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Andrea calls when she arrives at the office and I pace the floor as I talk her through what’s happened. I’m leaning against the desk when there’s a knock on the door. It’s my wife. “Andrea, hold please.”
Ana’s expression is one of determination—it’s a look I know well, the one she wears when we’re going to fight. My shoulders tense in preparation for a showdown. “I’m going shopping. I’ll take security with me,” she says with a too-bright smile.
Is that it? “Sure, take one of the twins and Taylor, too,” I reply. She doesn’t leave. “Anything else?”
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, baby, I’m good. The crew will look after me.”
“Okay.” She hesitates, then strides toward me, places her hands on my chest, and gives me a quick peck on my lips.
“Andrea, I’ll call you back.”
“Yes, Mr. Grey,” Andrea says, and I’m sure she’s smiling on the other end of the phone. Hanging up, I place my phone on the desk, pull Ana into my arms, and kiss her. Properly. Her mouth is sweet and wet and warm, and a welcome diversion. She’s breathless when I stop. “You’re distracting me,” I whisper, staring down into dazed eyes. “I need to sort this out, so I can get back to my honeymoon.” I run my finger down her cheek and clasp her chin.
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t apologize, Mrs. Grey. I love your distractions.” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “Go spend some money.” I step back, letting her go.
“Will do.” With a girlish smile, she sashays to the door and is gone, though there’s something about her demeanor that makes me pause.
What isn’t she telling me?
Dismissing the thought, I call Andrea back.
“Mr. Grey, while I have you on the phone, Ros mentioned that you might go to New York next week. If so, I wanted to remind you that the Telecommunications Alliance Organization fundraiser is on Thursday in Manhattan. They really want you there.”
“That trip’s not definite. But let them know that I’m considering their invitation, and if I accept it, it will be for two. We might want to think about any other meetings I could do in New York while I’m there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think that’s all for now. Can you put me through to Ros?”
“Will do.”
I update Ros and ask her to liaise with Barney and Welch.
From somewhere close to the yacht, the sound of a Jet Ski starting up sidetracks me. It stalls. It starts and stalls again. I peer through the windows on the starboard side and Ana is on one of the Jet Skis. Fully clothed.
I thought she was going shopping.
“Ros. I’ll call you back!” I hang up and scramble out of the study to the starboard walkway, but she’s gone. I dash around to the port side, and Ana’s tearing across the water on the Jet Ski with the tender in hot pursuit. She waves at me.
No. Ana! Don’t let go. My heart leaps into my mouth.
Hesitantly, I raise my hand and wave back.
This was her plan?
I watch as she races toward the marina with the tender in her wake. I pull out my phone and call Taylor.
“Sir.”
“What the hell are you and Anastasia playing at!” I shout.
“Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey wanted to try the Jet Ski.”
“But she could fall. Drown—fuck!” Words fail me.
“She’s quite competent on it, sir.”
“For fuck’s sake, don’t let her come back on it!”
I hear Taylor’s sigh. But I don’t give a fuck. “Yes, sir.”
“Thank you!” I press end call.
In the salon, I find the binoculars and watch as Ana pulls up beside the tender. Taylor helps her in, then onto the dock.
I call her number and watch as she fumbles in her purse for her phone.
“Hi,” she answers, a little breathlessly.
“Hi.”
“I’ll come back on the boat. Don’t be mad.”
Oh. I’m expecting a fight. “Um.”
“It was fun, though,” she whispers, sounding exhilarated. And I see her once more in my head, flying past the boat, the wind in her hair and a huge smile on her face.
I sigh. “Well, far be it for me to curtail your fun, Mrs. Grey. Just be careful. Please.”
“I will. Anything you want from town?”
“Just you, back in one piece.”
“I’ll do my best to comply, Mr. Grey.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mrs. Grey.”
“We aim to please.” She giggles, and the sweet sound makes me smile. My phone beeps.
“I have another call. Laters, baby.”
“Laters, Christian.”
I hang up and Grace is on the line. “Hello, darling, how are you?”
“I’m good, Mom.”
“I’m just calling to check that you’re all okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Shit. Maybe she knows. “Are you calling about the fire?”
“What fire?” she asks, suddenly terse.
“It’s nothing, Mother.”
“What. Fire. Christian.” Her tone is intimidating.
Sighing, I quickly fill her in on what’s happened at Grey House, sparing no details. “Mom, it’s no big deal. No damage.” The last thing I want to do is worry Grace.
