An on call night is like a watched inbox – An alert never comes when you're hoping for one. I spend the entire Uber ride from my Seattle townhouse to the Travelyan-Grey home in Bellvue hoping that I'll be called into work and able to avoid tonight's dinner. As the gates at the bottom of the driveway open, I accept that I am officially out of luck on that front.

It's not that I do not appreciate the offer of hospitality or the chance to catch up with Dr. Travelyan after three years away. But to have to sit through an entire meal with Christian, pretending we have never been more than professional acquaintances when in reality I don't know if we have ever made it through a meal without some sort of sexual element is a task too daunting for my first week back. I had naively thought that avoiding Christian would be pretty easy – He rarely goes anywhere other than his office or his apartment. And when he did go out, he had his security detail with him. I had considered the possibility in the same theoretical way I'd considered running into Sarah Jessica Parker in New York one day. Three years of living on the Upper West Side, not a single SJP sighting to my name. Three days back in Seattle, and I'm the guest of honor at a Grey family dinner. Sounds like my sort of luck.

The unease about tonight has been irking me since I left the opening of the new hospital wing yesterday. It's not that I dislike the idea of seeing Christian. But he had been a solitary figure in my life. We never engaged with other people with the occasional exception of his staff. Our time together was private. A secret between the two of us that no one else understood or shared. It's hard to anticipate what Christian will be like in a wildly different setting. If this new version of him I'm about to meet with somehow sully the version of him that I knew. I liked that version. Probably more than I should have.

The Uber stops in front of the port o cocher and I thank my driver. Once my feet touch the pavement I reflexively run my hands up the long sleeve of my dress and pinch the inside of my elbow. Three, two, one. One more deep breath, and I release, allowing my body to focus its nerves on the sore spot. I approach the large mahogany door, which opens before I have a chance to knock.

"Sophia!" Grace is warm and exuberant and she opens her arms wide, hugging me in greeting as she shows me into her home. So often, people's homes surprise you the first time you visit – Not this one. The classic colonial style mansion is perfectly appointed in what I imagined to be Grace's taste. Neutral statement pieces with pops of seasonal color, dark hardwoods that look original to the house but perfectly maintained. The entire aesthetc is timeless, but not outdated. It's a complete 180 from Christian's ultra-modern penthouse, but just as tastefully done.

I mentally slap my subconscious. I can't compare everything to Christian all night. I'll drive myself insane.

"Sit, sit." She urges, patting a spot next to her on the sofa in the formal living room. "Now, tell me about your time in New York. Not just the residency, but the life! Oh, how I had hoped to be matched with one of the big New York hospitals for my residency. But, I suppose life had other plans." Grace smiles as she laments what she must see as one of the few missed opportunities in her life, but not with any sort of malice. More of a genuine wonderment for the experience.

"Well, I'm sure you remember residency well. There wasn't much life to speak of outside of the hospital most weeks." It's unfortunate but true. Residency is 90+ hour weeks and the time you aren't at the hospital you're attempting to catch up on the mess the rest of your life becomes by being too busy at work.

Grace gives me a knowing laugh. "Please tell me you at least made time to take in a show or two? Stroll some of the museums on an afternoon off?"

The tension in my shoulders dissipates, and I feel the same ease I felt in Grace's presence through my internship. Even with my idolization of her career and bedside manner, I had felt comfortable in a casual conversation with her. We shared many of the same interests outside of the hospital – art, travel and literature. Putting the pieces together now, it's clear to see the influence she had on Christian. There I go again. Bringing it back to him. Why does everything always come back to Mr. Grey?

Grace and I chat idly about the last exhibit I saw at The Met, her most recent trip to Manhattan and the few but significant changes to the administration at Seattle Children's while I was away. Voices from the kitchen trickle into the room, though, thankfully, none I recognize. We are discussing a recent article in The New England Journal of Medicine when a sandy blonde man enters the living room with a tray of canapes.

