Chapter One: First Sight
I entered my classroom after a brief respite in the staff room for a refill on my morning cup of cocoa. Setting the borrowed mug down beside my computer, I allow myself to take another look at my emails, knowing that I won't be able to check them again until morning recess, nearly two hours from now. It is a full five minutes until class begins, at Ivy Door Academy, an exclusive private school for the local rich kids just fifteen minutes away from Downtown Seattle, where I am one of the three fourth grade teachers. I push back from my desk a bit and pull up the daily schedule, and pat myself on the back for putting silent reading for just after a math test, which would give the children a good amount of time to calm their nerves.
There are two more minutes left until the bell, and I know I've got to stop overthinking my carefully calculated plans as I push away from the computer. Getting to my feet, I check various folders and such before making my way to the door. I open it and walk down the hallway, past some other classrooms and the main office. Ivy Door Academy is an education institution for preschool through eighth grade, which means children aged four to thirteen roam these particular hallways pretty much daily. Preschool through second grade is on the first floor; third grade through fifth grade is on the second floor; and sixth grade through eighth grade is on the top floor.
Mrs. Fields, one of the other fourth grade teachers, who had become like a surrogate mother to me, scurries from her classroom just ahead of me. She turns and smiles as I catch up to her, and we make small talk. She is giving her kids a reading test on the chapter of Stuart Little they were supposed to have read last night. I tell her that the math test my kids will be taking is on the eight times table.
Just as we step down the last stair, the school bell rings. There are a few teachers ahead of us and several scampering along behind us in an effort to pick up their kids and get them into class. As we open the door, numerous collective screams greet our ears as we walk into the children's general vicinity. I don't know how safe it is for this period of time for four-year-olds to thirteen-year-olds is with minimal supervision, but no great accident has happened yet—this year, at least.
I wave goodbye to Mrs. Fields, knowing full well that I will see her around twelve-thirty for lunch in the teacher's lounge. Looking over the children gathered, I quickly zero-in on my class and count them, just as I do every morning. With twenty kids per class, I quickly notice that one—bright-eyed and intelligent Ava Grey—is missing. I bend down to her best friend, Ian Maxwell, and ask him if he knows anything.
"Ava's mom and dad are out of town," Ian tells me happily, eager to be the one to share this information. "She was staying with her grandparent's, but her grandpa fell down and hurt himself," he went on, his dark eyes becoming wary at this particular tidbit. "She's staying with her Uncle Christian now."
"Oh, I see," I say, as I make a motion for the children to fall in line behind me. As he is the assigned line leader for that day, it is not difficult for me to keep my semi-important talk with Ian going as we troop inside. "Tell me, Ian—have you met his uncle before?"
Ian nods up at me. "Yes. He lives in a huge penthouse downtown," he goes on, obviously impressed with his way of living. "When Ava's dad works late, sometimes we go over there and hang out. He has an indoor pool inside his house, and it's heated."
"That's nice," I say as we continue inside and up the stairs. "Do you think that Ava is sick, or just running late this morning?"
"The second one," he replies, nodding his head effusively. "Christian can get really tied up in his work. He's this lawyer for big cases."
I nod at Ian, putting two and two together. Ava's uncle must be Christian Grey, the top attorney for Washington State. He wins every case, and even managed to get one of his last clients—Theresa Webber—to escape death row by coming up with some medical history that showed that she had a proven clinical history of mental illness. The verdict was handed down as "not guilty by reason of insanity" and she was sentenced to eleven years in a mental hospital as well as five months of house arrest afterwards.
"You have to be great at what you choose do career-wise," I tell Ian with a smile as we all file into the classroom.
"Miss Steele, I wanna be a lawyer when I grow up," Ian proclaims.
"Well, then you must begin to study law as soon as possible."
"I will," he vows.
The children take their seats without being asked and I stand at the front of the classroom, nodding a greeting to Annette, my assistant teacher, who is in graduate school. "Okay, class, today we're going to have a quick little math test to go over the eighth times table—it shouldn't be more than a few minutes." A collective groan overtakes the classroom. "Come on, now," I say, bending down to retrieve the stack of tests before passing them out. "All of you will have a total of fifteen minutes to complete the exam. Yes, Clara?" I say, turning to a girl who is seated to the left of Ian.
