Darker (18 page)

A vision. Wow.

She’s stunning in her silver gown and reminiscent of a silent-movie siren.

I saunter over to her, feeling a disproportionate sense of pride, and kiss her hair. “Anastasia. You look breathtaking.” I’m delighted that she’s wearing the earrings. She flushes.

“A glass of champagne before we go?” I offer.

“Please.”

I nod to Taylor, who leads his three colleagues out to the foyer, and with my arm around my date we head into the living room. From the fridge, I take a bottle of Cristal Rosé and open it.

“Security team?” Ana asks, as I pour the bubbling liquid into champagne flutes.

“Close protection. They’re under Taylor’s control. He’s trained in that, too.” I hand her a glass.

“He’s very versatile.”

“Yes, he is. You look lovely, Anastasia. Cheers.” I raise my glass to meet hers. She takes a sip and closes her eyes, savoring the wine.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, noting the pink flush on her cheeks, the same blush of the champagne, and I wonder how long she’ll tolerate the balls.

“Fine, thank you.” She gives me a coy smile.

Tonight will be entertaining.

“Here, you’re going to need this.” I give her the velvet bag that contains her mask. “Open it.”

Ana does and pulls out the delicate silver masquerade mask and runs her fingers through the plumes.

“It’s a masked ball.”

“I see.” She examines the mask in wonder.

“This will show off your beautiful eyes, Anastasia.”

“Are you wearing one?”

“Of course. They’re very liberating, in a way.”

She grins.

I have one more surprise for her. “Come. I want to show you something.” I hold out my hand and lead her back out to the corridor and into my library. I can’t believe I haven’t shown her this room.

“You have a library!” she exclaims.

“Yes, the balls room, as Elliot calls it. The apartment is quite spacious. I realized today, when you mentioned exploring, that I’ve never given you a tour. We don’t have time now, but I thought I’d show you this room and maybe challenge you to a game of billiards in the not-too-distant future.”

Her eyes are bright with wonder as she takes in the collection of books and the billiard table. “Bring it on,” she says with a self-satisfied grin.

“What?” She’s hiding something. Can she play?

“Nothing,” she says quickly, and I know that’s probably the answer. She really is a hopeless liar.

“Well, maybe Dr. Flynn can uncover your secrets. You’ll meet him this evening.”

“The expensive charlatan?”

“The very same. He’s dying to meet you. Shall we go?”

She nods, and excitement shines in her eyes.

WE TRAVEL IN COMPANIONABLE
silence in the back of the car. I skim my thumb across her knuckles, sensing her growing anticipation. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, and I know the balls are taking their toll.

“Where did you get the lipstick?” she asks out of the blue.

I point to Taylor and mouth his name.

She laughs. Then stops abruptly.

And I know it’s the kegel balls.

“Relax,” I whisper. “If it’s too much…” I kiss each of her knuckles and suck the tip of her little finger, rolling my tongue around it, as she did with my finger earlier. Ana closes her eyes, tips her head back, and inhales. Her smoldering eyes meet mine when she opens them again. She rewards me with a wicked grin and I respond in kind.

“So what can we expect at this event?” she asks.

“Oh, the usual stuff.”

“Not usual for me.”

Of course. When would she have been to an event like this? I kiss her knuckles once more as I explain. “Lots of people flashing their cash. Auction, raffle, dinner, dancing—my mother knows how to throw a party.”

The Audi joins the line of cars arriving at my parents’ house. Ana strains to have a look. I glance out of the back window to see Reynolds from the security detail following us in my other Audi Q7.

“Masks on.” I retrieve mine from the black silk bag beside me.

When we pull up into the driveway, we are both in disguise. Ana looks spectacular. She’s dazzling, and I want to show her off to the world. Taylor comes to a stop and one of the valets opens my door.

“Ready?” I ask Ana.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“You look beautiful, Anastasia.” I kiss her hand and climb out of the car.

I put my arm around my date, and we walk alongside the house on a green carpet my mother has rented for the occasion. I glance once over my shoulder and observe our four security personnel walking behind us, looking everywhere. It’s reassuring.

“Mr. Grey!” A photographer calls out to me, and I pull Ana close and we pose.

“Two photographers?” Ana observes, curious.

