Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

visit.”
    “Yes, Mom. I love you, too.”
    “Bob is calling me, I have to go. Let me have a date. We need to plan . . . are you having a big wedding?”
    Big wedding, crap. I haven’t even thought about that. Big wedding? No. I don’t want a big wedding.
    “I don’t know yet. As soon as I do, I’ll call.”
    “Good. You take care now and be safe. You two need to have some fun . . . plenty of time for kids later.”
    Kids! Hmm . . . and there it is again—a not-so-veiled reference to the fact that she had me so early.
    “Mom, I didn’t really ruin your life, did I?”
    She gasps. “Oh no, Ana, never think that. You were the best thing that ever happened to your father and me. I just wish he was here to see you so grown up and getting married.” She’s wistful and maudlin again.
    “I wish that, too.” I shake my head thinking about my mythical father. “Mom, I’ll let you go. I’ll call soon.”
    “Love you, darling.”
    “Me, too, Mom. Good-bye.”

    Christian’s kitchen is a dream to work in. For a man who knows nothing about cooking, he seems to have everything. I suspect Mrs. Jones loves to cook, too. The only thing I need is some high quality chocolate for the frosting. I leave the two halves of the cake on a cooling rack, grab my purse, and pop my head around Christian’s study door. He’s concentrating on his computer screen. He looks up and smiles at me.
    “I’m just heading to the store to pick up some ingredients.”
    “Okay.” He frowns at me.
    “What?”
    “You going to put some jeans on or something?”
    Oh, come on. “Christian, they’re just legs.”
    He gazes at me, unamused. This is going to be a fight. And it’s his birthday. I roll my eyes at him, feeling like an errant teenager.
    “What if we were at the beach?” I take a different tack.
    “We’re not at the beach.”
    “Would you object if we were at the beach?”
    He considers this for a moment. “No,” he says simply.
    I roll my eyes again and smirk at him. “Well, just imagine we are. Laters.” I turn and bolt for the foyer. I make it to the elevator before he catches up with me. As the doors close, I wave at him, grinning sweetly as he watches, helpless—but fortunately amused—with narrowed eyes. He shakes his head in exasperation, then I can see him no more.
    Oh, that was exciting. Adrenaline is pounding through my veins, and my heart feels like it wants to exit my chest. But as the elevator descends, so do my spirits. Shit, what have I done?  
    I have a tiger by the tail. He’s going to be mad when I get back. My subconscious is glaring at me over her half-moon glasses, a willow switch in her hand. Shit. I think about what little experience I have with men. I’ve never lived with a man before—well, except Ray—and for some reason he doesn’t count. He’s my dad . . . well, the man I consider my dad.
    And now I have Christian. He’s never really lived with anyone, I think. I’ll have to ask him—if he’s still talking to me.
    But I feel strongly that I should wear what I like. I remember his rules. Yes, this must be hard for him, but he sure as hell paid for this dress. He should have given Neimans a better brief. Nothing too short!  
    This skirt isn’t that short, is it? I check in the large mirror in the lobby. Damn. Yes, it is quite short, but I’ve made a stand now. And no doubt I’ll have to face the consequences. I wonder idly what he’ll do, but first I need cash.

    I stare at my receipt from the ATM: $51,689.16. That’s fifty thousand dollars too much! Anastasia, you’re going to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes. And so it begins. I take my paltry fifty dollars and make my way to the store.

    I head straight to the kitchen when I arrive back, and I can’t help feeling a frisson of alarm. Christian is still in his study. Jeez, that’s most of the afternoon. I decide my best option is to face him and see how much damage I’ve done. I peek cautiously around his study door. He’s on the phone, staring out the window.
    “And the Eurocopter specialist is due Monday afternoon? . . . Good. Just keep me informed. Tell them that I’ll need their initial findings either Monday evening or Tuesday morning.” He hangs up and swivels his chair round, but stills when he sees me, his expression impassive.
    “Hi,” I whisper. He says nothing, and my heart free-falls into my stomach. Gingerly I walk into his study and around his desk to where he’s