Here is the beginning of the ball. Thank you for your patience and generous reviews. So happy you enjoy! And Christmas is coming for the Greys! Keep an eye out for that one. xo
Nat King Cole croons Stardust as we make our way, arm-in-arm, beneath a blush canopy, leaving the night sky behind to walk together ahead into the sparkling unknown. I've heard this song many times; it's a favorite of Grace's. She and my father would dance to it on late Saturday nights when they thought we were in bed, but we were really watching from the staircase. The days of spying from the banister are long gone, but the song remains with me. I could never understand why they danced so lovingly to such a sad piece. Although I enjoyed the melody, I always thought this guy was a pathetic sap who needed to get his shit together and move on. I could never fathom being that man, until I was him when Ana left me.
"The music is lovely," Ana says, holding close to my arm. I've only ever taken the walk beneath this canopy alone. It's nice to take it with her.
"Rather depressing for a welcome piece, but yes."
"I don't think it's so depressing," Ana says. "More bittersweet."
"Oh yeah, where's the sweet?"
"Aren't you the one who said pleasure and pain are two sides of the same coin?"
"Are you using my words against me, Miss Steele?"
"Yes, Mr. Grey," Ana says.
"I don't know. The girl... She left him..." My words catch in my throat, remembering when Ana did the same.
"But, she left him with stardust."
"Fair point well made." I smile.
I've never thought about the sweet in sad before. Maybe that's why my parents danced and why I find comfort in the dark at my piano. Maybe that's why weeping for her when she left was better than feeling nothing at all. And maybe that's the reason I laid my life at her feet for a chance to start again. There's a sweetness in the sadness of stardust. Though, I'll move heaven and earth not to feel that sadness again.
"Have I told you how lovely you are?" I ask, bringing the back of her hand to my lips and kissing it.
"About every fifteen minutes," she smiles.
"That long? I should be ashamed!" I smile back. "I'll up my game."
One foot in front of the other, Grey. I watch my steps as I escort Ana up the twinkle-lit path toward the front door of my youth. I don't want to trip on her train and make an ass of myself on my first big date—Chance from YouTube warned about the pitfalls of foot-on-skirt disasters, especially on low-lit paths and high stairs. And if that little shit can walk right in ball-squeezing skinny jeans, then damn it so can I.
The door remains as it was, even in the midst of this fairytale. Though somehow it seems brighter and more distinguished now in the twinkle of ivory lights and framed by drapes of lavender. I've walked through that door more times than I can count. It's seen the pain of a small boy who sought to hide away behind the strength of its wood. The fury of a troubled young man who slammed it more times than his parents ever deserved. But I, nor the wood I'm sure, could have ever imagined I'd return to it with a girl on my arm and a smile on my face, planning for a future I can only see with her. What do they say?—maybe you can come home again... I gaze at Ana. Or maybe I've just found home for the first time.
"What are you thinking about, Mr. Grey?" Ana asks, looking up at me; her blue eyes shimmering behind the mask. I so want to stop and kiss her in the glow of soft lavender, but I resist.
"Sneaking away with you later," I whisper in her ear and kiss her head, instead. The meadow scent of the shampoo that costs more than most college tuitions still fresh in her hair.
She giggles as we step inside, and although I'm not a superstitious man, I give the wood a little knock as we pass.
I remember Taylor and the others are tailing us. I just hope they're not getting too good a gander at Ana's. I turn around to look and Taylor gives me a thumbs up. I'm about to let him have it, but I realize he's referring to security matters going according to plan and not the greatness of Ana's assets.
"I feel like Cinderella," Ana says, taking in the ice sculptures and color-lit fountains; the music of the string quartet; and the line full of tuxedos and ball gowns that cover the lawn ahead. Over the years this ball has become a bore to me, but seeing it through Ana's eyes is like seeing everything for the first time. And like her, it's enchanting.
"Cinderella has nothing on you," I look to her and she dips her eyes, bashful, as she smiles. "Besides, you're not leaving in a pumpkin at midnight with a bunch of rats dressed up like horses. You're coming home with me." I survey the crowd surrounding us to make sure no rats dressed up like horses are getting any ideas about midnight with my princess and her pumpkins.