“One is from
The
Seattle Times;
the other is for a souvenir. We’ll be able to buy a copy later.”

We pass a line of servers holding flutes of champagne and I hand a glass to Ana.

My parents have gone all-out, like they do every year. Pavilion, pergolas, lanterns, checkered dance floor, ice swans, and a string quartet. I watch Ana as she takes in the surroundings with awe. It’s gratifying to see my parents’ generosity through her eyes. It’s not often that I get the opportunity to stand back and appreciate how lucky I am to be part of their world.

“How many people are coming?” she asks, sizing up the elaborate tent next to the shoreline.

“I think about three hundred. You’ll have to ask my mother.”

“Christian!” I hear the shrill, not-so-dulcet tones of my sister; then she’s throwing her arms around my neck in a melodramatic display of affection. She’s a vision in pink.

“Mia.” I return her enthusiastic hug. She spies Ana, and I’m forgotten.

“Ana! Oh, darling, you look gorgeous! You must come and meet my friends. None of them can believe that Christian finally has a girlfriend.” She hugs Ana and takes her hand. Ana gives me a quick apprehensive look before Mia drags her to a group of women who coo over her. All except one.

Shit.
I recognize Lily, Mia’s friend since kindergarten. Spoiled, wealthy, gorgeous, but spiteful, she embodies all the worst attributes of privilege and entitlement. And there was a time when she thought she was entitled to me. I shudder.

I watch Ana as she’s gracious with Mia’s friends, but she steps back suddenly looking uncomfortable. I think Lily is being an asshole. This will never do. I walk over and put my arm around Ana’s waist. “Ladies, if I could claim my date back, please?”

“Lovely to meet you,” Ana says to the throng as I pull her away. “Thank you,” she mouths.

“I saw that Lily was with Mia. She is one nasty piece of work.”

“She likes you,” Ana observes.

“Well, the feeling is not mutual. Come, let me introduce you to some people.”

Ana is impressive—the perfect date. Gracious, elegant, and sweet, she listens attentively to anecdotes, she asks intelligent questions, and I love the way she defers to me.

Yes. I especially love that. It’s novel and unexpected.

But then she’s always unexpected.

What’s more, she’s oblivious to the many, many admiring glances she receives from both men and women, and she stays close to my side. I attribute her rosy glow to the champagne and maybe the kegel balls, and if the latter are bothering her, she hides it well.

The master of ceremonies announces that dinner is served, and we follow the green carpet across the lawn to the pavilion. Ana is looking toward the boathouse.

“Boathouse?” I ask.

“Maybe we can go there later.”

“Only if I can carry you over my shoulder.”

She laughs, then stops abruptly.

I grin. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” she says with a superior air, and my grin broadens.

Game on, Miss Steele.

Behind us, Taylor and his men follow at a discreet distance and, once in the tent pavilion, position themselves so they have a good view of the crowd.

My mother and Mia are already at our table with a friend of Mia’s.

Grace welcomes Ana warmly. “Ana, how delightful to see you again! And looking so beautiful, too.”

“Mother.” I greet Grace and kiss her on both cheeks.

“Oh, Christian, so formal!” she chides.

My maternal grandparents join us, and after the obligatory hugs I introduce them both to Ana.

“Oh, he’s finally found someone, how wonderful, and so pretty! Well, I do hope you make an honest man of him,” my grandmother enthuses.

Inappropriate, Grandma.

Fuck.
I stare at my mother.
Help. Mom. Stop her.

“Mother, don’t embarrass Ana,” Grace admonishes her mom.

“Ignore the silly old coot, m’dear. She thinks because she’s so old, she has a God-given right to say whatever nonsense pops into that woolly head of hers.” My grandfather gives me a wink.

Theodore Trevelyan is my hero. We have a special bond. This man has patiently taught me how to plant, cultivate, and graft apple trees, and in doing so has won my eternal affection. Quiet. Strong. Kind. Patient with me. Always.

“Here, kiddo,” Grandpa Trev-yan says. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

I shake my head. No. I don’t talk at all.

“That’s no problem. Folks around here talk too much anyway. Do you want to help me in the orchard?”

I nod. I like Grandpa Trev-yan. He has kind eyes and a loud laugh. He holds out his hand, but I tuck my hands under my arms.

