Chapter Six – This isn't a Honeymoon

Christian

I lift my champagne filled glass in compliment to my sleeping bride. Mrs Anastasia Grey. . . .

It's done. I'm married, Mother's happy and the company's Board of Directors will take me more seriously with this move. Without my education and experience, they think that I'm too young, too bold and too dogmatic for the presidency. Never mind that my family owns the goddamn company, never mind that I've been running the business for years, but if I had to partake in another kind of corporate politics, then so be it.

I've come to realize that Mrs Anastasia Grey can serve more than one purpose. If I had known this before I would have done it sooner. Having a wife by my side can get me in an exclusive clique of business associates. Before the plane took off from Seattle, I've had an avalanche of congratulations from men who appeared to be inaccessible. Now they're reaching out to me, because of her.

She's slumped against the wall, head tilted and with one hand propped against the side of her face. Thick curls of tendrils are pinned the right side of head cascading over her bare shoulders, covering most of her lace covered bodice coming to a stop below the ample curves of her breasts. The platinum, diamond encrusted wedding band delicately resting on her finger glimmers in the emerging sunlight. Some of her hair parts slightly, exposing her generous cleavage, every bit of bare skin appears tender . . . flawless. Mechanically I make a firm fist, as I'm tempted to go over there and brush the hair away from her neck so I can get a better view of her beauty. She looks much better when she's asleep. I couldn't have picked a perfect bride if I had done it myself, Anastasia truly played the part well and Mother couldn't be more enthralled by the moment. Delivering her wish is my latest and most celebrated accomplishment.

Eighteen hours ago, we stood face to face witnessed by a handful of persons beneath a flower and vine-wreathed gazebo. Kate and Elliot stood on either side of us. Mother and Genevieve watched intently with watery eyes and Amos' leering smirk made me want to smack him across the face. For the entire ceremony, Mia behaved impassive and standoffish with a permanent scowl all because I didn't heed her advice to have prenup prepared. She brazenly confronted Amos yesterday at the office. I intervened and told her to fuck off but that exploded into a full-blown argument about my lack of coherence and Anastasia as a poor choice for a wife. I expected her objections; however, I didn't expect her to lash out at Amos. Again, she confronted me about her displeasure for Anastasia just before the wedding but her reasons are both opinionated and ludicrous.

In her eyes, Anastasia is too mediocre to exist in our world. She comes from a single parent, middle-class background. She's independent, vocal and had to work hard for everything she needs. Kate was born into wealth but has done everything she could to branch out on her own with Anastasia at her side. She is refined, soft-spoken and comes from a renowned, stable family. Kate is familiar territory; her place in the circle naturally cemented from the start. We, on the other hand, were handpicked and inducted into this seemingly clean, polished world. A world filled with cracks, dirty deeds and mounting secrets masked by a thick layer of deceitful associates, flamboyant parties, and vast wealth.

In a sense, my adoring little sister is right, Anastasia Steele doesn't belong here. She is better off than we are; she is free from family bound duty, independent to the point where she was determined to leave her old life to start something fresh in a new city. She isn't tainted by the love of money or possessions. She is an unconventional free thinking agent who goes against the status quo in our social order, and she wasn't about to be tied down by it. There was a time in my life when I wanted that. . . .freedom. Freedom from the burden of my responsibilities, freedom from the demons that would haunt my nocturnal dreams despite Mother's comforting words that his death wasn't my fault.

I cast my eyes to her sleeping form, remembering the deep speckles in the blue hues of her petrified eyes, her irises deepened in shade as the priest permitted me to kiss her. Her body frozen solid when I intentionally curved my palms around her waist, her mouth hung slack as I moved closer and her breathing became laboured. I love that look on her face, it drew me in. Physically, I had to restrain myself when I felt the surface of her enticing lips. The thought of kissing her again remains alive and well to this very moment. I wanted to suck her bottom lip into my mouth, feather my tongue against hers. Curse that senseless agreement, no tongue, no open mouth. Our contact was short but riveting, and I swore I heard her give a faint moan when we touched. For appearances, I was able to mask this business trip as our honeymoon. I hope that everyone's attention diverts to Elliot and Kate, who are scheduled to wed a week from now.

