Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

Could he look any hotter? Is it the mask or just him?
    “Please don’t be mad. I didn’t know she was here. She said she wasn’t coming.” His tone is placating as if he’s talking to a child. Reaching up he runs his thumb along my pouting bottom lip. “Don’t let Elena ruin our evening, please, Anastasia. She’s really old news.”
    Old being the operative word , I think uncharitably, as he tips my chin up and gently grazes his lips against mine. I sigh in agreement, blinking up at him. He straightens and takes my elbow.
    “I’ll accompany you to the powder room so you don’t get interrupted again.”
    He leads me across the lawn toward the luxurious temporary restrooms. Mia said they had been delivered for the occasion, but I had no idea they came in deluxe versions.
    “I’ll wait here for you, baby,” he murmurs.
    When I come out, my mood has moderated. I have decided not to let Mrs. Robinson blight my evening because that’s probably what she wants. Christian is on the phone some distance away and out of earshot of the few people laughing and chatting nearby. As I get closer, I can hear him. He’s very terse.
    “Why did you change your mind? I thought we’d agreed. Well, leave her alone . . . This is the first regular relationship I’ve ever had, and I don’t want you jeopardizing it through some misplaced concern for me. Leave. Her. Alone. I mean it, Elena.” He pauses, listening. “No, of course not.” He frowns deeply as he says this. Glancing up, he sees me regarding him. “I have to go. Goodnight.” He presses the off button.
    I cock my head to one side and raise an eyebrow at him. Why is he phoning her?
    “How’s the old news?”
    “Cranky,” he replies sardonically. “Do you want to dance some more? Or would you like to go?” He glances at his watch. “The fireworks start in five minutes.”
    “I love fireworks.”
    “We’ll stay and watch them, then.” He puts his arms around me and pulls me close. “Don’t let her come between us, please.”
    “She cares about you,” I mutter.
    “Yes, and I her . . . as a friend.”
    “I think it’s more than a friendship to her.”
    His brow furrows. “Anastasia, Elena and I . . . it’s complicated. We have a shared history. But it is just that, history. As I’ve said to you time and time again, she’s a good friend. That’s all. Please, forget about her.” He kisses my hair, and in the interest of not ruining our evening, I let it go. I am just trying to understand.
    We wander hand in hand back to the dance floor. The band is still in full swing.
    “Anastasia.”
    I turn to find Carrick standing behind us.
    “I wondered if you’d do me the honor of the next dance.” Carrick holds his hand out to me. Christian shrugs and smiles, releasing my hand, and I let Carrick lead me onto the dance floor. Sam the bandleader launches into “Come Fly with Me,” and Carrick puts his arm around my waist and gently whirls me into the throng.
    “I wanted to thank you for the generous contribution to our charity, Anastasia.”
    From his tone, I suspect this is his roundabout way of asking whether I can afford it.
    “Mr. Grey—”
    “Call me Carrick, please, Ana.”
    “I’m delighted to be able to contribute. I unexpectedly came into some money. I don’t need it. And it’s such a worthy cause.”
    He smiles down at me, and I seize the opportunity for some innocent inquiries. Carpe diem , my subconscious hisses from behind her hand.
    “Christian told me a little about his past, so I think it’s appropriate to support your work,” I add, hoping that this might encourage Carrick to give me a small insight into the mystery that is his son.
    Carrick is surprised. “Did he? That’s unusual. You certainly have had a very positive effect on him, Anastasia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so, so . . . buoyant.”
    I flush.
    “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
    “Well, in my limited experience, he’s a very unusual man,” I murmur.
    “He is,” Carrick agrees quietly.
    “Christian’s early childhood sounds hideously traumatic, from what he’s told me.”
    Carrick frowns, and I worry if I’ve overstepped the mark.
    “My wife was the doctor on duty when the police brought him in. He was skin and bones, and badly dehydrated. He wouldn’t speak.” Carrick frowns again, lost in the awful memory, despite the up-tempo music surrounding us. “In fact, he didn’t speak for nearly two years. It was