivels his chair round, but stills when he sees me, his expres-

sion impassive.

“Hi,” I whisper. He says nothing, and my heart free-falls into my stomach. Gingerly I

walk into his study and around his desk to where he’s sitting. He still says nothing, his eyes

never leaving mine. I stand in front of him, feeling fifty shades of foolish.

“I’m back. Are you mad at me?”

He sighs, reaches out for my hand, and pulls me into his lap, folding his arms around

me. He buries his nose in my hair.

“Yes,” he says.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” I curl up in his lap inhaling his heavenly

Christian smell, feeling safe regardless of the fact that he’s mad.

“Me neither. Wear what you like,” he murmurs. He runs his hand up my bare leg to my

thigh. “Besides, this dress has its advantages.” He bends to kiss me, and as our lips touch,

passion or lust or a deep-seated need to make amends lances through me and desire flares in

my blood. I seize his head in my hands, fisting my fingers in his hair. He groans as his body

responds, and he hungrily nips at my lower lip—my throat, my ear, his tongue invading

my mouth, and before I’m even aware of it he’s unzipping his pants, pulling me astride his

lap, and sinking into me. I grasp the back of the chair, my feet just touching the ground . . .

and we start to move.

“I like your version of sorry,” he breathes into my hair.

“And I like yours,” I giggle, snuggling against his chest. “Have you finished?”

“Christ, Ana, you want more?”

“No! Your work.”

“I’ll be done in about half an hour. I heard your message on my voicemail.”

“From yesterday.”

“You sounded worried.”

I hug him tightly.

“I was. It’s not like you not to respond.”

He kisses my hair.

“Your cake should be ready in half an hour.” I smile at him and climb off his lap.

“Looking forward to it. It smelled delicious, evocative even, while it was baking.”

I smile shyly down at him, feeling a little self-conscious, and he mirrors my expres-

sion. Jeez, are we really so different? Perhaps it’s his early memories of baking. Leaning

down, I plant a swift kiss on the corner of his mouth and make my way back to the kitchen.

I am all prepared when I hear him come out of his study, and I light the solitary gold candle

on his cake. He gives me an ear-splitting grin as he saunters toward me, and I softly sing

Happy Birthdayto him. Then he leans over and blows it out, closing his eyes.

“I’ve made my wish,” he says as he opens them again, and for some reason his look

makes me flush.

“The frosting is still soft. I hope you like it.”

“I can’t wait to taste it, Anastasia,” he murmurs, and he makes that sound so rude. I cut

us each a slice, and we dig in with small pastry forks.

“Mmm,” he groans in appreciation. “This is why I want to marry you.”

And I laugh with relief . . . he likes it.

“Ready to face my family?” Christian switches the R8 ignition off. We’re parked in his

parents’ driveway.

“Yes. Are you going to tell them?”

“Of course. I’m looking forward to seeing their reactions.” He smiles wickedly at me

and climbs out of the car.

It is seven thirty, and though it’s been a warm day, there’s a cool evening breeze blow-

ing off the bay. I pull my wrap around me as I step out of the car. I’m wearing an emerald

green cocktail dress I found this morning while I was rummaging through the closet. It

has a wide matching belt. Christian takes my hand, and we head to the front door. Carrick

opens it wide before he can knock.

“Christian, hello. Happy birthday, son.” He takes Christian’s proffered hand but pulls

him into a brief hug, surprising him.

“Er . . . thanks, Dad.”

“Ana, how lovely to see you again.” He hugs me, too, and we follow him into the

house.

Before we can set foot in the living room, Kate comes barreling down the hallway

toward the two of us. She looks furious.

Oh no!

“You two! I want to talk to you.” She snarls in her you-better-not-fucking-mess-with-

me voice. I glance nervously at Christian, who shrugs and decides to humor her as we fol-

low her into the dining room, leaving Carrick bemused on the threshold of the living room.

She shuts the door and turns on me.

“What the fuck is this?” she hisses and waves a piece of paper at me. Completely at

a loss, I take it from her and scan it quickly. My mouth dries. Holy shit.It’s my e-mail re-

sponse to Christian, discussing the contract.

All the color drains from my face as my blood turns to ice and fear lances through my body.

Instinctively I step between her and Christian.

“What is it?” Christian murmurs, his tone wary.

I ignore him. I cannot believe Kate is doing this.

“Kate! This is nothing to do with you.” I glare venomously at her, anger replacing my

fear. How dare she do this? Not now, not today. Not on Christian’s birthday. Surprised by

my response, she blinks at me, green eyes wide.

“Ana, what is it?” Christian says again, his tone more menacing.

“Christian, would you just go, please?” I ask him.

“No. Show me.” He holds out his hand, and I know he’s not to be argued with—his

voice is cold and hard. Reluctantly I give him the e-mail.

“What’s he done to you?” Kate asks, ignoring Christian. She looks so apprehensive. I

flush as a myriad of erotic images flit quickly across my mind.

“That’s none of your business, Kate.” I can’t keep the exasperation out of my voice.

