Author's Note:

Sorry about any typos/continuity errors. I don't have time to proofread right meow-have to go grade some papers before bed and I wanted to get this out. I've had a surge in attention to the story the past couple weeks. SORRY! Life got real crazy-another new job in a different grade, got engaged, bought a house...blahblahblah. I'll try to do better :-/

Thank you for the kind words and the support throughout my extended hiatus!

ENJOY!

Chapter 10: Pampered and Pressed

Coping Together Part 1 of 2

June 11

Ana

"I don't really understand what you're saying," Mia sighs, blowing out a breath and narrowing her eyes at me. She brings a section of her hair in front of her face to inspect it for dead ends and slows down her stride out of distraction. "Thank God we're doing this today. I'm in desperate need of a trim," she mumbles, talking more to herself than to me.

"There's nothing to get," I shrug and pick up my pace to hold the door for Mia. "I've just never had one before."

"But it's like…" she pauses, and her hair falls from between her fingers while she searches for the best words to describe what my never having had a massage is doing to her perception of the world. "It's like if I were president, it would be added to the Bill of Rights. 'The right of citizens of the United States to have regular and unfettered access to massage therapy-'"

"Oh my God," I groan, hoping to stop her deep-voiced and inappropriately revised recitation of the Fifteenth Amendment. It doesn't work and she finishes up her little schpiel with gusto while I continue to hold the door for her despite the fact that she has completely stopped moving. I really can't imagine what she and Kate will be like when they get together in person.

"- shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or any State on account of anxiety, disquietude, or previous condition of agitation.'" Mia heaves in a steady breath and continues to voice her disapproval as she finally marches through the front door of Esclava Salon and Spa. "I just had a massage six days ago and I've waited far too long to get another one. Do you know how many health benefits there are?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me," I intone, scampering a few steps behind her toward the queue in front of the establishment's expensive-looking white and gray marble reception desk. There's a small group of women in front of us, so we stand behind them and wait our turn.

"Hells yes I'm going to tell you!" She holds up her left hand and begins counting the benefits of massage therapy by holding up her fingers with each point. "It alleviates stress, lessens anxiety, helps fight insomnia, rids people of headaches! Headaches, Ana!" she exclaims, furthering her point by reaching out and smacking my shoulder with the back of her hand. Ouch! "Massages increase blood oxygen levels by like ten percent-or something?-and they balance out the nervous system. Did I mention how relaxing they are? Because they're very relaxing."

"I think you covered it," I grumble, rubbing my shoulder with exaggerated vigor. "Don't massages help with muscle pain?"

"C'mon," Mia scoffs and narrows her eyes at me. "I didn't hit you hard enough to have actually hurt you."

"You were raised with brothers. I think you underestimate your strength," I tease, assuming Mia, Elliot, and Christian played as rough as Kate and Ethan did as children. Not having grown up with siblings I've always been intrigued by the Kavanagh's stories of sibling squabbles: sumo wrestling with pillows shoved up the front of their shirts, shoving matches over remote controls, and fist fights over who was first player in Donkey Kong.

"Doubt it." Mia shrugs her shoulders. "I was babied beyond belief. When I was eight, Elliot and I were fooling around and he gave me a bloody nose. He was like…fifteen? Or sixteen? I don't know, but our dad was so mad he couldn't even look at Elliot, and our mom made him do yard work all summer for her friends for free."

Speaking of Grace. "Wasn't your mom right behind us?" Since my car isn't working, Mia had Grace pick us up and bring us out for lunch before we headed to Esclava.

"She's on the phone with the event coordinator," Mia says, emphasizing the name with disdain. "Mom and the Coping Together board plan everything ahead of time, but they usually step back a bit the day of so they can have some fun." Her eyes roam around the room as if searching for someone, and she twists her face into a look of disgust. "Elena's probably skulking around here somewhere waiting for us."

"Elena's the one who showed up at Christian's last weekend, right?"

"Yep," Mia nods her head and opens her mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by the shrill, blaring chorus of Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy" emanating from her purse. I can't help but laugh when Mia blushes and her face twists into an expression of complete horror and humiliation. An embarrassed Mia really is quite the sight.

"What is that?" I giggle, biting my lips to suppress the sound when Mia narrows her eyes at me.

"Fucking Elliot," she groans, opening the bag and rifling through it in a frantic search for her phone. "Before you get any weird ideas about me, you should know that I did not set this as his ringtone. He did. Does it all the time." She locates the phone and pulls it out of her bag before the music repeats a third time. "I'll be right back. The reservation should be under Grey or Lincoln." Mia turns away and I hear her begin to scold her older brother as she walks toward a secluded corner, "'I'm Too Sexy', Elliot? You're dis-gus-ting."

Since the receptionist is still occupied by the group in front of me, I pull out my phone and check through the recent messages, smiling when I see a new one from my big-mouthed roommate.

K: Sorry babe! You know wine gives me verbal diarrhea.

Verbal diarrhea, I snort. I do know that Kate suffers from the colorfully described affliction, but I don't know if wine is normally the cause. Honestly, she just doesn't think before she says anything. Ever. I know that I should be more selective about what I tell her, so it's my own fault for confiding in her. But since Christian doesn't seem to mind that Mia knows, then I guess I don't really care.

A: It was the wine's fault - famous last words. It's fine, though. C wasn't upset.

Her reply is immediate, and I picture her lying in a skimpy bikini on a plush lounge chair under a beach umbrella with her favorite hair of the dog cocktail in one hand and her phone in the other. Knowing Kate, there's probably some tanned muscle-man or two fanning her with palm leafs and hand-feeding her grapes while she sips and types away. She's incredibly adept at wrapping guys around her fingers. It's pretty impressive to see her in action.

K: Sooo you talked to loverboy again? ;)

A: …

K: Back to being tight-lipped? Whatevs...I'll get it out of you eventually.

Rather than reply and let Kate try to pry out more details about whatever it is I have going on with Christian, I snap the phone shut and ignore the quiet vibrations alerting me to the receipt of more messages. When I lift my head, I notice that the gaggle of women in front of me is beginning to disband and head glumly toward the door as the brunette receptionist apologizes for there being no walk-in availability for a group of their size this afternoon. Once they've dispersed, I make my way to the counter, grateful that the Greys had the foresight to make a reservation.

"Good afternoon," the receptionist sings, beaming down at me with her perfectly straight white smile. Her professional attire is far more impressive than the old jeans and ratty WSU sweatshirt I threw on before Mia and I left my apartment. Hell, Mia told me not to bother showering until after our day at the spa, so I'm feeling more than a little scummy in comparison to the well-put together woman in front of me. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Hi," I peep. "Um…the reservation should be under Grey?" The woman's smile falters and her expression turns sour and serious. Her eyes slip from my face and scan over my body in a way that makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable and more than a little disconcerted. It's like she's inspecting me for defects, finding too many in my unpolished appearance. I smooth my hands over my wild, unwashed ponytail and choke out, "If it isn't under Grey then the reservation might be under the na-"

"We'll find something for you," she interrupts in a tone decidedly more icy than her greeting and her eyes cut from my chest, back up to my face as she throws her long dark hair over a shoulder with a sharp twist of her head. She gives me a tight smile and begins tapping away on her touch-screen computer, continuing the conversation without actually looking at me. "Usually, Mr. Grey gives us more notice when he sends someone over."