"What if you discover your glass slipper doesn't fit my foot?" she asks with an air of humor, but I don't think she's completely teasing. Is she feeling self conscious in all this grandeur? Doesn't she know she's the most stunning thing that's ever stepped into this place—or this life?
"It's impossible. My slipper was only ever made for you." I wink.
"And if it was lost and you couldn't find me?"
"Oh, Miss Steele, I'd build a factory to make nothing but glass slippers, only for your foot. And you should know by now, I'd always be able to find you." I give her a wicked grin.
"Stalker," she mouths and we both laugh.
"Can I have a shot?" some idiot asks, interrupting our slipper-stalker moment. I briefly wonder if he's mistaken me for one of the penguin-suited set that passes out drinks on silver trays and he's asking me for Patron or Grey Goose, but then I see the camera around his neck and his press pass. Normally I'd be annoyed by such requests, but this is my big moment to show the world my girl.
"Of course," I pull Ana close to my side and he flashes a few off fast. That's probably how he performs most activities in his life. But, I don't spend too long pondering that observance.
"Your name?" he asks Ana.
She's about to answer, but I jump in to make sure he gets it right.
"This is my girlfriend. Anastasia Rose Steele. With an e on the end."
"E on the end of Rose?"
"Steele!"
"Not Rose?"
"Rose, too!"
"So, two e's?"
"Yes, but not together."
"Are Rose and Steele hyphenated?"
"No! Three separate words." Jesus, I don't want the Seattle Times to print that! Everyone will think she's a married feminist and no one will believe she's my girlfriend.
"Got it. Anastasia Rose—no hyphen—Steele." What a fucking idiot.
"Girlfriend. You got that too, right?"
"Yeah." He gives me a flippant nod and walks away to snap a few of the mayor, probably before he's intoxicated and his people are shielding him from press. I'm sure they don't want a repeat of the Gates 2008 New Years party disaster where he gave golden showers to two bimbos in the hot tub, wearing Bill's speedo. I don't know what was more disturbing— the golden showers in the hot tub or the fact that Bill Gates wears a speedo. Needless to say, he wasn't invited back. I still don't know how he was reelected.
"Make sure you print that!" I call after him. That fucker better print girlfriend or I may have to buy the Seattle Times and do it myself.
Another house photo guy approaches us. But, he's quite older, much slower and smells of tobacco he's tried to cover up with a strong mint. Either that or an aggressive arthritis rub.
"Pose against the ivy!" he says, pointing to a wall set up for photos and we follow.
"Two photographers?" Ana whispers to me. I think she's surprised more exist out there than Jose.
"Yes, the last one was for the Seattle Times and this one is a souvenir we can purchase."
"This really is like prom!"
"Did you take a picture with that fucker, too?!"
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Does that mean she did or she didn't? I don't like the idea of some undeserving asshat in a picture with her, floating around out there. I wonder if Welch can dig it up...
We're led to a wall of ivy with floral lettering that reads: Coping Together. I don't think Grace fully thought that one out. Couples are supposed to pose by that? Instead of a charity ball, it makes it look like an announcement that there's something harrowing that they have to work through in their relationships. People certainly won't be ordering these shots for their Christmas cards. Luckily, I don't care about Christmas; I just want a shot with Ana on our first real date.
I put an arm around Ana's waist and hold her close as we both look expectantly at the camera. Whatever we're expecting doesn't happen. It takes the photo guy about the length of Grandpa Theo's life so far to set up the shot and nearly blinds us when he finally surprises us with a flash that for a split second makes me fear we've all been taken out by a bomb.
"Okay, done!" he says and waves us along.
"What do you mean done?" I ask. "I didn't even have my eyes open!"
"Yeah, you did."
He shows me the screen on the back of his camera. He's correct, they're open alright.
"I look like I just witnessed the Kennedy assassination!" Either that or someone stuck a firecracker up my ass and it just went off. "Do it again!"
"I only have time for one. You're holding up the line."
"It look you a half-hour to take one picture that I look like hell in!" Ana always looks beautiful.
"Exactly. I took extra time with you to perfect my shot. I can't help how you pose."
"You think I purposely posed with my eyes popping out of my head and my hand to my ear in mid scratch."
"I don't know."
"You don't know much!"
"Christian, it's okay," Ana says.
