haunting, ethereal piece I don’t recognize. The stage looks set for a big band but as there’s

no sign of the musicians yet. I figure this must be for later. Taking my hand, Christian leads

me between swans onto the dance floor where the other guests are congregating, chatting

over glasses of champagne.

Toward the shoreline stands an enormous marquee, open on the side nearest to us so I

can glimpse the formally arranged tables and chairs. There are so many!

“How many people are coming?” I ask Christian, thrown by the scale of the marquee.

“I think about three hundred. You’ll have to ask my mother.” He smiles down at me,

and maybe it’s because I can only see his smile that lights up his face, but my inner god-

dess swoons.

“Christian!”

A young woman appears out of the throng and throws her arms around his neck, and

immediately I know it’s Mia. She’s dressed in a sleek, pale pink, full-length chiffon gown

with a stunning, delicately detailed Venetian mask to match. She looks amazing. And for a

moment, I have never felt so grateful for the dress Christian has given me.

“Ana! Oh, darling, you look gorgeous!” She gives me a quick hug. “You must come

and meet my friends. None of them can believe that Christian finally has a girlfriend.”

I shoot a quick panicked glance at Christian, who shrugs in a resigned I-know-she’s-

impossible-I-had-to-live-with-her-for-years way, and let Mia lead me over to a group of

four young women, all expensively attired and impeccably groomed.

Mia makes hasty introductions. Three of them are sweet and kind, but Lily, I think her

name is, regards me sourly from beneath her red mask.

“Of course we all thought Christian was gay,” she says snidely, concealing her rancor

with a large, fake smile.

Mia pouts at her.

“Lily, behave yourself. It’s obvious he has excellent taste in women. He was waiting

for the right one to come along, and it wasn’t you!”

Lily blushes the same color as her mask, as do I. Could this be any more uncomfort-

able?“Ladies, if I could claim my date back, please?” Snaking his arm around my waist,

Christian pulls me to his side. All four women flush, grin and fidget, his dazzling smile do-

ing what it always does. Mia glances at me and rolls her eyes, and I have to laugh.

“Lovely to meet you,” I say as he drags me away.

“Thank you,” I mouth at Christian when we’re some distance away.

“I saw that Lily was with Mia. She is one nasty piece of work.”

“She likes you,” I mutter dryly.

He shudders. “Well, the feeling is not mutual. Come, let me introduce you to some

people.”

I spend the next half hour in a whirlwind of introductions. I meet two Hollywood ac-

tors, two more CEOs, and several eminent physicians. Holy shit . . . there is no way I am

going to remember everyone’s name.

Christian keeps me close at his side, and I’m grateful. Frankly, the wealth, the glamour,

and the sheer lavish scale of the event intimidates me. I have never been to anything like

this in my life.

The white-suited servers move effortlessly through the growing crowd of guests with

bottles of champagne, topping off my glass with worrying regularity. I must not drink too

much. I must not drink too much,I repeat to myself, but I’m beginning to feel light-headed,

and I don’t know if it’s the champagne, the charged atmosphere of mystery and excitement

created by the masks, or the secret silver balls. The dull ache below my waist is becoming

impossible to ignore.

“So you work at SIP?” asks a balding gentleman in a half-bear—or is it a dog?—mask.

“Heard rumors of a hostile takeover.”

I flush. There isa hostile takeover from a man who has more money than sense and is

a stalker par excellence.

“I’m just a lowly assistant, Mr. Eccles. I wouldn’t know about these things.”

Christian says nothing and smiles blandly at Eccles.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The master of ceremonies, wearing an impressive black and

white harlequin mask, interrupts us. “Please take your seats. Dinner is served.”

Christian takes my hand, and we follow the chattering crowd to the large marquee.

The interior is stunning. Three enormous, shallow chandeliers throw rainbow-colored

sparkles over the ivory silk lining of the ceiling and walls. There must be at least thirty

tables, and they remind me of the private dining room at the Heathman—crystal glasses,

crisp white linen covering the tables and chairs, and in the center, an exquisite display of

pale pink peonies gathered around a silver candelabra. Wrapped in gossamer silk beside it

is a basket of goodies.

Christian consults the seating plan and leads me to a table in the center. Mia and Grace

are already in situ, deep in conversation with a young man I don’t know. Grace is wear-

ing a shimmering mint green gown with a Venetian mask to match. She looks radiant, not

stressed at all, and she greets me warmly.

“Ana, how delightful to see you again! And looking so beautiful, too.”

“Mother,” Christian greets her stiffly and kisses her on both cheeks.

“Oh, Christian, so formal!” she scolds him teasingly.

Grace’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan, join us at our table. They seem exuberant

and youthful, though it’s difficult to tell beneath their matching bronze masks. They are

delighted to see Christian.

“Grandmother, Grandfather, may I introduce Anastasia Steele?”

Mrs. Trevelyan is all over me like a rash. “Oh, he’s finally found someone, how won-

derful and so pretty! Well I do hope you make an honest man of him,” she gushes, shaking

my hand.

Holy cow. I thank the heavens for my mask.

“Mother, don’t embarrass Ana.” Grace comes to my rescue.

“Ignore the silly old coot, m’dear.” Mr. Trevelyan shakes my hand. “She thinks be-

cause she’s so old, she has a God-given right to say whatever nonsense pops into that

woolly head of hers.”

“Ana, this is my date, Sean.” Mia shyly introduces her young man. He gives me a

wicked grin, and his brown eyes dance with amusement as we shake hands.

“Pleased to meet you, Sean.”

Christian shakes Sean’s hand as he regards him shrewdly. Don’t tell me that poor Mia

suffers from her overbearing brother, too. I smile at Mia in sympathy.

Lance and Janine, Grace’s friends, are the last couple at our table, but there is still no

sign of Mr. Grey.

Abruptly, there’s the hiss of a microphone, and Mr. Grey’s voice booms over the PA

system, causing the babble of voices to die down. Carrick stands on a small stage at one

end of the marquee, wearing an impressive, gold, Punchinello mask.

“Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to our annual charity ball. I hope that you enjoy what

we have laid out for you tonight and that you’ll dig deep into your pockets to support the

fantastic work that our team does with Coping Together. As you know, it’s a cause that is

very close to my wife’s heart, and mine.”

I peek nervously at Christian, who is staring impassively, I think, at the stage. He

glances at me and smirks.

“I’ll hand you over now to our master of ceremonies. Please be seated, and enjoy,”

Carrick finishes.

Polite applause follows, then the babble in the tent starts again. I am seated between

Christian and his grandfather. I admire the small white place card with fine silver calligra-

phy that bears my name as a waiter lights the candelabra with a long taper. Carrick joins us,

kissing me on both cheeks, surprising me.

“Good to see you again, Ana,” he murmurs. He really looks very striking in his extraor-