"Dad still cooks like we're all teenagers." He says, placing the tray on the coffee table in front of us and bending to kiss Grace on the cheek.

"Darling, I'm so happy you could make it tonight. No Kate?"

"She's stuck in the newsroom. Something about a late press release coming from the Governor's office." He turns to me, extending his hand and offering a broad, pearly white grin. "I'm Ethan. I hear your my mom's all-time favorite intern." The words are chipper and sincere. "She's had some good ones, so you must be pretty great at… well, you know. Doctoring."

"Practicing medicine, Ethan." Grace corrects with a warm chuckle.

"No Mia tonight?" Ethan asks.

"She's at the restaurant." Grace turns to me. "Our daughter is a chef and recently opened her own restaurant."

"That's fantastic. Where abouts? I'd love to try it?"

"It's in the U-district. She wanted a younger crowd, which is no surprise when you know Mia." Grace's husband answers as he walks into the room. We exchange pleasantries and he takes a seat next to Ethan on the far sofa.

"No hot-shot tonight?" Ethan asks.

"Something about a last minute board meeting with whatever latest acquisition he's chasing." Carrick excuses. Relief courses through me. I can escape the awkward balancing act of truth versus fiction with the Grey's for tonight. "But keep the ribbing to yourself. Sophia and Christian are friends, it turns out."

Ethan eyes me skeptically. "Christian has friends?"

The knot in my stomach returns with a vengeance. "We met while I was a medical student at the University of Washington. He funded some research I was involved in." Ethan shrugged, seeming to take this explanation at face value. "You said your girlfriend was a reporter?" I ask, desperate to move the topic of conversation away from my involvement with his brother.

"Fiancé," Grace corrects, he voice giddy with maternal delight.

"Yeah, she works for The Seattle Times."

"Congratulations on the engagement. How did you two meet?"

"At a bar. Christian was dating her roommate and picked her up from the bar. I went with him, met Kate."

I nearly choke on my wine. Christian Grey had a girlfriend? I swallow hard, hoping no one else noticed.

"Ana was a sweet girl, but very young, especially for someone like Christian." Grace adds.

"Kate's a powerhouse, though." Carrick says with a laugh. "Hard to remember they're the same age sometimes."

"Would be nice if Christian had someone to put him in his place from time to time." Ethan laughs.

"My place is well solidified as the CEO of Grey Enterprise Holdings, thank you very much." The blood that pumps from my chest comes in a fast, hot burst that spreads through my limbs, down into my core at the sound of his voice.

Grace's face lights up at the sight of her son in the entryway. He looks typical, fresh from the office Christian. Three piece navy suit, crisp white shirt, tie perfectly knotted. The man may have his flaws, but looks were never among them. "I thought you were stuck at the office?" Grace asks as she envelops him in a hug.

"The meeting ended ahead of schedule, and I had already given Mrs. Jones the night off."

"My place is well solidified as the CEO of Grey Enterprise Holdings, thank you very much." The blood that pumps from my chest comes in a fast, hot burst that spreads through my limbs, down into my core at the sound of his voice.

"Well, I'm glad to hear we are a step above take-out to you." Carrick chides from his seat. I stand, more out of social obligation than deference. Christian hugs his mother and offers a small wave to his brother and father before extending his had to me.

"Miss Claremont." There is a silent challenge in his expression. I know this look. It's the same one he'd have when he would want to start the day with a scene of some sort. A devilish twinkle in his eye that I knew would please both of us in the end.

I shake his hand. "Mr. Grey, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"Just talking about you hot shot." Ethan crows.

"Yes, I gathered as much when I came in."

"Are you ever gonna date again or do I have to tell Kate double dates are off the table forever now?"

Christian stiffens. It's subtle, maybe so much so that no one else would notice, but I do. He's irritated. "I don't date." He snaps. "I went out with a woman a few times two years ago and you seem to think it's indicative of some major life shift. I enjoy my life as it is. I have no intentions of changing that."