"No, Anastasia. I want you to have a commemorative photo you can be proud of." I'm not letting the only formal shot she has out there be her and that prom date who sucked her face. And I'm sure it's better than this shit. High school's thrive on prom memorabilia.
I throw my black Amex on the table. "Make the time!"
Fourteen shots later and a promise that I'll get a final approval on Photoshopping, we have our souvenir picture. I feel like we lived up to the words on the wall by coping together through that fucking nightmare.
I place an arm around Ana's waist and lead us inside, where the waddle of penguins serves champagne on trays. I pick one up for Ana and one for myself.
"This is for my girlfriend," I say to a penguin, pointing to the extra glass and then to Ana. "She's with me." He nods, looking at me like I'm odd. I don't care what he thinks, I'm just so proud to say it. I feel like telling everyone.
"It's pink," she giggles as I hand her the champagne and her cheeks dust the color of it.
"It knew you'd be coming."
"Oh I hope so, Mr. Grey." She bites her lip and raises a brow.
"Behave, Miss Steele." The effect of her balls goes straight to mine.
She starts to bring the crystal to her lips and I brush her wrist with my fingers to prevent her sip.
"I'd like to propose a toast." I hold up my glass.
"To what?" She holds up hers.
"To an evening under the stars filled with... more."
She smiles as our glasses kiss and we both sip the sparkling wine that tastes sweeter than I ever remember.
It's as if a freak show has come to town when we arrive on the main floor—I'm the freak and she's the show. Heads turn and necks crane to get a look at the woman on the ever-solo Christian Grey's arm. One girl I think I went to middle school with just knocked into a waiter, trying to get a gander, and ended up with a bust-full of Bordeaux. But, if it's the same girl I remember from Phys Ed, there's not much of a mess to clean up.
"How many people are here?" She looks surprised—much like the night I stole her virtue—by the size and scope of the event.
"Three hundred or so, you'd have to ask my mother." Although I could do without two hundred and ninety-eight about now.
Asshole upon asshole line the floor, mooning—pun definitely intended— over my girl as we walk by. Yeah, fuckers, watch and weep. While you dated every two-bit whore and no-face Nancy, I was waiting for the best! I thought my brawling days were behind me, but watching these men salivate over my Ana makes me think they're plentifully ahead.
"Christian!" I turn to see Bent Richards, that fucker I rowed with in high school, coming my way. His real name is Bentley Richards, but everyone shortened it to Bent Dicks after he lost his virginity to Beth Somers and she passed around photos she snapped of his leaning tower of penis, post breakup. He let the name stick, because it was a reminder to everyone that he had actually been laid.
"Bent," I say, pulling Ana in closer to my side.
"Haven't seen you in ages on the course!" He mocks a swing of his club through the air. Oh yes, golf. I try to avoid him on the green. "Afraid I'll embarrass you out there?" he snickers.
"Yes," I say, eying the douche up and down. What am I saying?— a douche actually goes up a vagina. He's more like a piss can. "Besides, I've been busy... With my girlfriend." I cock my head toward Ana. She starts to reach out a hand for him to shake, but I reach down and hold it before she can make goddess-on-gremlin contact.
"I can see. So, the rumors are true. Grey actually has a girl." He runs his eyes over her so hard, I'm surprised they don't roll out of his head and end up in California. He probably hasn't been laid since Beth Somers. I still have bitter memories of him trying to get his hands on my oar. He was always jealous I was the stroke and he was the bow. He still wants what's mine.
"And you still don't."
He guffaws like I was joking. Now I remember why I really hated him— he laughs like a donkey who thinks he's a unicorn.
"Aren't you going to introduce me, Grey?" It takes all my willpower not to introduce my fist to his face.
"No." I whisk Ana away. He's still laughing like a magical jackass.
"That was rather rude," she says.
"Trust me, you don't want Bent Dicks in your life." That sounded wrong, but the point was made. On both fronts.
"You're here!" Mia shouts, rushing to us on lengthy stems. Her dress is so ruffled and pink, I wonder if Barbie will sue for stealing the design. She is lovely, though. I'm curious to see who she brought tonight. I hope it's not that fucker Sean.
"Yes, we made it." I motion to Ana.