"Fifteen minutes is the same as recess time, right?" she asks.
I smile, thinking that it's so wonderful when children make comparisons like this. "That's correct, Clara," I say, handing over her test. "It's nine-oh-five now, so who knows what time the test will be over?"
"Nine-twenty!" the class chants.
"Good," I say, just as my classroom phone rings. Annette springs into action as soon as I've handed over the tests to her. I cross the room and pick up the phone, seeing that the front office is calling. "Hello?" I say.
"Ah, Miss Steele," says Mrs. Caudwell from the office. "I have Ava Grey here with me. Her uncle is just signing her in."
"I'll be right there," I say, hanging up before she can tell me not to come as I turn back to my ever-competent assistant teacher. "I've got to go pick Ava from the main office. Do you think you can you handle the class for a couple of minutes?" I ask Annette.
She nods and gives me a smile as I slip out from the classroom.
I walk up the hallway, and immediately spot Ava showing who I presume to be her uncle Christian some artwork on the wall. I quickly note that it is from our class, when the children learned about the difference between pastels and neon's. My heels click on the wood floor, and both of them turn at the noise.
"Miss Steele!" Ava cries out happily, bounding up to me and immediately throwing her arms around my waist.
"Well hello, there, Ava," I say, clutching her to me for a brief moment before pulling back from her. "You're just in time. We've started the math exam on the eighth times table. Why don't you run along and get started?" I say, looking past her to Christian Grey. "I need to have a word with your uncle."
Christian hands Ava a ten-dollar bill—which I presume must be for lunch money—before giving her a big hug. "I'll see you next weekend, sweetheart," he calls after her as little Ava gives a little wave and slips into the classroom. He turns and looks at me then, almost as if he is sizing me up, wondering who is the real person supposedly in charge here, and I find my lips parting automatically, my knees turning to jelly, and my core immediately begins to pound. "So, you must be the famous Miss Anastasia Steele?"
I nod, letting him call me by my full name as I proceed to struggle to pull myself together. "It appears that I am."
"I'm Christian Grey," he says, putting out his hand, with that star-studded grin on his impossibly handsome face.
"I know who you are," I reply, forcing myself to remain cold to his demeanor as I cross my arms, my breasts elevating themselves to slight exposure above my neckline, something not lost on him as I ignore his offer of a handshake. "I want you to understand, Mr. Grey, that I don't tolerate children being late unless it is for a specific emergency."
"Specific?" he asks, confused.
I grit my teeth. "You know, medical emergency, a member of one's immediate family having a medical emergency…" I hesitate for a moment, really wanting him to absorb the words. "It's school policy, Mr. Grey, I'm sure you understand. I realize that the situation with Ava's grandfather happened a few days ago, but I personally think that it should have been properly taken care of by now…"
"So, the fact that we had to stop to get my morning coffee and a breakfast burrito for Ava isn't considered an emergency?" he asks, in an effort to make a joke, albeit a childish one, all the while his face, and tone, remaining serious.
I find my fingers have knotted themselves together as agitation threatens to take over my psyche completely. "Mr. Grey, I can understand and appreciate that you're new to the whole parental supervision thing—"
He narrows his eyes at me. "In point of fact, Miss Steele, I spend at least two nights a week watching Ava, usually on the weekends."
I purse my lips at the excuse; Christian Grey is slowly but surely proceeding to annoy me, and not in a good way. "Well, then I suppose you're new to the whole parental supervision thing on a school day," I say, and somehow force myself to keep my tone relatively light, and nearly fail in doing so. "However, I want to impress on you a few things. A teacher will not find humor in a child being late. Furthermore, if that said child is late without proper explanation, the said teacher will proceed to think the worst."
"The worst?" demands Christian Grey. "God, I don't believe this…"
I ignore his outburst. "For example, we live in a rather large city, sir, and, therefore, if a child is late, a teacher could think that the child was in a horrible accident. Or, mind you, if a parent or guardian shows up and proceeds to attempt to make jokes to the instructor about the reasons why they themselves caused the student's tardiness, then action will be taken. I will speak to Ava about this morning, and I will tell the secretary and the dean of the school to watch out for further morning mishaps when it is made known to us that Ava is in your care."