Looking out the window, I observe that we're approaching our destination. The captain will announce our arrival soon, so I must wake her. Getting out my seat, I move to the other side of the plane. Involuntarily, I lean very close sweeping the hair from her cheek. I take a moment to let my eyes drift across her face and on those faint, glossy plump, slightly parted lips, allowing wispy soft breaths to escape. After a while, I gently shake her by the shoulder, but she curls herself further against the seat. Another attempt to wake her proves useless; she's protesting and whimpering like a toddler. My recourse, I whisper her name soft enough not to alarm her but loud to make her stir. Her dreamy eyes flutter open, then recognition floods her face. Hastily and without thinking, she tries to remove herself from our closeness resulting in her hitting in her head against the cabin window. She rubs the spot and silently mouths obscenities to herself. I pull back slightly pursing my lips mischievously at her torment.

"You sleep like the dead; I was trying to wake you. We're about to land, buckle your seatbelt"

"I didn't get much sleep since Tuesday, with Kate's wedding rehearsal and all," she explains while straightening herself upright, "No need to bite my head off"

"That's not my concern, I gave you an option," I assert, taking the seat next to her, "If we'd gone to a Justice of the Peace you wouldn't be this tired"

"Well at least I got my dress," she notes, lifting her chin and smiling victoriously.

"Your head . . . Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Is this the place?" Her eyes pleasantly scan the scenery through the window.

"Yes"

"It's beautiful," she utters.

We arrive in Sydney, Australia just after sunrise. I stand at the base of the steps, offering my hand to her as she makes a measured and cautious descend. Her head is tucked downwards so my eyes take the opportunity to fully appreciate the length of her curvaceous body in her vintage style laced gown. Fairly I must say, I've never seen a woman look so desirous or sexy without exertion. Her other hand is lifting the small train against her side revealing the strappy heels embracing her tiny ankles. Unexpectedly, there's a mounting and noticeable tick in my groin.

"Christian"

A resounding Australian accent forces me to take my eyes away from her. Nick Stern stands mere feet away from us. I turn in time to catch his gaze lingering on my wife before he looks at me.

"Congratulations are in order, Sir. Elliot informed me of your nuptials a few hours ago, I guessed I miss your invitation in the mail," he chuckles, "No hard feelings though, I understand it was a private ceremony"

"Thank you, Anastasia this is Nick Stern our General Manager for Australia's operations," I say to her when she comes to my side, "Nick this is my wife, Anastasia"

Their hands clasp together for a pleasant handshake, "Did this man force you into marrying him?" he jokes.

Her cheeks flame and she peer at me through the corners of her eyes, but my gaze remains on Nick. He appears to be charmed by the woman standing next to me, and the fucker isn't even trying to hide it. In these parts, Nick is known to be a serial womanizer and sometimes he doesn't know his place when it comes to another man's woman. He finally catches me glaring at him and he knows that I'm on to him. Through my silent fuck you stare and our mutual male understanding, he smiles and his lurid temperament dwindles. Awareness floods my mind and my senses when I realize that I have her hand captured in mine and our fingers are tightly laced together.

Ana

Before my feet touch the tarmac, a man that I can only assume is a business associate of Christian's greets us. He's a handsome man but he pales against my new husband. They exchange pleasantries and it's the first time where Christian has the opportunity introduce me as his wife. The idea of being someone wife makes me blush, even if this is all a façade.

Christian's hair is tossed as if he deliberately ran his hands through it frequently. His shirtsleeves are rolled up below his elbows, he's rid himself of his jacket, his necktie is undone hanging loosely under his collar and two buttons opens his shirt to his chest. Christian Grey is deviously fetching and he doesn't need to be told. But right now he's giving his associate that signature fuck off glare, and I don't know why. I shift slightly only to realize that he's still holding my hand, we've been this way since I came to his side.

