fifty shades darker (22 page)

I’d rather hear it from him.

My heart constricts. He feels unworthy? Why?

“I’ve never seen him so happy, and it’s obvious that you have feelings for him, too.” A brief smile flits across her lips. “That’s great, and I wish you both the best of everything.

But what I wanted to say is if you hurt him again, I will find you, lady, and it won’t be pleasant when I do.”

She stares at me, ice-cold blue eyes boring into my skull, trying to get under my mask.

Her threat is so astonishing, so off the wall that an involuntary, disbelieving giggle escapes me. Of all the things she could say to me, this is the least expected.

“You think this is funny, Anastasia?” she splutters in dismay. “You didn’t see him last Saturday.”

My face falls and darkens. The thought of Christian unhappy is not a palatable one, and last Saturday I left him. He must have gone to her. The idea makes me queasy. Why am I sitting here listening to this shit from her of all people? I slowly rise, gazing at her intently.

“I’m laughing at your audacity, Mrs. Lincoln. Christian and I have nothing to do with you. And if I do leave him and you come looking for me, I’ll be waiting—don’t doubt it.

And maybe I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine on behalf of the fifteen-year-old child you molested and probably fucked-up even more than he already was.”

Her mouth falls open.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than waste my time with you.”

I turn on my heel, adrenaline and anger coursing through my body, and stalk toward the entrance of the tent where Taylor is standing just as Christian arrives, looking flustered and worried.

“There you are,” he mutters, then frowns when he sees Elena.

I stride past him, saying nothing, giving him the opportunity to choose—her or me. He makes the right choice.

“Ana,” he calls. I stop and face him as he catches up with me. “What’s wrong?” He gazes down at me, concern etched on his face.

“Why don’t you ask your ex?” I hiss acidly.

His mouth twists and his eyes frost. “I’m asking you,” he says, his voice soft but with an undertone of something far more menacing.

We glare at each other.

Okay, I can see this will end in a fight if I don’t tell him. “She’s threatening to come after me if I hurt you again—probably with a whip,” I snap at him.

Relief flashes across his face, his mouth softening with humor. “Surely the irony of that isn’t lost on you?” he says, and I can tell he’s trying hard to stifle his amusement.

“This isn’t funny, Christian!”

“No, you’re right. I’ll talk to her.” He adopts his serious face, though he’s still suppressing his amusement.

“You will do no such thing.” I fold my arms, my anger spiking again.

He blinks at me, surprised by my outburst.

“Look, I know you’re tied up with her financially, forgive the pun, but—” I stop. What am I asking him to do? Give her up? Stop seeing her? Can I do that? “I need the restroom.”

I glare up at him, my mouth set in a grim line.

He sighs and cocks his head to one side. Could he look any hotter? Is it the mask or just him?

“Please don’t be mad. I didn’t know she was here. She said she wasn’t coming.” His tone is placating as if he’s talking to a child. Reaching up he runs his thumb along my pouting bottom lip. “Don’t let Elena ruin our evening, please, Anastasia. She’s really old news.”

Old
being the operative word
, I think uncharitably, as he tips my chin up and gently grazes his lips against mine. I sigh in agreement, blinking up at him. He straightens and takes my elbow.

“I’ll accompany you to the powder room so you don’t get interrupted again.”

He leads me across the lawn toward the luxurious temporary restrooms. Mia said they had been delivered for the occasion, but I had no idea they came in deluxe versions.

“I’ll wait here for you, baby,” he murmurs.

When I come out, my mood has moderated. I have decided not to let Mrs. Robinson blight my evening because that’s probably what she wants. Christian is on the phone some distance away and out of earshot of the few people laughing and chatting nearby. As I get closer, I can hear him. He’s very terse.

“Why did you change your mind? I thought we’d agreed. Well, leave her alone . . . This is the first regular relationship I’ve ever had, and I don’t want you jeopardizing it through some misplaced concern for me. Leave. Her. Alone. I mean it, Elena.” He pauses, listening.

“No, of course not.” He frowns deeply as he says this. Glancing up, he sees me regarding him. “I have to go. Goodnight.” He presses the off button.

