wall. The table is laid and covered with a crisp white linen tablecloth, a bowl of pale pink

peonies as the center piece. It’s stunning.

We take our places. Mr. Grey is at the head of the table, while I sit at his right hand,

and Christian is seated beside me. Mr. Grey reaches for the opened bottle of red wine and

offers some to Kate. Mia takes her seat beside Christian, and grabbing his hand, squeezes

it tightly. Christian smiles warmly at her.

“Where did you meet, Ana?” Mia asks him.

“She interviewed me for the WSU student magazine.”

“Which Kate edits,” I add, hoping to steer the conversation away from me.

Mia beams at Kate, seated opposite next to Elliot, and they start talking about the stu-

dent magazine.

“Wine, Ana?” Mr. Grey asks.

“Please.” I smile at him. Mr. Grey rises to fill the rest of the glasses.

I peek up at Christian, and he turns to look at me, his head cocked to one side.

“What?” he asks.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” I whisper.

“I’m not mad at you.”

I stare at him. He sighs.

“Yes, I am mad at you.” He closes his eyes briefly.

“Palm-twitchingly mad?” I ask nervously.

“What are you two whispering about?” Kate interjects.

I flush, and Christian glares at her in a butt-out-of-this-Kavanagh kind of way – even

Kate wilts under his stare.

“Just about my trip to Georgia,” I say sweetly, hoping to diffuse their mutual hostility.

Kate smiles, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“How was José when you went to the bar with him on Friday?”

Holy fuck, Kate.I widen my eyes at her. What is she doing? She widens her eyes back

at me, and I realize she’s trying to make Christian jealous. How little she knows.I thought

I’d got away with this.

“He was fine,” I murmur.

Christian leans over.

“Palm-twitchingly mad,” he whispers. “Especially now.” His tone is quiet and deadly.

Oh no. I squirm.

Grace reappears carrying two plates, followed by a pretty young woman with blonde

pigtails, dressed smartly in pale blue, carrying a tray of plates. Her eyes immediately find

Christian in the room. She blushes and gazes at him from under her long mascara’d lashes.

What!

Somewhere in the house the phone starts ringing.

“Excuse me,” Mr. Grey rises again and exits.

“Thank you, Gretchen,” Grace says gently, frowning as Mr. Grey exits. “Just leave

the tray on the console.” Gretchen nods, and with another furtive glance at Christian, she

leaves.

So the Greys have staff, and the staff are eyeing up mywould-be Dominant. Can this

evening get any worse? I scowl at my hands in my lap.

Mr. Grey returns.

“Call for you, darling. It’s the hospital,” he says to Grace.

“Please start, everyone.” Grace smiles as she hands me a plate and leaves.

It smells delicious – chorizo and scallops with roasted red peppers and shallots, sprin-

kled with flat leafed parsley. And in spite of the fact that my stomach is churning from

Christian’s veiled threats, the surreptitious glances from pretty little Miss Pigtails, and the

debacle of my missing underwear, I am starving. I flush as I realize it’s the physical effort

of this afternoon that’s given me such an appetite.

Moments later Grace returns, her brow furrowed. Mr. Grey cocks his head to one

side… like Christian.

“Everything okay?”

“Another measles case,” Grace sighs.

“Oh no.”

“Yes, a child. The fourth case this month. If only people would get their kids vacci-

nated.” She shakes her head sadly, and then smiles. “I’m so glad our children never went

through that. They never caught anything worse than chicken pox, thank goodness. Poor

Elliot,” she says as she sits down, smiling indulgently at her son. Elliot frowns mid chew

and squirms uncomfortably. “Christian and Mia were lucky. They got it so mildly, only a

spot to share between them.”

Mia giggles, and Christian rolls his eyes.

“So, did you catch the Mariners game, Dad?” Elliot’s clearly keen to move the con-

versation on.

The hors d’oeuvres are delicious, and I concentrate on eating while Elliot, Mr. Grey,

and Christian talk baseball. Christian seems relaxed and calm talking to his family. My

mind is working furiously. Damn Kate, what game is she playing? Will he punish me?I

quail at the thought. I haven’t signed that contract yet. Perhaps I won’t. Perhaps I’ll stay

in Georgia where he can’t reach me.

“How are you settling into your new apartment dear?” Grace asks politely.

I’m grateful for her question, distracting me from my discordant thoughts, and I tell

her about our move.

As we finish our starters, Gretchen appears, and not for the first time, I wish I felt able

to put my hands freely on Christian just to let her know – he may be fifty shades of fucked-

up, but he’s mine. She proceeds to clear the table, brushing rather too closely to Christian

for my liking. Fortunately, he seems oblivious to her, but my inner goddess is smoldering

and not in a good way.

Kate and Mia are waxing lyrical about Paris.

“Have you been to Paris, Ana?” Mia asks innocently, distracting me from my jealous

reverie.

“No, but I’d love to go.” I know I’m the only one at the table who has never left main-

land USA.

“We honeymooned in Paris.” Grace smiles at Mr. Grey who grins back at her.

It’s almost embarrassing to witness. They obviously love each other deeply, and I

wonder for a brief moment what it must be like to grow up with both one’s parents in situ.

“It’s a beautiful city,” Mia agrees. “In spite of the Parisians. Christian, you should take

Ana to Paris,” Mia states firmly.

“I think Anastasia would prefer London,” Christian says softly.

Oh… he remembered.He places his hand on my knee – his fingers traveling up my

thigh. My whole body tightens in response. No… not here, not now.I flush and shift, try-

ing to pull away from him. His hand clamps down on my thigh, stilling me. I reach for

my wine, in desperation.

Little Miss European Pigtails returns, all coy glances and swaying hips, with our en-

trée, a Beef Wellington, I think. Fortunately, she gives us our plates and then leaves, al-

though she lingers handing Christian his. He looks quizzically at me as I watch her close

the dining room door.

“So what was wrong with the Parisians?” Elliot asks his sister. “Didn’t they take to

your winsome ways?”

“Ugh, no they didn’t. And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such

a domineering tyrant.”

I splutter into my wine.

“Anastasia, are you okay?” Christian asks solicitously, taking his hand off my thigh.

Humor has returned to his voice. Oh thank heavens.When I nod, he pats my back

gently, and only removes his hand when he knows I’ve recovered.

The beef is delicious and served with roasted sweet potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and

green beans. It is even more palatable since Christian manages to retain his good-humor

for the rest of the meal. I suspect that it’s because I’m eating so heartily. The conversation

flows freely among the Greys, warm and caring, gently teasing each other. Over our des-

sert of lemon syllabub, Mia regales us with her exploits in Paris, lapsing at one point into

fluent French. We all stare at her, and she stares back puzzled, until Christian tells her in

equally fluent French what she’s done, whereupon she bursts into a fit of giggles. She has

a very infectious laugh and soon we’re all in stitches.

Elliot holds forth about his latest building project, a new eco-friendly community to the