Mr. Grey? What? "I think you're mista-"

"It's really fine," she snaps, interrupting me again and still not looking at me. I bristle at her dismissal of my correction. If I learned anything from working at Clayton's, it's how to treat a customer, and this is not how you do it. Mr. Clayton would have had my head if I ever dreamed of making one of his customers feel like I was inconvenienced by them, much like how this woman is making me feel. And interrupting a customer? I would have lost a shift! Maybe even more than one. Given that this place looks like something out of movie, I know that the clientele must spends a lot of money to come here. There is no way she gets away with treating high-paying customers this way. Who would ever come back?

"No," I say a little louder and steadier than before. The woman's eyes lift from her screen and meet mine with a pointed glare. "I'm here with a group. If our reservation isn't under Grey, then it might be under-"

"A group?" she blurts, lifting a horrified and perfectly manicured eyebrow. "I don't think that's going to work. Let me talk with my-"

The girl's eyes shift from mine and settle at a point just beyond my right shoulder. Her speech stops abruptly and her perturbed expression twists, morphing into something more befitting of a customer service representative. I turn my head to see who could incite such a pleasant reaction from the receptionist, and I make eye contact with Mia's mother.

"Hi Grace," I peep at the same time as the receptionist trills, "Dr. Trevelyan."

"Ana," Grace nods, smiling softly as she meets my eyes momentarily, but her friendly expression doesn't fully form until she's met the receptionist's now-cheerful expression. "Greta," Grace sings, smiling broadly.

"I didn't see your name on the schedule for the day, but I'm sure we can fit you in," I hear Greta say to Grace, her eyes hurrying over to mine for just a moment.

"We're meeting up with Elena," Grace explains, motioning over to me. "You've changed your hair again. The darker color looks great."

"Blondes may have more fun, but Ms. Lincoln insists that brunette is the way to go if I want to land myself a guy worth keeping." I don't miss the smug smile Greta shoots my way before she answers Grace's compliment in a happier tone than what she afforded me. The two women converse in an easy banter, exchanging pleasantries and anecdotes of their daily lives while I stand just to the side of Grace. It's pretty clear that they know one another fairly well, and at first I attempt to listen in on the conversation in hopes of being able to contribute something, but after a few minutes of idle staring, I realize that the effort is for naught. I start twiddling with the worn leather strap of my bag out of distraction and silently try to bring Mia back into the room with a Summoning Charm. Accio Mia! I didn't go to Hogwarts. It doesn't work.

When I met Mia's family last weekend, they were all beyond welcoming, and I don't know what happened or what I could have done between then and now to offend the Greys, but Grace has been noticeably colder toward me today than she was seven days ago. It's not like she's been outwardly nasty or rude or anything short of polite, but there's something about her treatment of me that seems lukewarm and indifferent when compared to how incredibly sweet she'd been the first time we met. If anything, she seems nervous to be around me, and that makes absolutely no sense. To me, at least.

Mia and I met up with Grace for lunch just before making our way to Esclava, and it was definitely an uncomfortable experience. At first, I attributed Grace's less than affable reception to be a result of her irritation with Mia's raging wine-hangover, but I quickly realized that whatever was bothering her had more to do with me than with her daughter. Throughout our meal, it seemed like she dreaded engaging me in any type of conversation; if I was involved in a discussion, it was because Mia had included me.

"Ana," Grace utters, bringing me out of my introspection.

"Hmmm," I murmur, giving her a small uneasy smile before I clear my throat and correct myself. "Yes?"

"Where did Mia go?" she asks, eyes flitting around the room without meeting mine.

"Elliot just called," I reply, turning and pointing around my cell phone in the direction Mia took off in. "She said she would be right back." When I turn back to Grace, I notice that she's eyeing my hand closely. Her lips turn up in the first genuine smile she's directed at me all day. Despite my elation that she's finally her welcoming self again, I frown when I realize that I have no idea what could have prompted her abrupt change in attitude.

"Is that a flip phone?" she grins, pointing to the device in my hand. Why does everyone think that's so funny?

"Um…yes." I look down at my phone and shrug my shoulders, slipping the device back into the little outside pocket of the cross-body purse Kate and I thrifted last year. My gaze shifts to a point just beyond Grace's shoulder in an attempt to dispel my nerves, but I'm left even more disconcerted when I notice Elena striding confidently alongside Mia across the bleached concrete floor in our direction. Mia's expression is glum, but Elena appears elated to have run into the youngest Grey. When her eyes lock onto mine and her lips tug up into an unsettling smirk, I turn my attention back to Grace to avoid her expression.

"I haven't seen one of those in years," she smiles, holding up a fancy, complicated-looking Blackberry similar to the one I saw in Christian's hand at dinner last weekend. "Christian insisted we all get updated phones about three years ago. I miss the simplicity, and he just keeps gifting all of us new models."

Since this is the first time Grace has instigated a conversation without Mia's help, I muster up a genuine grin to match hers. This is the woman I met at dinner last weekend - kind, considerate, charming. I can have a conversation with this version of Grace, it's the cold one that makes me feel uneasy.

"Kate, my roommate," I clarify just in case she doesn't remember, "tried to get me an iPhone for Christmas last year, but I convinced her not to. I mean, why would I need e-mail and the Internet on my phone?" I shrug my shoulders and when I bring my eyes back to Grace's face, she's still smiling and softly chuckling at my lack of technological prowess. "Plus, her phone doesn't have Snake and it broke when she dropped it after a week."

"Snake! Carrick loved that game. He would play it whenever it was my turn to drive somewhere," she says, laughing again, so I continue to smile back at her until Elena approaches with Mia trailing just behind her. "Elena!"

"Grace," Elena greets, her voice too loud for the distance between them. They embrace and air-kiss one another's cheeks in a greeting that is clearly familiar and rehearsed. Mia moves to stand between Grace and I, but when her mother and Elena break apart, Elena turns her body so that her back is facing me and I'm purposefully left out of the small group. "Janine just pulled up. Lance drove her over and is dropping her gown off at your estate while we're being taken care of. Now, are we-"

"Elena," Grace interrupts with a soft, patient tone, her eyes flitting over to me and Mia, who's glaring daggers at Elena; thus drawing Elena's attention to the person she's purposefully ignoring. Me. "This is Ana, Mia's friend. I believe you met briefly last weekend."

Just like when Christian introduced Elena and I at his apartment last weekend, I'm hit with an instant dislike of this woman. Although she's quite attractive, it's obvious by her wrinkle-less skin that she's undergone some kind of skin rejuvenation procedure, and her hair is so bleached it appears white. While Mia, Grace, and I dressed down for our day at the spa, she's completely decked out in what I recognize from my life with Kate as expensive, albeit revealing, business attire. Her black dress lands several inches above her knees and cuts down into her surgically enhanced cleavage. The shoes, which I recognize as Louboutins because of their red soles, are towering-ly high, and when she turns to make room for me, Elena almost stumbles over herself in mock surprise.

"Oh!" she sighs dramatically, frowning as if she might actually feel bad. "Sorry. I didn't see you there." Liar. "It's so nice that you could join us today." She quickly turns her attention from me to Mia without stopping to take a breath and says, "You're such a generous friend, Mia, to be treating Ana to such an expensive afternoon."

Mia shakes her head and moves her eyes to mine, a whatthefuck expression written across her face. While I agree that she is an exceptionally generous friend, I'm pretty sure that Mia noticed the same veiled insult in Elena's words that I picked up on. I usually try to see the best in everyone, but the weighted tone put on 'expensive' seems to imply that I'm taking advantage of the situation. I most certainly am not. I notice that Mia's attention is back on Elena and her mouth is set in a way that tells me she's about to say something. Luckily, Janine, the last person in our party, comes through the door prompting the receptionist to lead the five of us through a pair of frosted glass doors and down a wide hallway of the same bleached concrete flooring and stark white walls as the front of house. While everyone else seems to know what we're doing and where we're headed, I just follow along.