"Oh Christian, I'm so happy! She's still with you!" Mia wraps her arms around my neck like I'm a man who's survived cancer, the plague and diphtheria, simultaneously, and just finished the three subsequent races for their cures. For fuck's sake! It's only been like two weeks since she's seen Ana! Oh that's right, we were broken up for six of those days. I'm glad Mia doesn't know.
"Mia, please."
"And Ana!" She turns and sweeps her into a quick but meaty hug and nails my toe with her heel in the process. I know there will be blood. "You look so gorgeous! You have to meet my friends. None of them can believe Christian actually has a girlfriend!" Jesus, must she make me sound like such a loser in front of Ana? I mean, I know Ana knows all of this, but Mia doesn't know she knows. Have some decorum!
"She doesn't want to meet those-" Before I can finish my sentence, she's dragged Ana over to that gabbing gaggle. Although I would rather Ana have nothing to do with them, it does delight me that they'll all meet my girl. Hopefully, they'll all leave me alone once and for all.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for a man who's painfully obviously in love..." A British accent claims my attention. I turn my head to see Flynn, who's amusing himself by watching me watch her.
"I'm sure you get much enjoyment seeing me like this."
"Actually, I do." He looks in the direction my eyes were just facing. "Which one is Miss Steele?"
"The drop dead gorgeous one!" Isn't it fucking obvious?
"There are a few girls over there..."
"None like Ana!" There's no one like her, anywhere, ever.
I watch Ana as she talks to Mia's friends. They're all minions compared to her—she's a goddess. The only good thing about her being this distance from me is that I can admire from afar the way her hair cascades down her back; how her dress hugs to her curves; the glow of her milky skin shimmering in the candlelight. "She's the perfect one in silver." I sigh.
"I think I found the man I was looking for. And he's even worse off than previously diagnosed." He laughs. I think he's right. And something about that makes me smile.
Oh god. Ana's talking to Lily. The smile immediately leaves my mug. She's the worst of them! That girl has had a crush on me since she was in the fourth grade. And when I came into money, it only intensified. Batting her spider lashes, thrusting her non existent chest all over creation in my presence, flashing those overly bleached snaggleteeth that look like they eat dicks dipped in Clorox for dinner. She's the kind of girl who would be attractive if it weren't for her face, her body and her soul.
"Excuse me, Flynn. I need to rescue my girl.
I take off.
"Ladies, please excuse me, but I'd like to reclaim my date." I snake my arm around Ana's waist, pulling her close. "I'm so happy you've met my girlfriend." I give the eye to Lily, who snarls a smile and I'm nearly blinded for the second time tonight.
"Nice meeting you!" Ana waves to the girls and the piranha as I pull her away. "Thank you," she mouths to me when we're at a distance.
"I saw Lily was over there. She is one nasty piece of work."
"I think she likes you."
"The feeling is definitely not mutual. Come, let me introduce you to some people."
#######
"This is my girlfriend," I say as Ana shakes the hand of this Hollywood dipshit standing in front of us. His eyes are feasting on Ana and he won't stop shaking her hand. Who does this fucking loser think he is?
"So nice to meet you, Mr. Depp," Ana says, with her hand still in his. Still!
I peel her fingers from his sex-clamp and put her hand in mine—where it belongs.
"She's my girlfriend," I say again and he ignores me. Isn't he with someone? Of course, she's nothing next to Anastasia, but has he no shame?!
"Are you an actress?" he asks, with some put-on, indeterminable European type accent. It's like the Queen's British mixed with Milwaukee. He's obviously intoxicated already and it's only seven o'clock. Hopefully he's awake for the auction. Maybe he'll buy those beauty treatments from Elena. Lord knows he needs it for the bags under his eyes.
"No, I can't act," she says. Is she blushing. For him?! My blood is boiling.
"You know I've got a part in my film—"
"She only does movies for me!" I say, dragging her away.
"Wow, I can't wait to tell Kate about that!"
I roll my eyes. I decide to introduce her to an anesthesiologist next. Old doctors are better for my heart. And, I don't think she'll be eager to tell Kavanagh about an aging bald guy who gets excited about knocking people out for knee surgeries.
Kavanagh... I take a deep, cleansing breath, filling my lungs with snark-free air. Oh, how nice it is to be without her and my brother tonight.
