by James, E L
Ana’s eyes widen, seeing through me, as ever. “Good different or bad different?” she asks.
The searing pain of Elena’s touch flares in my imagination.
Her hands on me. Her nails scraping my skin while the darkness flailed and clawed at me from within, trying to throw her off.
It was unbearable.
I swallow, trying to dispel the memory. “Bad, I think.” The words are less than a whisper.
“I thought you liked it.”
“I did. At the time.”
“Not now?”
Ana’s eyes are a guileless blue, impossible to escape. Slowly, I shake my head.
“Oh, Christian.” She launches herself at me, an unstoppable force of good, kissing my face, my chest, each of my scars. I groan and answer her kiss with my own passion and my love. And we’re soon lost, making love at my pace. Slowly, tenderly, so I can show her how much I love her.
Ana is brushing her teeth as I finish dressing. “I’ll go and check on our guests.”
Her eyes meet mine in the bathroom mirror. “I have a question.”
I lean against the doorjamb. “Pray, what do you wish to know, Mrs. Grey?”
She turns to face me, dressed only in a towel. “Does Mrs. Bentley know about your…um…your—”
“Predilections?” I offer.
Ana flushes and I laugh, because Ana can still blush at anything to do with sex, and because Mr. and Mrs. Bentley have no idea.
“No. No playroom here. We’ll have to bring some toys.” I wink at her and turn to go, leaving her mouth open.
Kate and Mrs. Bentley are chatting in the kitchen. They’re the only ones up, it seems, on such a beautiful morning. I greet them both.
“Good morning, Mr. Grey,” Carmella says.
Kate smiles, and frankly it’s unnerving. I’m more used to her snarling at me.
“We could go for a hike and a picnic before heading home,” I suggest to Kate.
“Sounds great.”
“Waffles okay today?” Mrs. Bentley asks.
“Great. Picnic for later, would that be possible?”
“Of course,” she says, with a look that tells me I shouldn’t dare doubt her culinary abilities. “Oh, and Martin would like a word with you,” she continues. “He’s somewhere in the yard.”
“I’ll go find him.”
Martin Bentley is weeding what Mrs. Bentley calls the kitchen garden. We exchange pleasantries and he takes me on a tour of the grounds. He’s a thoughtful, introspective man with some ideas on how to improve the yard. Not only does he maintain my property, but also a couple of the other properties in the near vicinity, and he’s a volunteer for the fire department.
While we walk, we discuss putting in a hot tub, and maybe a pool. I notice a bamboo cane that’s been discarded, and I pick it up as we continue to talk. It’s been a while since I held a cane. It’s a little heavy, and not very flexible. Absentmindedly, I swipe it through the air.
“It’ll be expensive,” Martin says, referring to the notional pool, “and, to be honest, how often would you use it?”
“Good point. Perhaps we could go for a tennis court instead.”
“Or you could leave it all be and let the meadow flowers bloom.” His grin is infectious.
I survey the yard: pool, or tennis court, or meadow flowers? I wonder which Ana would prefer. I swipe the cane through the air once more as Mr. Bentley opens the door into the basement. I don’t know what it is that makes me glance up, but I do, to discover Ana is watching me from the kitchen window. She waves, but looks guilty for some reason—why? I don’t know. She turns away, and I hand the cane to Martin and head back into the house. I’m hungry for waffles.
The flight home is smooth. Ana slumbers beside me while I go through the draft deal terms for the acquisition of Geolumara. I think everyone is tired after the forced-march hike up the Red Mountain Road trail that Elliot led us on. But it was worth it for the view. The late night, the altitude, and the alcohol are catching up with all of us: Elliot and Ana are sleeping, Kate and Ethan are dozing, Mia is reading. She and Ethan appear to have had an argument. I suspect Ethan’s “we’re just friends” has finally registered in Mia’s stubborn mind.
Stephan announces that we’re beginning our descent into Seattle. “Hey, sleepyhead.” I wake Ana. “We’re about to land. Buckle up.”
She stirs and fumbles for her belt, but I fasten it for her and kiss her forehead. She snuggles against me and I drop a kiss in her hair.
This trip has been a success, I think. But for me, it’s also been disturbing. I’m sensing a growing feeling of…contentment. It’s a strange and frightening sentiment. One that could disappear in a heartbeat. I glance down at Ana, trying to dismiss the worrisome feeling. It’s too new. And too fragile. Turning my attention back to the paperwork in front of me, I continue to read, making notes in the margins with my queries.
Don’t dwell on your happiness, Grey.
It will only lead to pain.
Flynn’s recent advice echoes in my mind. Nurture and treasure it.
Shit. How?
Hell.
Elliot wakes and teases Ana while First Officer Beighley announces our final approach. I take Ana’s hand.
“Christian, Ana. Thank you for a fantastic weekend,” Kate says, threading her fingers through Elliot’s.
“You’re welcome,” I answer. And there it is again, that contentment.
“How was your weekend, Mrs. Grey?” I ask once we’re en route to Escala.
