me. Of all the things she could say to me, this is the least expected.

“You think this is funny, Anastasia?” she splutters in dismay. “You didn’t see him last

Saturday.”

My face falls and darkens. The thought of Christian unhappy is not a palatable one, and

last Saturday I left him. He must have gone to her. The idea makes me queasy. Why am I

sitting here listening to this shit from her of all people? I slowly rise, gazing at her intently.

“I’m laughing at your audacity, Mrs. Lincoln. Christian and I have nothing to do with

you. And if I do leave him and you come looking for me, I’ll be waiting—don’t doubt it.

And maybe I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine on behalf of the fifteen-year-old

child you molested and probably fucked-up even more than he already was.”

Her mouth falls open.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than waste my time with you.”

I turn on my heel, adrenaline and anger coursing through my body, and stalk toward the

entrance of the tent where Taylor is standing just as Christian arrives, looking flustered and

worried.

“There you are,” he mutters, then frowns when he sees Elena.

I stride past him, saying nothing, giving him the opportunity to choose—her or me. He

makes the right choice.

“Ana,” he calls. I stop and face him as he catches up with me. “What’s wrong?” He

gazes down at me, concern etched on his face.

“Why don’t you ask your ex?” I hiss acidly.

His mouth twists and his eyes frost. “I’m asking you,” he says, his voice soft but with

an undertone of something far more menacing.

We glare at each other.

Okay, I can see this will end in a fight if I don’t tell him. “She’s threatening to come

after me if I hurt you again—probably with a whip,” I snap at him.

Relief flashes across his face, his mouth softening with humor. “Surely the irony of that

isn’t lost on you?” he says, and I can tell he’s trying hard to stifle his amusement.

“This isn’t funny, Christian!”

“No, you’re right. I’ll talk to her.” He adopts his serious face, though he’s still sup-

pressing his amusement.

“You will do no such thing.” I fold my arms, my anger spiking again.

He blinks at me, surprised by my outburst.

“Look, I know you’re tied up with her financially, forgive the pun, but—” I stop. What

am I asking him to do? Give her up? Stop seeing her? Can I do that? “I need the restroom.”

I glare up at him, my mouth set in a grim line.

He sighs and cocks his head to one side. Could he look any hotter? Is it the mask or

just him?

“Please don’t be mad. I didn’t know she was here. She said she wasn’t coming.” His

tone is placating as if he’s talking to a child. Reaching up he runs his thumb along my pout-

ing bottom lip. “Don’t let Elena ruin our evening, please, Anastasia. She’s really old news.”

Old being the operative word, I think uncharitably, as he tips my chin up and gently

grazes his lips against mine. I sigh in agreement, blinking up at him. He straightens and

takes my elbow.

“I’ll accompany you to the powder room so you don’t get interrupted again.”

He leads me across the lawn toward the luxurious temporary restrooms. Mia said they

had been delivered for the occasion, but I had no idea they came in deluxe versions.

“I’ll wait here for you, baby,” he murmurs.

When I come out, my mood has moderated. I have decided not to let Mrs. Robinson

blight my evening because that’s probably what she wants. Christian is on the phone some

distance away and out of earshot of the few people laughing and chatting nearby. As I get

closer, I can hear him. He’s very terse.

“Why did you change your mind? I thought we’d agreed. Well, leave her alone . . . This

is the first regular relationship I’ve ever had, and I don’t want you jeopardizing it through

some misplaced concern for me. Leave. Her. Alone. I mean it, Elena.” He pauses, listening.

“No, of course not.” He frowns deeply as he says this. Glancing up, he sees me regarding

him. “I have to go. Goodnight.” He presses the off button.

I cock my head to one side and raise an eyebrow at him. Why is he phoning her?

“How’s the old news?”

“Cranky,” he replies sardonically. “Do you want to dance some more? Or would you

like to go?” He glances at his watch. “The fireworks start in five minutes.”

“I love fireworks.”

“We’ll stay and watch them, then.” He puts his arms around me and pulls me close.

“Don’t let her come between us, please.”

“She cares about you,” I mutter.

“Yes, and I her . . . as a friend.”

“I think it’s more than a friendship to her.”

His brow furrows. “Anastasia, Elena and I . . . it’s complicated. We have a shared his-

tory. But it is just that, history. As I’ve said to you time and time again, she’s a good friend.

That’s all. Please, forget about her.” He kisses my hair, and in the interest of not ruining our

evening, I let it go. I am just trying to understand.

We wander hand in hand back to the dance floor. The band is still in full swing.

“Anastasia.”

I turn to find Carrick standing behind us.

“I wondered if you’d do me the honor of the next dance.” Carrick holds his hand out

to me. Christian shrugs and smiles, releasing my hand, and I let Carrick lead me onto the

dance floor. Sam the bandleader launches into “Come Fly with Me,” and Carrick puts his

arm around my waist and gently whirls me into the throng.

“I wanted to thank you for the generous contribution to our charity, Anastasia.”

From his tone, I suspect this is his roundabout way of asking whether I can afford it.

“Mr. Grey—”

“Call me Carrick, please, Ana.”

“I’m delighted to be able to contribute. I unexpectedly came into some money. I don’t

need it. And it’s such a worthy cause.”

He smiles down at me, and I seize the opportunity for some innocent inquiries. Carpe

diem, my subconscious hisses from behind her hand.

“Christian told me a little about his past, so I think it’s appropriate to support your

work,” I add, hoping that this might encourage Carrick to give me a small insight into the

mystery that is his son.

Carrick is surprised. “Did he? That’s unusual. You certainly have had a very positive

effect on him, Anastasia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so, so . . . buoyant.”

I flush.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Well, in my limited experience, he’s a very unusual man,” I murmur.

“He is,” Carrick agrees quietly.

“Christian’s early childhood sounds hideously traumatic, from what he’s told me.”

Carrick frowns, and I worry if I’ve overstepped the mark.

“My wife was the doctor on duty when the police brought him in. He was skin and

bones, and badly dehydrated. He wouldn’t speak.” Carrick frowns again, lost in the awful

memory, despite the up-tempo music surrounding us. “In fact, he didn’t speak for nearly

two years. It was playing the piano that eventually brought him out of himself. Oh, and

Mia’s arrival, of course.” He smiles down at me fondly.

“He plays beautifully. And he’s accomplished so much, you must be very proud of

him.” I sound distracted. Holy Shit. Didn’t speak for two years.

“Immensely so. He’s a very determined, very capable, very bright young man. But

between you and me, Anastasia, it’s seeing him like he is this evening—carefree, acting his

age—that’s the real thrill for his mother and me. We were both commenting on it today. I

believe we have you to thank for that.”

I think I blush to my roots. What am I supposed to say to this?

“He’s always been such a loner. We never thought we’d see him with anyone. What-