Cognizance bubbles to the surface and his warm hand escapes, leaving me cold and bereaved. But it returns splayed against the small on my back, guiding me past Nick to the awaiting car.

.

.

"How many times have you been here?" I say, peering out the window as the car moves through the city.

"Too many times to count," he drawls going through his phone.

"This place is beautiful and we're only here for three days. Can we do some sightseeing?"

"No," he iterates bringing his eyes to me, "I already told you, Anastasia. This is a business trip. The launch of AST Convention commences tonight at the hotel"

"Which hotel?"

"The Four Seasons, that's where we're staying"

Suddenly, I feel myself contract, "Sounds really important" I mutter.

"It is. It's the monster of all conferences for the retail industry on this side of the eastern hemisphere. The international business community meets annually for the AST"

"In Australia?"

"No, last year it was held in Tokyo . . ." his statement is abrupt and hanging, "Anyway you'll be accompanying me tonight"

"But, I don't have anything to wear," I protest.

"Minor details" he waves off, "Soon you'll meet Mr Harris, the hotel's concierge, he can assist you if you'd like. Just have yourself ready by nine"

.

.

The walk through the lobby, the ride up the elevator and down the corridor to our suite was met with grins and admiration from every person that looked at me. It was the fact that I was attired in my wedding dress that made me stood out immensely.

I had a plan. . . . Get out of this dress. . . Go take a nice warm shower. . . Have something to eat. . . Find something to wear for tonight.

Simple, yes. But that all changed when Mr Harris opened the doors to the Presidential Suite. For the last six minutes, I'm captivated by the breath-taking view taken from this vantage point.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" I hear him explode. "Get this mess out of here or get me another room"

Seconds later, Mr Harris is scurrying through the parlour carrying a set of bundled bed sheets pressed to his chest. Rose petals peek through the sheets spilling over the sides of the roll. Poor Christian must have been mortified by the display; I chuckle imagining his face in utter shock seeing the master bedroom transformed into a romantic debacle. I'm guessing there were rose petals sprinkled across the sheets and a moulded heart or kissing swans or whatever formed with towels, and I think I smell vanilla scented candles.

I remain stationed at the window, it's the safest place to be right now. Hurried footsteps haste into the room, I turn to see the concierge and two women darting with a change of sheets and a vacuum. The recognizable stride of Christian approaches me.

"I apologize about this," he begins, "Nick told the hotel that we'd just gotten married so. . ."

"It's alright. They're just doing their jobs. They don't know what's going on here" I whisper, gesturing between us, "You shouldn't be so hard on them"

"Oh, but this isn't the honey suite, they shouldn't assume-" he crosses his arms.

"Please, I don't want to argue, but you're overreacting. We're supposed to be married, remember"

"I know, how can I forget? You can have the master bedroom; you'll find your things in there"

"Are you sure?" I gasp in mock astonishment.

"You're right," he looks towards the skies, thumbing his chin, "Maybe I'm being too benevolent because this is your first visit to this country, and I want you to be comfortable" he overstates.

"Oh please, Mr Grey. I wouldn't want you to go out of your way for me," I continue to taunt, pressing my hands to my chest.

"Of course I'm sure, Anastasia," he turns to me lifting an eyebrow, "This suite has two rooms, so you can enjoy the master bedroom. You should be thanking me"

"Well, thank you," I blush appreciatively, then turn my gaze back to the harbour.

This feels like a dream. . . .I want to go down there, I just have to. I mean it's right there, the bridge, the Port, the Opera House. I can practically reach out and touch it. I've been in transit for almost nineteen hours, I think I deserve it.

He stands next to me looking pass the glass to the panoramic view down below, "It's beautiful, isn't it. It's Port Jackson. . . ."

"I want to go there," I say in an arduous and exciting tone, cutting him off.

"We'll go tomorrow," he utters coolly.