"She's the worst, right?" Mia whispers, nudging me with her elbow. Her eyes roam in front of us to where her mother is talking animatedly to her friends. "Elena?"

Not wanting to ruffle any feathers, I just shrug my shoulders in response and let the little voice in the back of head scream Yes!

"You're way too nice, Ana," Mia giggles. "By the end of the night you'll be ready to pull her hair out. I don't know how my mom can stand being her friend and how Christian can do business with her."

"Extreme patience?" I suggest under my breath.

"My mom maybe," she snorts. "But my brother?" Mia shakes her head. "Absolutely not. He's the poster child of impatience."

"How so?" I ask, because in all of my interactions with Christian, he's been extremely sweet. The Christian I've heard about from Kate and the version of him Mia talks about sometimes, don't coincide with the man I've gotten to know a bit. I'm sure some men would have taken advantage of the girl panting over them in their kitchen…and living room…and elevator…and parking garage…and back seat. He had plenty of opportunities to be impatient with me, but he's been nothing but a gentleman.

"Well," Mia starts, bobbing her head from side to side as if considering her answer carefully, "he's just a bit demanding? Sometimes. Not with me, really, but with Elliot he can be so easily irritated. And at work. His employees know that if he wants something, he wanted it yesterday and they scramble to get it done."

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out when I take in the opulent room we've entered at the end of the hall. My feet completely cease their movement and I just look around the wide open space of a luxury suite.

The walls, though still white like the rest of the establishment, have some kind of textured finish on them, making them look soft and fuzzy almost. In the center of the room is an ornate crystal chandelier hanging over plush cream-colored chairs that circle around a white marble coffee table. A section of the room is taken over by two sets of three pedicure stations that face one another. They're beautiful, with white marble basins and cream, cushion-y seats that match the furniture in the sitting area. Along another wall is a manicure bar flanked by two more frosted glass doors. Hidden speakers pump out soft instrumental music and nearly every flat surface is overcome with mounds of fresh flowers that spread a light, floral scent throughout the space. It's beautiful and so very extravagant that I'm tempted to pinch myself in fear of this being a dream. Before I make a fool of myself by gawking at my surroundings, I close my wide-open jaw and attempt to tone down my awed expression.

Fortunately for me, everyone except Elena stopped moving when I did, so I don't look like a complete oaf as I stand in place and gape at everything in the room. Elena takes a couple steps forward and turns around to address all of us.

"Now, I've booked massages first. Mia," she turns her face to address only Mia, "you and your friend will be in the blue room with Tara and Stephanie. The rest of us will be in the yellow room. We each have one-hour sessions, and then we'll reconvene out here for facials, manicures, pedicures, eyebrow waxing or threading-whatever we need." Elena smiles and makes brief eye contact with everyone except me. "Isabella and Franco will be stopping by at some point to consult with us about hair and makeup."

Elena goes on about a couple other things, and I'm left a little out of my depth with all of this, so I just tune her out. Kate told me to expect the best when I got here, but this is seriously beyond my wildest dreams. Things like this don't even exist in movies! I know beyond doubt that my paycheck wouldn't cover half of what we're going to have done today, and I'm hit with a fresh pang of guilt for allowing the Greys to foot my bill. Maybe Elena was right in expressing her disapproval of my being here with Mia.

"Ana," Mia says softly, calling me out of my penitent thoughts, "are you coming?"

I look around and notice that while Mia and I are still standing in the same spot, the rest of our party has moved on and is making its way to the door on the left of the manicure bar. The yellow room.

"I-Mia-This," I stammer, not quite sure how to express what I'm thinking. I blow out a breath and open my mouth again but Mia interrupts by grabbing my hand and pulling me toward our room faster than I can follow her.

"Come on," she chides, shaking her head. "Kate told me this was going to happen."

I narrow my eyes. "Kate?"

"Last night when you were changing she told me that you'd probably freak when you saw this place. Think I'm spending too much money on you. Look," Mia takes a deep breath, "Elena and Christian own this place. This is free. We do this every year and I always bring a friend or two. You'll be infinitely more grateful than Lily ever was in the past or would have been today. I want you here."

"Mia-" I start, but Mia turns around to face me once she's dragged me through our door and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug.

"Re. Lax. Calm down. Stop biting your lip. And let's get pampered. We deserve it!" She breaks away, but grabs onto my hand when she turns to the two smiling women standing at the foot of the massage tables. "Where do you want us?"

An hour and a half later, Mia and I are wrapped up in the world's softest bathrobes and lounging on the comfortable furniture in the sitting area of the suite. Mia was definitely right in telling me to calm down and enjoy myself. After explaining to Stephanie, my masseuse, that I'd never had a massage before, she promised to take it easy on me and proceeded to knead away every ounce of discomfort and guilt I was carrying. I left our massage room feeling somehow both relaxed and invigorated. I don't foresee myself experiencing something like this ever again, so I'm just going to do my best to enjoy it.

I turn my head lazily to the side and take in Mia's appearance. Her eyes are closed and her face is slathered with a thick concoction of honey and greek yogurt that an esthetician slathered on her nearly ten minutes ago. Apparently, the antibacterial qualities of the honey and the hydrating powers of the yogurt will work to eliminate the skin-fatiguing effects of Mia's alcohol-fueled Friday night and subsequent Saturday hangover.

Though I'm sure I look as ridiculous as Mia does with whatever the woman just put on my face, I can't help the laugh that escapes my throat upon looking at my friend. I watch Mia's eyebrow lift as she opens one eye to look over at me.

"I am still hungover," she mumbles, moving her mouth carefully so as to avoid ruining the mask. "I blame it on that wine."

"Not the cosmos?" I ask, smiling over at her. "Or the shots you did with Claire?"

"And those," Mia moans, "but it was the wine that really did me in. It was so sweet. Above all, I blame Christian. Now that I look back at the number of times he ordered for me last night, I'm convinced he was trying to get me drunk."

I say nothing. Christian was trying to get her drunk, and I'm glad that he did. It's not every day I have the opportunity to talk with Christian Grey on the telephone less than two hours after making out with him in the back of his luxury SUV. I spent my fair share of time remembering those moments in his backseat while I was getting my massage. It seems like every time I've closed my eyes in the past week I've replayed one of the few moments he and I have shared. Sigh.

The doors to the suite open and Greta the receptionist walks through with Jason Taylor hot on her heels carrying a large tray covered with tinfoil and a tall, slim box. His eyes sweep the room and when they land on Mia and I, he nods his head in a silent, stoic greeting.

"Taylor!" Mia exclaims, jumping up and hurrying across the room to follow after him. I stand up too and laugh when I hear her incessant questioning.

"What are you doing here? What's in the box? What's under the foil?" She stops moving and I almost run into her. For being hungover, Mia has an incredible amount of energy. Kate usually sleeps on the couch all day or snuggles up in my bed until I break down and crawl in with her.

"Miss Grey," Taylor greets, and his lips curl up into a smile as he sets his items onto a credenza situated against the back wall. "Ms. Steele." I give him a stern look and he shakes his head. "Ana."

"Hello Jason Taylor," I smile and watch as Mia starts tearing the foil off the tray with impatient fingers, revealing an assortment of colorful sandwiches, pita chips, and red-tinted hummus.

