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Christian's not in the bedroom when I come out. Jeez, he dresses quickly. I do the same, throwing on my favorite plum dress and black sandals, and I'm conscious that I've chosen this outfit because Christian likes it. I vigorously towel-dry my hair, then braid it and wind it into a bun. Fitting diamond studs into my ears, I dash to the bathroom to apply a little mascara. Glancing at myself in the mirror - I'm pale. Jeez, I'm always pale - I take a deep steadying breath. I need to face the consequences of my rash decision to actually enjoy myself with my friend. I sigh, knowing that Christian won't see it that way. Christian is nowhere to be seen in the great room. Mrs. Jones is busying herself in the kitchen.
"Good morning, Ana," she says sweetly.
"Morning," I smile broadly at her. I am Ana again!
"Tea?"
"Please."
"Anything to eat?"
"Please. I'd like an omelet this morning."
"With mushrooms and spinach?"
"And cheese."
"Coming up."
"Where's Christian?"
"Mr. Grey's in his study."
"Has he had breakfast?" I glance at the two places set on the breakfast bar.
"No, ma'am."
"Thanks."
Christian is on the phone, dressed in a white shirt with no tie, looking like every part 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 bar stool 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 a 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. Dammit, not Prescott. I want to pout and protest but decide against it. Surely now 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.