"You're lying, you said you'll be busy tonight and tomorrow," His head snaps to me with a devious smirk, "You're not doing anything at the moment, we should go"

"What? Now? No" he protests.

"Yes, it's the least you can do for me"

"The least, I can think of lesser things. I already told you, this is a business trip. . . ."

"Disguised as a honeymoon. I've never asked you for anything, which I'm assuming is unusual for you"

"You said you didn't want anything," he reproaches.

"I know what I said, but now I want this," I point my finger to the window, "I want to go to Port Jackson"

He scrunches his hair with both hands, "God, you insufferable, irritating woman. . . . Be ready in an hour"

"Thank you", I scream, disregarding his temporary grumpiness with open arms.

"Please, don't"

He brings his hands upwards, derailing my sudden act to embrace him and stalls me from crashing into his chest. Not feeling a bit dampened I swiftly clamp my hands together, bringing them back to me. This is perfect; I can get my outfit, do some exploring and have some fun.

I can't believe I'm in Australia.

Okay, Christian is on his last leg but I think he's having a good time, or at least I hope so. After breakfast, we took a stroll along Port Jackson, partook in a one hour tour of the Opera House; went to the lookout on the Sydney Bridge; making sure to take lots of pictures for Kate. I wanted to climb the top of the bridge, but my request to join the tour was denied, for now.

Christian said I was pushing it, no sightseeing beyond Port Jackson. Hours later he ambled into a Giorgio Armani store with me in tow. Christian of course, needed no introduction and was instantly recognized by the Store Manager who handed me over to the beautiful Lilian. And with her expertise, all it took was two dresses, matching shoes and accessories; I was out of there in less than thirty minutes.

I'll never forget this day. I'm so overly excited about this trip and being in another country altogether.

Recognizing that Christian is awfully quiet I glance over to him only to realize that he's got his nose stuck in that journal I saw him reading earlier back at the store.

Hmm, he's been here so many times that he doesn't realize how superb this place is. Or maybe he's not into this sort of thing. But he did smile when we were walking along Port Jackson.

"Christian," I say cautiously, watching the station come into view, "Can we go on the train?" I mumble innocently.

He glowers then stares at me like something is wrong with my face, "Are you insane? The train. . . You want to get on the train? There are enough trains in Seattle, Anastasia"

"I know but, can I? Please," I beg. "I won't ask for anything else"

We're slowly approaching the station when the driver glances to Christian in the rear-view mirror.

"Darling, please," I feign. His eyes widen and he recoils slightly, "This is our honeymoon and this is my first time in Australia. This is such a beautiful place. . ."

The driver's gaze smiles with patriotic satisfaction and pride.

". . . and the people here are so friendly. I want to experience so much on this trip. Can you do this with me, please . . . please?"

He suddenly catches on and smirks deviously. The space between us diminishes and I feel a large lump in my throat, "Well played, Mrs Grey. You'll have your train ride," he says in a low menacing tone, " Mr Walsh, please stop at the station" he announces.

I climb out of the car grinning with excitement and adventure.

"Wait for us near Circular Quay," he tells the driver before stalking towards me, "I understand that this is new and your exhilaration to explore a new country is overwhelming, but you're never to address me like that again"

I pull my bottom lip through my teeth, holding back a smile.

"You seem to overlook tiny details in the contract only when it's convenient to you. You're cunning at times and you know how to make others sympathize with you to get your way, but I'm not your darling. Are we clear?"

"Yes, darling," I mumble, trying my best not to grin.

"Behave, Anastasia," he warns coming closer than I anticipated.

I take a sharp mouthful of air to fill my lungs, my eyes find their way to his lips and they linger there for a long time. The gap between us is a mere few inches, one wrong move and I might find myself too close. My chest heaves almost touching his and I realize that his proximity is making me light-headed and nervous. Inside I'm trembling and tingling at the same time. Unconsciously, I draw my parched bottom lip into my mouth, another betrayal of my senses. Mentally I will myself from his erotic, magnetic pull and take a step back, it's enough to disconnect the spark before it turns into a fireball.

