Christian is on the phone, dressed in a white shirt with no tie, looking every bit the relaxed CEO. How deceptive appearances can be. Perhaps he’s not going into the office after all. He glances up when I appear in the doorway but shakes his head at me, indicating that I am not welcome. Shit … I turn and wander dejectedly back to the breakfast bar. Taylor appears, snappily dressed in a somber suit, looking like he’s had eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“Morning, Taylor,” I murmur, trying to gauge his mood and see if he’ll offer me any visual cues about what has been going on.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grey,” he replies, and I hear the sympathy in those four words. I smile compassionately back at him, knowing he had to endure an angry, frustrated Christian returning to Seattle way ahead of schedule.

“How was the flight?” I dare to ask.

“Long, Mrs. Grey.” His brevity speaks volumes. “May I ask how you are?” he adds, his tone softening.

“I’m good.”

He nods. “If you’ll excuse me.” He heads toward Christian’s study. Hmm. Taylor’s allowed in, but not me.

“Here you go.” Mrs. Jones places my breakfast in front of me. My appetite has vanished, but I eat anyway, not wishing to offend her.

By the time I’ve finished what I can of my breakfast, Christian has still not emerged from his study. Is he avoiding me?

“Thanks, Mrs. Jones,” I murmur, sliding off the barstool and making my way to the bathroom to clean my teeth. As I brush them, I’m reminded of Christian’s sulk over the wedding vows. He holed up in his study then, too. Is that what this is? Him sulking? I shudder as I recall his subsequent nightmare. Will that happen again? We really need to talk. I need to know about Jack and about the increased security for the Greys—all the details that have been kept from me, but not from Kate. Obviously Elliot talks to her.

I glance at my watch. It’s eight fifty—I’m late for work. I finish brushing my teeth, apply a little lip gloss, grab my lightweight black jacket, and head back to the great room. I am relieved to see Christian there, eating his breakfast.

“You’re going?” he says when he sees me.

“To work? Yes, of course.” Bravely, I walk toward him and rest my hands on the edge of the breakfast bar. He gazes at me blankly.

“Christian, we’ve hardly been back a week. I have to go to work.”

“But—” He stops and rakes his hand through his hair. Mrs. Jones walks quietly out of the room. Discreet, Gail, discreet.

“I know we have a great deal to talk about. Perhaps if you’ve calmed down, we can do it this evening.”

His mouth pops open with dismay. “Calmed down?” His voice is eerily soft.

I flush. “You know what I mean.”

“No, Anastasia, I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t want to fight. I was coming to ask you if I could take my car.”

“No. You can’t,” he snaps.

“Okay.” I acquiesce immediately.

He blinks. He was obviously expecting a fight. “Prescott will accompany you.” His tone is slightly less belligerent.

Damn it, not Prescott. I want to pout and protest but decide against it. Surely now that Jack has been caught we can cut back on our security.

I remember my mom’s “words of wisdom” talk the day before my wedding. Ana, honey, you really have to choose your battles. It’ll be the same with your kids when you have them. Well, at least he’s letting me go to work.

“Okay,” I mutter. And because I don’t want to leave him like this with so much unresolved and so much tension between us, I step tentatively toward him. He stiffens, his eyes widening, and for a moment he looks so vulnerable it pulls at some deep, dark place in my heart. Oh, Christian, I’m so sorry. I kiss him chastely on the side of his mouth. He closes his eyes as if relishing my touch.

“Don’t hate me,” I whisper.

He grabs my hand. “I don’t hate you.”

“You haven’t kissed me,” I whisper.

He eyes me suspiciously. “I know,” he mutters.

I’m desperate to ask him why, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer. Abruptly he stands and grabs my face between his hands, and in a flash his lips are hard on mine. I gasp with surprise, inadvertently granting his tongue access. He takes full advantage, invading my mouth, claiming me, and just as I’m beginning to respond he releases me, his breathing quickening.

“Taylor will take you and Prescott to SIP,” he says, his eyes flaring with need. “Taylor!” he calls. I flush, trying to recover some composure.

“Sir.” Taylor is standing in the doorway.

“Tell Prescott Mrs. Grey is going to work. Can you drive them, please?”

“Certainly.” Turning on his heel, Taylor disappears.

“If you could try to stay out of trouble today, I would appreciate it,” Christian mutters.

“I’ll see what I can do.” I smile sweetly. A reluctant half smile tugs at Christian’s lips, but he doesn’t give in to it.

“I’ll see you later, then,” he says coolly.

“Laters,” I whisper.

Prescott and I take the service elevator down to the basement garage in order to avoid the media outside. Jack’s arrest and the fact that he was apprehended in our apartment are now public knowledge. As I settle into the Audi, I wonder if there will be more paparazzi waiting at SIP like the day our engagement was announced.

We drive a while in silence, until I remember to call first Ray and then my mom to reassure them that Christian and I are safe. Mercifully, both calls are short, and I hang up just as we arrive outside SIP. As I feared, there’s a small crowd of reporters and photographers lying in wait. They turn as one, looking expectantly at the Audi.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mrs. Grey?” Taylor asks. Part of me just wants to go home, but that means spending the day with Mr. Burning Rage. I hope that with a little time, he will gain some perspective. Jack is in police custody, so Fifty should be happy, but he’s not. Part of me understands why; too much of this is out of his control, including me, but I don’t have time to think about this now.