I cock my head to one side and raise an eyebrow at him. Why is he phoning her?

“How’s the old news?”

“Cranky,” he replies sardonically. “Do you want to dance some more? Or would you like to go?” He glances at his watch. “The fireworks start in five minutes.”

“I love fireworks.”

“We’ll stay and watch them, then.” He puts his arms around me and pulls me close.

“Don’t let her come between us, please.”

“She cares about you,” I mutter.

“Yes, and I her . . . as a friend.”

“I think it’s more than a friendship to her.”

His brow furrows. “Anastasia, Elena and I . . . it’s complicated. We have a shared history. But it is just that, history. As I’ve said to you time and time again, she’s a good friend.

That’s all. Please, forget about her.” He kisses my hair, and in the interest of not ruining our evening, I let it go. I am just trying to understand.

We wander hand in hand back to the dance floor. The band is still in full swing.

“Anastasia.”

I turn to find Carrick standing behind us.

“I wondered if you’d do me the honor of the next dance.” Carrick holds his hand out to me. Christian shrugs and smiles, releasing my hand, and I let Carrick lead me onto the dance floor. Sam the bandleader launches into “Come Fly with Me,” and Carrick puts his arm around my waist and gently whirls me into the throng.

“I wanted to thank you for the generous contribution to our charity, Anastasia.”

From his tone, I suspect this is his roundabout way of asking whether I can afford it.

“Mr. Grey—”

“Call me Carrick, please, Ana.”

“I’m delighted to be able to contribute. I unexpectedly came into some money. I don’t need it. And it’s such a worthy cause.”

He smiles down at me, and I seize the opportunity for some innocent inquiries.
Carpe
diem
, my subconscious hisses from behind her hand.

“Christian told me a little about his past, so I think it’s appropriate to support your work,” I add, hoping that this might encourage Carrick to give me a small insight into the mystery that is his son.

Carrick is surprised. “Did he? That’s unusual. You certainly have had a very positive effect on him, Anastasia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so, so . . . buoyant.”

I flush.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Well, in my limited experience, he’s a very unusual man,” I murmur.

“He is,” Carrick agrees quietly.

“Christian’s early childhood sounds hideously traumatic, from what he’s told me.”

Carrick frowns, and I worry if I’ve overstepped the mark.

“My wife was the doctor on duty when the police brought him in. He was skin and bones, and badly dehydrated. He wouldn’t speak.” Carrick frowns again, lost in the awful memory, despite the up-tempo music surrounding us. “In fact, he didn’t speak for nearly two years. It was playing the piano that eventually brought him out of himself. Oh, and Mia’s arrival, of course.” He smiles down at me fondly.

“He plays beautifully. And he’s accomplished so much, you must be very proud of him.” I sound distracted.
Holy Shit. Didn’t speak for two years.

“Immensely so. He’s a very determined, very capable, very bright young man. But between you and me, Anastasia, it’s seeing him like he is this evening—carefree, acting his age—that’s the real thrill for his mother and me. We were both commenting on it today. I believe we have you to thank for that.”

I think I blush to my roots. What am I supposed to say to this?

“He’s always been such a loner. We never thought we’d see him with anyone. Whatever you’re doing, please don’t stop. We’d like to see him happy.” He stops suddenly as if
he’s
overstepped the mark. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I shake my head. “I’d like to see him happy, too,” I mutter, unsure of what else to say.

“Well, I’m very glad you came this evening. It’s been a real pleasure seeing the two of you together.”

As the final strains of “Come Fly with Me” fade away, Carrick releases me and bows, and I curtsey, mirroring his civility.

“That’s enough dancing with old men.” Christian is at my side again. Carrick laughs.

“Less of the ‘old,’ son. I’ve been known to have my moments.” Carrick winks at me playfully and saunters into the crowd.

“I think my dad likes you,” Christian mutters as he watches his father mingle with the crowd..

“What’s not to like?” I peek coquettishly up at him through my lashes.

“Good point well made, Miss Steele.” He pulls me into an embrace as the band starts to play “It Had to Be You.”

“Dance with me,” he whispers seductively.