"Oh. My. God. Gail made us lunch! This looks great!" Mia claps her hands together and turns on her heel to hurry in the direction of the massage rooms, leaving Taylor and I alone. "I'm going to get mom."

"Wow, Taylor, thanks for all of this," I say, realizing just how hungry I am now that it's been a few hours since brunch.

"Mr. Grey wanted to make sure you've all had something to eat," he explains in his deep, gravely voice before clearing his throat and opening up the box to pull out a bottle of champagne. "And he wanted me to discreetly ask you to check your phone. He's been trying to contact you."

"Oh." I feel my cheeks heat upon hearing the message. "I'll…umm…do that. Thank you."

Mia emerges from the yellow room a moment later with Grace, Janine, and Elena trailing behind her. I notice that each woman still has on her face mask, and I bring my hand to my face in realization that I've been standing here talking to Taylor with a green chlorella and avocado spread on my face. Before leaving, Taylor pops the bottle, and the five of us sit down around the marble coffee table to eat our lunch and drink our champagne from the crystal glassware Elena found in one of the cabinets. Everything Christian sent over is beyond delicious and we eat mostly in silence. I finish quickly, setting my plate aside and grabbing my phone out of my bag to check for Christian's attempts at getting ahold of me. I'm met with one missed call and several missed messages, the most recent from only a few minutes ago.

C: I can't wait to see you tonight.

C: Are you at Esclava yet?

C: Of course you are. I hope you have a good time.

C: What color are you wearing tonight?

C: I'm only asking because I'll dress to match.

C: Unless I shouldn't.

My chest swells with a feeling that was unfamiliar to me pre-Christian, and I can't help but giggle when I read his messages. He wants to dress to match what I'm wearing? People do that? There's this odd mixture of excitement and anxiety coursing through me. I know I'll see Christian this evening, but after spending a large part of last night with Mia and Kate, I know that there are going to be more than enough beautiful women to hold his attention at this ball. I have absolutely no experience with anything like a formal event of this magnitude, and I can't help but ask myself what Christian will see in me when I'm in a room with better-poised, better-connected, better-looking women. We might walk together, but what if someone else catches his eye? I have no right to be jealous, but I don't think I'll be able to help myself if push comes to shove. So do I want Christian to try to match my dress? Definitely. Anything that will show that he belongs to me, even if it is only for a night.

A: We could dress to match. I'll be wearing white.

After I send my reply, I look up and find that everyone else in my party is chatting away about some of the high-profile guests who will be in attendance tonight and finishing up their meals. So, I decide to fire off another message while I still have the time.

A: And I can't wait to see you tonight either.

I bite the inside of my cheeks to suppress that ever-present smile Christian elicits. I don't understand why he makes me feel so giddy, but it's definitely a welcome feeling. Two messages come rapidfire just as I push send.

C: White? That's easy enough to match.

C: Are you having a good time at Esclava?

A: I am having a good time. Thank you for lunch. It was delicious. :-)

C: You're most welcome, but I didn't make it so I'll pass on your message to my housekeeper. I'll let you get back to your day. Have fun and I'll see you this evening. ;-)

I flip my phone closed and slip it back into my bag. When I lift my face back to my group, I notice that all eyes are on me and I can't help the blush that spreads across my cheeks. No one was sitting close enough to have seen whom I was texting, but I feel incredibly rude for having ignored the conversation in front of me to engage in one via my phone. And I can't get rid of this smile no matter how hard I bite my lip.

"Sorry," I murmur, setting my bag on the floor next to my chair and ignoring the goofy grin spread across Mia's face as she mouths Who was that? She knows very well who it was, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from sticking it out at her. We stare at one another for a beat, but before she can press further, Grace speaks up.

"Did Elliot need something important when he called?" Grace asks, gently placing a hand on Mia's shoulder.

"Not really." Mia shakes her head and takes the last bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly until she swallows. "Gail is a-maze-ing," she enunciates. "El just offered to walk with Ana tonight."

Each woman's eyes flit over to me and I feel my expression fall. I haven't quite had the opportunity to tell Mia that I accepted her other brother's invitation to walk with him last night. Or maybe I have had the opportunity, but I was a little wary of her reaction. It's not that I think she would be upset. In fact, I'm pretty sure she'll be elated, but I needed time to prepare myself for Mia Grey level excitement. I take a deep, stabilizing breath to compose myself before I give Mia the news.

"Um," I start, taking a deep stabilizing breath in anticipation of Mia's reaction, "Elliot doesn't need to do that. I'm-"

Elena barks out a laugh, interrupting my news, and everyone turns to look at her. "What?" she asks, pushing her overly-blonde hair away from her face to look at everyone in our little circle until her eyes stop on mine. "Do you want Mia's poor date to have to walk both of you down? Talk about a third wheel," she scoffs. "You could just skip the carpet altogether."

I feel my cheeks flame out of…something more than embarrassment. To be completely honest, I'm pissed off. Elena's been nothing but rude all day, and I'm beginning to think that it was her who turned Grace off of me between our first meeting and today.

"Elena!" Grace and Janine exclaim in unison. Janine quickly turns toward me with an apologetic expression written across her features, her reddish hair whipping around her face with the momentum of her shock. I watch as Grace's cheeks flush a rosy pink while she regards Elena with a look of complete disbelief. It's almost as if she doesn't recognize the belligerent woman sitting across from her, and a small piece of me fist pumps the air in triumph. Finally, Elena is being recognized by her friends for the...jerk she is.

Mia lets out a breathy laugh, but the gleam in her eyes is anything but humorous. When her eyes fall on Elena, who's sitting there bewildered by everyone's ire, I'm left a little nervous about what's going to come out of her mouth. Mia isn't one to hold back, so in the spirit of keeping some of the peace and salvaging the rest of our day, I open my mouth before Mia has a chance to.

"Actually," I murmur, looking down at my tangled fingers, "Neither Sean nor Elliot need to bother with me. Christian asked me to walk with him." I shrug my shoulders and reach up to smooth back my hair, swallowing the anxious bubble that's lodged tightly in my throat. "So, I was going to do that."

I keep my eyes downcast for a moment, and when I look up I'm met with an assortment of surprised expressions all directed at me. Grace is staring at me like I'm some sort of mythical creature, but the faintest hint of a smile is clear on her twitching lips. I'll take any kind of approval from Grace. I want her approval as Mia's mother, but I need for her to like me if anything real happens with Christian. Janine's expression is similar to Grace's; she's smiling ever so slightly and nodding her head at me. Elena's expression, however, belies a different sentiment. She looks completely flummoxed. Her mouth alternates between open and closed, and it's clear she wants to say something but doesn't know what to say. Behind her shock, there's an angry glint to her eyes that sets me on edge.

Mia is a completely different story, though. She's practically bouncing in her seat and her grin is so wide that I'm surprised her lips haven't cracked under the stress of it. She squeals loudly and launches herself across the space between us to crush me into a hug so tight I can't move my arms or breathe properly. She's practically sitting in my lap.

"Shut! Up!" she screeches directly into my ear. "Shuddup! When did he ask you? Was it at the bar or in the car when you were waiting for me? Or in those flowers he sent you?" Mia pulls back, but keeps a tight grip on my biceps as she wedges herself into my seat even though it was clearly made for one occupant. "Jeeze, Ana, why didn't you tell me? Elliot and I have been plotting all day over how to get you two together and we didn't even have to! I can't wait to tell him. And I can't wait to see you and Christian tonight. He never went to prom and we've never seen him all dressed up and with a date and it's going to be too adorable. Just adorable!" I stare at her for a beat, not quite sure what to make of her exuberance or her mile-a-minute mouth. She rolls her eyes and it's clear that my indecision is killing her. "Come on, Ana! When did he ask you?"