One of the penguin contingency passes by and Ana grabs another champagne off they tray. I'll need to get food in her soon, or I'll be holding her hair over my mother's rosebush later.
"Who's this?" Marty Eccles asks, slopping over to me and Ana. "I never thought I'd see a girl on your arm, Grey." Although he looks like he just crawled here from a local bar, I know that's just how he is. Every time I see him, his shirt is half untucked and he has a stain in an odd area. When he puts on a tux, it's even worse. He looks like a seal about to perform for the philharmonic on two hours of sleep and a bottle of Jack.
"This is my girlfriend, Anastasia." Asshole. I keep hold of her hand, so there's no risk of another sex infused shaking incident.
"What do you do, Anastasia?"
"I work in publishing at SIP."
"Ooooooh. I heard they're in for a hostile takeover." He gives me an overdone conspiratorial wink.
"Oh, I'm just a lowly employee. I wouldn't know." She answers perfectly.
"Trust me, she'll be running the company one day." I say. It's true, she's the smartest girl I know. She could run circles around Jack Hyde. But, I'm sure he'd like that. I'll deal with that fucker later; I have enough fuckers to deal with tonight.
"Cute mask, Grey. Is it like Zorro cabaret?" He points at my feathers. Fucker.
"Excuse us, Marty." I pull Ana away. I've had to extract Ana from so many situations tonight, I feel like a dentist. It's similar; we both pull to spare the pain of rot.
The lights flicker, alerting us that we're supposed to take our seats. I guide Ana to our table. My mother is standing at attention next to her chair, ready to greet us. She smiling too broadly and standing too stiff. She's either extremely nervous to make everything perfect for Ana, or she's been hit by an epic round of gas and she's trying to keep from erupting on the crowd.
"Mother," I lean in and kiss her cheek.
"Oh, Christian! So formal!" she giggles like a school girl. Formal? That's how I always greet her. Yeah, I'm sure it's not the gas. She's putting on for Ana.
"Grandmother, Grandfather," I say to my grandparents as they both give Ana the once over.
"Oh he's finally found someone!" My grandmother shouts so the whole place can hear. "Please, make an honest man out of him!"
Ana giggles and looks to me. I just shrug my shoulders.
"Mother, don't embarrass her!" Grace says and pulls her back like she's afraid Ana's a wild animal and might run when startled. I fear the same thing.
"Don't listen to the old coot!" My grandfather says. "Just put the pickle in the jar and be happy!"
"Dad!" Grace says. My poor mother.
My grandfather is a lively one! And I was right, he is the only other man in the room wearing feathers on his mask. I'm glad Elliot's not here, he would crucify me over my plume.
"Ana, this is Sean," Mia says, approaching us with her date. Fuck, it is Sean!
Ana shakes his hand, far too welcoming for my taste.
I don't know what Mia sees in this idiot. He's got the personality of tree frog, the greasiest hair known to man and is two inches shorter than her on a good day. Today, with her in those heels, is not that day. I think he's trying to get into her pants. I swear, if I find out he already has, I will kill him on the spot.
I give him a firm, fast shake, so he knows my hands are strong enough to ring his neck on the quick.
We all find our seats and my father takes the stage to speak about the reason for the event tonight. Although he doesn't say it, everyone knows it's me. This is always a strange point in the evening for me. I feel exposed; as if my life before the Greys is put on display. He talks about mothers and fathers and children who've made it past the evils of drug abuse and have become real families. It makes me think of the crack whore and how that didn't happen for me. And although I hate her, there's still a part of me that wonders why it couldn't have happened for us. No matter who she was, she was mine, until she wasn't anymore and I had no control over that.
I feel a brush of fingers on my hand that's resting on my knee. I look down and find Ana's hand on mine. Without a word, I intertwine my fingers with hers and give her a squeeze, then stroking my thumb in her skin. I've always sat alone during this speech, staring ahead with a blank expression, so no one could read my thoughts. But, she can. And to my surprise, it's comforting to have her hand to hold through it.
My father finishes his speech and joins us a the table, greeting Ana with hug and me with a handshake and a nod that says he's proud I'm with her. If you asked my family, they'd say Ana was the greatest accomplishment in my life. And if you asked me, I'd say they were right.