“As you like, Christian. Let’s go make some green apple trees make red apples.”

I like red apples.

The orchard is big. There are trees. And trees. And trees. But they are small trees. Not big. And they have no leaves. And no apples. Because of winter. I have big boots on and a hat. I like my hat. I’m warm.

Grandpa Trev-yan looks at a tree.

“See this tree, Christian? It makes bitter green apples. But we can fool the tree to make sweet red apples for us. These twigs are from the red apple tree. And here are my pruning shears.”

Prew-nig sheers. They are sharp.

“Do you want to cut this one?”

I say yes with my head.

“We’re going to graft this twig you’ve cut. It’s called a scion.”

Si-yon. Si-yon. I say the word in my head. He takes a knife and makes one end of the twig sharp. And he cuts a branch on the tree and sticks the si-yon in the cut.

“Now we tape it up.”

He takes green tape and ties the twig to the branch.

“And we put melted beeswax on the wound. Here. You take this brush. Steady now. That’s right.”

We make many grafts.

“You know, Christian, apples are second only to oranges as the most valuable fruit grown in the U.S. of A. Here in Washington, though, there’s not really enough sun for oranges.”

I’m sleepy.

“Tired? You want to head back to the house?”

I say yes with my head.

“We’ve done a lot of grafting. This tree will yield a huge crop of sweet red apples come autumn. You can help me pick them.”

He smiles and holds out a big hand and I take it. It’s big and rough but warm and gentle.

“Let’s go have some hot chocolate.”

Grandpa gives me a crinkled smile and I turn my attention to Mia’s date, who seems to be checking out mine. His name is Sean and I think he’s from Mia’s old high school. I shake his hand, squeezing hard.

Keep your eyes on your own date, Sean. And by the way, you’re with my sister. Treat her well or I will end you.
I think I manage to convey all of that information in my pointed look and the tight grip I have on his hand.

He nods and swallows. “Mr. Grey.”

I pull out Ana’s chair and we sit.

My dad is standing on the stage. He taps the mic and rattles off a welcome and an introduction to the great and the good gathered before him. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to our annual charity ball. I hope that you enjoy what we have laid out for you tonight and that you’ll dig deep into your pockets to support the fantastic work that our team does with Coping Together. As you know, it’s a cause that is very close to my wife’s heart, and mine.”

The plumes on Ana’s mask quiver as she turns to look at me, and I wonder if she’s thinking about my past. Should I answer her unspoken question?

Yes. This charity exists because of me.

My parents formed it because of my miserable start in life. And now they help hundreds of addicted parents and their kids by offering them refuge and rehabilitation.

But she says nothing and I remain impassive, as I’m not sure how I should feel about her curiosity.

“I’ll hand you over now to our master of ceremonies. Please be seated, and enjoy,” Dad says, and he hands the microphone to the MC, then wanders over to our table, making a beeline for Ana. He greets her with a kiss on each cheek. She blushes. “Good to see you again, Ana,” he says.

“Ladies and gentlemen: please nominate a table head,” the MC calls out.

“Ooh. Me, me!” cries Mia, bouncing like a child in her seat. “In the center of the table you will find an envelope,” the MC continues. “Would everyone find, beg, borrow, or steal a bill of the highest denomination you can manage, write your name on it, and place it inside the envelope? Table heads, please guard these envelopes carefully. We will need them later.”

“Here.” I give a hundred-dollar bill to Ana.

“I’ll pay you back,” she whispers.

Sweetheart.

I don’t want that argument again. Saying nothing because a scene would be unseemly, I hand her my Mont Blanc so she can sign her name on the note.

Grace signals a couple of servers standing at the front of the pavilion and they pull back the canvas, revealing a picture-postcard view of Seattle and Meydenbauer Bay at dusk. It’s a great view, especially at this time of the evening, and I’m glad the weather has remained fine for my parents.

Ana gazes at the cityscape and its reflection in the water with delight.

And I examine it anew. It’s stunning. The darkening sky ablaze with the setting sun mirrored in the water, the lights of Seattle twinkling in the distance. Yeah. Stunning.

Seeing all this through Ana’s eyes is humbling. For years I’ve taken it for granted. I glance at my parents. My father clasps his wife’s hand as she laughs at something her friend says. The way he looks at her…the way she looks at him.