The Lucky Ones
Chapter 25
Threshold
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Anastasia
"You don't need these right now."
Christian takes my bridal bouquet and tote, handing them off to Sawyer, who now looks quite ridiculous. Sawyer playfully poses with the tote on his shoulder, and the bouquet held to his nose. Taylor snaps a picture of Sawyer on his phone, and all four of us share a hearty laugh.
With their boss in a jolly mood, both Sawyer and Taylor have enjoyed our Montana sojourn.
My handsome husband scoops me up in his arms, embracing his role as groom. I relish his adoration and attention. With the exception of a security guard, the Escala lobby is empty. Taylor snaps photos until the elevator doors close.
"Push 'PH' for the penthouse," my darling man instructs. "Then use the keypad to input the code. It's our combined initials and birthdates…ARS0910CTG0618. I changed it after I met you in Montana."
"It's easy to remember, but such a prosaic code doesn't seem very secure."
"I rather like it, but I'll let you come up with something more imaginative. I'm happy to hear that you're security minded. Ready to see your new home?"
"Can't wait." I kiss his cheek.
Christian's eyes blink rapidly and he looks straight ahead. He needn't be nervous about this. I'm expecting a bachelor pad, not a spa retreat.
"I'm looking forward to the kitchen…and your bedroom." Hoping to reassure him, I offer a playful wink.
"Our bedroom. Other than family and staff, no one's ever seen my bedroom."
"Not even Mrs. Robinson?" I'm sure she inserted herself in his business at every opportunity.
I feel Christian's body tense. His grip around me tightens.
"Shit…full disclosure. Mrs. Lincoln helped me find the apartment and the decorator. She saw the master bedroom once, completely empty, years ago. But she's never stayed overnight. I see those wheels turning…the sex ended before I bought this place. She did come for dinner or pop in for a visit occasionally."
I don't like his answer. It's disturbing to know his abuser helped him choose the apartment and decorate it. It prejudices me. I haven't set foot in the place, and I already dislike it.
I kiss his beautiful mouth and the elevator opens to reveal Sawyer, Taylor, and a woman who must be Mrs. Jones. She's fortyish, with dark blonde hair and soft brown eyes. How did Taylor and Sawyer get up here ahead of us?
"Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Grey," they say in unison.
"Thank you." I'm touched by their warmth and care.
Christian carries me across the elevator threshold, through the foyer, into a spacious living area.
"As much as I love your arms around me, please put me down. I want to wander around, get a feel for the place."
He sets me down, but takes my hand.
"Wander? No, you're staying right next to me."
The space is bright and open. Have I entered a high end furniture showroom? There's nothing personal about it. The walls are stark white, with the exception of one wall the color of wet cement. The upholstery is covered in dull shades of gray. The art is abstract, mostly black and white. The apartment is cold, both literally and figuratively.
I let go of Christian's hand, and wrap my arms around myself.
"You okay, baby? Looks like you've caught a chill."
"Do you mind adjusting the thermostat?"
"Whatever you like." Christian looks worried. He's texting someone, probably about resetting the room temperature.
I turn to look for Sawyer, Taylor, and Mrs. Jones, but they're gone. I want to get acquainted with Mrs. Jones, and learn how Christian's domestic life operates.
"Give me a tour. Kitchen first, please."
Christian takes my hand and leads me to a sleek kitchen, filled with high end appliances. I should be jumping up and down over all this high-efficiency gadgetry, but something about the apartment gives me the willies.
I want to like this place. I really do. It's my husband's home, and it's where we'll start our married life.
"What do you think?" There's hope in his voice.
I don't want to hurt his feelings.
"It's a cook's dream." Not this cook's dream, but somebody's. "Show me the rest of your place."
"Our place. Come."
He proudly shows me the room Elliot calls the "balls room." It's a bit warmer than the more public areas. There's Seahawks and Mariners memorabilia displayed on the white walls.
Where are the family photos? So far I haven't seen any.
When we get to his study, I have an immediate visceral reaction. Nothing is out of order, but something is off about the room. The desk is a boxy behemoth in dark walnut; for some reason, I don't want to touch it. On the walls I see framed articles about GEH, Christian's magnificent visage gracing magazine covers, and various awards for philanthropy.
Next on the tour is the library. The shelves are lined with first editions, and there are large leather club chairs for curling up with a book. I wouldn't change a thing about this room. It's inviting, and I can imagine spending happy hours here.
"I like this room very much. It's tranquil. Cozy."
"Unfortunately it doesn't get much use. I believe Mrs. Jones and I are the only people who've been in here. Perhaps you can take it over, make it your office."
"Thank you. I'd like that. You spoil me, you know. What's upstairs?"
"Come." Christian's nerves are on display again. He closes his eyes tightly and swallows. His fingers flex, curling and uncurling.
"There's something you don't want to show me."
Christian nods sadly. He pushes hair off my face, and pulls me to him, resting his chin on top of my head. I hate not being able to see him, but sensing he needs to keep his face hidden from me, I don't push back from him.
"I went back and forth about it. I considered having the rooms dismantled, but I wanted to show you what life was like before you."