"Everyone, pick a table head," the MC says. I can't believe they got Ron Dale to do this again. Just because he makes bingo announcements at my grandparents retirement center and he's been on the radio once for witnessing an electrical fire at a diner, that doesn't make him Bob Hope. More like Bob-no hope-we'll-get-through-the-evening-without-dying-from-bad-cheese. And I'm not talking about the dairy product; I'm speaking of the entertainment value.
"Oh—me, me!" Mia says, hopping up and down in her seat. Sean's watching this. I glare at him and he cuts his eyes away from any parts on Mia that tend to fly. That's right fucker, I'm on to you and your hop-watching!
"Everyone. Attention! Attention!" MC Ron scurries around the stage, waving his arms to silence the crowd. But, there's no one talking. We're all just staring ahead watching the little man going crazy to quiet us. I think he gets off on creating intrigue and overly dramatized hand gestures.
"In the center of the table you will find an envelope," MC Ron continues his spiel. "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." Like someone is going to swipe money going to charity? Everyone in this room is at least a millionaire and at best—me.
I pull out two hundred dollar bills from my wallet and hand one to Ana.
"I'll pay you back," she says, reluctantly taking the bill.
I give her a look that says "when pigs fly over Alaska and bring sunshine on their backs for Eskimos in winter." And yes, it is possible to get all that in with a look.
I pull a pen out of my pocket, write my name on the bill and then hand it to Ana.
"You carry a nice pen in your pocket," she whispers, leaning in to me.
"You should see what's in my pants." I lean closer in to her.
"I intend to."
Fuck. Me. Now. Please!
I can see my mother staring at us and smiling. Although, I don't think she can hear what we're saying, it's still embarrassing to talk about your fountain pen in front of your mother.
After a rather lengthy decision making process about where to mark her moniker, Ana writes her name sweetly on the upper right side of the monetary note. And for the briefest moment, I imagine her writing Grey instead of Steele...
Get ahold of yourself, Grey! You've been on one half of one real date in your life and now you're planning trips down the aisle and picket fences and happily ever afters. But, Anastasia Grey does have a lovely ring to it...
Grey!
Mia passes around the envelope and we all put our bills inside. All this for that fucking gift basket they give out later. With everything leading up to it, you'd think it was filled with gold coins and Ferrari keys. All it is is nuts & chews, hair are products and a gift certificate to the salon. And I don't even think it's worth enough to cover the cost of Ana's shampoo!
Thank God Elena isn't coming tonight. I don't see her, so it looks like she kept her word. That's all I need— a run in with Ana and Mrs. Robinson.
"Is it time to eat?" My grandfather asks.
"Yes, you old crab apple, hold your horses!" My grandmother says.
"I can't hold anything, I'm eighty!" He looks around. "And I usually eat at 5:30!"
I snicker at their back and forth.
"Don't laugh, young man," my grandmother says. "This will be you two in so many years." She points to Ana and me. "And you'll be scolding your own grandson for laughing at you.
Grandson? Ana and I as bickering grandparents? That would mean we'd have to have children, so they could have children in order for us to have grandchildren to scold. And we'd have to raise them! Like in the same house with us! I gulp. Although I can illicitly imagine a wedding, children are off the table. At least for twenty or thirty years.
"Ana, do you like duck?" My mother asks, nervously. Here she is with the duck again!
"Excuse me?" Ana asks.
"Do you like duck?"
"Of course she does, she's with my grandson!" My grandfather says and I snort a laugh. He really likes making sex jokes with me. It's like he was storing them up for all these years and he's firing them all off tonight.
"Just say yes and move on," I whisper to her.
"Yes, it's fine." Ana says.
"Oh good! It's covered in cherries," grace says.
"A duck covered in cherries. Nothing better!" My grandfather snorts a laugh and so do I. Thankfully, my mother didn't get the joke.
They've pulled back the canvas, revealing the bay and the lights of Seattle. Ana's mesmerized by the view and I'm mesmerized by mine. I could watch her all night. In fact, I intend to. I'd like to watch more of her as soon as we get through this dinner.
Silver trays are placed in front of us. It's smoked salmon on an overly brown brioche with the paltriest dot of crème fraiche. At least the fish looks fresh and Ana looks like she can't wait to dig in. I've discovered that any dish Ana wants to eat, quickly becomes my new favorite.