"Come now, Miss Steele," he says, clearly growing annoyed. "I'm not a parent, okay, and I have my own life to live. I shouldn't be expected to adhere to your guidelines when I have many of my own to consider."
"I don't give a rat's ass about your guidelines!" I hiss, after briefly looking around to make sure nobody else was in the hallway, as I grip the insides of my arms—Get it together, Steele, my inner goddess warns, staring at me from behind old-fashioned secretary glasses. "I don't work for you, and that's probably a good thing, as you obviously aren't very strict when it comes to scheduling," I say, tempted to whack him with the back of my hand. "But I don't have time for your little outbursts—much more of this and I'll set my own schedule behind. Good day, Mr. Grey," I say pointedly before turning around and returning to the classroom.
Annette looks up as I come in, smiling and waving briefly before returning to her own carefully put-together lesson plan. Since she is studying to teach herself, she is allowed to teach one lesson a day. After Christmas, she will take over for me for half the day, and by Easter, she will take over entirely. Then, by June, she will graduate with her teaching qualifications. The third and final fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Anderson, will be retiring at the end of the school year, and Annette will take her place.
I check the time, noticing that it is nine-twelve. I go to my desk and log in to my email, where I see one from Kate, my best friend and partner in crime. She was pretty much adopted by my family because her dad moved to Europe to pursue a top job as an executive for a French company. Her mother married another man, had two sons named Benjamin and Edward, before passing away whilst living in Virginia. Kate has four siblings in total, with the oldest two being Gia and Ethan; the former was an executive at an ad agency in Tacoma, while Ethan owned a restaurant in Downtown Seattle.
I click my email and briefly tap my finger impatiently on the mouse pad, as the server debates on whether or not to respond. Kate reminded me of the welcome home dinner of my twin brother, Theodore, who had just completed ten years of medical school. Theo was beginning his residency at Swedish Hospital, and intended on opening his own surgery practice in the next couple of years. The welcome home dinner was to be held at Ethan's restaurant, known as The Electric Violin.
I reply that, considering that Mom and Dad are away in Barbados, as the main and official family member—although I am twelve minutes younger—that I of course will be there. I have Annette assigned to do the final lesson that day so as I can slip out a few minutes early, get Theodore's welcome home gift, go home, change, feed my cat, Tess, and then haul ass to the restaurant. I send the email and see that the time is already nine-twenty-four, so I quickly get to my feet, logging out of my email in one swift moment as I do.
Looking over my lesson plans, I decide to go over the history project before silent reading in order to keep them all on their toes.
"All right, children," I say, walking to the front of the classroom and catching a good portion of looks from them. "I've given you a little extra time, as you can clearly see. Pencils down, please. Annette will take your tests and correct them. You'll get them back after lunch. I want those of you who have more than five wrong answers to go over them with your parents tonight. Is that understood?"
"Yes," they all say coherently, handing their tests over to Annette before turning back to look at me.
I smiled at them all, turning to pick up my copy of their history book. "Now it's time to discuss chapter four in our history book, The American Revolution. Can anyone tell me the year that the revolution began?" I ask. "Yes, Trinity?" I say, pointing to a Hispanic girl in the second row.
"1775, on April nineteenth," she replies.
I nod. "Very good," I say, reaching into my plastic goody jar and handing over a pink butterfly eraser to her. "Now, who can tell me why the war began? Yes, Paul?" I say, nodding at one of my prized pupils.
"They were being treated unfairly," Paul answers. "They wanted to be free, which is why they came to America in the first place."
"Yes," I say, handing him a blue rocket eraser. "Who can tell me just why these individuals wanted to be free?"
Henry raises his hand in an eager manner. "They all wanted to be a different religion," he replies quickly, excitedly.
"That's right," I smile and hand over a green dinosaur eraser to him. "And who was stopping them from being the religion they wanted?"
"King George III of England!" cries Brandy, bouncing up and down.
