Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

fragrant foam and stare up at him, hiding among the bubbles.
    “I just wonder what you would be like if you hadn’t met her. If she hadn’t introduced you to your… um, lifestyle.”
    He sighs and steps down into the bath opposite me, his jaw clenched with tension, his eyes frosty. As he gracefully submerges his body beneath the water, he’s careful not to touch me. Jeez – have I made him that mad?
    He stares impassively at me, his face unreadable, saying nothing. Again the silence stretches between us, but I hold my counsel. It’s your turn, Grey – I am not caving this time. My subconscious is nervous, anxiously biting her nails – this could go either way. Christian and I stare at each other, but I am not backing down. Eventually, after what seems like a millennium, he shakes his head, and he smirks.
    “I would probably have gone the way of my birth mother, had it not been for Mrs. Robinson.”
    Oh! I blink at him. Crack addict or whore? Possibly both?
    “She loved me in a way I found… acceptable,” he adds with a shrug.
    What the hell does that mean?
    “Acceptable?” I whisper.
    “Yes.” He stares intently at me. “She distracted me from the destructive path I found myself following. It’s very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you’re not perfect.”
    Oh no. My mouth dries as I digest his words. He gazes as me, his expression unfathomable. He’s not going to tell me any more. How frustrating. Inside, I’m reeling – he sounds so full of self-loathing. And Mrs. Robinson loved him. Holy shit… does she still? I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach.
    “Does she still love you?”
    “I don’t think so, not like that.” He frowns as if he hasn’t thought about the idea. “I keep telling you it was a long time ago. It’s in the past. I couldn’t change it even if I wanted to, which I don’t. She saved me from myself.” He’s exasperated and runs a wet hand through his hair. “I’ve never discussed this with anyone.” He pauses. “Except Dr. Flynn, of course. And the only reason I’m talking about this now, to you, is because I want you to trust me.”
    “I do trust you, but I do want to know you better, and whenever I try to talk to you, you distract me. There’s so much I want to know.”
    “Oh, for pity’s sake, Anastasia. What do you want to know? What do I have to do?” His eyes blaze, and though he doesn’t raise his voice, I know he’s trying to rein in his temper.
    I glance quickly down at my hands, clear beneath the water as the bubbles have started to disperse.
    “I’m just trying to understand; you’re such an enigma. Unlike anyone I’ve met before. I’m glad you’re telling me what I want to know.”
    Jeez – maybe it’s the Cosmopolitans making me brave, but suddenly I cannot bear the distance between us. I move through the water to his side and lean against him so we’re touching, skin to skin. He tenses and eyes me warily, as if I might bite. Well, that’s a turnaround. My inner goddess gazes at him in quiet, surprised speculation.
    “Please don’t be angry with me,” I whisper.
    “I am not angry with you, Anastasia. I’m just not used to this kind of talking – this probing. I only have this with Dr. Flynn and with–” He stops and frowns.
    “With her. Mrs. Robinson. You talk to her?” I prompt, trying to rein in my own temper.
    “Yes, I do.”
    “What about?”
    He shifts in the bath so that he’s facing me, causing the water to lap over the sides onto the floor. He places his arm around my shoulders, resting on the ledge of the bath.
    “Persistent aren’t you?” he murmurs, a trace of irritation in his voice. “Life, the universe – business. Anastasia, Mrs. R and I go way back. We can discuss anything.”
    “Me?” I whisper.
    “Yes.” Gray eyes watch me carefully.
    I bite my bottom lip, trying to curb the sudden rush of anger that surfaces.
    “Why do you talk about me?” I endeavor not to sound whiney and petulant, but I don’t succeed. I know I should stop. I am pushing him too hard. My subconscious has her Edvard Munch face on again.
    “I’ve never met anyone like you, Anastasia.”
    “What does that mean? Anyone who just didn’t automatically sign your paperwork, no questions asked?”
    He shakes his head.
    “I need advice.”
    “And you take advice from Mrs. Pedo?” I snap. The hold on my temper is more tentative than I thought.
    “Anastasia – enough,” he snaps back sternly, his eyes