Ryan is driving, with Taylor in the passenger seat. Even he looks relaxed.
“Good, thank you.”
“We can go anytime. Take anyone you wish to take.”
“We should take Ray. He’d like the fishing.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“How was it for you?” she asks.
I glance at her.
Fantastic. Scarily so…
“Good,” I say, eventually. “Real good.”
“You seemed to relax.”
“I knew you were safe.”
She frowns. “Christian, I’m safe most of the time. I’ve told you before, you’ll keel over at forty if you keep up this level of anxiety. And I want to grow old and gray with you.” Ana reaches out taking my hand. I raise it to my lips and kiss her fingers.
I will always worry about you, baby.
You are my life.
“How’s your hand?” I ask, to change the subject.
“It’s better, thank you.”
“Very good, Mrs. Grey. You ready to face Gia again?”
Ana rolls her eyes. “I might want to keep you out of the way, keep you safe.”
“Protecting me?” Well, how the tables have turned. I want to laugh.
“As ever, Mr. Grey. From all sexual predators,” she teases, keeping her voice low, so Ryan and Taylor don’t overhear her.
I brush my teeth, glad that we’ve approved Gia’s plans. Elliot’s team will start on the build Monday. I tick through a mental checklist. I have much to do over the coming week, but chiefly I want to make sure we nail Hyde’s ass to the wall and keep him incarcerated. Welch will need to keep digging to see if the asshole’s been working with anyone.
I hope not.
I hope this is over.
“Everything okay?” Ana asks, when I join her in the bedroom. She’s wearing one of her satin nightdresses and looks every inch a goddess.
I nod as I climb into bed beside her, putting aside my thoughts about next week.
“I’m not looking forward to going back to reality,” she says.
“No?”
She shakes her head and caresses my face. “I had a wonderful weekend. Thank you.”
“You’re my reality, Ana.” I kiss her.
“Do you mi
ss it?”
“Miss what?”
“You know. The caning, and stuff,” she whispers.
Why is she asking me this? I rack my brain. The bamboo cane. This morning?
“No, Anastasia, I don’t.” I stroke her cheek with the back of my knuckles. “Dr. Flynn said something to me when you left, something that’s stayed with me. He said I couldn’t be that way if you weren’t so inclined. It was a revelation.” John encouraged me to try our relationship her way.
And look where we are…
“I didn’t know any other way, Ana. Now I do. It’s been educational.”
“Me, educate you?” she scoffs.
I smile. “Do you miss it?”
“I don’t want you to hurt me, but I like to play, Christian. You know that. If you wanted to do something…” She lifts her left shoulder in a coy shrug.
“Something?”
“You know, with a flogger or your crop—” She stops as her face colors.
Crops and floggers, eh?
“Well, we’ll see. Right now, I’d like some good old-fashioned vanilla.” My thumb skims her bottom lip, and I kiss her once more.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Bastille is kicking my ass. “Marriage is making you soft, Grey,” he taunts, flicking his dreads to the side as I struggle to my feet once more. That is the third time he has knocked me on my butt. “Maybe this is what happiness looks like.” His face brightens with a benign grin and he comes at me again with a roundhouse kick. But I block him and feint right, then bring him down with my left leg.
“Yeah,” I respond, adrenaline flying through my veins. “Maybe it does.” I bounce on my feet, fists raised, ready to take him down once more, as he leaps to his feet.
“That’s more like it, man.”
As I sip my coffee at my desk, I contemplate the last few days and Bastille’s words. Maybe this is what happiness looks like.
Happiness.
It’s a strange and unsettling emotion, one that I’ve felt often enough since I met Ana. But I’ve always thought of those as fleeting moments, sometimes euphoric, sometimes just pure joy. It’s never been my constant companion. It’s crept up on me, and now it’s with me, always—but it’s an uneasy feeling, a tightness in my chest. And I know it’s because it could be snatched from me at any moment, and I’d be left devastated.
“I don’t want you to sabotage your happiness, Christian. I know you feel you don’t deserve it.” Flynn’s words echo once more through my thoughts.
Sabotage my happiness?
How and why would I do that?
It’s like love. That was a frightening prospect, too, yet I let that in.
Shit. Why can’t I just accept this feeling and enjoy it? I could bathe in its fire and rise reborn like a phoenix…or will I perish in its flames, with what’s left of my heart destroyed?
Flowery, Grey. I snort. Get a grip.
Maybe Bastille has a point. These last few days have been idyllic. Work is going well. I’ve not had any further arguments with my wife, just fun and frolics.
She’s been…Ana. My Ana.
I recall the Shipbuilding Association dinner, a few nights back, where—at my request—Ana wore Kegel balls throughout the long meal. How she held it together I’ll never know. She didn’t when we got home. I shift in my seat, remembering her need.
My phone buzzes, interrupting my erotic reminiscence.
“Yes?”
“I have Welch for you.”
“Thanks, Andrea.”