"Last night," I mutter, not wanting to tell Mia everything in front of her mom and company.

"Obviously." She rolls her eyes, again. "When, though?"

"Can we talk about this later?" I whisper, hoping she catches the fact that I don't want to talk about this right now. Instead, Mia gives me a stern look that prompts me to continue talking. I sneak a look up at Grace and find that she's regarding us with rapt attention, clearly just as interested in this conversation as Mia is. I reluctantly drag my eyes back to Mia and say, "He called me after I tucked you in."

"That's too cute," Mia chirps, grinning over at me. "So he was just like," she finishes her sentence in a deeper tone meant to impersonate Christian's voice, "Ana, will you be my date tomorrow night?"

"No," I groan, putting my face in my hands to hide my embarrassed expression and pink cheeks. "Not exactly."

"Then what exactly?" Mia laughs, and I can't tell if she's completely oblivious to my discomfort or making the decision to ignore it. She promised last night that she wouldn't make a big deal out of anything that happens between Christian and me, but it's pretty clear that she can't help herself. Her face goes suddenly serious, and I'm left a little bewildered by her sharp change in demeanor. "Does he know what you're wearing?"

I roll my eyes; of course she would ask me that. "He knows my dress is white, but that's it."

"That's fine," she pauses, then looks over to Grace. "He's probably wearing a tux, right?" Grace shrugs her shoulders, her hesitant smile now blooming across her pretty face. "I think that's what he usually does, but it's not like he doesn't have a ridiculous closet full of options. God! I just can't wait to see him see you tonight. You're going to look amazing in that dress." Mia turns toward Grace and Janine, completely cutting Elena out of the conversation. Not that she has anything to say. She looks like she's gotten the shock of her life. "It's gorgeous. White. Ralph Lauren. Halter dress. Thigh slit. Perfect."

"You're killing me right now," I groan. "It's not a big deal. He probably just nee-"

Just as I'm about to say that Christian probably just needed a date for appearance' sake, the doors to our suite burst open with a force so hard I brace myself for when they will inevitably bang against the walls on either side. The five of us twist our heads to see a group of four sharply dressed and impeccably coiffed individuals stroll through. I half expect some electronic beat to play behind them since they came in so dramatically. Each of them has on a black apron with Esclava embroidered across their chests in an elaborate script. At the lead is a man, slight of build with dark hair and a flawless olive skin tone. He's clutching a leather bound journal in one hand with a hot pink feather pen sticking out from the pages, and when he spots us, his hands shoot up in the air and his pace doubles in speed.

"Mia Grrrrr-rey!" he screeches, and Mia jumps up to greet him with an enthusiastic smile plastered on her face. I take a deep breath because with Mia in my chair, I could hardly breath. "This is my most favorite night of the year!" He has a hint of an Italian accent and it's pretty clear in his mannerisms and overall demeanor that he is gay.

I can't help my smile. I've been saved from Mia's questioning by the gay Italian hairdresser.

"Franco," she gushes, hugging him tightly and planting a big kiss on his smooth cheek. When they pull apart, the rest of our group rises to greet Franco and his team with warm pleasantries. Grace, Janine, and Elena are as familiar with everyone as Mia is, and I'm left a little overwhelmed by the team sent here to beautify us. It's hard to believe that anyone is used to having a team get them ready. Normally, I sit at my desk and Kate attacks me with makeup until our bickering becomes so intense that I wipe most of it off. I doubt that will fly today.

Elena starts barking orders, but Mia dismisses her instructions and pulls me into her side. "Franco this is my friend Ana Steele." She waves her hand with a fantastic flourish in Franco's direction and giggles when she says, "Ana this is Franco de Luca."

I shake his hand and his eyes roam over my green goop-covered face. "These eyes. So blue! And this hair." He reaches out and runs his hand over my long, unwashed ponytail and I flush under his inspection. Franco is quite forward.

Mia pulls me under her arm and into her side, at the same time leaning forward into Franco. "She's Christian's date," she says, conspiratorially cupping her hand over her mouth as if the news is still a secret. Clearly, it isn't.

"Christian? But he-" At first, his eyes flit uncomprehending between Mia and I, but the moment the information takes hold in his brain, Franco's eyes grow wide and his lips curl into a delighted smile. "Oh my," he sighs, clapping his free hand against the journal with a loud thump, "we need to get this off your face rapido. I need to see what I'm working with."

And with that, my dreams of being saved from Mia's enthusiasm are thrown out the window.

Franco came in and took over our spa day with militant expertise in beautification. My eyebrows have been depilated into perfect arches. Fingernails manicured. Feet pedicured. Around four thirty, our group left Esclava and headed back to Bellevue to shower. Franco arrived an hour or so later, and he and his assistant Courtney attended to Mia and I, while Courtney and her cohorts took care of Grace, Janine, and Elena.

Even though I'd been hesitant to allow a stranger complete creative control over my look tonight, I have to admit that Franco took fantastic care of me. Being the professional he is, Franco sensed my apprehension and talked me through the entire process before he started, and much to my surprise, he'd already decided to keep my makeup looking fresh and natural for the most part. He used a tinted moisturizer and light powder on my face, mascara and a nude eyeshadow on my eyes, and finished the look with a tube of bright red lip stain. I've never worn any kind of bold color on my lips, but I do quite like the way the crimson stands out against my skin and white dress.

Keeping with the idea that my mouth would be the most dramatic piece of my look, Franco kept my hair in an artfully curled ponytail. Somehow the uncomplicated style of everything all together looks both glamorous and natural at the same time.

On top of how incredibly grateful I am for Franco's work, I've never been more thankful that Kate and I are the exact same dress and shoe size. Kate's white dress fits me like a glove and her white Louboutins give me just the right amount of height for the dress to fall along my toes. The red soles are the identical shade of my lips, and the one-carat diamond earrings Ray gave me for my high school graduation are the perfect accessory. I'm not entirely comfortable with the dress's thigh slit-it's quite racy in comparison to my usual style-but it isn't indecent by any means, and Mia insists that it's perfect for the occasion.

Now that today is over, I have to admit that allowing a team of professionals to take care of your every beauty need is beyond amazing. I've never looked this good. I can't wait to tell Kate. I'm feeling more confident in my ability to hold Christian's attention among the hoards of women who will be vying to steal his attention away from me tonight. I have no doubt that he will look as amazing in his tuxedo as he does in every article of clothing I've seen him in so far, and I just want to impress him. Since I know my dancing skills are sub-par and my brain turns into a puddle of hormonal goo when he's around, my Franco/Mia/Kate-enhanced looks are probably all I'll have going for me.

After twenty minutes of nonstop socializing, I escaped the kitchen where Mia and the rest of our Coping Together group, minus Christian and Elliot, are enjoying pre-event cocktails to the bathroom down the hall. I'd had every intention of heading back after I'd done my business, but I can't get over the girl staring back at me from the gilded, full-length mirror on the back of the door. I wouldn't normally consider myself vain, but I can't walk passed a mirror without admiring Franco's finished product. I don't look like me.