"Hungry?" I lean in and whisper in Ana's ear. And I'm not just talking about the fish on the plate.
"Very." She bites her lip. Oh that lip!
As I look down at my tartare, I realize it's going to be a long four courses before my hunger can truly be satisfied.
#######
"And every year Gracie makes pies with apples from my orchard just like the ones Elliot used to throw at Christian's head," my grandfather says to Ana, with a laugh. He's been talking to her all through dinner, telling her embarrassing stories from my youth. I can tell he loves her. As well he should. So do I.
"Oh yes, Ana," my mother says. "You'll have to come to Thanksgiving!"
"Mother, it's June," I say. "Isn't it a little early to plan for Thanksgiving?" For God's sake, they're going to scare her away. Next thing you know, they'll want us married and pregnant by the time fall rolls around.
"It's never too early to plan for pie," Grace says. I should frame that quote.
Lance, my mother's friend, talks my ear off about my plans for telecommunications in the third world. Although I'm passionate about it, I can't fully concentrate because I have to keep one ear and one eye open for what my embarrassingly overzealous family might be saying to Ana.
"Grey," Greg Dennison, another fuck I went to school with, says as he walks up to the table. He's got a blue and red mask that makes him look like Captain America or something. At least I'm not the only one in here who looks like a some movie house character.
"Dennison." I give him a nod that encourages departure.
"Excellent seeing you tonight." He looks over at Ana, who's being told by my grandfather about my fifth grade project on the dinosaurs in great prehistorical detail. "See you later at the auction." And then, he walks away.
Auction? I'll be here at the table when all those items are being bid on. How will I see him? And I need a spa day at Esclava like I need a hole in my head. I got that message loud and clear from Ana this morning.
"And then he asked me where the dinosaur hides his pecker!" My grandfather says to Ana, hysterically laughing. I shake my head, mortified.
"Christian," Mia says. "Sean's interested in business. He's studying to be an entrepreneur."
"You're in school?" I ask. News to me.
"No," he says. "I'm working at the YMCA." I think he's going to say more, but he doesn't.
"That's where you study?"
"Yeah."
"I didn't know they had a collegiate program now."
"I study what's going on around me."
"For what purpose?"
"I want to manage one, you know, one day." He looks away, like it's a far off dream. Over my dead body will my sister end up with some greasy schlump who manages a YMCA!
"He's really good with his muscles," Mia says.
"How do you know that?" I ask. This could be that moment of murder.
"She watches me lift."
"Lift what?" I ask.
"Weights," he says. Sometimes I swing kettle bells or jugs of water."
"And you watch this at the YMCA, Mia?"
She nods like she's proud of this.
I can't believe my sister hangs out at the YMCA with a derelict weight lifter. How do I get rid of this idiot?
"And then he was obsessed with how the postal system worked...," my grandfather continues with his informational seminar on the oddities of my youth.
"Christian," says yet another asshole from my high school who comes up to greet me. "See you later." Then, he walks off. At least he didn't linger.
Finally, my grandfather stops talking when my mother's housekeeper—that Heidi-locks girl or whatever—alerts us that dessert is being served. Ana's really giving her the ice eye. Is she honestly jealous of Heidi-locks? I've never even spoken to her. Like really, never. I just nod when she hands me food items and send her away.
"What's for dessert?" Grandpa asks.
"Candied figs, maple ice cream and a selection of cheeses." Heidi-locks says to him, but her eyes are fixed on me. Oh, please! In response, I pick up Ana's hand off her lap and bring it to my lips to kiss. Heidi-locks, thankfully, looks away.
"Who the hell serves figs and cheese for dessert?" My grandfather asks, on the verge of outrage.
"Dad!" Grace says. "Don't get so excited! We'll get you some pudding."
"Good! I love pudding! In fact, pudding is something to get excited over!"
"Thats because it's the only thing you can chew, you old geezer!" My grandmother laughs.
"I can chew ice cream!"
"I vote for vanilla," I say, and Ana nudges my leg.
"I didn't know you liked vanilla ice cream so much," my mother says.
"I didn't either..." I look at Ana. "But, it's recently become my favorite." I smile and Ana blushes.
"Ladies and gentleman!" Oh great, MC Ron is back. "It's time for the baskets to be awarded." Oh geez, the baskets.
