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Rather than head for the shore and curtail the fun, I veer around to do a circuit of the stately Fair Lady. Wow - this is so much fun. I ignore Taylor and the crew behind me and speed around the yacht for a second time. As I complete the circuit, I spot Christian on deck. I think he's gaping at me, though it's difficult to tell. Bravely, I lift one hand from the handlebars and wave enthusiastically at him. He looks like he's made of stone, but finally he raises his hand in the semblance of a stiff wave. I can't work out his expression, and something tells me I don't want to, so I head to the marina, speeding across the blue water of the Mediterranean that shimmers in the late afternoon sun. At the dock, I wait and let Taylor pull up ahead of me. His expression is bleak, and my heart sinks, though Gaston looks vaguely amused. I wonder briefly if something has happened to chill GallicAmerican relations, but deep down I suspect the problem is probably me. Gaston leaps out of the motorboat and ties it to the moorings while Taylor directs me to come alongside. Very gently I ease the Jet Ski into position beside the boat and line up beside him. His expression softens a little.
"Just switch off the ignition, Mrs. Grey," he says calmly, reaching for the handlebars and holding out a hand to help me into the motorboat. I nimbly climb aboard, impressed that I don't fall in.
"Mrs. Grey," Taylor blinks nervously, his cheeks pink once more.
"Mr. Grey is not entirely comfortable with you riding on the Jet Ski."
He's practically squirming with embarrassment, and I realize he's had an irate call from Christian. Oh my poor, pathologically overprotective husband, what am I going to do with you?
I smile serenely at Taylor. "I see. Well, Taylor, Mr. Grey is not here, and if he's not entirely comfortable, I'm sure he'll give me the courtesy of telling me himself when I'm back on board."
Taylor winces. "Very good, Mrs. Grey," he says quietly, handing me my purse.
As I climb out of the boat, I catch a glimpse of his reluctant smile, and it makes me want to smile, too. I cannot believe how fond I am of Taylor, but I really don't appreciate being scolded by him - he's not my father or my husband.
Crap, Christian's mad - and he has enough to worry about at the moment. What was I thinking? As I stand on the dock waiting for Taylor to climb up, I feel my BlackBerry vibrate in my purse and fish it out. Sade's "Your Love is King" is my ring tone for Christian - only for Christian.
"Hi," I murmur.
"Hi," he says.
"I'll come back on the boat. Don't be mad."
I hear his small gasp of surprise. "Um . . ."
"It was fun, though," I whisper.
He sighs. "Well, far be it for me to curtail your fun, Mrs. Grey. Just be careful. Please."
Oh my! Permission to have fun! "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," I respond with a giggle.
I hear his smile in his voice. "I have another call - laters, baby."
"Laters, Christian."
He hangs up. Jet Ski crisis averted, I think. The car is waiting, and Taylor holds the door open for me. I wink at him as I climb in, and he shakes his head in amusement.
In the car, I fire up the e-mail on my BlackBerry.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Thank You
Date: August 17, 2011 16:55
To: Christian Grey
For not being too grouchy.
Your loving wife
xxx
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Trying to Stay Calm
Date: August 17, 2011 16:59
To: Anastasia Grey
You're welcome.
Come back in one piece.
This is not a request.
x
Christian Grey
CEO & Overprotective Husband, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
His response makes me smile. My control freak.
Why did I want to come shopping? I hate shopping. But deep down I know why, and I walk determinedly past Chanel, Gucci, Dior, and the other designer boutiques and eventually find the antidote to what ails me in a small, overstocked, touristy store. It's a little silver ankle bracelet with small hearts and little bells. It tinkles sweetly and it costs five euros. As soon as I've bought it, I put it on. This is me - this is what I like. Immediately I feel more comfortable. I don't want to lose touch with the girl who likes this, ever. Deep down I know that I'm not only overwhelmed by Christian himself but also by his wealth. Will I ever get used to it?
Taylor and Gaston follow me dutifully through the late afternoon crowds, and I soon forget they are there. I want to buy something for Christian, something to take his mind off what's happening in Seattle. But what do I buy for the man who has everything? I pause in a small modern square surrounded by stores and gaze at each one in turn. When I spy an electronics store, our visit to the gallery earlier today and our visit to the Louvre come back to me. We were looking at the Venus de Milo at the time . . . Christian's words echo in my head, "We can all appreciate the female form. We love to look whether in marble or oils or satin or film."
It gives me an idea, a daring idea. I just need help choosing the right one, and there's only one person who can help me. I wrestle my BlackBerry out of my purse and call Jose.
"Who . . . ?" he mumbles sleepily.
"Jose, it's Ana."
"Ana? Do you have any idea what time it is?" he says grumpily. Holy crap - I thought I had a better handle on the time zones.
"Sorry."
"Where are you? You okay?" He sounds more alert now, concerned.
"I'm in Cannes in the South of France, and I'm fine."