I take one last look in the mirror and smooth out the front of my dress. Letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, I turn the knob and veer right, toward the kitchen at the back of the house. Before I can take more than a couple steps, however, I'm met with a familiar shiver that runs up my spine and makes the hair on my arms stand on end. I freeze in place, knowing somehow that Christian has finally arrived. I twist around and look at the front door just in time to see Christian walk in behind a laughing Elliot. He's staring at the back of his brother's head with a perturbed expression, and I watch as he mouths something that looks a lot like fuck you.

My mouth goes dry when Elliot moves away and I see Christian in his full form. He's dressed in an impeccably fitted tuxedo, but what really draws my attention is his hair. It's in that unkempt style he's been sporting since I first saw him at graduation, but for some reason it looks absolutely sinful combined with the classically polished tuxedo. My fingers twitch with the desire to firmly grasp his dark copper strands in my hands. He is so…handsome, perfect, everything.

I can't take my eyes off of him, so I just stand there and stare as his eyes lift from his brother to look around the room. Christian's face is set in a serious expression, but when his eyes find mine after only a couple steps inside the house, a wide, boyish grin spreads across his face. At first he stands stock still, and his eyes stay firmly set on mine, but after a beat his gaze heats and roams over my body like mine just did his. If he continues to look at me like this, I'll definitely have a good night tonight, and I might be tempted to get a second job to afford Franco's services on the regular.

When his gaze shifts back to my eyes, he shoves his hands in his pockets and doubles his pace over to me, surpassing Elliot's progress into the house. Within seconds, Christian's standing in front of me with a breathtaking smile on his lips. I still can't take my eyes off of his face, and when Christian's hands reach out to softly grip mine, my lungs stop taking their automatic breaths.

"Hi," he says quietly, eyes flitting around my face as his fingers apply gentle pressure to my palms.

"Hi," I repeat, whispering my response because I'm not capable of anything beyond that. I feel my cheeks warm up a bit, and when one of Christian's hands comes up to stroke my pink skin, my eyes fall from his for only a second. If I'm being honest, I could use more than a moment to collect myself, but I want nothing more than to catch every nuance of his reaction to me. I think I could stare at him all day.

"You look-" he mutters, cutting himself off and shaking his head as his gaze roams over my body, Once again, I'm grateful for everyone's hard work today. He leans forward until his lips are pressed to my ear and whispers, "I can't wait to show you off." His smooth cheek rubs against mine and his soft breath tickles the shell of my ear. I have to bite the inside of my lips to stop them from making contact with his face. When I look back up at him, he's still smiling and his eyes are liquid steel, enigmatic, and beyond gorgeous. How did I ever get lucky enough for this man to be my date tonight?

I suck in a deep breath and open my mouth to say me too or you too or something, but I'm interrupted by Elliot's snickering.

"You look hot, Ana," he says in a voice louder than absolutely necessary as he approaches Christian and I. "This guy," he slaps Christian on the arm, "is going to have to beat guys off with the caterer's fine china if he wants to keep you all to himself."

"Elliot," Christian scolds, his smile now completely dissolved into something much less friendly.

"What?" Elliot grins at his brother, and I can't help but look between the two of them. They couldn't be more opposite in appearance or personality, but that dichotomy certainly makes for interesting family dynamics. While Christian is dressed in a traditional black tuxedo, Elliot's is navy blue with black detailing. Where Christian's hair is wild, Elliot has his usually scraggly hair parted at the side and styled into a smart-looking do. It's a fun twist on a classic look and it suits his personality perfectly. "Ooh!" he exclaims, eyes dancing with amusement. "I forgot-you have Taylor to do that for you. And he carries a gun, doesn't he? Nothing to worry about then." He reaches out and slaps both of us on the shoulders.

"Would you go somewhere?" Christian snaps, dropping my hands to look over at Elliot's smiling face. His tone is more than annoyed, but that just seems to please Elliot even more than before. His grin curls across his face into a beaming smile, and at the sound of his laughter Christian scoffs, "You are so fucking obnoxious."

"So you've already told me," Elliot chuckles. "I'll give you two lovebirds," his eyebrows lift as his eyes dance between us, "some alone time." He turns on his heel and walks down the hallway to the kitchen as Christian and I stare after him.

After Elliot turns the corner, I look back up at Christian who's tugging at his hair and scowling after his brother. Even in his irritation, Christian is stunning. When he turns back to me, his expression softens and he steps toward me, regaining the space he vacated when he became irritated with his brother. The fingers on one hand intertwine with mine, and his other other skates up my arm, over my shoulder, twiddles with the thin strap of fabric near my neck, and settles at the base of my throat. I swallow and fight the urge to close my eyes under his intense gaze. When he dips his face to mine and plants a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth, my entire body sags. He pulls away far too quickly and the little voice at the back of my brain urges me to tell him that Franco insisted the lip stain would last through any eeentimate moments.

"Sorry about Elliot," he smirks. "He's been driving me nuts all day." Christian rolls his eyes and the hand at the base of my throat follows the same trail down to my hand, tracing small circles on my palm when he gets there. "He showed up at the penthouse hours ago and improvised a solo game of wastepaper basketball in my study while I tried to get work done."

"That sounds like something he'd do," I giggle, craning my neck to look up at Christian. Even with four inch heels, he towers over me. "I spent the day getting primped and pampered and pumped for information at your spa."

"Ahhh," he chuckles, "Mia can be quite relentless when she thinks she's missed out on something. She called my housekeeper to make sure she got out the best suit to go with your dress."

We stand a moment and just look at one another. I wish I could read Christian's mind, because all I can think about right now is how nice it feels to be this close to him and how perfect it feels to have his hands on me in some way. His hands squeeze mine a little harder and he sucks in a breath, swallowing after his lungs are full. As he lets out his breath, Christian's roaming hand releases my fingers and his eyes break from mine to follow the deliberate movement of his hand-up my arm to my elbow, then to my hip, where he rubs gently before skirting his fingers up my side and over my ribs to my back. Christian's eyes are heated, molten even, and when he encounters the bare skin beneath my shoulder blades, his eyes speed back up to mine. The shiver I felt when he came into the house has intensified to a point that makes me feel as if my skin has come into contact with a live wire. He pulls me closer to his chest and dips his head. My neck cranes back to make the imminent kiss easier on his posture.

We continue to stare one another in the eye, and with just a millimeter between our lips, he whispers, "You are so beautiful, Ana." His eyes move rapidly but don't lose their hold on mine until our lips crash together. We kiss for one amazing moment, but the second I open my mouth to deepen our embrace, I hear a familiar giggle behind me. Christian's lips still and we pull back at the same time.

"Don't stop on my account," Mia laughs, and I close my eyes to stem my embarrassment at being caught. I hear the click of her heels on the hard wood of the hallway, and reopen my eyes when I hear her stop right next to Christian and I.

"Great timing Minnie," Christian says dryly as he drops my hand. I balk at the loss of contact, but it lasts only a moment before he pulls me in front of him and sets his hand on my hip. My back is flush with his chest and I remember his whispered words from last night, Just…just don't touch my chest. I squirm a little, unsure of whether or not this is okay and desperate to know why I can't touch him there. He pulls me a little closer, and I feel a long hardness against my lower back. Oh dear God!

"Perfect timing," she counters, beaming up at her brother with a deviant grin. Her eyes are glimmering underneath the hot pink eyeshadow Franco applied to perfectly match her flow-y, toga-ish dress. "You two are so freakin' ado-" Mia cuts herself off mid sentence and her eyes bounce between my face and Christian's face in quick flits of back and forth, back and forth. "That lip stain Franco used is phenomenal. It isn't even smudged." She sounds incredulous, flummoxed by the enduring color.