He calls around to each table and selects someone to pull out a bill from that white envelope we've all stuffed our money into and guarded with our lives. Grace is selected for our table. She reaches in the envelope and fingers the bills.
"Mom, just pull one out," I say. The spot light's been on her for like two minutes, but she continues her fingering.
"I want to make sure I get it right."
Finally, she pulls one out. She has to pull out her glasses to read the writing, too. "What does that say?" She holds it out for Mia to read. "Sea man?"
"Sea man!" My grandfather laughs. "That's my grandson!"
"Dad!" Mom says, mortified again and still under the spotlight.
I snort a laugh and so does Ana.
"It says Sean Mann!" Mia says, clapping excitedly.
"Yessssss!" Sean says, standing fast with arms high in the air in victory.
He's so damn excited about it. The fucker barely says anything all night, but makes a fool of himself over hair care and cashews. Well, maybe he can wash that rat trap with the shampoo.
"How are you feeling?" I whisper, leaning into Ana, letting my leg brush against hers under the table. I'm getting so horny for her. I think we've waited long enough. How many hours since we had sex last? I think it's over three; maybe four.
"Uncomfortable," she says with breath so quick I know it won't be long.
"I'll escort you to the powder room." By way of my childhood bedroom.
I stand and reach for her hand and she joins me on my feet. All the other men stand, too.
"Where are you two going?" My mother asks and winks. It's almost like she's encouraging me and Ana to go off together and love it up in the boathouse or something. What happened to my proper church-going mother? What am I talking about? This is probably what she's been praying for for years.
"I'm going to show Ana to the restroom."
"No—I'll show her!" Mia bounds up, and before I know it, they're gone. So much for our secret rendezvous.
A few businessmen I know come over and we talk about the markets and some future plans for Asia. Another politician wants an endorsement; I basically tell him he can fuck himself unless he helps me with Darfur. All boring nonsense. Where the fuck is Ana?
"Hey, Grey," Another fucker from high school comes over before I can sit down. "Where's your date? She didn't leave, did she?"
"Of course not! She's in the powder room."
"Can't wait to see you two together later." He just smiles and then takes off.
What the fuck is wrong with these assholes?
"Sir," Taylor says, walking up to me with a somewhat alarmed expression on his face. "Something has come to my attention."
"What? Is it Leila?!" I gasp.
"No, sir. No news there."
"Then, what?"
"Your old high school friends."
"I don't have any friends from high school."
"The men that keep approaching you?"
"The assholes I hate but exchange pleasantries with?" He nods. "What about them?"
"They're going to try to bid on Miss Steele at the auction."
"She's not in the auction!"
He nods slowly, as if to tell me bad news.
"The first dance auction for the single ladies."
"She's not single! She's with me!"
"She's unmarried..."
Oh fuck. That's right. I totally forgot about this. I never had a date to buy before and I certainly didn't want to dance with anyone. Well, I bid on Mia, but that stopped when she was twelve and wanted to dance with "real boys" that weren't her brother.
Wait— what am I worried about? I'm Christian Grey.
"They don't have enough money to outbid me!"
"That's not the point. They want to get you so jealous and riled up, you'll get into a brawl and humiliate yourself in front of Miss Steele, your family and the entire crowd."
"Why the hell would they want to do that?"
"They think you're..."
"What?
"It's hard for me to repeat, sir."
"Just say it!"
"How can I put this more politely?—A sexually charged nether-region who thinks his product of waste smells like a delightful bouquet."
I think about that for a moment.
"They said that I'm a fucking asshole who thinks his shit doesn't stink?"
"You got it, sir!" he says, excitedly. Why do I feel like we're in a game show all of a sudden and I just got the big-prize puzzle right?
Those fuckers! High school really never ends, does it? Especially for losers at real life.
"Don't worry, Taylor. I have it all under control. Two can play at that game.
"I think there are like seven of them, sir."
"Whatever. They only amount to one mistake, anyway."
I see Ana and Mia coming back this way.
"Let me know if anything else comes up."
"Right away, sir."
He takes off as Ana approaches me.
"Do you feel better?" I ask.
"Not altogether."
"Join the club. But, I may steal you away later." I kiss her hair, then escort her back to our seats.
The lights dim, which could only mean one thing... The auction is set to begin.