Christian

Just by looking at her face you would know that she's not from around here. For eight minutes I listen silently as she describes the day with flaming cheeks and expressive hands. Not long after the train pulls in and together we get off the bench. Unfortunately, that's when my phone chooses to ring, it's Elliot.

"I'm just making sure you two don't kill each other," he starts without saying hello.

"No, actually we're heading back to the hotel and she's making me take the train, the train, Elliot" I complain, an old lady shots me a harried glance and I quickly fake a smile.

"And what's wrong with that? Isn't public transportation good enough for you? Shit, for once live a little"

"With the way, things are looking she might kill me, and it's only day one. How's Mother doing?" I digress.

"She's doing great; she's spending the weekend at the health spa and she's having shitloads of fun without you so stop worrying. All you've been doing is working and attending to Mother for the past six months. When was the last time you went on a vacation? Relax for an entire day or even got out of the country"

"This isn't a vacation, Elliot . . ."

"You're right it's your honeymoon," he jokes.

My eyes stray to the far left of the platform, then recognition slowly takes shape with each passing second. I had to blink a few times to make sure that this wasn't a dream, that it was her standing right before my eyes. The stomach-churning displeasure that suddenly emerges ensures me that this is the real thing. They're holding hands, laughing and completely oblivious to my presence. I'm a pathetic and hapless onlooker to a woman I loved over a year ago. Forcefully I had to detach myself from everything that's related to her, even her profession. Thinking about it now makes me nauseous, knowing that I promised to fulfil her dreams no matter what. Thankfully, my brother took up the task of handling her contractual arrangements and sponsorships.

They're almost the same height; she smirks provocatively as he whispers close to her ear and she places her hand on the front of his shirt. Her trademark golden hair is shorter extending the length of her neck. An extravagant diamond wedding band sparkles on her slender left hand.

". . . .Christian, hey Christian are you there, man"

My hand tightens around my phone as it threatens to fall from my grasp. "Yeah," I reply absent-mindedly, "Elliot . . . I'm looking at Savannah, she's here, with Ricardo"

"Shit? She's in Australia?" he gasps.

"Yeah, I bet he's here for the Conference with his father," my jaw tightens.

"I know that voice, Christian, forget about her. Don't do anything stupid"

"Stupid . . . like what, Elliot?"

"Like go talk to her, Savannah is trouble and it's best you keep away from the both of them . . . Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, I am . . . I hear you" but I can't look away.

"Good, because she's there with her husband and you're there with your wife"

"My wife?" Anastasia.

It's then I realize that I'm standing outside the train and Anastasia has already boarded, her back is facing me while she's conversing with the woman that grimaced at me earlier. As I'm about to move the doors close shut, she turns around and we lock gazes. A wave of dread washes over her face and my heart begins to sink; Anastasia is on the train without me. Frantically, she comes to the door looking overhead to find a way out. She's panicking with her hands pressed against the glass. I run to the door as the train start to move.

"Get off at Circular Quay," I shout repeatedly. Her eyes are beginning to noticeably gloss over, but she nods.

I stand on the platform feeling like a horrid ass. I allowed my wife to disappear from my sight while focusing on another woman. A woman who has clearly moved on with her life with the man she left me for. A woman who once upon a time I would give anything, including everything I have. Seeing her smile sparked something within me, but seeing her happy with him twisted the knife she ploughed through my heart.

There are a handful of people waiting for another train, and I feel everyone's gaze on me, including Savannah and Ricardo. Swiftly, I moved past them to the stairs keeping my eyes frontward.

How the hell am I going to fix this?

Ana

As the train pulls out of the station, I slowly sink myself into a random seat then wrap my arms around my middle to comfort myself. I have no phone, no money, I left everything in the car. How could I be so reckless, I'm alone in a foreign place with no clue of where I'm going? I just boarded the train without looking back . . . . I thought he was right behind me. I'm not sure but I think he said to get off at the next station. Glancing up in silence, I scan the faces of the people that are remorsefully staring back at me, their expressions make me want to cry.