"Cool?" I say, unsure of how to handle the quick change of subject and the feeling of Christian behind me.

"Did you need something, Mia?" Christian asks, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Mom and everyone," Mia uses her thumb to point back toward the kitchen, "want to head down. There are a lot of people in the tent already, so it's toast time."

"Oh," Christian says, "okay. I'm just going to use the bathroom, so why don't you two make your way in there without me." I step away, but Christian catches my hand and tugs lightly so that I turn to face him. "I'll find you when I get in the kitchen."

"Okay," I smile and watch as he quirks his eyebrows at me before stepping in the direction of the restroom. Mia grabs my other hand and drags me through the hall to the kitchen, a goofy smile on her face. When we reach the room, Mia turns on me and releases a high-pitched squeal.

"Ana!" she yells with an excitement that doesn't give way to the fact we've spent all day together. "I don't even know what to say right now. Christian is smitten. Did you see his face? I saw his face and ohmygod! You in this dress is beyond perfect!" She grabs my hand with one of her own and squeezes, her other hand moving forward and twiddling with the thigh-slit of my dress.

"Stop it," I whisper-shout, blushing at her forwardness and slapping her hand away. Janine, her husband Lance, and Elena are standing close by, and Janine laughs at the exchange. Elena, in her terrifying black leather dress, just continues to scowl and Lance races into action, handing off glasses of pink champagne to Mia and I for the toast.

"I can't stop," Mia whines, leading me through the crowd toward where Elliot is standing with Sean, Mia's date. "I'm just so excited. And I really am trying to tamp it down, but it isn't working. You two are just too cute together."

"The cutest," Elliot grins, bending down to peck my cheek. "I wanted to do that when we got in, but Christian would have popped my head off."

"He would not," I laugh.

"Wait," Sean says in his deep, very surfer-dude voice. "You're here with Christian?"

"Jeeze," Mia scoffs, hitting Sean on the shoulder and very loudly reminding him that she'd already told him that I was Christian's date. Elliot scampers off to find another drink and Mia starts telling me about a number of the events planned for tonight - hors d'oeuvres and cocktail hour, a very extravagant-sounding dinner, something about an auction - but my attention is diverted when I see Christian pop in through the kitchen door. His eyes flit around the room, and a small smile appears on his lips when he spots me. He strides across the room with purpose, but is intercepted by his grandmother before he can make it half way through the room. Christian's smile fades, but doesn't completely disappear when he bends over to kiss Mrs. Trevelyan's cheek.

I turn my head back to Mia and try my best to keep cool, but it's impossible. I slug down the remaining champagne in my glass and try desperately to pay attention to what Mia's talking about. My fingers twirl the empty stemware around, and my brain is able to make out the word auction again, but my mind is swimming with hyper-Christian-awareness and I don't catch everything she's saying.

I'm pulled out of my altered state with a sharp punch to the shoulder. "Ow!" I rub the spot vigorously, but it does little to alleviate the stinging discomfort. However, it does snap me out of my anxious Christian is here brain.

"Are you going to do it?" Mia asks, her impatience clear in her tone. I shift my eyes to hers.

"Do what?"

"The first dance auction!"

"Oh," I pause, "sure? You're doing it, right?"

"Dear, God," she groans, rolling her eyes as Elliot makes his way over to us with a thick crystal glass filled with ice and clear liquid in hand. How he accomplished that so quickly beats me. Mia eyes his drink and takes my empty glass, handing it and hers over to Sean. "Refills?" He smiles and nods, walking away without a word as Elliot takes his final steps toward us.

"Wow, Minnie," Elliot drawls, his eyebrows raised as he looks after Sean. "You've got little Seany wrapped right around that finger."

"You know it, Lells." Mia grins and pulls Elliot in for a hug. "Love this tuxedo."

"Mom doesn't," he laughs, letting Mia go and looking over at me with a playful glint in his eye. "She just rolled her eyes at me, so I told her that was rude and she told me to shut up." I smile and Elliot and Mia laugh. "The Queen of Manners told me to shut up!" Elliot's eyes flit over my shoulder and he smirks. "Here comes Christian," he rushes, and before I know what's happening, Elliot has me wrapped up so tightly in his arms that my feet lift off the ground despite Kate's four-inch-heeled shoes. "You do look hot tonight, Ana," he says in a voice louder than absolutely necessary as he spins me around.

I'm a little unsteady on my feet when Elliot sets me down, but a sturdy hand reaches out to rest on the small of my back and my entire body stills. Christian's touch is so unique to me that I can recognize it's his hand on me without having seen him cross the room successfully. That electricity that sparks every time we touch shoots through my body and every muscle in my body contracts. I twist my head to the left and look up to find Christian standing very close to my side and glaring at his brother.

"Elliot," he utters, his smile from earlier completely gone as he gazes at his older sibling. Christian shifts on his feet and I feel his fingers flex against my skin as his hand trails from my lower back to my hip, in a move that feels possessive but sets my blood on fire. He pulls me a bit closer into his body, and I hear Elliot laugh, but it doesn't quite register because Christian moves his eyes over to meet mine and the world falls away momentarily.

"I had no idea he could be so suave," Mia giggles, leaning conspiratorially into Elliot whose face is twisted into the wickedest smile I've ever laid eyes on.

"Plaaa-yaaaa," Elliot intones, earning a glare from Christian and a few more giggles from his sister. I just narrow my eyes at the two of them for ruining my moment with Christian.

"What took you two so long?" Mia asks, her tone belying that she's a little perturbed that they were the last to arrive. "We've been waiting forever."

"Well, Howard Hughes over here," he waves his hand in Christian's direction, "was drafting an email about appropriate work clothing. It was extremely important that it get done today. Saturday. A weekend day, not a weekday."

"Howard Hughes," Christian says with a shake of his head, running the hand not on my hip through his hair. "It was important."

"It's Saturday," Mia and Elliot groan at the same time.

"The world economy doesn't stop on the weekends." Christian shrugs his shoulders. "And I don't want to see Andrea's assistant's cleavage first thing Monday morning." I bristle at the thought of one of his employees potentially pushing herself on him. I might be the only person other than Christian who sees that this was a serious issue that needed to be taken care of immediately, but come on!

"Her name's Olivia, Christian." Christian and I turn to find Grace and Sean standing behind us with a tray of four champagne glasses. "Here you go sweetheart," Grace says, removing a glass from the tray and holding it out to me, then repeating the gesture to Christian.

"I know her name, mother." He steps away from me to kiss his mother on the cheek.

When Elliot starts on some crazy story about a date he went on this week, Christian's hand finds its way back to my hip again and I lean into his side. Carrick calls our whole group together and makes a toast that Elliot whispers along with, citing that it's the same speech the Grey patriarch has made every year for as long as Coping Together has been a thing. After the toast, Mia disappears and comes back with a number of masquerade masks. She hands me a delicate white mask with an intricate pattern carved into it, but before I can put it on myself, Christian takes it. He fastens the mask around my head with nimble fingers, and I swoon a little when he turns around, stoops down, and asks me to do the same.

Within minutes of donning our masks, Christian and I are standing at the edge of the long, green carpet that leads to the tent. "So," Christian starts, gripping my hands and peering down at me, "we'll walk down the carpet and pose for some pictures, and then I'll go get us some drinks." He blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair, and I smile at his little nervous tic. "Normally, I treat these things as a networking ploy. I'll have to talk to some business associates, and I apologize for that. If it gets too monotonous, you can find Mia and hang out with her and Sean if you want. My mother looks like she'd be more than happy to show off that I'm here with someone this year, so you can find her too." He opens his mouth again, but I reach up to cover it with my hand giggling at the shocked expression in his eyes.