"Yes, dear." Grace sighs. "We are well aware that you have removed yourself from the marriage market entirely. In my day you would have been dubbed a permanent bachelor." Her eyes turn to Ethan. "Please, can we go one meal without you trying to start an argument with your brother? Surely in the thirty years you two have known each other you've gotten most of it out of your systems by now?"

The men share a silent but tense glare, a truce of sorts I would guess. One of the housekeepers enters from the dining room to tell us dinner is ready. "Thank you very much, the setting looks wonderful." I saw to the older blonde woman guiding us to the dining room. In the beginning, I was always uncomfortable around Christian's domestic staff. Perhaps it was my inexperience in my role as his sub – I wasn't sure if I was considered among them or not. But as our arrangement progressed, I grew more comfortable with them. We all had our roles in Christian's life, but he was adamant that I benefit from his full time staff as much as he did. I grew to appreciate each of their talents and liked to express that to them as often as possible. I still miss Mrs. Jones' lunches.

As we start our meal of braised shortribs, Grace and Carrick guide the conversation expertly. They bring up topics that both or neither of their sons are interested in, never giving one the opportunity to outshine or rib the other. Baseball takes up a surprising amount of their conversation, which is rather surprising to me. Christian never seemed very interested in professional sports, but he seems well versed in the Mariner's bullpen.

"Ok, I think we have droned on about relief pitchers long enough," Grace says after a particularly heated debate. "Sophia, what have you been up to outside of the hospital since you've been back? Have you had any time to check out the art galleries in your neighborhood yet?"

"If memory serves, Miss Claremont tends to be more inclined toward physical pursuits." My stomach drops and my eyes dart toward Christian. When the attention of the rest of his family is fixed on me he raises his eyebrows. My core flames in a way it hasn't in three years.

I take a slow, deep breath to level myself. "Yes, that's still the case." I confirm. "Rock climbing, parasailing, hang gliding. Anything that involves a harness tends to attract me."

Christian swallows his wine hard, his eyes widening with my response.

"I had no idea you were into such extreme sports! Christian, you must take her gliding sometime." Grace suggests.

"Indeed." His answer is short and I use the opportunity to ask Ethan about his hobbies. By the time he's done explaining the joy of mountain biking, we've retreated back to the living room for an after dinner drink. Christian takes a seat next to me on the sofa. "Well played." He murmurs just loud enough for me to hear him.

"You as well, sir." I whisper as I smooth the skirt of my dress.

After a little more conversation, Grace excuses herself to the powder room. I use the opportunity to glace at my phone. It was nearly ten. I open the Uber app to check wait times. I don't want to overstay my welcome, and I also don't function well on less than six hours of sleep. There is an early morning yoga class I want to attend before work, so I decided it's best to get going.

"Nonsense," Christian says, lifting the phone out of my hand before I realize he was watching me. "You can ride back to the city with me. Taylor will be here momentarily."

"It's really no problem."

"I insist."

Grace comes back into the room and Christian stands, pulling me up with him by the hand. "Mother, thank you for a lovely evening. I have an early meeting so Taylor is waiting. We've offered to give Miss Claremont a ride back to the city."

I bid farewell to everyone, thanking them for their hospitality and warm welcome back to Seattle. Grace tells me to keep a day open for lunch next week so we can discuss how the first few days with my new team have gone. Christian opens the door for me and I see Taylor's familiar, impassive expression turn to a small smile when I approach the car.

"Miss Claremont, welcome back." He says in his trademark professional but warm tone. Taylor was very good to me during my time as Christian's sub. He always asked about my day or offered to make my life easier in small ways while I was balancing medical school, internships and Christian.

"Wonderful to see you, Taylor."

"We'll be dropping Miss Claremont off, Taylor." Christian instructs.

"Certainly, sir."

I take my seat in the back of the Q7 and notice my address already populated on the GPS screen.

"I see you're just as knowledgeable as ever." I mutter as Taylor pulls away from the house.