“Mr. Grey.” His gravelly voice kills any residual lust that’s lingering in my body. “Hyde’s bail hearing is this afternoon. I’ll report back when the judge has given her verdict.”
“Let’s hope she makes the right decision.”
He clears his throat, “He’s a flight risk. I think she will.”
“Great. Let me know.”
As I put the phone down, my BlackBerry buzzes with a text.
LEILA
I wanted to thank you personally for
everything you’ve done for me.
I am trying to understand why you
won’t see me. It’s hard.
I owe you so much. Leila.
What the hell?
I switch my phone off and return to my coffee. I am not in the mood to deal with Leila Williams. She shouldn’t be texting me at all. I had hoped that Flynn had talked to her, but I’ll discuss Leila’s persistence with him later today when I see him.
Mia is more animated than usual when we meet for an early lunch at my favorite sushi restaurant. She hurls herself at me, fizzing with excitement, kissing my cheek. “It’s so good to see you,” she gushes.
“You saw me last weekend.” I return her hug, my tone wry.
“But I get you to myself—and I have news! I have a job.” She raises her hands and does a celebratory twirl before she takes her seat.
“What! Finally?” Her joy is contagious, and I’m eager to hear the details.
“It’s taken forever. But I’m thrilled. I’m working for Crissy Scales.”
“The caterer?”
“Yes. Weddings. Events. All those gigs. I want to start my own business one day, but she’s going to show me the ropes. I’m super-excited.”
“Great. When do you start?”
“Next Friday.”
“Tell me everything.”
No one can enthuse like my little sister, and I can’t remember the last time we spent a long lunch together, just the two of us. Over our sashimi and maki rolls she regales me with her hopes for her new career, and with her latest attempts to win Ethan Kavanagh’s heart.
“Mia, I’m not sure I can deal with you having a love life.”
“Oh, Christian, of course I have a love life. I had so much fun in Paris.”
“What?”
“Yes. There was Victor, Alexandre—”
“There’s a list? Christ. Stop.”
“Don’t be such a prude, Christian,” she scolds.
“Moi?” I place my hands on my chest in feigned outrage.
She laughs.
“So, you think you have a chance with Ethan?” I ask.
“Yes.” She’s definitive, and that’s one of the many things I love about her, her determination and resilience.
“Okay. Good luck with that.” I signal for the check.
“Can we do this again? I miss you.”
“Of course. But right now I have to get back to work for a meeting.”
I’m sitting with Barney and Fred in the lab, examining the latest prototype of the solar tablet—the lighter, simpler, cheaper version for struggling economies in the developing world. This is the part of my job that I love most. Barney is in full flow. “Took eight hours to charge and it’s giving us three days of use.”
“Can we get more?”
“I think we’re at our limit with the battery technology at the moment.” Fred glides his glasses up his nose. “It’s the black-and-white E-ink screen that saves us on power. And it’s more robust.”
“And for the home market?”
“Color touchscreen.” Barney hands me the other prototype.
I weigh it in my hands. “It’s quite a bit heavier.”
“Color screens are.”
“Feels expensive.” I grin.
“We’re only getting four hours from it so far, with eight hours in the sun.”
“Makes sense. But it can be charged conventionally?”
“Yes. Here.” Barney points out the charging port on the bottom of the device. “It’s standard, nonproprietary USB. Saves on landfill.”
“That’s a good marketing angle.” My phone buzzes, and Welch’s name pops up on the screen.
“Guys, I’ve got to get this.” I step away from the wo
rkbench and answer. “What gives?”
“He didn’t make bail. No trial set yet.”
“He doesn’t deserve bail. Thanks for letting me know.” I hang up and send a quick e-mail to Ana.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Hyde
Date: September 1 2011 15:24
To: Anastasia Grey
Anastasia
For your information, Hyde has been refused bail and remanded in custody. He’s charged with attempted kidnapping and arson. As yet no date has been set for the trial.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I turn back to Fred and Barney to continue our discussion of the tablet and next steps.
Back in my office, I notice Ana’s reply to my earlier message.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Hyde
Date: September 1 2011 15:53
To: Christian Grey
That’s good news.
Does this mean you’ll lighten up on security?
I really don’t see eye to eye with Prescott.
Ana x
Anastasia Grey
Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Hyde
Date: September 1 2011 15:59
To: Anastasia Grey
No. Security will remain in place. No arguments.
What’s wrong with Prescott? If you don’t like her, we’ll replace her.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
There’s a knock on the door. I’m expecting Ros for our four o’clock, but it’s Andrea who pops her head around the door. “Mr. Grey, Ros is running late. She’ll be with you in ten minutes. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good, Andrea, thanks.” She closes the door and I open the revised deal terms for Geolumara. I need to read it through and check that all my suggestions have been incorporated. When I look up, I have a response from Ana.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Keep Your Hair On!
Date: September 1 2011 16:03
To: Christian Grey
I was just asking (rolls eyes). And I’ll think about Prescott.
Stow that twitchy palm!