fifty shades darker (66 page)

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Kinky Fuckery

Date:
June 18, 2011 13:15

To:
Anastasia Steele

What aspect was most mind-blowing?

I’m taking notes.

Christian Grey

Famished and Wasting Away After the Mornings Exertions CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

PS: I love your signature

PPS: What happened to the art of conversation?

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Famished?

Date:
June 18, 2011 13:18

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

May I draw your attention to the first line of my previous e-mail informing you that your lunch is indeed almost ready . . . so none of this famished and wasting away nonsense.

With regard to the mind-blowing aspects of the kinky fuckery . . . frankly—all of it. I’d be interested in reading your notes. And I like my bracketed signature, too.

A x

(Your fiancée)

PS: Since when have you been so loquacious? And you’re on the phone!

I press send and look up, and he’s standing in front of me, smirking. Before I can say anything, he bounds around the kitchen island, sweeps me up in his arms, and kisses me soundly.

“That is all, Miss Steele,” he says, releasing me, and he saunters—in his jeans, bare feet and untucked white shirt—back to his office, leaving me breathless.

I’ve made a watercress, cilantro, and sour cream dip to accompany the salmon, and I’ve set the breakfast bar. I hate interrupting him while he’s working, but now I stand in the doorway of his office. He’s still on the phone, all thoroughly fucked hair and bright gray eyes—a visually nourishing feast. He looks up when he sees me and doesn’t take his eyes off me. He frowns slightly, and I don’t know if it’s at me or because of his conversation.

“Just let them in and leave them alone. Do you understand, Mia?” he hisses and rolls his eyes. “Good.”

I mime eating, and he grins at me and nods.

“I’ll see you later.” He hangs up. “One more call?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“That dress is very short,” he adds.

“You like it?” I give him a quick twirl. It’s one of Caroline Acton’s purchases. A soft turquoise sundress, probably more suitable for the beach, but it’s such a lovely day on so many levels. He frowns and my face falls.

“You look fantastic in it, Ana. I just don’t want anyone else to see you like that.”

“Oh!” I scowl at him. “We’re at home, Christian. No one but the staff.”

His mouth twists, and either he’s trying to hide his amusement or he really doesn’t think that’s funny. But eventually he nods, reassured. I shake my head at him—he’s actually being serious? I head back to the kitchen.

Five minutes later, he’s back in front of me, holding the phone.

“I have Ray for you,” he murmurs, his eyes wary.

All the air leaves my body at once. I take the phone and cover the mouthpiece.

“You told him!” I hiss. Christian nods, and his eyes widen at my obvious look of distress.
Shit!
I take a deep breath. “Hi, Dad.”

“Christian has just asked me if he can marry you,” Ray says.

Oh Shit.
The silence stretches between us as I desperately think what to say. Ray as usual stays silent, giving me no clue as to his reaction to this news.

“What did you say?” I crack first.

“I said I wanted to talk to you. It’s kind of sudden, don’t you think, Annie? You’ve not known him long. I mean, he’s a nice guy, knows his fishing . . . but so soon?” His voice is calm and measured.

“Yes. It is sudden . . . hang on.” Hastily, I leave the kitchen area away from Christian’s anxious gaze and head toward the great window. The doors to the balcony are open, and I step out into the sunshine. I can’t quite walk to the edge. It’s just too far up.

“I know it’s sudden and all—but . . . well, I love him. He loves me. He wants to marry me, and there’ll never be anyone else for me.” I flush thinking this is probably the most intimate conversation I have ever had with my stepfather.

Ray is silent on the other end of the phone.

“Have you told your mother?”

“No.”

“Annie . . . I know he’s all kinds of rich and eligible, but marriage? It’s such a big step.

You’re sure?”

“He’s my happily ever after,” I whisper.

“Whoa.” Ray says after a moment, his tone softer.

“He’s everything.”

“Annie, Annie, Annie. You’re such a headstrong young woman. I hope to God you know what you’re doing. Hand me back to him, will you?”

“Sure, Dad, and will you give me away at the wedding?” I ask quietly.

“Oh, honey.” His voice cracks, and he’s quiet for a few moments, the emotion in his voice bringing tears to my eyes. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” he says eventually.

Oh, Ray. I love you so much . . . I swallow, to keep from crying. “Thank you, Dad. I’ll hand you back to Christian. Be gentle with him. I love him,” I whisper.

I think Ray is smiling on the other end of the line, but it’s hard to tell. It’s always hard to tell with Ray.

“Sure thing, Annie. And come and visit this old man and bring that Christian with you.”

I march back into the room—pissed at Christian for not warning me—and hand him the phone, my expression letting him know just how pissed I am. He’s amused as he takes the phone and heads back into his study.

Two minutes later, he reappears.

“I have your stepfather’s rather begrudging blessing,” he says proudly, so proudly, in fact, that it makes me giggle, and he grins at me. He’s acting like he’s just negotiated a major new merger or acquisition, which I suppose on one level, he has.

“Damn, you’re a good cook, woman.” Christian swallows his last mouthful and raises his glass of white wine to me. I blossom under his praise, and it occurs to me I’ll only get to cook for him on weekends. I frown. I enjoy cooking. Perhaps I should have made him a cake for his birthday. I check my watch. I still have time.

“Ana?” He interrupts my thoughts. “Why did you ask me not to take your photo?” His question startles me all the more because his voice is deceptively soft.

Oh . . . shit.
The photos. I stare down at my empty plate, twisting my fingers in my lap.

What can I say? I’d promised myself not to mention that I’d found his version of
Readers’

Wives.

“Ana,” he snaps. “What is it?” He makes me jump, and his voice commands me to look at him. When did I think he didn’t intimidate me?

“I found your photos,” I whisper.

His eyes widen in shock. “You’ve been in the safe?” he asks, incredulous.

“Safe? No. I didn’t know you had a safe.”

He frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“In your closet. The box. I was looking for your tie, and the box was under your jeans . . . the ones you normally wear in the playroom. Except today.” I flush.

He gapes at me, appalled, and nervously runs his hand through his hair as he processes this information. He rubs his chin, lost in thought, but he can’t mask the perplexed annoy-ance etched on his face. Abruptly he shakes his head, exasperated—but amused, too—and a faint smile of admiration kisses the corner of his mouth. He steeples his hands in front of him and focuses on me once more.

“It’s not what you think. I’d forgotten all about them. That box has been moved. Those 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 business 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
am
happy 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 having 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.