"I wanted to be sure you were living in acceptable comfort." Christian shrugs. "I've heard good things about the development."

My townhouse, a short walk from Pike Place Market, is one of the many new luxury townhome developments that have taken over Seattle in recent years. Five years ago I never would have imagined I could afford something like this fresh out of residency. Then I met Christian. "Well, living rent free in Manhattan allowed me to save adequately. Thank you again. It was an extremely generous graduation gift."

The last weekend I had spent with Christian was one of our best. We spent the majority of our time in his playroom, reenacting all of my favorite scenes from the two years we had spent in our arrangement. Sunday afternoon came, and with it, our goodbyes. We hugged, a rarity for Christian, and I had to fight back the tears I could feel welling in my eyes. This was nothing more than a business arrangement to him, I knew that. But we had grown close, in our own way. Leaving him was the hardest part of leaving Seattle. Which was why I had to do it. I stood in the foyer and called the elevator, and Christian took a manilla envelope off of the table in the center of the room.

"Your graduation present." He had said. "I hope Manhattan is good to you." The words rushed out of him, and he kissed my head and all but ran out of the room. Those were the last words he spoke to me. The envelope sat on the passenger seat of my Audi until I got home. I opened a bottle of wine and let the tears I had been holding back flow. When I opened the envelope, I gasped. Christian had found me an apartment two blocks from the hospital, and had arranged for a three year lease, which he had paid in full. Part of me wondered if he wanted to know where I lived in order to keep tabs on me, but I never heard from him during my time in New York. Though, knowing Christian, I know that doesn't mean he wasn't watching.

"It was well deserved," he says now, excusing his own generosity with a simple shrug. "How did you enjoy your time in New York?"

"It was a nice change of scenery," I admit. "Though I didn't have much time to enjoy the city."

Christian tilted his head. "And, recreational pursuits? Did you make time for those?"

My eyes glance toward Taylor and I notice the earbud in his left ear. I don't know why Christian insists he wear those. The man is nothing if not discreet.

"There were a few clubs I visited from time to time, but no regular arrangement if that's what you're asking."

"And what about now?"

"I figured unpacking the moving boxes should be check off of the to-do list before finding a new Dom." Christian seems equal parts pleased by my response and unhappy with my tone. "And you?" I ask before he can lecture me. "I hear you had a girlfriend while I was away. That's a descriptor I never thought you'd use in a relationship." Even saying the word sends a little punch into my gut. I had always known what I was – and just as importantly, what I was not – to him. It was easy to accept our arrangement when I knew he did not do romantic relationships. But knowing he had one, and from the sounds of it not all that long after I moved, it hurts. It may not be fair or rational, but it does.

"It wasn't." He says tersely. "I had hoped she would be my submissive. She was young and inexperienced, and lines were blurred. It was my own fault, but no. I won't be revisiting that sort of relationship again."

"And how are you spending your weekends these days?"

"Alone, as of a month or so ago." He says with a smile.

Taylor pulls into my development and Christian is out of the car before Taylor has a chance to cut the engine. Christian opens my door and I thank Taylor for the ride.

"Miss Claremont, it was an unexpected pleasure to see you again." Christian says as I take the keys from my purse.

"You as well, Mr. Grey."

"Perhaps we could entertain each other this weekend?" His eyes glow with mischief. I think he intends that look to be dark, but I have only ever been able to see the light behind his eyes.

"I thought the contract explicitly stated that there were to be no second arrangements when the first concludes?"

Christian shrugs. "The first didn't really conclude, I don't think. More of a pause for logistical reasons."

The burning deep in my belly I've felt since he walked into dinner wants to scream yes. My brain says absolutely not. I'm a mess of conflicting emotions, and I'm not sure why my mouth opens and says "I'll think about it."

I shut my door behind me and lean against it. Hours later, true to my word, I am staring up at my ceiling, thinking about Mr. Grey and if I'm strong enough to let him back into my life.