I giggle a bit at her excitement and hand over a kitten eraser. "That's very good, Brandy. And now, some review. Who can tell me when they fled England to America?"
"1620, on the Mayflower," Greg answers, and I give him a robot eraser.
"Where did they land?" I ask.
"Plymouth Rock!" chants Elissa.
I nod, giving her a puppy eraser. "Now, for your history report. Many important men from the period signed a big document. Can anyone tell me what they signed?"
"The Constitution?" asks Timothy.
I nod, handing over a LEGO eraser. "That's correct. There were parts of it—separate laws—call amendments that everyone had to agree upon. Does anyone know just how many amendments there were?"
"Twenty-seven?" Chelsea wants to know.
"Yes," I tell her, handing her an eraser with a ballerina on it. "I want you all to pick someone important on that period. I want a two-page paper on it. Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to do it. Your research is due by Halloween, your outline by Thanksgiving, and the final paper on the last day of class before Christmas. Is that understood?"
Twenty pairs of eyes nod at me, and I felt secure in that moment. That is why I went into teaching, to bring security to myself and young minds. The young kids in front of me deftly understood what was to come to pass, that complications would definitely play a role in their lives at some point, yet now, with their childlike innocence, they would be able to have the freedom to roam about their minds and express themselves accordingly.
"That's very good," I tell them, getting my stack of yellow rubrics and passing them out, knowing that questions were imminent. "I encourage you to work on some of this report with your parents—perhaps the research gathering portion, or deciding who you want to write about. They're bound to know some information that even I don't know about all these people in Colonial times in America. Best of luck to all of you, and I mean that—I know projects like this can be hard, but you'll know what to do. Now, it's time for silent reading time. Books out, please."
. . .
The rest of the day goes by quickly. Finally, it is almost two-fifteen, and I've just finished going over the math homework for that night. I turn to Annette, who has an art project for all of them. I pass out their math homework and nod to her, before saying goodbye to all the kids. I go to my desk and gather my things, putting the need-to-be corrected assignments inside my folder and into my briefcase for good measure. I then put on my raincoat, scarf, gloves, and my earmuffs as the autumn nip to the air has begun. I log out of my email account before ascertaining that I have everything, just as I slip my Tupperware from lunch into my bag. Waving goodbye one last time, I leave.
Slipping out unnoticed from my classroom, I navigate down the hall and to the elevator, to the parking garage for teachers. Pressing the 'G' button, I wait for the doors to close. About thirty seconds later, they open, and I walk out into the parking lot, removing my keys from my bag and automatically unlocking my car and slipping inside. Locking the doors behind me, I put my bag onto the seat next to me and put the keys into the ignition.
I wave to Tony Monroe, the security guy, on my way out, thanking god that it is Friday and that my weekend can be spent with my brother, and working some paper grading in there as well. I get on the Five Freeway and make my way towards the Northgate Mall, where my plan is to go to Barnes and Noble and get a decent book on medical care. Since Theodore just got his degree to be a brain surgeon, I decide to start there. I get off the freeway and get into the parking lot easily, slipping into a parking space and getting out of the car. I walk inside the store and look around.
Dying for a Frappuccino, I go to the adjacent Starbucks—which is a brilliant marketing idea on their part—and order a Grande vanilla bean frap with a good amount of whipped cream. I get my drink and turn around, noticing that they've changed the layout. I quickly notice that my desired section is upstairs, so I hop on the escalator and make my way up. Looking around, I turn left and, sipping my drink, head into the proper section.
Bypassing sport's medicine, cancer research, and other topics that I know next to nothing about, I find the surgery section. I am thankful that it is alphabetical, and I quickly find that they have about a dozen different titles in the desired field of study. I settle on Brain Surgeon: A Doctor's Inspiring Encounters with Morality and Miracles by Keith Black and Arnold Mann. I appreciate that it is less than fifteen dollars and quickly notice that it is after three already. I know that Kate is especially prompt and will expect me home at four on the dot so we can carpool, so I know that I'd better pay for the book and leave. I leave the medical section and find myself halting at the Barnes and Noble Jr. section, and impulsively step in.