"Is he your husband?" she indicates to my wedding ring.

"Yes," I whisper to Allison, who is seated next to me.

"It's alright, he'll meet you at Circular Quay. He said so"

"I know, but I wanted him to come with me. . . . Sorry, I know it sounds stupid but . . ."

"Why would you say that? Sharing a new experience with your husband is perfectly natural. Don't fret my dear, there'll be more days for more train rides"

Several minutes passed without effort as we chatted along the way. She indicated to a number of sites we hadn't visited as we rode along the Sydney Bridge.

The view across the waterway from Circular Quay is mesmerizing. I'm without Christian but I'm in the company of Allison. With time to kill, she says she will stick around till Christian arrives. That brief stint of being separated from him was a minor incident but it jolted me at that moment. In the short time I've known him he's never struck me as unreliable or thoughtless. Harsh, yes. Grumpy, yes. Spitefully callous, no.

Out of nowhere, he comes between us, grabbing me by the shoulders, his eyes searching intently at my face. There's a visible remorseful look in his stare, I pull away from him taking a step back.

"What were you doing," I accuse shakily.

"I-I. . ."

"I was alone, you left me back there"

"I didn't leave you, Anastasia," he defends, "I wasn't paying attention, but you're fine now. . ."

"Fine? Do I look fine? I was scared, Christian," I breathe, my eyes beginning to burn.

"I know, and I'm sorry and it will never happen again," he reaches out, taking me gently by my forearm.

His touch sends a trail of heat up my arm. Instinctively, I try to pull away but his grip tightens. I closed my eyes trying my best to shut him out. Fear and rejection is a constant variable in my life. Ethan cheated on me, my father didn't stick around, and my supposed husband despises me. Nevertheless, I wasn't expecting much from this relationship, but I don't expect to be left alone in a strange country. Not even for one minute.

"This isn't going to work," I murmured, shaking my head.

"It's too late to change your mind"

"Not for me. I may not know you, but I told myself that you can be trusted with my safety, and trusting a man that I barely know is ridiculous for me"

"You can trust me, Anastasia. Stop talking crazy"

"Let go of me," I demand. His fingers are fastened securely around my wrist, there's a stronger persistence and firmness in his grip.

"No, I'm trying to apologize here, look at me," he shakes my limp hand, "You're my wife, I fucked up, I get it. As long as we're in this thing together I'll never take my eyes off of you again"

"Saying it doesn't me feel better, Christian. I want you to prove it"

"And I will," he vows, "You may think I'm a monster but I don't take pleasure in upsetting you. . . . Well, not all the time," he heckles.

I jerk my hand again, "This is serious, Christian. I won't allow you to treat me cruel or manipulate my feelings. I've had enough of that"

After hearing those words, he willfully releases my hand making it droop to my side. Oddly, we're alone. The outdoor platform is empty and Allison departed without saying goodbye. He holds my gaze prompting me to elaborate but I won't. Right now I'm too stubborn to do anything for him. All I want to do is go back to the hotel and lick my mental wounds in peace. I've always told myself that I won't do this, but I guess it's uncontrollable.

For my lack of experience in men, it's unfortunate . . . but Ethan will always be the benchmark.

.

.

I look over the crowded room, wishing that I were back at the hotel curled up in those alluring sheets in that beautiful four post king sized bed. Confidently, I remove my coat and hand it over to the hostess. Christian is eyeing my attire with knitted eyebrows; he didn't see the dress before we left the suite but it didn't occur to me that I needed his approval. This dress is stunning and worth every cent. Wordless, he offers his arm and leads me into the room. Periodically, we would pause as we meander through the thicket of gatherers. The idea of Christian Grey acquiring a wife who is presently hanging on his arm seemed enthralling and good gossip. All eyes were suddenly on me . . . me. I was an exhibit, the unknown factor if you will. But I wasn't about to give in or falter, this is Christian's domain and I can sure as hell fit in. Within moments after our introductions, I was able to gracefully immerse myself in their conversations, delving into their ideals and their realm of collective chatter.

