CHRISTIAN TAKES MY HAND and gently skims his thumb across my knuckles as we sit in the back of the Audi heading north. I squirm, and feel the sensation in my groin. I resist the urge to moan, as Taylor is in the front, not wearing his iPod, with one of the security guys whose name I think is Sawyer.

I am beginning to feel a dull, pleasurable ache deep in my belly, caused by the balls. Idly I wonder how long I will be able to manage without some, um … relief? I cross my legs. As I do, something that’s been gnawing at me in the back of my mind suddenly surfaces.

“Where did you get the lipstick?” I ask Christian quietly.

He smirks at me and points toward the front. “Taylor,” he mouths.

I burst out laughing. “Oh.” And stop quickly—the balls.

I bite my lip. Christian smiles at me, his eyes gleaming wickedly. He knows exactly what he’s doing, sexy beast that he is.

“Relax,” he breathes. “If it’s too much …” His voice trails off, and he gently kisses each knuckle in turn, then gently sucks the tip of my little finger.

Now I know he’s doing this on purpose. I close my eyes as dark desire unfolds throughout my body. I surrender briefly to the sensation, my muscles clenching deep inside me.

When I open my eyes again, Christian is regarding me closely, a dark prince. It must be the dinner jacket and bow tie, but he looks older, sophisticated, a devastatingly handsome roué with licentious intent. He simply takes my breath away. I’m in his sexual thrall, and if I’m to believe him, he’s in mine. The thought brings a smile to my face, and his answering grin is blinding.

“So what can we expect at this event?”

“Oh, the usual stuff,” Christian says breezily.

“Not usual for me,” I remind him.

Christian smiles fondly and kisses my hand again. “Lots of people flashing their cash. Auction, raffle, dinner, dancing—my mother knows how to throw a party.” He smiles and for the first time all day, I allow myself to feel a little excited about this party.

There is a line of expensive cars heading up the driveway of the Grey mansion. Long, pale pink paper lanterns hang over the drive, and as we inch closer in the Audi, I can see they are everywhere. In the early evening light they look magical, as if we’re entering an enchanted kingdom. I glance at Christian. How suitable for my prince—and my childish excitement blooms, eclipsing all other feelings.

“Masks on,” Christian grins, and as he dons his simple black mask, my prince becomes something darker, more sensual.

All I can see of his face is his beautiful mouth and strong jaw. My heartbeat lurches at the sight of him. I fasten my mask and ignore the hunger deep in my body.

Taylor pulls into the driveway, and a valet opens Christian’s door. Sawyer leaps out to open mine.

“Ready?” Christian asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“You look beautiful, Anastasia.” He kisses my hand and exits the car.

A dark green carpet runs along the lawn to one side of the house, leading to the impressive grounds at the rear. Christian has a protective arm around me, resting his hand on my waist, as we follow the green carpet with a steady stream of Seattle’s elite dressed in their finery and wearing all manner of masks, the lanterns lighting the way. Two photographers marshal guests to pose for pictures against the backdrop of an ivy-strewn arbor.

“Mr. Grey!” one of the photographers calls. Christian nods in acknowledgment and pulls me close as we pose quickly for a photo. How do they know it’s him? His trademark unruly copper hair, no doubt.

“Two photographers?” I ask Christian.

“One is from the Seattle Times; the other is for a souvenir. We’ll be able to buy a copy later.”

Oh, my picture in the press again. Leila briefly enters my mind. This is how she found me, posing with Christian. The thought is unsettling, though it’s comforting that I am unrecognizable beneath my mask.

At the end of the line, white-suited servers hold trays of glasses brimming with champagne, and I’m grateful when Christian passes me a glass—effectively distracting me from my dark thoughts.

We approach a large white pergola hung with smaller versions of the paper lanterns. Beneath it shines a black-and-white checkered dance floor surrounded by a low fence with entrances on three sides. Standing at each entrance are two elaborate ice sculptures of swans. The fourth side of the pergola is occupied by a stage where a string quartet is playing softly, a haunting, ethereal piece I don’t recognize. The stage looks set for a big band but as there’s no sign of the musicians, I figure this must be for later. Taking my hand, Christian leads me between swans onto the dance floor where the other guests are congregating, chatting over glasses of champagne.

Toward the shoreline stands an enormous tent, open on the side nearest to us so I can glimpse the formally arranged tables and chairs. There are so many!

“How many people are coming?” I ask Christian, thrown by the scale of the tent.

“I think about three hundred. You’ll have to ask my mother.” He smiles down at me.

“Christian!”

A young woman appears out of the throng and throws her arms around his neck, and immediately I know she’s Mia. She’s dressed in a sleek, pale pink, full-length chiffon gown with a stunning, delicately detailed Venetian mask to match. She looks amazing. And for a moment, I have never felt so grateful for the dress that Christian has given me.

“Ana! Oh, darling, you look gorgeous!” She gives me a quick hug. “You must come and meet my friends. None of them can believe that Christian finally has a girlfriend.”

I shoot a quick panicked glance at Christian, who shrugs in a resigned, I-know-she’s-impossible-I-had-to-live-with-her-for-years way, and let Mia lead me over to a group of four young women, all expensively attired and impeccably groomed.