I know that I could use a few more books for my classroom, so I grab a hardback copy of Charlotte's Web, the book we're due to read next. Upon turning, I see a wonderful print of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Theodore's favorite book growing up. I pick it up and, nodding to myself, force myself away from the section known for happy endings and beautiful illustrations. I show my teacher I.D. so I get a discount and allow them to wrap up Brain Surgeon and The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
I walk out into the parking lot and find my car without difficulty. I toss what's left of my frap into the public trash can and hop into my car. I go along north for a moment before getting on the freeway towards my condo that I share with Kate, a lovely two bedroom just ten minutes away from Downtown. I make it there without issue and pull into the parking garage. I text Kate telling her that I am downstairs, ten minutes ahead of schedule. As I'm going up in the elevator, Theodore texts me to tell me that he's arrived safely at our parent's empty house and that he just wants to shower and change before heading out, but that he'll meet us there.
Smiling at the thought of seeing my brother again after so long, I get out of the elevator on the third floor of the building and go to room 317, our condo. Unlocking the door, I hear the shower fan on, as well as the stream of water, so I know Kate is still in her bathroom. Since she found the condo, she got master bedroom with the en suite bathroom while I got the small bedroom in the back with regular bathroom right next door. Since she is addicted to her phone—and seeing if celebrities have replied to her Tweets—I know she will know that I'm home safely and that I didn't get into a car accident.
I greet Tess and hold her briefly before giving her a generous spoonful of salmon tuna and heading to my bedroom. I quickly remove my work clothes and throw them into my laundry basket, reminding myself to do laundry that weekend, or else I'd be forced to wear overtly formal clothes to work. I make a mental note to get change from Ethan at the restaurant later as I wrap myself in my towel and head to the bathroom. Turning on the fan and locking the door, I turn on the water and adjust it to the temperature that I like. Hanging my towel up on the door behind me, I step into the shower.
Constantly drifting to various future assignments, as well as to my twin's well-being, I cannot seem to get ahold of what happened with Christian Grey earlier that day. I received a note from him during lunchtime that informed me that he was impressed with my vocabulary and my ability to describe certain situations, yet then proclaimed that such a thing would be expected of any teacher. Thus, I was officially rubbed the wrong way by a family member of student, which wouldn't have been the first time.
I remembered that, during my first year of teaching, there was a girl student I had named Harper Lowry. Her parents were convinced that she was the next genius, yet she was simply precocious and a bit high and mighty, as well as more than a little demanding. With a generous donation to a local private high school, after fourth grade, she was able to enter her sophomore year of high school. After taking an academics qualification exam, she was then put into college courses. I still didn't understand why Mitch and Angela Lowry insisted upon believing so highly in their child, but, thankfully, she was no longer under my jurisdiction.
I turn off the water and step out of the shower, quickly wrapping myself in and drying myself with my towel. After brushing my hair and cleaning my ears, I removed my hair dryer from its shelf and proceed the unfortunate fifteen-minute drying regiment. After the ever-constant hum begins to wear on me, I realize that my hair is dry. Turning it off, I escape the bathroom and walk the three or so feet to my bedroom and open my closet door.
I choose one of my dozen or so black dresses with an oval neckline. I find my grandmother's silver locket with a picture of Theodore, Kate, me, and Ethan inside, for Gia always preferred to be behind the camera. I slip on the customary, uncomfortable pantyhose and the dress on top, running a brush through my hair as I slip into my heels. Grabbing a simple, black, half-cape, I step out of my bedroom, just as Kate comes out of hers, in her favorite plum dress.
She smiles at me, her red hair bouncing as she does. She pulls her customary leather jacket around her shoulders, gripping her deep gray, sparkling clutch in her perfectly manicured hands. I grip my wallet tightly as I shove it into my black leather bag, and nod to her, holding the Barnes and Noble bag in the other hand. She gleefully rolls her eyes at me as we switch off the lights in our bedrooms, and quickly put on the ones in the living room and kitchen before stepping out. I notice a carefully wrapped gift in her other hand, and wonder if she did it herself.