“With pleasure, Mr. Grey.” I smile in response, and he sweeps me across the dance floor once more.

At midnight, we stroll down toward the shore between the marquee and the boathouse where the other partygoers are gathered to watch the fireworks. The MC, back in charge, has permitted the removal of masks, the better to see the display. Christian has his arm around me, but I’m aware that Taylor and Sawyer are close by, probably because we’re in the crowd now. They are looking anywhere but at the dockside where two pyrotechnicians dressed in black are making their final preparations. Seeing Taylor reminds me of Leila.

Perhaps she’s here.
Shit.
The thought chills my blood, and I huddle closer to Christian. He gazes down at me as he pulls me closer.

“You okay, baby? Cold?”

“I’m fine.” I glance quickly behind us and see the other two security guys, whose names I forget, standing close by. Moving me in front of him, Christian puts both his arms around me over my shoulders.

Suddenly, a stirring classical soundtrack booms over the dock and two rockets soar into the air, exploding with a deafening bang over the bay, lighting it all in a dazzling canopy of sparkling orange and white that’s reflected in a glittering shower over the still calm water of the bay. My jaw drops as several more rockets fire into the air and explode in a kaleido-scope of color.

I can’t recall ever seeing a display this impressive, except perhaps on television, and it never looks this good on TV. They’re all in time to the music. Volley after volley, bang after bang, and light after light as the crowd answers with gasps and ooohs and ahhs. It is out of this world.

On the pontoon in the bay several silver fountains of light shoot up twenty feet in the air, changing color through blue, red, orange, and back to silver—and yet more rockets explode as the music reaches its crescendo.

My face is beginning to ache from the ridiculous grin of wonder plastered across it. I glance at Fifty, and he’s the same, marveling like a child at the sensational show. For the finale a volley of six rockets shoot into the dark and explode simultaneously, bathing us in a glorious golden light as the crowd erupts into frantic, enthusiastic applause.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC calls out as the cheers and whistles fade. “Just one note to add at the end of this wonderful evening; your generosity has raised a total of one million, eight hundred and fifty three thousand dollars!”

Spontaneous applause erupts again, and out on the pontoon, a message lights up in silver streams of sparks forming the words
Thank You From Coping Together,
sparkling and shimmering over the water.

“Oh, Christian . . . that was wonderful.” I grin up at him and he bends down to kiss me.

“Time to go,” he murmurs, a broad smile on his beautiful face, and his words hold so much promise.

Suddenly, I feel very tired.

He glances up again, and Taylor is close, the crowd dispersing around us. They don’t speak but something passes between them.

“Stay with me a moment. Taylor wants us to wait while the crowd disperses.”

Oh.

“I think that firework display probably aged him a hundred years,” he adds.

“Doesn’t he like fireworks?”

Christian gazes down at me fondly and shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate.

“So, Aspen,” he says, and I know he’s trying to distract me from something. It works.

“Oh . . . I haven’t paid for my bid,” I gasp.

“You can send a check. I have the address.”

“You were really mad.”

“Yes, I was.”

I grin. “I blame you and your toys.”

“You were quite overcome, Miss Steele. A most satisfactory outcome if I recall.” He smiles salaciously. “Incidentally, where are they?”

“The silver balls? In my bag.”

“I’d like them back.” He smirks down at me. “They are far too potent a device to be left in your innocent hands.”

“Worried I might be quite overcome again, maybe with somebody else?”

His eyes glitter dangerously. “I hope that’s not going to happen,” he says, a cool edge to his voice. “But no, Ana. I want all your pleasure.”

Whoa. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Implicitly. Now, can I have them back?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

There’s music once more from the dance floor but it’s a DJ playing a thumping dance number, the bass pounding out a relentless beat.

“Do you want to dance?”

“I’m really tired, Christian. I’d like to go, if that’s okay.”

Christian glances at Taylor, who nods, and we set off toward the house, following a couple of drunken guests. I’m grateful when Christian takes my hand—my feet are aching from the dizzying height and tight confinement of my shoes.

Mia comes bounding up to us. “You’re not going, are you? The real music’s just beginning. Come on, Ana.” She grabs my hand.