"Maybe you didn't empty the rooms, because you don't want to give them up." Isn't it human nature to cling to the familiar, even when it isn't healthy?
"No. That's not it. I want my new life with you." He holds me tight, and I feel the comfort of his heat, the steady thump of his heartbeat.
"Let's go, husband." Christian smiles at the mention of his new title.
He leads me slowly up the staircase.
The first door is partially ajar. I push it open.
It's a lovely bedroom, white with silver foil paper on the accent wall behind the bed. There's a dressing table. It's a pretty room, quite feminine, but it evokes melancholy, and I'm not sure why.
"Do you recall the contract…when I said you'd have your own room? This would have been the room."
"The submissive bedroom. Did you have sex with them in here?"
"No. This was their sanctuary. Usually I administered aftercare in the playroom, but sometimes I did it here. Occasionally I came to the door to let them know I was ready for them, or to pass information, but I rarely darkened this threshold."
"Aftercare was one of the topics I came across on the internet. What kind of aftercare did you administer?" Shit. Do I really want to know?
"Arnica cream, water, tea, sometimes a hot bath."
"You got into the tub with them?" I hate the thought of such intimacy between Christian and his subs.
"No, with my phobia I was afraid of the risk. We were out of scene as well, and I didn't want to risk them thinking I was offering more."
"What about hugging, kissing, cuddling?" According to my research, that's part of aftercare.
"No, baby, that would be more."
"Not even with Leila?"
"Not with any of them."
I let out a sigh of relief.
"That's been bothering you, hasn't it?"
"More than I knew." Christian follows me from the room, and shuts the door. "That room has to go. I hate it."
It feels good to let out my feelings.
"Agreed. If you didn't like that room, you really won't like the next one. The playroom. Want to see it?"
"I want to understand your life before me." I want to know all sides of my husband. I want to be his lifeline, his support, his rock.
"Thank you." Christian kisses the top of my head, and takes my hand. "Let me show you where the key is kept."
At the end of the hall is a large utility room. There's a washer and dryer next to a large sink. A long counter for folding clothes runs along the opposing wall. Christian opens a cabinet to reveal rows of keys on hooks. He pulls out a large brass key on a brass ring.
"Odd...This key should always be on the first hook, but it's on the middle hook with the key to our bedroom."
It's just like my very particular husband to notice something out of order. Mrs. Jones must've put the key on the wrong hook after cleaning.
"Our bedroom. That has a nice sound." I rest a hand on Christian's hip.
"Yes, it does." He kisses my lips lightly. "Let's get this over with, so I can show you that room of ours."
When we reach the playroom door, Christian turns the key. His eyes are fixed on me, watching for a reaction. He ever so slowly opens the door, and holds it wide, so I can enter first.
He flips the wall switch. Soft overhead lights shine through a ceiling grid, to reveal deep red walls. The ambience is romantic, and for that reason alone, I hate it. How could a woman enter this sanctum and not hope for more with Mr. Grey?
This room is quite different from the cool palette and hard surfaces dominating the rest of the apartment. The carved four poster bed suggests my husband might have a taste for antiques. Dark wood cabinets complement the bed. Decorative brass racks hold implements of pain.
The overall effect is overwhelming. The room is both lovely and repulsive.
"What do you think?"
"I hate it."
Christian looks pained. Surely he can't be surprised by my dislike of a room where he shared pleasure with other women.
"The room has some lovely aspects to it, but I hate it all the same. Would you enjoy seeing a bed where over a dozen men had fucked me? Or look at objects that had been used in sex acts with other men?"
"Of course not. The mere idea of that is repugnant."
Hanging next to a black riding crop is an object I recognize as a flogger. Soft strands of suede are accented with tiny clear beads. Attracted by the shimmer and sparkle, I run my finger through the fine strips of leather. I recoil the instant I realize I'm touching something that has been in contact with his subs.
A sudden wave of nausea overtakes me.
"What's wrong?" Christian's hands are on my shoulders. "Tell me."
"I don't feel well. I just realized the subs…their DNA…is on these floggers and crops. I need to get out of here."
I rush into the hallway, and Christian locks up behind me.
"I'm so sorry, baby. The room will be removed in short order."
"No need for apologies. I'll get past this."
"Let's go to our bedroom. You can rest, while I call Ros and Andrea."
"What else is up here?"
"More guestrooms, but they've only been used a few times, when Elliot and Mia have stayed overnight."
The door to the master bedroom is open, but I notice two locks, a cipher and a deadbolt.
"Two locks?"
Christian's lip curls in disgust.
"When Leila was my sub, Taylor and I caught her trying to enter my room. I should've sent her packing right away, but I didn't. Another miscalculation."
Christian's bedroom, our bedroom, is a soft, muted shade of turquoise, with cream and brown accents. I throw myself onto the bed so hard, I bounce.
"Oh my gosh, this mattress is divine." I sink into the perfect blend of soft and firm. The duvet cover is a silk cloud, and I can't stop running my hands over it.
Christian pulls off my shoes, and massages my feet.
"Heaven. I've died and gone to heaven."
"Oh, baby, every minute on earth with you is heaven. Let me help you out of that dress."