I catch my eyes wandering as the servers moved all around our group with platters of fruit, hors-d'oeuvres, tall flutes filled with champagne and oval-shaped glasses carrying whiskey or scotch. My throat feels slightly parched and suddenly I'm unable to keep up with the conversations.

"Go on," he whispers to me, "Go have something to drink, I'll catch up with you"

"Are you sure?" I question.

"Stop asking me that," he murmurs low, "Now go on"

At last, I grin internally.

After stalking a few servers I was able to grab four pieces of appetizers. As I pop each morsel into my mouth, my taste buds and my brain would snap to life. I silently moan with delight, grilled scallops wrapped in prosciutto. Turning to head back to Christian I slip another one past my lips. I'm stopped in my tracks by a handsome man that is deliberately blocking my path. Immediately I can tell, he's charming, seductive, compassionate, and would have had more than half the women in this room tripping over themselves to be at his side if it wasn't for that ring on his finger. Mischievous humour pierces his eyes as he gazes at me, I politely smile not wanting to give an air of misguided interest or impudence. Another waiter scoots by with an empty tray when I lift my hand to him, he doesn't notice my gesture so the man before me flags the stealthy server. I request a non-alcoholic drink and so does he. Normally I'm amused by an attractive man on this level, I wouldn't ogle by my eyes would thank god for sending him in my direction.

Oddly, when our eyes met nothing happened. No spark, no lust, nothing.

"I noticed you when you entered the room," a knowing light gleams in his dark eyes.

"Oh? And what exactly did you notice, Mr.-"

His eyes narrow and a smile ghosted across his face. He takes my hand gently and brings it to his lips "Ricardo, you can call me Ricardo"

"I'm Anastasia Stee-, um, Mrs Anastasia Grey"

"Newly married"

"Yes"

"Congratulations"

"Thank you. I see you're married yourself," I say keenly.

"Yes, but my wife isn't here tonight. She claims she's not feeling well . . . I suppose she caught sight of something this afternoon that made her gravely upset. I left her resting upstairs . . . . Your husband is Christian Grey, yes?"

"Yes"

He shakes his head in amusement, unimpressed with my admission. The man returns with our refreshments and Ricardo receives both glasses.

"That's a shame," he says handing me my glass of sparkling juice.

"Why is that?" I prompt tilting my head to the side.

Magically, Christian appears next to me with an authoritative air, slinking his arm around my waist.

"There you are," he half grinned, "I've been looking everywhere for you"

"Oh," I respond, turning my gaze to him, which ends up being mere inches from my face.

"Ricardo, I see you've met my wife," he states.

"Yes, she was just telling me that you two are newlyweds. Congratulations. Are you sure you're able to keep up with business now that you have such a stunning woman in your life"

Christian moves slightly behind me, leaning his face against my hair and his fingers are splayed against my waist. Thank god for my padded bra, or else the betrayal of my body would have been on full display. Forgetting the company, I hastily have my drink.

"I know how to balance my life and my marriage," he maintains. Ricardo watches Christian's actions with mum interest.

"It was nice meeting you, Mrs Grey. Maybe we'll continue our conversation another time," I sense Christian's fingers sink by a fraction through my dress, "Christian, I'm here at the AST with my father. Maybe, we can have dinner . . . the four of us?"

"Looking forward to it," my husband grumbles.

"Wonderful," Ricardo nods to Christian then aims a smile my way. "Enjoy the rest of your night"

Upon his departure, Christian presses his hand against my lower back, guiding me almost hurriedly across the room. We end up on a private balcony away from the crowds. He's glaring as his eyebrows are snapped together in sheer frustration.

"What did he tell you?" he whispers.

"Almost nothing," I say confused.

"Then what did he want?"

