Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

imagined, though I can’t see his face. He’s wearing a mask similar to Christian’s. He’s tall, but not as tall as Christian, and he doesn’t move with Christian’s easy grace.  
    What do I say to him? Why is Christian so fucked-up? Why did he bid on me? It’s the only thing I want to ask him, but somehow that seems rude.
    “I’m glad to finally meet you, Anastasia. Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.
    “I was,” I whisper.
    “Oh. I hope I’m not responsible for your change of heart.” He gives me a brief, warm smile that puts me a little more at ease.
    “Doctor Flynn, you’re the shrink. You tell me.”
    He grins. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? The shrink bit?”
    I giggle. “I’m worried what I might reveal, so I’m a little self-conscious and intimidated. And really I only want to ask you about Christian.”
    He smiles. “First, this is a party so I’m not on duty,” he whispers conspiratorially. “And second, I really can’t talk to you about Christian. Besides,” he teases, “we’d need until Christmas.”
    I gasp in shock.
    “That’s a doctor’s joke, Anastasia.”
    I flush, embarrassed, and then feel slightly resentful. He’s making a joke at Christian’s expense. “You’ve just confirmed what I’ve been saying to Christian . . . that you’re an expensive charlatan,” I admonish him.
    Dr. Flynn snorts with laughter. “You could be onto something there.”
    “You’re British?”
    “Yes. Originally from London.”
    “How did you find yourself here?”
    “Happy circumstance.”
    “You don’t give much away, do you?”
    “There’s not much to give away. I’m really a very dull person.”
    “That’s very self-deprecating.”
    “It’s a British trait. Part of our national character.”
    “Oh.”
    “And I could accuse you of the same, Anastasia.”
    “That I’m a dull person, too, Dr. Flynn?”
    He snorts. “No, Anastasia, that you don’t give much away.”
    “There’s not much to give away.” I smile.
    “I sincerely doubt that.” He unexpectedly frowns.
    I flush, but the music finishes and Christian is once more by my side. Dr. Flynn releases me.
    “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Anastasia.” He gives me his warm smile again, and I feel that I’ve passed some kind of hidden test.
    “John.” Christian nods at him.
    “Christian.” Dr. Flynn returns his nod, turns on his heel, and disappears through the crowd.
    Christian pulls me into his arms for the next dance.
    “He’s much younger than I expected,” I murmur to him. “And terribly indiscreet.”
    Christian cocks his head to one side. “Indiscreet?”
    “Oh yes, he told me everything,” I tease.
    Christian tenses. “Well, in that case, I’ll get your bag. I’m sure you want nothing more to do with me,” he says softly.
    I stop. “He didn’t tell me anything!” My voice fills with panic.
    Christian blinks before relief floods his face.   He pulls me into his arms again. “Then let’s enjoy this dance.” He beams down, reassuring me, then spins me round.  
    Why would he think that I’d want to leave? It makes no sense.
    We dance for two more numbers, and I realize I need the restroom.
    “I won’t be long.”
    As I make my way to the powder room, I remember I have left my purse on the dinner table, so I head down to the marquee. When I enter, it’s still lit but quite deserted, except for a couple at the other end, who really ought to get a room! I reach for my bag.
    “Anastasia?”
    A soft voice startles me, and I turn to see a woman dressed in a long, tight, black velvet gown. Her mask is unique. It covers her face to her nose but also covers her hair. It’s stunning with elaborate gold filigree.
    “I’m so glad you’re on your own,” she says softly. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all evening.”
    “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”
    She pulls the mask from her face and releases her hair.
    Shit! It’s Mrs. Robinson.
    “I’m sorry, I startled you.”
    I gape at her. Holy cow—what the fuck does this woman want ?  
    I don’t know what the social conventions are for meeting known molesters of children. She’s smiling sweetly and gesturing for me to sit at the table. And because I am lacking any sphere of reference, I do as she asks out of stunned politeness, grateful that I am still wearing my mask.
    “I’ll be brief, Anastasia. I know what you think of me . . . Christian’s told me.”
    I gaze at her impassively, giving