I turn so Christian has access to the zipper. He plants gentle kisses on my neck and down my back as he slowly unzips. He pushes the dress up my thighs.
"Raise your arms," he commands. Once off, he tosses the dress over a nearby chair. "That bridal lingerie suits you. Don't take it off. That's my job. Warm the bed for me."
He pulls the covers back, and I climb in.
"Don't be long," I say.
"Just a few minutes. I need to call Ros. The paperwork I need is in my study."
A kiss and he's gone.
I close my eyes to nap, but my mind races.
I'm too keyed up for sleep.
I climb out of bed to explore our bedroom. There are two sets of double doors on the wall opposite the bed.
The doors on the right lead to large spa-like bathroom. The tub is egg-shaped. A shelf next to it holds a bottle of bath oil. I uncap it and draw in the woodsy citrus scent. There's no bubble bath. We'll have to remedy that. I want a bubble bath with my man. The shower is large with two rain heads and a river rock floor. Those smooth stones will feel nice under my feet.
The other doors lead to the largest closet I've ever seen. I run my fingers over suits and shirts. I spy a blue dress shirt, and take the liberty of putting it on. I fasten the two middle buttons and roll up the sleeves.
My exploration leads me to all manner of interesting discoveries. There's a display case with Christian's wrist watch collection, and another showcasing cuff links. He has a specially designed sock drawer, and another with boxer briefs neatly rolled into straight rows.
Then I see something that looks out of place. It's a black cardboard box, the kind used to archive documents.
I hesitate over opening it, but we're married now. No secrets and all that.
I flip off the lid, and what I see shakes me to my very core.
It's a stack of photographs. The Dom and his subs. In the playroom, in many positions. Who knew there were so many sexual possibilities?
My mind swims with rage, sadness, fear.
Mostly rage.
Yes, let's go with rage.
I put the lid back in place, clutch the box to my chest, and take off in search of my husband.
Christian
"That's all. Thanks, Andrea. Please put me through to Ros."
Where the hell is Ros? The damn phone has rung five times, and she hasn't answered. Of course Ros doesn't know I have a wife now. A wife who awaits me in our bed. It's been less than ten minutes since I left my beautiful wife, but I need to see her again.
I leave a voice mail for Ros, telling her to call me ASAP. As I shut down the call, the door flies open.
It's Anastasia.
She slams the door behind her. Her eyes are wild with fury. What the fuck is going on? She opens a box, and pulls out a sheaf of papers.
"You insensitive bastard!" She throws the box and its contents at me, and they scatter across the desk and floor.
Fuck me in the heart! These are photos of Leila and me.
"Where did these come from?" These images were stored in my safe. How did my wife find them?
"As if you don't know. Honestly, I admit to being less sophisticated than your other women, but I didn't just fall off the turnip truck." Anastasia trembles with anger. Her small fists are balled up at her sides. I've never seen her like this.
"The photos were an insurance policy. Elena suggested I take them in case one of the subs decided to violate the NDA."
"Oh, I suppose that's why they were in your closet. Puh-leez. This is what you need to get yourself off, your special little spank bank. You couldn't be bothered to move them out of our bedroom?"
She's so beautiful in my shirt, and I watch tears spill onto the blue cotton. My baby hurts inside and it's my fault.
I want to pull her to me, and never let go, but she's unapproachable right now. I have no idea what to do in a situation like this.
Talk, Grey. Explain the situation.
"Those photos have always been stored in my safe." I reach behind me and pull back a hidden bookcase hinge to reveal my safe. "This has Leila written all over it. She's broken into my study before, and these are pictures of her. The safe combination is a long one, difficult to remember, and I keep it taped to the inside of my bottom desk drawer. She may have seen me open the safe, or with all her snooping, Leila might have discovered the safe and the combination. And the playroom key was in the wrong spot. My staff would never return the key improperly. It's Leila's way of letting me know she's been here."
"Call the cops. Report her, like you should have when she cut herself." Anastasia sniffles, and wipes her face with the shirt sleeve.
"Call the police and say what? I don't have proof it's her, just a suspicion."
I pull her to me, wrap my arms around her, and kiss the top of her head.
"I hate this place. I need to leave." Her voice carries a sad, flat note. Her arms hang limp at her sides. She won't return my embrace. We've been wed less than twelve hours, and she's leaving me?
"You can't leave me. I won't let you."
"Silly man. I'm not leaving you." She runs her hands up and down my arms. "I'm leaving this apartment. I can't live without you…but I can't stay here. Everywhere I turn, there's evidence of Mrs. Lincoln or a sub. I'm uncomfortable. We should go to Kate's apartment, where we can sleep in my bed. It's not as nice as yours, but I feel safe there."
"I get it. If I had to live in a place where you'd fucked another man, I couldn't bear it. Get dressed, and we'll go spend the night at your old place. Let me throw a bag together and speak to Taylor."
Her underwear has been on display for all the world to see. I button up the shirt and hope Taylor and Sawyer haven't seen anything. She is for my eyes only.
Anastasia won't embrace me, but she leans into me, her head on my chest.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I thought I was stronger than this."
"It's okay, baby. Truly."
"I love you."
"And I love you, Mrs. Grey."