“Where did you get this?” Christian asks, his head cocked to one side, his face expres-

sionless, but his voice . . . so menacingly soft. Kate flushes.

“That’s irrelevant.” At his stony glare, she hastily continues. “It was in the pocket of a

jacket—which I assume is yours—that I found on the back of Ana’s bedroom door.” Faced

with Christian’s burning gray gaze, Kate’s steeliness slips a little, but she seems to recover

and scowls at him.

She’s a beacon of hostility in a slinky, bright red dress. She looks magnificent. But

what the hell is she going through my clothes for? It’s usually the other way round.

“Have you told anyone?” Christian’s voice is like a silk glove.

“No! Of course not,” Kate snaps, affronted. Christian nods and appears to relax. He

turns and heads toward the fireplace. Wordlessly Kate and I watch as he picks up a lighter

from the mantelpiece, sets fire to the e-mail, and releases it, letting it float afire slowly into

the grate until it is no more. The silence in the room is oppressive.

“Not even Elliot?” I ask, turning my attention back to Kate.

“No one,” Kate says emphatically, and for the first time she looks puzzled and hurt. “I

just want to know you’re okay, Ana,” she whispers.

“I’m fine, Kate. More than fine. Please, Christian and I are good, really good—this is

old news. Please ignore it.”

“Ignore it?” she says. “How can I ignore that? What’s he done to you?” And her green

eyes are so full of heartfelt concern.

“He hasn’t done anything to me, Kate. Honestly—I’m good.”

She blinks at me.

“Really?” she asks.

Christian wraps an arm around me and draws me close, not taking his eyes off Kate.

“Ana has consented to be my wife, Katherine,” he says quietly.

“Wife!” Kate squeaks, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“We’re getting married. We’re going to announce our engagement this evening,” he

says.“Oh!” Kate gapes at me. She’s stunned. “I leave you alone for sixteen days, and this

happens? It’s very sudden. So yesterday, when I said—” She gazes at me, lost. “Where

does that e-mail fit into all this?”

“It doesn’t, Kate. Forget it—please. I love him and he loves me. Don’t do this. Don’t

ruin his party and our night,” I whisper. She blinks and unexpectedly her eyes are shining

with tears.

“No. Of course I won’t. You’re okay?” She wants reassurance.

“I’ve never been happier,” I whisper. She reaches forward and grabs my hand regard-

less of Christian’s arm wrapped around me.

“You really are okay?” she asks hopefully.

“Yes.” I grin at her, my joy returning. She’s back onside. She smiles at me, my happi-

ness reflecting back on her. I step out of Christian’s hold, and she hugs me suddenly.

“Oh, Ana—I was so worried when I read this. I didn’t know what to think. Will you

explain it to me?” she whispers.

“One day, not now.”

“Good. I won’t tell anyone. I love you so much, Ana, like my own sister. I just

thought . . . I didn’t know what to think. I’m sorry. If you’re happy, then I’m happy.” She

looks directly at Christian and repeats her apology. He nods at her, his eyes glacial, and his

expression does not change. Oh shit, he’s still mad.

“I really am sorry. You’re right, it’s none of my business,” she whispers to me.

There’s a knock on the door that startles Kate and I apart. Grace pokes her head around.

“Everything okay, darling?” she asks Christian.

“Everything’s fine, Mrs. Grey,” Kate says immediately.

“Fine, Mom,” Christian says.

“Good.” Grace enters. “Then you won’t mind if I give my son a birthday hug.” She

beams at both of us. He hugs her tightly and thaws immediately.

“Happy birthday, darling,” she says softly, closing her eyes in his embrace. “I’m so

glad you’re still with us.”

“Mom, I’m fine.” Christian smiles down at her. She pulls back, looks at him closely,

and grins.

“I’m so happy for you,” she says and caresses his face.

He grins at her—his thousand megawatt smile.

She knows! When did he tell her?

“Well, kids, if you’ve all finished your tête-à-tête, there’s a throng of people here to

check that you really are in one piece, Christian, and to wish you a happy birthday.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Grace glances anxiously at Kate and me and seems reassured by our smiles. She winks

at me as she holds the door open for us. Christian holds out his hand to me and I take it.

“Christian, I really do apologize,” Kate says humbly. Humble Kate is something to

behold. Christian nods at her, and we follow her out.

In the hallway, I gaze anxiously up at Christian. “Does your mother know about us?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” And to think our evening could have been derailed by the tenacious Miss Ka-

vanagh. I shudder at the thought—the ramifications of Christian’s lifestyle revealed to all.

Holy cow.

“Well, that was an interesting start to the evening.” I smile sweetly at him. He glances

down at me—and it’s back, his amused look. Thank heavens.

“As ever, Miss Steele, you have a gift for understatement.” He raises my hand to his

lips and kisses my knuckles as we walk into the living room to a sudden, spontaneous, and

deafening round of applause.

Crap.How many people are here?