“Take me around to the delivery entrance, please, Taylor.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

IT’S ONE O’CLOCK AND I’ve managed to immerse myself in work all morning. There’s a knock and Elizabeth pops her head around the door.

“Can I have a moment?” she asks brightly.

“Sure,” I mutter, surprised at her unscheduled visit.

She enters and sits down, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder. “I just wanted to check you’re okay. Roach asked me to pay you a visit,” she adds hurriedly as her face reddens. “I mean with all that went on last night.”

Jack Hyde’s arrest is all over the newspapers, but no one seems to have made the connection yet with the fire at GEH.

“I’m fine,” I answer, trying not to think too deeply about how I feel. Jack wanted to harm me. Well, that’s not news. He’s tried before. It’s Christian I’m more concerned about.

I glance quickly at my e-mail. There’s still nothing from him. I don’t know if I were to send him an e-mail, whether I’d just be provoking Mr. Burning Rage further.

“Good,” Elizabeth answers, and her smile actually touches her eyes for a change. “If there’s anything I can do—anything you need—let me know.”

“Will do.”

Elizabeth stands. “I know how busy you are, Ana. I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Um … thanks.”

That has to have been the briefest, most pointless meeting in the Western Hemisphere today. Why did Roach send her here? Perhaps he’s worried, given I’m his boss’s wife. I shake off the dark thoughts and reach for my BlackBerry in the hope that there might be a message from Christian. As I do, my work e-mail pings.

I gaze at his e-mail for a full five minutes, trying to think of a light and witty response to lift his mood. I draw a complete blank, and opt for brevity instead.

I stare at the screen for another five minutes, anxious for his response, but there’s nothing. Christian is not in the mood to play today.

I sit back. Can I blame him? My poor Fifty was probably frantic, back in the early hours of this morning. Then a thought occurs to me. He was in his tux when I woke this morning. What time did he decide to come back from New York? He normally leaves functions between ten and eleven. Last night at that hour, I was still at large with Kate.

Did Christian come home because I was out or because of the Jack incident? If he left because I was out having a good time, he would have had no idea about Jack, about the police, nothing—until he landed in Seattle. It’s suddenly very important to me to find out. If Christian came back merely because I was out, then he was overreacting. My subconscious sucks her teeth, wearing her harpy face. Okay, I’m glad he’s back, so maybe it’s irrelevant. But still—Christian must have had one hell of a shock when he landed. No wonder he’s so confused today. His earlier words come back to me. “I am still fucking mad at you, Anastasia. You’re making me question my judgment.”

I have to know—did he come back because of Cocktailgate or because of the fucking lunatic?

I stare at my screen. There’s no response. I glance at the clock on my computer. One forty-five and still no response.

I hit “send.” There—stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Grey. I take a deep breath. I have worked myself up into quite a rage. Here I was feeling sorry and guilty for behaving badly. Well, no longer.

Watch my language! I scowl at my computer, realizing this is getting me nowhere. I don’t respond, but pick up a manuscript recently received from a promising new author and begin to read.

MY MEETING WITH DETECTIVE Clark is uneventful. He is less growly than the night before, maybe because he’s managed some sleep. Or maybe he just prefers working during the day.

“Thank you for your statement, Mrs. Grey.”

“You’re welcome, Detective. Is Hyde in police custody yet?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was released from the hospital earlier this morning. With what he’s charged with, he should be with us for a while.” He smiles, his dark eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Good. This has been an anxious time for my husband and me.”

“I spoke at length with Mr. Grey this morning. He’s very relieved. Interesting man, your husband.”

You have no idea.

“Yes, I think so.” I offer him a polite smile, and he knows he’s being dismissed.

“If you think of anything, you can call me. Here’s my card.” He wrestles a card out of his wallet and hands it to me.

“Thank you, Detective. I’ll do that.”

“Good day to you, Mrs. Grey.”

“Good day.”

As he leaves, I wonder exactly what Hyde has been charged with. No doubt Christian won’t tell me. I purse my lips.

WE RIDE IN SILENCE to Escala. Sawyer is driving this time, Prescott at his side, and my heart grows heavier and heavier as we head back. I know Christian and I are going to have an almighty fight, and I don’t know if I have the energy.

As I ride in the elevator from the garage with Prescott beside me, I try to marshal my thoughts. What do I want to say? I think I said it all in my e-mail. Perhaps he’ll give me some answers. I hope so. I can’t help my nerves. My heart is pounding, my mouth is dry, and my palms are sweaty. I don’t want to fight. But sometimes he’s so difficult, and I need to stand my ground.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the foyer, and it’s once more neat and tidy. The table is upright and a new vase is in place with a gorgeous array of pale pink and white peonies. I quickly check the paintings as we wander through—the Madonnas all look to be intact. The broken foyer door is fixed and operational once more, and Prescott kindly opens it for me. She’s been so quiet today. I think I prefer her this way.

I drop my briefcase in the hall and head into the great room. I stop. Holy fuck.

“Good evening, Mrs. Grey,” Christian says softly. He’s standing by the piano, dressed in a tight black T-shirt and jeans … those jeans—the ones he wore in the playroom. Oh my. They are overwashed pale blue denim, snug, ripped at the knee, and hot. He saunters over to me, his feet bare, the top button of the jeans undone, his smoldering eyes never leaving mine.

“Good to have you home. I’ve been waiting for you.”