We get to the parking garage, while Kate chats about her job as a chief writer at Seattle Times and about how her new intern, Howard, is convinced that he'll win her over. "I mean, he's obviously still in the closet with conservative parents," she says as we approach her car, sliding in carefully. "Oh! New topic idea!" she cries, taking out her phone and writing something in her notepad app before driving us out of there.
We drive to the dead center of Downtown Seattle before handing our keys over to the valet at Ethan's restaurant. Going inside, the maître d, Thomas, greets us and motions for the hostess to take us to our table. The hostess, Holly, smiles at the pair of us, confirmed regulars. Chatting in a friendly manner with Kate as we turn the corner, I am the first to see Theodore. Shouting, I run to him, and he turns to face me.
Theodore is over six feet tall, with the same skin tone, eyes, and nose as me. He has our father's mouth and hair, while my mouth came from our mother, and my hair from our Aunt Agatha. He grins and opens his arms to me, and I jump into them, feeling tears coming down my face in relief that he is home safe. He was top of his class, so he never risked coming home during vacations, and I could never afford a trip all the way to Columbia University to see him, so we had four long years apart, with only bi-weekly Skype chats, daily text messages, and emails every three days or so to tied us over.
"Theo, Theo, Theo!" I cry, never wanting to let him go. My brother and I hadn't been very close until high school, when twins were suddenly cool. Although he excelled in science as I did in English, we learned to help each other out, and thus, a life-long friendship was born over what we didn't know. After graduation, he got pre-med out of the way at the University of Washington, while I went to Western Washington University, due to their excellent education program. The University of Washington was located in Seattle, where we were born, but Western Washington University was about an hour and thirty minutes away, causing what we liked to call "twinstance problems".
"Ana!" he says, lifting me up and swinging me around. "Oh, you have no idea how good it feels to hug you again!" He sets me down and gives me a hard look, shaking his head. "We may be twins, but I know full well that there's something different about you…"
I shrug. "It's nothing; probably just lack of sleep. These kids ride me hard, but the school finally swung for me to get a student teacher this year."
"That's right! Annette something… Mom and Dad mentioned it…"
"Annette Parker," I reply, laughing a little. "You'll have to remember names now, Theo. I don't think any patients' families would take too kindly to you misplacing that particular information to the person you're about to cut open and do brain surgery on."
"I know, I should probably work on that," he says, looking up past me, and, seeing Kate, his eyes widen. "Kate, is that you?" he asks, squeezing my hand briefly before walking past me and giving his full attention to my best friend.
"Hey there, Theodore," Kate replies formally, her cheeks heating immediately, her childhood crush never having left her for a moment. "How was your flight?" she asks, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.
"Fine, just fine," he says, looking as if he wants to grab her up in an embrace, but is fearful of Ethan coming out.
Thankfully, Gia arrives and serves as the perfect distraction. With her is her boyfriend of nearly two years, Scott McCabe. The pair of them greet everyone and then we all sit down, just as Ethan arrives. Ethan claps Theodore on the back, for they were childhood best friends and I know that Ethan missed my brother terribly. We all sit down at the table, Ethan sitting on one side of me, Theodore on the other, and Kate on my brother's other side. I try not to notice that Ethan has bumped my knee with his more than once, and otherwise dinner is completely fabulous and gourmet-approved. We eat and talk until after ten, and then Theodore pulls me aside to talk at the bar.
"Scotch and soda, please," he says to the bartender.
"I'll have a water, thanks," I say, not wanting to appear rude, because I don't really drink all that much. "What's on your mind, my twin?" I ask, smiling at him.
"So…you and Ethan?" he asks, looking from where we're standing to where he is, gabbing with his sisters. "How's that going?"
I choke on a massive ice cube in my water, shuddering at the very thought of it as my face seems to flame automatically, my inner goddess nearly falling off her chair and retching in a silver basin in shock. "Excuse me?!" I cry.
"Aren't you and Ethan a thing?"
I shake my head, my inner goddess screaming, God no! "I don't know what you're talking about…" I manage to get out.
"Nothing," Theodore says, sipping his drink. "Just forget it."