Mia makes hasty introductions. Three of them are sweet and kind, but Lily, I think her name is, regards me sourly from beneath her red mask.

“Of course, we all thought Christian was gay,” she says snidely, concealing her rancor with a large, fake smile.

Mia pouts at her.

“Lily, behave yourself. It’s obvious he has excellent taste in women. He was waiting for the right one to come along, and it wasn’t you!”

Lily blushes the same color as her mask, as do I. Could this be any more uncomfortable?

“Ladies, if I could claim my date back, please?” Snaking his arm around my waist, Christian pulls me to his side. All four women flush, grin, and fidget, his dazzling smile doing what it always does. Mia glances at me and rolls her eyes, and I have to laugh.

“Lovely to meet you,” I say as he drags me away.

“Thank you,” I mouth at Christian when we’re some distance away.

“I saw that Lily was with Mia. She is one nasty piece of work.”

“She likes you,” I mutter dryly.

He shudders. “Well, the feeling is not mutual. Come, let me introduce you to some people.”

I spend the next half hour in a whirlwind of introductions. I meet two Hollywood actors, two more CEOs, and several eminent physicians. There is no way I am going to remember everyone’s name.

Christian keeps me close at his side, and I’m grateful. Frankly, the wealth, the glamour, and the sheer lavish scale of the event intimidate me. I have never been to anything like this in my life.

The white-suited servers move effortlessly through the growing crowd of guests with bottles of champagne, topping off my glass with worrying regularity. I must not drink too much. I must not drink too much, I repeat to myself, but I’m beginning to feel light-headed, and I don’t know if it’s the champagne, the charged atmosphere of mystery and excitement created by the masks, or the secret silver balls. The dull ache below my waist is becoming impossible to ignore.

“So you work at SIP?” asks a balding gentleman in a bear—or is it a dog?—half mask. “Heard rumors of a hostile takeover.”

I flush. There is a hostile takeover, from a man who has more money than sense and is a stalker par excellence.

“I’m just a lowly assistant, Mr. Eccles. I wouldn’t know about these things.”

Christian says nothing and smiles blandly at Eccles.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The master of ceremonies, wearing an impressive black-and-white harlequin mask, interrupts us. “Please take your seats. Dinner is served.”

Christian takes my hand, and we follow the chattering crowd to the large tent.

The interior is stunning. Three enormous, shallow chandeliers throw rainbow-colored sparkles over the ivory silk lining of the ceiling and walls. There must be at least thirty tables, and they remind me of the private dining room at the Heathman Hotel—crystal glasses, crisp white linen covering the tables and chairs, and in the center an exquisite display of pale pink peonies gathered around a silver candelabra. Wrapped in gossamer silk beside it is a basket of goodies.

Christian consults the seating plan and leads me to a table in the center. Mia and Grace Trevelyan-Grey are already in situ, deep in conversation with a young man I don’t know. Grace is wearing a shimmering mint green gown with a Venetian mask to match. She looks radiant, not stressed at all, and she greets me warmly.

“Ana, how delightful to see you again! And looking so beautiful, too.”

“Mother,” Christian greets her stiffly and kisses her on both cheeks.

“Oh, Christian, so formal!” she scolds him teasingly.

Grace’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan, join us at our table. They seem exuberant and youthful, though it’s difficult to tell beneath their matching bronze masks. They are delighted to see Christian.

“Grandmother, Grandfather, may I introduce Anastasia Steele?”

Mrs. Trevelyan is all over me like a rash. “Oh, he’s finally found someone, how wonderful, and so pretty! Well, I do hope you make an honest man of him,” she gushes, shaking my hand.

Holy cow. I thank the heavens for my mask.

“Mother, don’t embarrass Ana.” Grace comes to my rescue.

“Ignore the silly old coot, m’dear.” Mr. Trevelyan shakes my hand. “She thinks because she’s so old, she has a God-given right to say whatever nonsense pops into that woolly head of hers.”

“Ana, this is my date, Sean.” Mia shyly introduces her young man. He gives me a wicked grin, and his brown eyes dance with amusement as we shake hands.

“Pleased to meet you, Sean.”

Christian shakes Sean’s hand as he regards him shrewdly. Don’t tell me that poor Mia suffers from her overbearing brother, too. I smile at Mia in sympathy.

Lance and Janine, Grace’s friends, are the last couple at our table, but there is still no sign of Mr. Carrick Grey.

Abruptly there’s the hiss of a microphone, and Mr. Grey’s voice booms over the PA system, causing the babble of voices to die down. Carrick stands on a small stage at one end of the tent, wearing an impressive gold Punchinello mask.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to our annual charity ball. I hope that you enjoy what we have laid out for you tonight and that you’ll dig deep into your pockets to support the fantastic work that our team does with Coping Together. As you know, it’s a cause that is very close to my wife’s heart, and mine.”

I peek nervously at Christian, who is staring impassively, I think, at the stage. He glances at me and smirks.

“I’ll hand you over now to our master of ceremonies. Please be seated, and enjoy,” Carrick finishes.