Anastasia
I return to the master bedroom, freshen up, and put my wedding dress back on. I go in search of Mrs. Jones. I want to get to know her.
I find her in the kitchen, cleaning the oven, a loathsome job to be sure.
"Mrs. Jones? Do you have a few minutes to speak with me?"
"Of course, Mrs. Grey. May I get you a refreshment?" Mrs. Jones has a lovely smile and a serene presence. She puts me at ease, something I need after such an unhappy introduction to my new home.
"Thank you. A cup of tea would be wonderful. Please call me Ana. May I call you Gail? I'd like very much if the two of us could be on a first name basis."
Mrs. Jones fills a kettle for the tea.
"Mr. Grey prefers formality with staff."
"The two of us will work together closely, so please call me Ana."
"Of course. And please call me Gail."
"Christian and I are still getting to know each other, and maybe you can help me. I have questions about his routines, and how the household is run. Tell me about his favorite foods."
"Mr. Grey is easy to please. He rises early, goes for a run with Taylor, gets ready for work, then has breakfast. He and Taylor are out the door by seven. His favorite dish is macaroni and cheese. Breakfast is usually an egg white omelet. For lunch he's perfectly happy with a sandwich. Put anything on a sub, and he's content."
Mrs. Jones means well, but she's unknowingly stepped in a minefield. Her reference to subs, even the sandwich kind, hits me hard, and my heart sinks.
"There you are. Ready to go?" Christian has a small duffle bag.
"Sure. Gail and I were just getting acquainted." I give Christian a peck on cheek. "She's telling me all your secrets."
Christian's face falls, and he looks to his housekeeper.
"Sir, we were just discussing your food preferences and daily household routines."
Christian huffs a sigh of relief.
"Perhaps you can continue this discussion tomorrow. Ana and I will spend the night at her place, but we'll drop in here tomorrow to meet with a decorator. Have you seen Taylor?"
A decorator? This is news to me.
"He was here a few minutes ago, sir. He took a call from Welch." The kettle whistles, and Gail pulls out a mug. "Twinings English Breakfast, Ana?"
"Yes, thank you." I give Christian another peck on the cheek, knowing he shared my preferences with Gail. I'm becoming quite spoiled.
"Sir, may I speak to you in your study?" It's Taylor, and he sounds concerned.
"Gail says you took a call from Welch. Go ahead and tell me. Anastasia and I have no secrets."
"It's about Mrs. Lincoln. We know how she eluded us. She had a gate added to her backyard fencing. It opened to the service alley that runs behind her house. She was walking to a friend's house, and the friend was helping her get around town."
"Who's the friend?"
"A fellow Domme named Lorna Stovall. In the community she's called Mistress Lori."
The color drains from Christian's face.
"What's wrong? Did you know her?" I take Christian's face in my hands. "Tell me."
"Lorna Stovall tried to interfere with my parents' marriage. And I didn't know it at the time, but she's the Domme I was loaned out to…I only knew her as Mistress Lori." I pull Christian tightly to me.
"Sir, there's more. Welch found a link with your first submissive, someone named Corinne Davis Harmon…"
"Of course there's a link. Elena is the one who selected Corinne as my sub."
"Sir, the link goes beyond Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Harmon."
"How so?"
"Lorna Stovall is Corinne Harmon's mother. And all three women had contact with Leila Williams and the other submissives."
"What the fuck!" Christian slams a fist against the breakfast bar. "At every turn, I discover another way I've been played."
"The police have already questioned the mother/daughter duo, and they're singing like canaries. Apparently Mrs. Lincoln was determined that if she wasn't going to get you and your money, then neither was Miss Steele. Stovall was with Lincoln when she purchased battery acid. The cops have them on the store security camera. Stovall's cut a deal to testify against Mrs. Lincoln."
"Why the fuck does she get to cut a deal? She needs to do some jail time herself. Was Corinne involved in any of this?"
"It doesn't appear so, sir."
Christian
"I've got one helluva mess on my hands," I tell Ana. "I'll never rid myself of these women. I'm so sorry, baby."
"Elena, the Stovall woman, the submissives…they're like cockroaches," she says. "You see one, but you know there are dozens more living behind the walls. The way I see it, there's only one way to dispose of them."
"And how's that?" I'm open to any method, short of murder, to keep these women out of my life.
"Sunshine is the best disinfectant. Your need for privacy allows the women to hold something over you. If you out yourself, you take away their power. Take control of the narrative, and tell your story your own way."
Exposure of my past puts too much at risk.
"I'll embarrass my family, hurt my business. One day our children will hear about my past, and they'll be ashamed of me."
"There's no shame in what you've done. You have me and your family. We'll stand behind you. Your children will love and accept you. They'll respect you for living a truthful, open life."
Anastasia seems so sure of this.
"It's something to consider. Let me give it some thought."
Anastasia is miserable over the apartment, Leila, and Elena. I don't want her stressed out and fearful. It's not good for her or our baby. I didn't plan on spending our wedding night with Ethan Kavanagh in the next room, but that apartment is where my wife feels safe right now. I consider insisting on the Fairmont, but I'm in no position to make demands.