I scan the room quickly: all the Greys, Ethan with Mia, Dr. Flynn and his wife, I as-

sume. There’s Mac from the boat, a tall, handsome African American—I remember seeing

him in Christian’s office the first time I met Christian—Mia’s bitchy friend Lily, two wom-

en I don’t recognize at all, and . . . Oh no.My heart sinks. Thatwoman . . . Mrs. Robinson.

Gretchen materializes with a tray of champagne. She’s in a low-cut black dress, no

pigtails but an updo, flushing and fluttering her eyelashes at Christian. The applause dies

down, and Christian squeezes my hand as all eyes turn to him expectantly.

“Thank you, everyone. Looks like I’ll need one of these.” He grabs two drinks off

Gretchen’s tray and gives her a brief smile. I think Gretchen’s going to expire or swoon.

He hands a glass to me.

Christian raises his glass to the rest of the room, and immediately everyone surges for-

ward. Leading the charge is the evil woman in black. Does she ever wear any other color?

“Christian, I was so worried.” Elena gives him a brief hug and kisses both his cheeks.

He doesn’t let me go despite the fact I try to free my hand.

“I’m good, Elena,” Christian mutters coolly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Her plea is desperate, her eyes searching his.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Didn’t you get my messages?”

Christian shifts uncomfortably and pulls me closer, putting his arm around me. His

face remains impassive as he regards Elena. She can no longer ignore me, so she nods

politely in my direction.

“Ana,” she purrs. “You look lovely, dear.”

“Elena,” I purr back. “Thank you.”

I catch Grace’s eye. She frowns, watching the three of us.

“Elena, I need to make an announcement,” Christian says, eyeing her dispassionately.

Her clear blue eyes cloud. “Of course.” She fakes a smile and steps back.

“Everyone,” Christian calls. He waits for a moment until the buzz in the room dies

down and all eyes are once more on him.

“Thank you for coming today. I have to say I was expecting a quiet family dinner, so

this is a pleasant surprise.” He stares pointedly at Mia, who grins and gives him a little

wave. Christian shakes his head in exasperation and continues.

“Ros and I”—he acknowledges the red-haired woman standing nearby with a small

bubbly blonde—“we had a close call yesterday.”

Oh, that’s the Ros that works with him. She grins and raises her glass to him. He nods

back at her.

“So I’m especially glad to be here today to share with all of you my very good news.

This beautiful woman”—he glances down at me—“Miss Anastasia Rose Steele, has con-

sented to be my wife, and I’d like you to be the first to know.”

There are general gasps of astonishment, the odd cheer, and then a round of applause!

Jeez—this is really happening. I think I am the color of Kate’s dress. Christian grasps my

chin, lifts my lips to his, and kisses me quickly.

“You’ll soon be mine.”

“I am already,” I whisper.

“Legally,” he mouths at me and gives me a wicked grin.

Lily, who is standing beside Mia, looks crestfallen; Gretchen looks like she’s eaten

something nasty and bitter. As I glance anxiously around at the assembled crowd, I catch

sight of Elena. Her mouth is open. She’s stunned—horrified even, and I can’t help a small

but intense feeling of satisfaction to see her dumbstruck. What the hell is she doing here,

anyway?

Carrick and Grace interrupt my uncharitable thoughts, and soon I am being hugged and

kissed and passed around by all the Greys.

“Oh, Ana—I am so delighted you’re going to be family,” Grace gushes. “The change in

Christian . . . He’s . . . happy. I am so thankful to you.” I blush, embarrassed by her exuber-

ance but secretly delighted, too.

“Where is the ring?” exclaims Mia as she embraces me.

“Um . . .” A ring! Jeez.I hadn’t even thought about a ring. I glance anxiously up at

Christian.

“We’re going to choose one together.” Christian glowers at her.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Grey!” she scolds him, then wraps her arms around

him. “I’m so thrilled for you, Christian,” she says. She’s the only person I know who is not

intimidated by the Grey glower. It has me quailing . . . Well, it certainly used to.

“When will you get married? Have you set a date?” She beams up at Christian.

He shakes his head, his exasperation palpable. “No idea, and no we haven’t. Ana and I

need to discuss all that,” he says irritably.

“I hope you have a big wedding—here,” she beams enthusiastically, ignoring his caus-

tic tone.

“We’ll probably fly to Vegas tomorrow,” he growls at her, and he’s rewarded with a

full-on Mia Grey pouty grimace. Rolling his eyes, he turns to Elliot, who gives him his

second bear hug in as many days.

“Way to go, bro.” He claps Christian’s back.

The response from the room is overwhelming, and it’s a few minutes before I find my-

self back beside Christian with Dr. Flynn. Elena seems to have disappeared, and Gretchen

is sullenly refilling champagne glasses.

Beside Dr. Flynn is a striking young woman with long, dark, almost black hair, cleav-

age, and lovely hazel eyes.

“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 consult.

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 US.

“She’s good, Christian, responding well to treatment. Another couple of weeks and

we can consider an out-patient 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 play-dates and diapers at the moment . . .”

“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 every-

thing.” 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 and I flush.

“Look, I know I’ve only really just met Christian but . . .” I scowl at her 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 impres-

sively, 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 inappropri-

ate.” 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