Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

of exhaustion, the long journey, or the whole Christian situation, but as soon as I’m in my mother’s arms, I burst into tears.
    “Oh Ana, honey. You must be so tired.” She glances anxiously at Bob.
    “No Mom, it’s just – I’m so pleased to see you.” I hug her tightly.
    She feels so good and welcoming and home. Reluctantly, I relinquish her, and Bob gives me an awkward one-armed hug. He seems unsteady on his feet, and I remember that he’s hurt his leg.
    “Welcome back, Ana. Why you cryin’?” he asks.
    “Aw, Bob, I’m just pleased to see you, too.” I stare up into his handsome square-jawed face, and his twinkling blue eyes that gaze at me fondly. I like this husband, Mom. You can keep him. He takes my backpack.
    “Jeez, Ana, what have you got in here?”
    That will be the Mac, and they both put their arms around me as we head for the parking lot.
    I always forget how unbearably hot it is in Savannah. Leaving the cool air-conditioned confines of the arrival terminal, we step into the Georgia heat like we’re wearing it. Whoa! It saps everything. I have to struggle out of Mom and Bob’s embrace so I can remove my hoodie. I am so glad I packed shorts. I miss the dry heat of Vegas sometimes, where I lived with Mom and Bob when I was seventeen, but this wet heat, even at 8:30 in the morning, takes some getting used to. By the time I’m in the back of Bob’s wonderfully air-conditioned Tahoe SUV, I feel limp, and my hair has started a frizzy protest at the heat. In the back of the SUV I quickly text Ray, Kate, and Christian:
    *Arrived Safely in Savannah. A :)*
    My thoughts stray briefly to José as I press send, and through the fog of my fatigue, I remember that it’s his show next week. Should I invite Christian, knowing how he feels about José? Will Christian still want to see me after that e-mail? I shudder at the thought, and then put it out of my mind. I’ll deal with that later. Right now I am going to enjoy my mom’s company.
    “Honey, you must be tired. Would you like to sleep when we get home?”
    “No, Mom. I’d like to go to the beach.”
    I am in my blue halter-neck tankini, sipping a Diet Coke, on a sun bed facing the Atlantic Ocean, and to think that only yesterday I was staring out at the Sound toward the Pacific. My mother lounges beside me in a ridiculously large floppy sun hat and Jackie O shades, sipping a Coke of her own. We are on Tybee Island Beach, just three blocks from home. She holds my hand. My fatigue has waned, and as I soak up the sun, I feel comfortable, safe, and warm. For the first time in forever, I start to relax.
    “So Ana… tell me about this man who has you in such a spin.”
    Spin! How can she tell? What to say? I can’t talk about Christian in any great detail because of the NDA, but even then, would I choose to talk to my mother about it? I blanch at the thought.
    “Well?” she prompts and squeezes my hand.
    “His name’s Christian. He’s beyond handsome. He’s wealthy… too wealthy. He’s very complicated and mercurial.”
    Yes – I feel inordinately pleased with my concise, accurate summary. I turn on my side to face her, just as she makes the same move. She gazes at me with her crystal-clear blue eyes.
    “Complicated and mercurial are the two pieces of information I want to concentrate on, Ana.”
    Oh no…
    “Oh, Mom, his mood swings make me dizzy. He’s had a grim upbringing, so he’s very closed, difficult to gauge.”
    “Do you like him?”
    “I more than like him.”
    “Really?” She gapes at me.
    “Yes, Mom.”
    “Men aren’t really complicated, Ana, honey. They are very simple, literal creatures. They usually mean what they say. And we spend hours trying to analyze what they’ve said – when really it’s obvious. If I were you, I’d take him literally. That might help.”
    I gape at her. This sounds like good advice. Take Christian literally. Immediately some of the things he’s said spring into my mind.
    I don’t want to lose you…
You’ve bewitched me…
You’ve completely beguiled me…
I’ll miss you, too… more than you know...
    I gaze at my mom. She is on her fourth marriage. Maybe she does know something about men after all.
    “Most men are moody, darling, some more than others. Take your father for instance…” Her eyes soften and sadden whenever she thinks of my dad. My real dad, this mythical man I never knew, snatched so cruelly from us in a combat training accident when he was a Marine.