~*~*~*~ There's a Divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will. ~*~*~*~

When I had been younger, I'd always been so upset when my mother and father went to charity events and I had to stay home with a babysitter (usually either Sawyer or Taylor, along with Mrs. Taylor). This got substantially worse when Ted turned sixteen and was allowed to attend the events with them and I was left at home, trying to comfort myself with Oreos and milk or some random board game that Mrs. Taylor had bought for just such purposes.

And then I turned sixteen, and I was allowed to go to the charity events, too. It was so exciting – getting to buy a new dress, having my hair professionally done, and occasionally getting to indulge in wine, when my father wasn't paying very close attention to me. It was thrilling to me to get to go to such parties and mingle with the rich and (occasionally) famous of Seattle. Not many people that I knew got to do such things, and I always had wonderful stories to share with everyone during a dull moment at the fancy private high school that I attended.

But now that I was eighteen, the excitement had dulled. Buying a new dress was just a norm, and I found that I didn't love it as much as I used to. The women that did my hair always seemed to be a bit too rough with me. The wine was good, but no longer a craved indulgence. And the conversation… it was like a competition among the people for who could come up with the most boring topics. It was all very drab, but I was still expected to go, even though I would have much rather been curled up at home, reading a play by my favorite author, William Shakespeare.

"You look distracted, my dear," Dr. Flynn said as he found me. It was a masquerade, sure, but it was hard to not recognize Dr. Flynn, what with his British accent and that voice that just made you want to spill all of your darkest secrets. He was my father's regular shrink and I'd been sent to him once when I was young, after a classmate of mine had died.

I smiled politely at him, certain that he had been able to recognize my perfect corkscrew curls of the darkest shade of brown. They cascaded down my back, which had been the insistence of my hairdresser for the evening. I normally tried to wear my hair up, but she wasn't having any of it. And my eyes… well, their gray luminance glowed through the mask, the same color and shape as my father's. "I wouldn't say that I'm bored, Dr. Flynn."

He rolled his eyes. He had asked me time and time again to call him John just as my father did, but that was too informal for me. He had worked hard to earn that degree, and I planned to recognize that. "Phoebe, you know that you can call me John. And if you wouldn't say that you were bored, what exactly would you say about this cloud that seems to hang over you, my dear?"

"I wouldn't say a word," I responded as seriously as I could. "I would keep all of the emotion bottled up inside until it bubbles over and I inexplicably explode on the poor girl behind the Starbucks window."

But Dr. Flynn knew what I was doing and he merely smiled and rolled his eyes. "More business for me, I suppose. Do you happen to know where your mother and father have wandered off to? I can't seem to find them anywhere."

Of course he couldn't. Mother and Father were constantly sneaking off at parties, and I had finally figured out that it was because they wanted to go and get busy. Apparently, semi-public sex (and lots of it) was at the very top of their bucket list. But I wasn't about to talk about the gross habits of my parents (who were surely old enough to know better), so I lied for them. "I haven't seen them recently. I have no idea where they might be." Kind of the truth, at least.

"Ah, well," he said. "I was hoping to speak to your father about rescheduling his appointment later in the week. Ask him to call me, would you?"

I smiled sweetly. "Of course."

Dr. Flynn leaned in to give me a hug and then disappeared into the large crowd. Mr. and Mrs. Ezra certainly knew how to throw a party. There were rather large ice sculptures scattered throughout the yard amongst enormous bouquets of flowers. A fancy dancing and dining area had been set up, and they had those nice portable restrooms. The crowd was dressed in the finest silks, satins, and tuxes. It was the scene that I had grown up in, but a scene that I found myself growing tired of nonetheless.

As more and more people began to move towards the dance floor, I snuck away. Dancing was not my strong suit. Maybe if my elder brother, Ted, had been there I would have let myself be led out onto the dance floor, but Ted was away at college at Harvard. Probably out having a good time at some frat party or with a nice girl. I made a mental note to call him later in the week.

As I came near the small, man-made lake – I wonder how much that cost them to put in – I found myself stumbling. I had tripped on something… a fallen log? But then strong hands were clasping my arms, keeping me upright, though barely.

"Careful," a low baritone voice murmured as I stumbled to regain my footing. "You shouldn't be walking out here in such high heels."

Pulling away, affronted, I stared at the man that had caught me and that I had apparently stumbled over. I could only just see him with the help of the distant lights of the party, but I could tell that he was gorgeous. The lines of his face were clean, unmarred by hair or blemish. His dark hair was artfully messy and in no sort of arrangement. His eyes were barely discernable. Dressed in the finest Armani had to offer, if was obvious that he was no trespasser. He held himself in a way that bespoke years of ingrained civility and the kind of certainty that came only from knowing that you could buy whatever you needed.

Stumbling over my words in a way that was so unlike my articulate self, I said, "You… were you just lying on the ground?"

"As a matter of fact," he said, quite seriously as he finally let go of my arm, "I was."

I couldn't help but snap back in a witty manner, as seemed to run in my family on both sides. "Are you stupid or just plain mad?"

Looking up at the sky, he said quite dreamily, "I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw."

My mouth fell open. "That's from Hamlet. You like Shakespeare?"

He studied me carefully for a moment and then said, "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."

"A Midsummer Night's Dream," I said, delighted. "You speak an infinite deal of nothing."

There was no hesitation. "The Merchant of Venice." A pause. "I take it you are a fan of Shakespeare?"

"Are you kidding?" I asked him. "He's my absolute favorite. But you must be a fan yourself to be able to quote him so accurately."

"He is a favorite," the man proclaimed, and a secret smile curved his sensuous lips. "What is your name?"

Remembering my manners, I offered him a smile and my hand. "Sorry. I'm Phoebe Grey. Daughter of Christian Grey."

"Christian Grey…" he mused as he shook my hand. "The billionaire entrepreneur. I'm Adrian Taylor."

"Adrian Taylor…" I knew that I had heard that name before. And then it hit me and my mouth fell open. "You're the billionaire who-" I cut off abruptly, face flaming.

"Whose parents just died and left him complete control over all of their companies, making him one of the richest men alive, all at the ripe young age of twenty-three," he finished in a dispassionate voice as he dropped my hand. "It's okay; you can say it."

"I wouldn't dare," I responded, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "It would hardly be polite."

A slight smile curved one corner of his mouth. "Who needs polite? All the manner nonsense. Why can't we all just be… real?"

"Because then we'd be a world of heathens."

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here," he quoted.

"My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break," I snapped back.

He laughed aloud, a beautiful, deep sound. "Though she be but little, she is fierce!"

All of my insecurities about being too little to capture a man's attention came rushing back, though I knew that wasn't what he had meant. Stepping back, I said, "I have to go."

Suddenly he was no longer laughing, serious once more. "Have I said something to offend you, little one?"

Little one… too little. "No," I lied and took another step back. "I need to get back to the party before anyone knows that I'm gone. I… I hope you enjoy the party."

He gave me a small nod. "You as well, Miss Grey."

I turned on my heel and marched away.