Taylor drops us at the Pike Place apartment. He'll pick us up in the morning. I carry Anastasia over the threshold again, and she gets a fit of giggles. We enter to find Kavanagh eating pizza and drinking beer with some of his buddies. The short shit with scraggly brown hair perks up when he sees my wife.
"Hey, doll. I've missed you. I wouldn't turn down some of your lemon bars or brownies."
"Sorry, Mutt, I'm not in the mood for baking tonight. Guys, this is my other half, Christian. Christian, meet Ethan's childhood crew."
Mutt. Who in the actual fuck nicknames their kid Mutt?
Kavanagh cranes his neck, and hits the mute button on whatever Neanderthal television show they were watching.
"What's with the rings? Looks like you've been playing around, trying on wedding bands. Cute, Steele." Kavanagh doesn't seem to understand that Anastasia and I are legally married.
Anastasia shrugs, and holds my left hand up alongside hers, pointing at the gold bands.
"We're staying here tonight. Don't mind us," she tells Kavanagh.
She pulls me into her bedroom, locks the doorknob, and throws a latch that sits at eye level. Then she enters the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I hear water filling the tub. She can't possibly think she's bathing alone on our wedding night.
I pace outside the bathroom, unsure of what to do. Does she want time to herself? I'm still getting to know her, learning her moods and signals.
I turn the bathroom doorknob. It's unlocked.
"Join me?" Her hair is twisted up with a clip, and tendrils frame her face. The water is quickly rising, but her breasts are still exposed.
No need to ask twice. I undress as quickly as possible, and she scoots forward to make room for me.
"Mrs. Grey, please allow me to relieve your tension." I rub her shoulders and plant kisses on her neck. She giggles when I reach the sensitive spot behind her ear.
"Mmmm. That feels wonderful."
"I'm so sorry you had to see those photographs. Taylor is trying to figure out how and when Leila got into the apartment."
"You're absolutely certain it was Leila?"
"Yes. She was always sneaky. And all the photos were of her."
"We should've called the police. It's not too late."
"I don't like the police knowing my business—"
She cuts me off.
"I don't want anything to disturb our wedding night, but we need to get some things straight."
"Yes, ma'am." Bossy Ana has reared her head.
"Leila broke into your home—"
"Our home," I correct.
"Fine. If she breaks into our home again, I'm taking over. I'll handle everything, and I'll press charges for unlawful entry."
"Be my guest. I really like this side of you, this territorial, possessive thing is quite a turn on." I press my erection against Anastasia, but she's not yielding to me.
"How much of the furniture in your apartment did you actually choose?"
"The piano, the billiard table, and the art work."
"Those things stay. And the library. The rest of it needs to go."
"Mrs. Grey, I do like the way you're taking charge. It's very wifey."
"You don't mind me making so many changes?"
"If we're putting the apartment on the market, the place needs a facelift."
"You're okay with getting rid of your penthouse?"
"It needs to go. It reeks of Elena."
"And subs. I get upset thinking about all the things you did with them in all those rooms."
"It wasn't all the rooms." Only the kitchen, dining room, study, and red room. Shit, if I had to stay where Ana had done things with another man, I'd torch the place.
"Even one room is too many. And now Leila has breached the bedroom that was supposed to be our sanctuary. If the decorating goes well, we can live at Escala until we find a new place."
"Baby, you don't have to make more sacrifices than you already have. You don't need to spend one night at Escala. We can stay at the Fairmont for a while."
"We can do the hotel thing until the redecorating is done. Can you arrange to get the work done quickly?"
"I'm Christian Grey. I'm kind of a big deal." I snuggle against her neck.
"Is a week too soon?"
"A week should be plenty of time, unless you want walls moved."
"Did you fuck any subs against those walls?"
"Only the St. Andrew's wall in the playroom. And that's being removed as we speak."
"I got creepy feelings in the kitchen and in your study."
She was right to have those feelings. My girl has extraordinary intuition.
My phone pings. I step out of the tub to check it.
"Sorry, baby."
"And already it starts. Your phone holds more allure than I do."
It's a text from Olga Kelly.
"We got our house, and also the property on the north side. The current owners of the Lincoln house are holding out. The wife doesn't want to sell to a Grey. Seems she 'dated' Elliot and he disrespected her. Damned Elliot and his dick. I'll offer more money."
"You're already offering a million over market value. Offering more might insult her, making her think Greys just buy their way out of things. Let's move ahead with our plans. We can always make another offer at a later date."
"We can't live next door to that house of horrors."
"We won't. Everything will work out. I feel it. Now get back in this tub. I have a couple of spots in need of cleaning."
Monday, June 13, 2011
Christian
I wake and my wife isn't next to me.
I hear the tinkle of her laughter, and I think it's coming from the kitchen. Yes, that's coffee and bacon I smell.
She's with Kavanagh and that Mutt asshole. I'll show them how things are. Anastasia's back is to me. She looks delicious in those yoga pants and crop top. Is she not wearing a bra? I hate these two seeing her like this.
I raise my chin in greeting to the fuckers eyeballing my wife. I step behind Anastasia and slip my arms around her, holding her against me.
"Mr. Grey," she purrs. "Good morning, my darling."