"I don't know, Christian. Maybe he was just being friendly . . . and warm" I add. "It's nice to be in the company of someone who's not barking at you all the time"

"You're here with me, you're my wife. . ."

"I didn't sleep with him, Christian. We were just talking, isn't that why you brought me here? To fit in, to help you strengthen your network of business associates. You're such a damn hypocrite. You said, in the beginning, this was all mutual business and now you want to dictate who I can and cannot talk to, just because someone is being nice to me"

"That's what you call it. You don't know him, I do. So I can say if you can speak to him or not. Since you walked into that room he's had his eye on you. I saw it from a mile away, why couldn't you see that"

"And that's my fault? Half the men in that room have been eye-fucking me all night, including the old fogies standing in our company with their wives. You have no objections to them. . ."

"They're harmless," he spits and emerges closer, standing inches from my face. I hold my ground. "Ricardo Stanley is not to be underestimated, he was able to break me once and that will not happen again. I didn't bring you here to indulge him or make him come in his pants"

I instantly suck in my breath, "Screw you, Christian! I'm not stupid you know. He's fully aware that I'm married to you. And not once did he ever cross the line unlike you, who thinks it's okay to say whatever you want despite my defence. Maybe next time you can debrief me on who I should or shouldn't converse with when we go out. But until then I think I'm free to mingle tonight. So let's go back inside, you don't want your friends to think that your marriage is already off to a rocky start," I walk away before he has time to process what I'd just said.

Unbelievable . . . Why is he so angry? I didn't do anything wrong . . . . . But he did mention his name was Stanley. Is Ricardo the son of Edison Stanley, the same man that tried to buy out his father's company?

With a broad plastic smile, I re-enter the room approaching a group of women which are the other wives I'd met earlier. Coincidentally, I caught them in the middle of my favourite topic, world travel. Mrs Bergner is happily spurting about her visit last month to the Seychelles Islands, and with ardent interest, I hang on to every word.

Christian

This entire night has been one disaster after the next and hell I fucked up again. From the moment I saw her, she looked spectacularly gorgeous. This was the first time I've seen her hair lifted from her face, her hair is pinned high with a few loose tendrils resting along her neck. Her makeup is light but her eyes are seductive and smoky making the colour of her eyes stand out. When she slipped off her coat earlier I saw what every other man in the room saw. The woman is goddamn gorgeous and it's there I fell short. I said nothing. I should have complimented her on that dress. For once, my date puts me in the shade. One moment I was proud she was on my arm, and the next, I wanted to make her go upstairs and change. And on top of that she doesn't realize the extent she has on men, she behaves naïve and demure as if she doesn't know that they're all watching her, desiring her, making them think nasty thoughts. But she's very aware, she just admitted it. I can sense the irritation slicing through me. These days, she's the one who gets the last word in and she has a talent for making me feel like shit in the end. I take a filled glass of wine from the server that approaches me and guzzle it down.

I didn't do anything wrong, I'm just protecting my reputation. Even if Ricardo was flirting with her or not it doesn't matter. What matters, is I made my position clear to him. Anastasia is my wife and there's no way I'll make either of them make me look like a fool again.

My mind slowly goes over the events when I saw him standing in front of her.

He amused her. How do I know? She couldn't stop smiling at him. She's never smiled at me like that before . . . . Although I've never given her reason to. But hell, what was worst was that he kissed her hand. . . She allowed him to put his lips on her, then she blushed. That there in itself is an open invitation, she seemed to enjoy his company willingly. Anyone else who was looking would swear they'd known each other before this night. I'm not wrong about this and I'm not overthinking anything. The fact that Savannah left me for Ricardo shouldn't influence my thoughts where Anastasia is concerned, but I don't care. Savannah hid the fact that we were in a committed relationship from most people included him. He apologized months later but I still don't trust him.

Looking across the room, I can tell that Anastasia is genuinely happy and comfortable with the ladies. I turn away and stifle an emerging flare of guilt then joined cigar smoke cloud of men to get those lingering thoughts out of my head.