I grumble but sit back down on the bed and collect my panties from the floor and scoop them on. Lazily I walk to the chair to retrieve my dress. I note with dispassionate interest that I did not remove my shoes during our illicit tryst. Christian is tying his bow tie, having finished straightening himself and the bed.
As I slip my dress back on, I check out the photographs on the bulletin board. Christian as a sullen teen was gorgeous even then: with Elliot and Mia on the ski slopes; on his own in Paris, the Arc de Triomphe serving as a giveaway to his location; in London; New York; the Grand Canyon; Sydney Opera House; even the Great Wall of China. Master Grey was well traveled at a young age.
There are ticket stubs to various concerts: U2, Metallica, the Verve, Sheryl Crow, the New York Philharmonic performing Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet—what an eclectic mix! And in the corner, there’s a passport-sized photograph of a young woman. It’s in black and white. She looks familiar, but for the life of me, I can’t place her. Not Mrs. Robinson, thank heavens.
“Who’s this?” I ask.
“No one of consequence,” he mutters as he slips on his jacket and straightens his bow tie. “Shall I zip you up?”
“Please. Then why is she on your bulletin board?”
“An oversight on my part. How’s my tie?” He raises his chin like a small boy, and I grin and straighten it for him.
“Now it’s perfect.”
“Like you,” he murmurs and grabs me, kissing me passionately. “Feeling better?”
“Much, thank you, Mr. Grey.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Steele.”
THE GUESTS ARE ASSEMBLING on the dance floor. Christian grins at me—we’ve made it just in time—and he leads me onto the checkered floor.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the first dance. Mr. and Dr. Grey, are you ready?” Carrick nods in agreement, his arms around Grace.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the First Dance Auction, are you ready?” We all nod in agreement. Mia is with someone I don’t recognize. I wonder what happened to Sean?
“Then we shall begin. Take it away, Sam!”
A young man strolls onto the stage amid warm applause, turns to the band behind him, and snaps his fingers. The familiar strains of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” fill the air.
Christian smiles down at me, takes me in his arms, and starts to move. Oh, he dances so well, making it easy to follow. We grin at each other like idiots as he whirls me around the dance floor.
“I love this song,” Christian murmurs, gazing down at me. “Seems very fitting.” He’s no longer grinning, but serious.
“You’re under my skin, too,” I respond. “Or you were in your bedroom.”
He purses his lips but he’s unable to hide his amusement.
“Miss Steele,” he admonishes me teasingly, “I had no idea you could be so crude.”
“Mr. Grey, neither did I. I think it’s all my recent experiences. They’ve been an education.”
“For both of us.” Christian is serious again, and it could just be the two of us and the band. We are in our own private bubble.
As the song finishes we both applaud. Sam the singer bows graciously and introduces his band.
“May I cut in?”
I recognize the man who bid on me at the auction. Christian grudgingly lets me go, but he’s amused, too.
“Be my guest. Anastasia, this is John Flynn. John, Anastasia.”
Shit!
Christian grins and wanders off to one side of the dance floor.
“How do you do, Anastasia?” Dr. Flynn says smoothly, and I realize he’s British.
“Hello,” I stutter.
The band strikes up another song, and Dr. Flynn pulls me into his arms. He’s much younger than I imagined, though I can’t see his face. He’s wearing a mask similar to Christian’s. He’s tall, but not as tall as Christian, and he doesn’t move with Christian’s easy grace.
What do I say to him? Why is Christian so fucked-up? Why did he bid on me? It’s the only thing I want to ask him, but somehow that seems rude.
“I’m glad to finally meet you, Anastasia. Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.
“I was,” I whisper.
“Oh. I hope I’m not responsible for your change of heart.” He gives me a brief, warm smile that puts me a little more at ease.
“Dr. Flynn, you’re the shrink. You tell me.”
He grins. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? The shrink bit?”
I giggle. “I’m worried what I might reveal, so I’m a little self-conscious and intimidated. And really I only want to ask you about Christian.”
He smiles. “First, this is a party so I’m not on duty,” he whispers conspiratorially. “And second, I really can’t talk to you about Christian. Besides,” he teases, “we’d need until Christmas.”
I gasp in shock.