"Good morning to you, Mrs. Grey." I turn her, so I can give her a proper kiss.
"Jesus, Ana, when I asked you out last year, you said you didn't date. I thought you were a lesbian or something. Now I see this." Shithead Mutt has been trying to get in Anastasia's pants.
"Mutt, when a woman says she doesn't date, she's just trying to let you down easy. What makes you think she'd be interested in a player like you?" I appreciate Kavanagh setting his friend straight.
"Hey, I know how to make a woman happy," Mutt counters. "What's up with you two calling each other mister and missus? Some kind of kinky role play?"
"They're in love, and married in spirit," Kavanagh answers, picking up his plate. "Let's leave them be and eat in front of the TV."
"It's a new work week. Don't they have jobs?" I whisper to my beautiful wife. "I'd like to make some noise with you."
"As much as I'd like that, we have appointments this morning. First, we eat."
As I tuck into my bacon and eggs, I'm thankful for a wife who keeps me fed in all ways. We sit side by side at the breakfast bar in silence and contentment, her left hand on my thigh. Kavanagh and his friend play some military themed video game, mere boys in grown bodies. They remind me of Elliot.
Over the din of their game, I suddenly hear pinging and ringing from the bedroom. My phone is blowing up and so is Anastasia's.
In unison we walk to the bedroom to check our phones..
"It's my mother." Anastasia's voice registers disappointment.
"And mine. I'll let it go to voice mail. I need to read these texts, before I get caught up in conversation."
Most of my texts are GEH related, but one is from a cousin asking if the party is a hoax. What an asshole. Is it really so out of character for me to throw a party?
I try to look busy, as I eavesdrop on Ana's conversation with her mother. Shit. I guess I have a mother-in-law now.
"Hi, Mom…Christian wanted to make sure you're included. It's a party to announce his latest merger…Yes, a big occasion. All of Christian's family will be there. And Daddy. You and Bob should come…I see…Hope things work out and you can make it…You too…Bye."
"Well?"
"I don't think she'll attend. If she does, it will be out of curiosity, to meet you and see what your family is like. I missed a call from Daddy."
"I need to speak to your father again soon, check in, make sure I stay in his good graces."
"Yes, take care of that. I need you all in one piece."
"Shower with me."
"Help me with the dishes, and it's a deal." Dishes are something I never thought I'd do, but Anastasia is the Tom Sawyer of domesticity. She makes every chore inviting.
XXXXXXX
We're in the elevator to the penthouse, when I get word from Andrea that the honeymoon has been arranged.
"Ready to leave for Maui this afternoon?"
"I haven't packed."
"There's time to throw a few things in a bag. Or we can shop after we arrive."
"Everything moves at warp speed with you. Sometimes it's difficult to keep up."
"You keep up just fine, Mrs. Grey."
I bring her hands to my face and kiss her palms. God, I love this woman.
When we get off the elevator, Mrs. Jones is serving iced tea to a blonde.
"Christian Grey," I say, and extend my hand.
"Amanda Lennox. It's a pleasure to meet you." She tries to hold my gaze, but I look away. She turns to Anastasia. "And you must be Andrea."
"No, not Andrea," I tell her. "Did you sign the NDA?"
"Of course."
"Anastasia, meet the decorator, Miss Lennox. Miss Lennox, meet my wife, Anastasia Grey."
"Wife?" Miss Lennox chokes on the word.
"Yes. As incredible as it may seem, this beautiful woman agreed to marry me and bear my children. We're celebrating our first anniversary. We've been married for one whole day."
Just as Anastasia did last night in front of Kavanagh and his friends, I hold up her left hand and mine, showing off our matching bands.
"I wish you every happiness." Miss Lennox regains her composure, displaying a professional demeanor. "Andrea didn't tell me much, just that you've a project in need of quick completion."
"We're moving, putting this place on the market, and we'd like it completely redone, top to bottom in five days. If you get the job, you may begin tomorrow. Our staff is clearing away all personal items and putting them in temporary storage. Everything goes except artwork, the piano, and the billiards table. Leave the library alone, but change out all the other rooms."
"Do you want the bathroom fixtures changed as well? And how about kitchen appliances?"
"The bathroom fixtures can stay, but I'd like the kitchen completely redone," Anastasia answers.
"Five days...I'll have to bring in a lot of help."
"Of course, but go through my security first. Every worker must be vetted."
"Any ideas as to what you'd like? I brought my portfolio to show my work on properties similar to yours." Miss Lennox looks to me. I need to set her straight.
"My wife is the potential client. If you want the job, you must appeal to her."
Miss Lennox very wisely zeroes in on Anastasia.
"Mrs. Grey, what did you envision for the space?"
"My preferences lean toward Pottery Barn." My girl giggles, and Miss Lennox joins in. I'm completely in the dark here.
"What's Pottery Barn?" I ask.
"It's a chain store," my wife explains. "Not your thing."
"There's one at University Village. And another in Bellevue," Miss Lennox adds.
"You like this pottery place?"
If that's what my baby wants, that's what she shall have.
"Yes."
"Then order everything from there. You should have what you want."
