Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

stretches between us as I desperately think what to say. Ray as usual stays silent, giving me no clue as to his reaction to this news.
    “What did you say?” I crack first.
    “I said I wanted to talk to you. It’s kind of sudden, don’t you think, Annie? You’ve not known him long. I mean, he’s a nice guy, knows his fishing . . . but so soon?” His voice is calm and measured.
    “Yes. It is sudden . . . hang on.” Hastily, I leave the kitchen area away from Christian’s anxious gaze and head toward the great window. The doors to the balcony are open, and I step out into the sunshine. I can’t quite walk to the edge. It’s just too far up.
    “I know it’s sudden and all—but . . . well, I love him. He loves me. He wants to marry me, and there’ll never be anyone else for me.” I flush thinking this is probably the most intimate conversation I have ever had with my stepfather.
    Ray is silent on the other end of the phone.
    “Have you told your mother?”
    “No.”
    “Annie . . . I know he’s all kinds of rich and eligible, but marriage? It’s such a big step. You’re sure?”
    “He’s my happily ever after,” I whisper.
    “Whoa.” Ray says after a moment, his tone softer.
    “He’s everything.”
    “Annie, Annie, Annie. You’re such a headstrong young woman. I hope to God you know what you’re doing. Hand me back to him, will you?”
    “Sure, Dad, and will you give me away at the wedding?” I ask quietly.
    “Oh, honey.” His voice cracks, and he’s quiet for a few moments, the emotion in his voice bringing tears to my eyes. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” he says eventually.
    Oh, Ray. I love you so much .  . . I swallow, to keep from crying. “Thank you, Dad. I’ll hand you back to Christian. Be gentle with him. I love him,” I whisper.
    I think Ray is smiling on the other end of the line, but it’s hard to tell. It’s always hard to tell with Ray.
    “Sure thing, Annie. And come and visit this old man and bring that Christian with you.”
    I march back into the room—pissed at Christian for not warning me—and hand him the phone, my expression letting him know just how pissed I am. He’s amused as he takes the phone and heads back into his study.
    Two minutes later, he reappears.
    “I have your stepfather’s rather begrudging blessing,” he says proudly, so proudly, in fact, that it makes me giggle, and he grins at me. He’s acting like he’s just negotiated a major new merger or acquisition, which I suppose on one level, he has.

    “Damn, you’re a good cook, woman.” Christian swallows his last mouthful and raises his glass of white wine to me. I blossom under his praise, and it occurs to me I’ll only get to cook for him on weekends. I frown. I enjoy cooking. Perhaps I should have made him a cake for his birthday. I check my watch. I still have time.
    “Ana?” He interrupts my thoughts. “Why did you ask me not to take your photo?” His question startles me all the more because his voice is deceptively soft.
    Oh . . . shit. The photos. I stare down at my empty plate, twisting my fingers in my lap. What can I say? I’d promised myself not to mention that I’d found his version of Readers’ Wives .
    “Ana,” he snaps. “What is it?” He makes me jump, and his voice commands me to look at him. When did I think he didn’t intimidate me?
    “I found your photos,” I whisper.
    His eyes widen in shock. “You’ve been in the safe?” he asks, incredulous.
    “Safe? No. I didn’t know you had a safe.”
    He frowns. “I don’t understand.”
    “In your closet. The box. I was looking for your tie, and the box was under your jeans . . . the ones you normally wear in the playroom. Except today.” I flush.
    He gapes at me, appalled, and nervously runs his hand through his hair as he processes this information. He rubs his chin, lost in thought, but he can’t mask the perplexed annoyance etched on his face. Abruptly he shakes his head, exasperated—but amused, too—and a faint smile of admiration kisses the corner of his mouth. He steeples his hands in front of him and focuses on me once more.
    “It’s not what you think. I’d forgotten all about them. That box has been moved. Those photographs belong in my safe.”
    “Who moved them?” I whisper.
    He swallows. “There’s only one person who could have done that.”
    “Oh. Who? And what do you mean, ‘it’s not what I think’?”
    He sighs and tilts his head