“That’s a doctor’s joke, Anastasia.”
I flush, embarrassed, and then feel slightly resentful. He’s making a joke at Christian’s expense. “You’ve just confirmed what I’ve been saying to Christian … that you’re an expensive charlatan,” I admonish him.
Dr. Flynn snorts with laughter. “You could be on to something there.”
“You’re British?”
“Yes. Originally from London.”
“How did you find yourself here?”
“Happy circumstance.”
“You don’t give much away, do you?”
“There’s not much to give away. I’m really a very dull person.”
“That’s very self-deprecating.”
“It’s a British trait. Part of our national character.”
“Oh.”
“And I could accuse you of the same, Anastasia.”
“That I’m a dull person, too, Dr. Flynn?”
He snorts. “No, Anastasia. That you don’t give much away.”
“There’s not much to give away.” I smile.
“I sincerely doubt that.” He unexpectedly frowns.
I flush, but the music finishes and Christian is once more by my side. Dr. Flynn releases me.
“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Anastasia.” He gives me his warm smile again, and I feel that I’ve passed some kind of hidden test.
“John.” Christian nods at him.
“Christian.” Dr. Flynn returns his nod, turns on his heel, and disappears through the crowd.
Christian pulls me into his arms for the next dance.
“He’s much younger than I expected,” I murmur to him. “And terribly indiscreet.”
Christian cocks his head to one side. “Indiscreet?”
“Oh yes, he told me everything,” I tease.
Christian tenses. “Well, in that case, I’ll get your bag. I’m sure you want nothing more to do with me,” he says softly.
I stop. “He didn’t tell me anything!” My voice fills with panic.
Christian blinks before relief floods his face. He pulls me into his arms again. “Then let’s enjoy this dance.” He beams down at me, reassuring me, and then spins me around.
Why would he think that I’d want to leave? It makes no sense.
We dance for two more numbers, and I realize I need the restroom.
“I won’t be long.”
As I make my way to the powder room, I remember I have left my purse on the dinner table, so I head down to the tent. When I enter, it’s still lit but quite deserted, except for a couple at the other end, who really ought to get a room! I reach for my bag.
“Anastasia?”
A soft voice startles me, and I turn to see a woman dressed in a long, tight, black velvet gown. Her mask is unique. It covers her face to her nose but also covers her hair. It’s stunning, with elaborate gold filigree.
“I’m so glad you’re on your own,” she says softly. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all evening.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”
She pulls the mask from her face and releases her hair.
Shit! It’s Mrs. Robinson.
“I’m sorry, I startled you.”
I gape at her. Holy cow—what the fuck does this woman want?
I don’t know what the social conventions are for meeting known molesters of children. She’s smiling sweetly and gesturing for me to sit at the table. And because I am lacking any sphere of reference, I do as she asks out of stunned politeness, grateful that I am still wearing my mask.
“I’ll be brief, Anastasia. I know what you think of me … Christian’s told me.”
I gaze at her impassively, giving nothing away, but I’m pleased that she knows. It saves me telling her, and she’s cutting to the chase. Part of me is beyond intrigued as to what she could have to say.
She pauses, glancing over my shoulder. “Taylor’s watching us.”
I peek around to see him scanning the tent by the doorway. Sawyer is with him. They are looking anywhere but at us.
“Look, we don’t have long,” she says hurriedly. “It must be obvious to you that Christian is in love with you. I have never seen him like this, ever.” She emphasizes the last word.
What? Loves me? No. Why is she telling me? To reassure me? I don’t understand.
“He won’t tell you because he probably doesn’t realize it himself, notwithstanding what I’ve said to him, but that’s Christian. He’s not very attuned to any positive feelings and emotions he may have. He dwells far too much on the negative. But then, you’ve probably worked that out for yourself. He doesn’t think he’s worthy.”
I am reeling. Christian loves me? He hasn’t said it, and this woman has told him that’s how he feels? How bizarre.
A hundred images dance through my head: the iPad, the gliding, flying to see me, all his actions, his possessiveness, $100,000 for a dance. Is this love?
And hearing it from this woman, having her confirm it for me is, frankly, unwelcome. 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 cross 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. Good night.” 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?