"Maybe we can get a few things there for the new house. But this apartment needs upscale furnishings and clean lines, especially since we're putting it on the market. I love you for always wanting to indulge me."
I can't resist leaning over to kiss my wife.
Miss Lennox clears her throat.
"Mrs. Grey, it helps that you've shared your fondness for Pottery Barn. I have some ideas that will brighten things up. I'd like to bring in a few traditional elements, and I suggest changing this paint color to a warmer shade of gray."
I like that idea. With Anastasia by my side, I'm definitely a warmer shade of Grey.
As much as I'd like to stay here next to my wife, I have loose ends to tie up before we can leave town.
"Are you two set? I need to make some calls."
"We'll be fine," my beauty answers. I steal another kiss.
My study has already been cleared out. Files are boxed up. Desk drawers are empty. I look down at the space under my desk where subs had huddled, hands restrained, blindfolded, sucking me off. Did any of that feel good? Did anything really feel good before Anastasia?
I find Ros in my contacts and hit 'send.'
She answers the phone with a cough. I do wish she'd give up smoking.
"Hey, big guy. What's up? I thought you were coming in today."
"I was. But then I decided to get married."
"You're shitting me, right?"
"No."
"You're getting hitched?"
"Anastasia and I eloped to Montana yesterday. We're husband and wife."
"Damn, Grey. When you've wanted something, you've always moved fast. But this takes things to a whole new level."
"We're leaving this afternoon for our honeymoon in Maui. You and I have hashed and rehashed everything coming up in the near future, so I leave GEH in your capable hands."
"I'm happy for you. Maybe you'll be using your sperm after all." Ros lets loose the husky laugh she's so famous for.
Little does she know, my sperm have already been busy.
"Ros, I have something important to ask you, and I don't want you to feel any obligation."
"Of course."
I'm new to this friendship game. I hope Ros understands what she means to me.
"Did you receive the party invitation?"
"Yes, about that…what deal are we celebrating? Olivia asked. She's pissed by the way, at not being invited."
"The party is actually a wedding celebration. Top secret. I wonder if you might do me the honor of standing up with me as Anastasia and I exchange public vows. I've asked my three closest friends, Elliot, Mia, and you."
"Christian," Ros gasps in shock. "Thank you. I'm honored."
"Thank you, Ros. Since we'll be out of town, Mia will contact you about fittings. The dresses will come from Dana Kavanagh. This is a rushed affair, so we're still working out the details. If you have questions, text me."
"I'll do anything to avoid interrupting your honeymoon. I need you back here, happy and rested. Please pass on my best wishes to Ana."
After hanging up, I reflect on my good fortune. I may have been dealt a shit hand at birth, but the river handed me a royal flush.
I savor this new feeling.
Winning at life.
I tiptoe back to the great room to listen in on Anastasia's meeting.
"Yes, that deep red shade is exactly what I want for the billiards room. Let's proceed with your plan. I'm anxious to see what you can do. We just purchased a home on Lake Washington, and if you do well with this place, we'll certainly consider you for future work. E-mail me with any issues."
"Thank you for this opportunity, Mrs. Grey. I'll see myself out."
As soon as I hear the elevator close, I reveal myself, and give my bride a round of applause.
"Well done, Mrs. Grey. Friendly, but firm and authoritative."
"Thank you, Mr. Grey. I'm taking lessons from the best."
I push my wife down on the sofa, and pepper her neck and face with kisses. This could turn into something, and we need to leave for the airport soon.
"Relax and enjoy this, baby. I'm learning to read your mind, and let me put it at ease. I have never been on this sofa with any woman other than you."
"Hmm, you are developing psychic powers. Since this sofa is about to become history, let's get dirty all over it." Anastasia reaches around and grips my buttocks. Her tongue does a brief dance with mine.
"That sounds like a plan. I can't wait to be inside you. Don't ever stop touching me."
As Anastasia's hands roam my body, I send a quick text to Taylor to turn off the cameras and exit the apartment. Then I proceed to get thoroughly lost in my wife and her hot little curves.
Wednesday, June 16, 2011
Christian
I pick up Anastasia's phone, and swipe through her pictures. I stop at the selfie she took when I carried her across the threshold of our hotel room. My God. She is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Who'd have thought it? Just six weeks ago, I was contemplating my next move in getting a sub. Here I am stretched out on a Maui beach with my gorgeous bikini clad wife.
We're honeymooners.
I can't remember when I've ever felt like this. I fix the moment in my mind, trying to freeze time, wanting to capture it forever and ever.
I've never been one to care about documenting moments in time, and certainly not with photographs. But all I want to do is snap pictures. Taylor and Sawyer told me to relax, that they'd take plenty of pictures.
When we get home I need to figure out a way to display all of them. We're making so many memories here.
There's an image of my wife in a wetsuit too big for her frame, snorkeling. Anastasia all lit up with a smile while zip-lining. Riding horses on the beach. Exploring tidal pools, and Anastasia's wide-eyed expression as she holds a sea cucumber, telling me "this thing definitely reminds me of you." The two of us pulled out of the audience to take a hula lesson during the entertainment segment of the hotel luau.
So many wondrous images.
