Chapter Nineteen #3
It smells delicious—chorizo and scallops with roasted red peppers and shallots, sprinkled with flat-leaf parsley.
And despite the fact that my stomach is churning from Christian’s veiled threats, the surreptitious glances from pretty little Miss Pigtails, and the debacle of my missing underwear, I am starving.
I flush as I realize it’s the physical effort of this afternoon that’s given me such an appetite.
Moments later Grace returns, her brow furrowed.
Mr. Grey cocks his head to one side…like Christian. “Everything okay?”
“Another measles case.” Grace sighs.
“Oh no.”
“Yes, a child. The fourth case this month. If only people would get their kids vaccinated.” She shakes her head sadly, then smiles.
“I’m so glad our children never went through that.
They never caught anything worse than chicken pox, thank goodness.
Poor Elliot,” she says as she sits down, smiling indulgently at her son.
Elliot frowns midchew and squirms uncomfortably.
“Christian and Mia were lucky. They got it so mildly, only a spot to share between them.”
Mia giggles, and Christian rolls his eyes.
“So, did you catch the Mariners game, Dad?” Elliot’s clearly eager to move the conversation on.
The hors d’oeuvres are delicious, and I concentrate on eating while Elliot, Mr. Grey, and Christian talk baseball.
Christian seems relaxed and calm talking with his family.
My mind is working furiously. Damn Kate, what game is she playing?
Will he punish me? I quail at the thought.
I haven’t signed that contract yet. Perhaps I won’t.
Perhaps I’ll stay in Georgia where he can’t reach me.
“How are you settling into your new apartment, dear?” Grace asks politely.
I’m grateful for her question, distracting me from my discordant thoughts, and I tell her about our move.
As we finish our starters, Gretchen appears, and not for the first time, I wish I felt able to put my hands freely on Christian just to let her know—he may be fifty shades of fucked up, but he’s mine.
She proceeds to clear the table, brushing rather too closely to Christian for my liking.
Fortunately, he seems oblivious to her, but my inner goddess is smoldering and not in a good way.
Kate and Mia are waxing lyrical about Paris.
“Have you been to Paris, Ana?” Mia asks innocently, distracting me from my jealous reverie.
“No, but I’d love to go.” I know I’m the only one at the table who has never left the U.S.
“We honeymooned in Paris.” Grace smiles at Mr. Grey, who grins back at her.
It’s almost embarrassing to witness. They obviously love each other deeply, and I wonder for a brief moment what it must be like to grow up with both one’s parents in situ.
“It’s a beautiful city,” Mia agrees. “In spite of the Parisians. Christian, you should take Ana to Paris.”
“I think Anastasia would prefer London,” Christian says.
Oh…he remembered. He places his hand on my knee—his fingers traveling up my thigh. My whole body tightens in response. No…not here, not now. I shift, trying to pull away from him. His hand clamps down on my thigh, stilling me. I reach for my wine in desperation.
Little Miss European Pigtails returns, all coy glances and swaying hips, with our entrées: beef Wellington, I think. Fortunately, she gives us our plates and leaves, although she lingers handing Christian his. He looks quizzically at me as I watch her close the dining room door.
“So what was wrong with the Parisians?” Elliot asks his sister. “Didn’t they take to your winsome ways?”
“Ugh, no, they didn’t. And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such a domineering tyrant.”
I splutter into my wine.
“Anastasia, are you okay?” Christian asks solicitously, taking his hand off my thigh.
Humor has returned to his voice. Oh, thank heavens. When I nod, he pats my back gently and only removes his hand when he knows I’ve recovered.
The beef is delicious and served with roasted sweet potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and green beans.
It is even more palatable since Christian manages to retain his good humor for the rest of the meal.
I suspect that it’s because I’m eating so heartily.
The conversation flows freely among the Greys, warm and caring, gently teasing one another.
Over our dessert of lemon syllabub, Mia regales us with her exploits in Paris, lapsing at one point into fluent French.
We all stare at her, and she stares back puzzled, until Christian tells her in equally fluent French what she’s done, whereupon she bursts into a fit of giggles.
She has an infectious laugh, and soon we’re all in stitches.
Elliot holds forth about his latest building project, a new eco-friendly community to the north of Seattle.
I glance up at Kate, and she’s hanging on every word Elliot says, her eyes glowing with lust or love.
I haven’t quite worked out which yet. He grins down at her, and it’s as if an unspoken promise passes between them.
Laters, baby, he’s saying, and it’s hot, freaking hot. I flush just watching them.
I sigh and peek up at Fifty Shades. I could stare at him forever.
He has light stubble over his chin, and my fingers itch to scratch it and feel it against my face, against my breasts…
between my thighs. I blush at the direction of my thoughts.
He peers down at me and raises his hand to pull at my chin.
“Don’t bite your lip.” His voice is husky. “I want to do that.”
Grace and Mia clear our dessert glasses and head to the kitchen, while Mr. Grey, Kate, and Elliot discuss the merits of solar panels in Washington State.
Christian, feigning interest in their conversation, puts his hand once more on my knee, and his fingers travel up my thigh.
My breathing hitches and I press my thighs together in a bid to halt his progress. He smirks.
“Shall I give you a tour of the grounds?” he asks me quite openly.
I know I’m meant to say yes, but I don’t trust him. Before I can answer, however, he’s on his feet and holding his hand out to me. I place my hand in his, and all the muscles clench deep in my belly, responding to his dark, hungry gaze.
“Excuse me,” I say to Mr. Grey and follow Christian out of the dining room.
He leads me through the hallway and into the kitchen, where Mia and Grace are stacking the dishwasher. European Pigtails is nowhere to be seen.
“I’m going to show Anastasia the backyard,” Christian says innocently to his mother. She waves us out with a smile as Mia heads back to the dining room.
We step out onto a gray flagstone patio area lit by recessed lights in the rock.
There are shrubs in gray stone tubs and a chic metal table and chairs set up in one corner.
Christian walks past those, up some steps, and onto a vast lawn that leads down to the bay.
Oh my—it’s beautiful. Seattle twinkles on the horizon and the cool, bright May moon etches a sparkling silver path across the water toward a jetty where two boats are moored.
Beside the jetty stands a boathouse. It is so picturesque, so peaceful. I stand and gape.
Christian pulls me behind him, and my heels sink into the soft grass.
“Stop, please.” I am stumbling in his wake.
He stops and gazes at me, his expression unfathomable.
“My heels. I need to take my shoes off.”
“Don’t bother,” he says, and he bends down and scoops me over his shoulder.
I squeal loudly with shocked surprise, and he gives me a ringing slap on my behind.
“Keep your voice down,” he growls.
Oh no…this is not good. My subconscious is quaking at the knees. He’s mad about something—could be José, Georgia, no panties, biting my lip. Jeez, he’s easy to rile.
“Where are we going?” I breathe.
“Boathouse,” he snaps.
I hang on to his hips as I’m tipped upside down, and he strides purposefully in the moonlight across the lawn.
“Why?” I sound breathless, bouncing on this shoulder.
“I need to be alone with you.”
“What for?”
“Because I’m going to spank and then fuck you.”
“Why?” I whimper softly.
“You know why,” he hisses.
“I thought you were an in-the-moment guy?” I plead breathlessly.
“Anastasia, I’m in the moment, trust me.”
Holy fuck.