Not wanting to forget it, but not wanting to start a public fight with my brother who I hadn't been physically with in four years, I decide to drop it. "What else is on your mind? Any hot stewardesses on the plane?"
Theodore snorts, managing to keep his alcohol down. "Not really," he says, looking past me to the table.
"Theo, just say it…"
"I want to ask Kate out. There, I said it. Do you think she'll say yes? I mean, I thought about it before—and I was really mad when Andy Peterson asked her to prom when I really wanted to—but all that's over now. I mean, she doesn't still talk to Jose, does she?"
I laugh and shake my head. "No. Jose moved to Texas to do pro ball, but now he has a wife and kid to support. I think he works at a fast food chain down there that's not allowed up here because of its inferior meat content," I say, giving him a smile.
"Which one?"
"Whataburger," I reply, knowing full well that the vast majority of the world only knows what that restaurant is because of King of the Hill.
"Oh, I see," he says, attempting to appear thoughtful as his eyes move to Kate again. "I really like her, Ana…"
"Theo, she's liked you since we were four, loved you since we were fourteen, and wanted you in every way possible since we were seventeen. I highly advise that you make a move sooner rather than later."
My twin smiles and nods. "Okay. Can you get her to come over? I really don't want Ethan to potentially assassinate me…"
I nod. "Sure, no problem," I reply. "Go down the hall like you're going to the bathroom and wait there for her. I'll do the rest." I kiss him on the cheek and nod, before walking back to the table, watching from the corner of my eye as he slips away. "Kate, can I speak to you for a moment?" I say quietly.
She turns to me instantly, nods, and gets to her feet. Returning to the bar, she gives me a concerned look. "What's going on?"
"I have to talk to you, but not here. Meet me in the hallway outside the bathrooms, okay? It's really important."
"Is everything okay?" she asks.
I shrug. "I don't know. I'm really worried about Theodore. He says it's just jet lag but I'm not sure. Can you help me reason with him, please? I'm afraid that maybe he got addicted to something in New York…"
At once, Kate looks worried. "Of course," she says, and find that I can almost hear her heart pounding. Looking around, she bites her lip, almost as if she is thinking that Theodore escaped out into the night. "Maybe wait with Gia and Ethan and Scott until we find him?"
"Sure, that's perfect," I say, having no intention of listening to her. "You go back now. I'll chat with them for a few minutes and then I'll meet you back there."
"Sounds good," she says, relieved, before slipping by me and heading to the back hallway where the bathrooms are.
I count to ten in my head before following. I barely move, not wanting my heels to make a loud, disturbing noise on the tiled floor. Peeking around the corner, I see Kate spot Theodore as he comes out of the bathroom.
She steps forward, a bit unsure. "Theodore?"
He turns. "Oh, hey Kate. What's up?"
Kate's voice was concerned. "Ana mentioned that you were having a few issues with coming back from New York. She thinks you're addicted to something…"
Theodore chuckles, just as I cover my face in an effort to stop myself from laughing too loudly at his reaction. "You could say that…"
She steps forward further this time and takes his hands. "Whatever it is, Theodore, we'll get through it. You have a support system here. You've got to know that."
Theodore shakes his head at her thoughts. "My god… Um, I don't have an addiction to any medicinal substances, Kate."
"Excuse me?" she asks.
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Kate, I've got to be honest with you. I did not want Jose to take you to prom."
She giggles. "Theodore, that was almost six years ago."
He nods. "I know. But I couldn't take it anymore. Kate, I've had feelings for you for a really long time. I want to go out with you, and, eventually, be your boyfriend."
Kate gasps aloud then, covering her face like one of those women who has just been proposed to on live T.V. "Of course I'll go out with you, Theodore!" she cries, throwing her arms around him and going in for their first kiss.
Smiling to myself, and feeling like a modern-day Emma Woodhouse, I walk from that area and back to the main dining area. Just as I turn the corner, I see Ethan, Gia, and Scott talking to a man about our age. He laughs, and a chill goes down my spine; heart pounding everywhere, from my throat to my core, I find I cannot believe my ears. I wait, and soon he throws his head back just far enough so as I can identify him fully.
It is Christian Grey.