My life has recently become rich and full, and all because of her. I had so much, but I had no one with whom to share it. I've no desire to look back or have too many regrets for the empty way I used to live. I must choose to focus on the here and now. My past was preparation for this new life with Anastasia.
"Is anything wrong?" My wife looks down at herself, checking the thin strands holding the bikini onto her body. "You're looking at me funny."
"I'm admiring you, wondering how you can love me."
"You're easy to love, and you love me so well. You're good at so many things, but you're best at loving." We are turned on our beach mats, face to face, as close as we can be without touching. "I want to kiss you right now, Mr. Grey. But if I do, it will turn into something we could be arrested for."
"Shall we return to our room?" I hope she says yes.
"In a bit. I'm hungry for lunch. The early breakfast and zip-lining have left me famished. How about I find that food truck we saw up the beach?"
"Fine, but put on that lace cover-up thing. And take Sawyer."
She rolls her eyes and giggles.
"Always so worried about someone seeing the goods. Lucky for you, I have a strong sense of modesty."
"Lucky for me, you are lots of wonderful things which suit my nature." I give her a playful slap on the ass. Luke has been watching and he catches up with her as she departs.
I want to sneak a peek at my e-mail and check the markets, but Anastasia took her phone, and she gave mine to Taylor to babysit. I've been trying to stay away from media and all things GEH. I allow myself one hour in the morning and one hour in the late afternoon. Anastasia times me, and tells me when to step away from the electronics.
I look around and see several families. Before Anastasia, I never gave a thought to the people around me. I wonder what kind of vacations Anastasia and I will take with our children. I suddenly feel a pang of sympathy for people who must travel commercially with kids. It must be a nightmare.
A beach ball hits me square in the head. It's startling. When I look for the source, I find two small tow-headed children standing behind me. There's a boy and a girl, similar in appearance, size, and age.
"Thanks for the gift. I've always wanted one of these."
"We were just playing. Please, mister, give it back," the boy implores.
"If you wanted it back, maybe you shouldn't have hit me in the head."
"It was an accident. We're sorry," the girl says.
"Apology accepted."
I throw the ball back to them, and the boy catches it.
He holds the ball above his head and throws it back to me, putting much effort into it. I catch it, and throw it to the girl. Before I know it, I'm engaged in some sort of game with the two children.
"There you are. Didn't I tell you to stay put?" A woman in a big hat approaches. Must be their mother.
"Dad said we could run off and play."
"Did he?" Mom seems skeptical.
I throw the ball one last time.
"Bye, mister," the boy says. The little girl waves a shy goodbye.
"Nice children you have," I offer. I'm terrible at small talk.
"Thanks. They are rather sweet, though it's not easy having two sets of twins. You met my older pair."
"Two sets of twins. Just the thought is overwhelming."
"Do you have little ones?"
"Not yet, but we're hoping for some. My wife and I are newlyweds. This is our honeymoon."
"You have a way with kids. I'm sure you'll be a good dad."
All I did was throw a ball around, and this woman thinks I'm father material. I want to believe she's correct, but there just isn't enough evidence.
"How can you tell?" I can't believe I'm asking a perfect stranger for her personal insight.
"Well, you were patient with my kids, and didn't get upset when they were bothering you. And I've been watching you with your wife for the past hour. Please don't take this the wrong way, but you two are too attractive not to notice. You don't take your eyes off her, and the adoration in your gaze…is really something. If you can maintain that kind of connection with your wife, it will set a good example for your children."
"And those things tell you I can be a good father?"
"Sure. You'll be fine."
"Thanks."
"Enjoy your honeymoon."
I'm left with a feeling of relief. Anastasia affirms me constantly, telling me what a wonderful dad I'll be. But she loves me, so she has to say that. To have a stranger see something in me, something I can't see in myself, is reassuring.
I'm beginning to believe I have something beyond material goods to offer a child. I can't wait to do all the outdoorsy shit that Dad did with Elliot and me. I fantasize about taking our child up in Charlie Tango and out on the water in The Grace. But first I need to do all those things with Anastasia. We need to savor every moment alone before our baby arrives.
My wife returns with cheeseburgers. Not the healthiest choice, and as soon as I open my mouth, I'm sorry.
"Was there nothing else you could have ordered? Salad, grilled fish?"
"Mr. Finicky, you choose next time. Unless we both go, we'll learn to live with whatever the other chooses."
"It's because I care about you and our baby."
"I know, but when you question what I put in my body, you make me feel like a bad mother, like I'm harming our child."
"I'm sorry. You're a wonderful mother. I suppose one cheeseburger won't hurt either of you."
"You're such a reasonable man. I'm so happy I found you." I'm rewarded with a soft kiss.
"Did you find me or did I find you?"
"I think Elliot found me and foisted me upon you, so he could get to Kate."
"Nice move on his part. I must remember to thank him for his self-serving attitude."
"I miss them, don't you?"
"Only when I think of them, which is never. All my thoughts center on you." Who wants a cheeseburger, when there's something tastier right in front of me?
"It's been a perfect honeymoon so far, hasn't it?"
"Perfect."
I punctuate my answer with a long, deep kiss.
Absolutely perfect.