"I'll be fine." I smile up at him. "I don't mind sitting through a few boring conversations."

"Okay," he murmurs and his lips prick up slightly as he steps onto the carpet with my hand still in his. "Let's get this over with." I watch him as his serious CEO face overtakes the tender one I've grown more accustomed to.

The moment we reach the first photographer, I instantly feel bad for the celebrities I've seen in magazines and on websites. The quiet pop of the flash dazzles me and I can barely keep my eyes open. I wish suddenly that I'd brought sunglasses, because all I can see are stars - and these aren't the I'm dazed because I'm with Christian good kind of stars. There are only five photographers, but each directs questions at the two of us in loud, abrasive tones. Mr. Grey, is this your girlfriend? Mr. Grey, what's your date's name? How long have you been together? I try to smile through the flashes and questions, but it gets a little difficult toward the end of the line. Right before we enter the tent, Christian answers one question with his unaffected, CEO voice. "My date's name is Anastasia Steele. S-T-E-E-L-E."

He sweeps us into the tent and over to a secluded corner. "Shit," he murmurs, "I should have asked if that was okay."

"If what was okay?" I squeak.

"Giving them your name," he frowns. "I probably shouldn't have done that."

"It's fine." I say, shaking my head. "I don't care."

"I mean," he starts, pausing a bit to run his hand over his jaw, "two of them are here for the foundation, so they'll just put our pictures on the website and in promotional materials, but the others were from The Seattle Times and The Portland Tribune."

"Christian," I say, a little more stern than before, "it's fine. Let's get a drink and have a little fun before we have to bore ourselves with business talk."

"Fun," he repeats. Christian stands still and regards me for a moment before smiling and reaching for my hand. "Sorry," he breathes. "I've never done this before, and I don't want my crazy life to scare you away before anything actually happens."

I have to stop myself from laughing in his face, because clearly nothing is going to scare me away from him. I should be startled with the realization that I'm basically obsessed with everything Christian Grey and I want nothing more than to entangle myself so fully in his life that he can't imagine what it was like before me, but I'm not concerned at all. The way I feel when he's around is infinitely better than anything I've ever experienced. And when he touches me…I didn't realize that kind of passion existed outside romance novels.

His fingers tangle with mine and our palms lock together. Christian lifts our hands up to his mouth and plants a tender kiss on the back of my hand before rushing us toward the bar near the entrance to the tent. I giggle as I follow after him on the balls of my feet, because it's incredibly difficult to keep up with his long strides while wearing these ridiculous heels. He looks back at me and smirks, slowing down when he realizes that he's making walking difficult for me.

"Mia's right over there," he says, pointing to the little group gathered a few feet from the bar. He redirects us over to his sister's crowd, but slows down his stride further as we approach. "I'll leave you with her and go get us some drinks." We make our way over and Christian mumbles a hello to his sister, but ignores everyone else. "I'll only be a minute," he whispers into my ear when he turns his back on Mia and her friends. I stare after him, admiring his butt in those perfectly tailored tuxedo pants, but Mia breaks my concentration when she starts introducing me to her friends.

"Ana, these are some of my high school friends." She starts at the leftmost man of the group. "This is Anders and his wife Madison. You've heard me talk about them." Out of all of the stories Mia's told me, these two are the only friends that sound worth her while. From what I remember, Madison lived across the street from the Greys throughout middle school and has been with Anders since middle school. "This is Sean's brother, Christopher, and his cousins, Steven, Conall, and Lily." Lily. Great. All three regard me with discerning eyes, but none make a move to shake my hand or say hello. "And everyone, this is Ana."

"It's so nice to meet you!" Madison gushes, stepping forward to take my hand in a tight shake. Her husband follows, but the remaining three just nod their heads at me.

An awkward hush falls over the group and I can't help when my eyes search the room for Christian. He's standing a few people-lengths away from the bar talking to an older gentleman in a tuxedo similar to his. I watch him for a moment, noting how his arms cross over his chest and the ease in which he converses with someone his father's age, before I'm interrupted by Mia tapping my shoulder. It's a nice change of pace, given that she's been smacking me all day.

"Hey," she says softly, "my mom needs me for something." She nods her head toward Grace who's only a yard or two away with a woman who looks surprisingly familiar. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," I smile, nodding my head and watching her turn until my attention is distracted by the snide voice I recognize as Lily's.

"So, Ana, you're here with Christian?" she asks, slurring her words as she tips her half-empty wine glass in my direction. My eyes scan her outfit, and I almost feel bad for her. It's a cleavage-baring, red dress with some serious fringe and torso cutouts. It seems a little too racy for a charity event, but who am I to judge?

"Yup," I reply, popping the p and avoiding Lily's murderous glare. For someone so pretty, she seems quite ugly.

"Wow," I hear one of the men, Conall I think, bark out at my reply. Lily's lips tug into a predatory-looking smile when he opens his mouth to speak further. "I didn't think Grey had it in him. Chris has always been such a-" he pauses, as if he really need to think about what noun to compare Christian to, "robot." He smiles a perfect smile, like he's made some grand metaphor that describes Christian to a T. "Yeah, a robot."

I don't even know what to say to this guy, but my blood boils at his smug expression and his ridiculous self-indulgent grin. I get even more pissed when I notice that both Lily and Steven laugh at the remark. Clearly, they don't know Christian at all. I'm sure he's a different person while at work and I didn't know him when he was younger, but the Christian I've gotten to know is so un-robotish that I laugh too. I may not know a lot about Christian, but I do know this.

"Well," I start, words flowing out of my mouth before I can swallow them down, "I'd rather be a robot than an asshole." The laughter stops and I have a sudden urge to cover my mouth, but then I remember what assholes these three jerks were being. Christopher chokes on his drink and Madison stares at me open-mouthed, but Anders is chuckling behind his glass. Lily, Steven, and Conall stare at me with open contempt and surprise. "Christian isn't a robot. He's-"

I'm cut off when a soft hand wraps around my bicep, and I turn around to find the woman who was standing with Grace when Mia took off. I haven't met her, but she looks so familiar that I don't brush her off. Her brown hair falls just below her shoulders in soft, perfect waves and despite her friendly smile, I can tell she isn't the kind of woman you want to mess with. Her dress is gorgeous, obviously expensive and made just for her.

"Ana, right?" she asks and I nod my head. "I've been wanting to speak with you all night."

"The night just started," I blurt, then bite my lip because I didn't want to snap at her. "Sorry." She gives the group an apologetic smile and leads me a few feet away. My first thought is that she's one of Grace's friends and she's going to kick me out for being rude to some of the paying guests. That would be great. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I shouldn't have done that, but I was-"

"It's fine." She cuts me off, laughing quietly at my rambling. "I'm Melinda."

"Hi Melinda," I say, holding out my hand for a quick handshake. She smiles at the gesture and grips my hand firmly. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she grins. "I'm a friend of the Greys," she explains, "and I overheard your conversation." She pauses, looking thoughtful. "Christian is very misunderstood. My husband, Bill, and I collaborate with Christian on some of his agricultural work in Africa and Central America. He's very shrewd, and that's the side of him people see most often. But, he's quite compassionate, too." I nod in agreement. This woman, I like. "I consider Grace and Carrick good friends as well, so I was glad to hear you sticking up for him. He doesn't date often."

"I don't know if I'd say we're dating," I say, not wanting to put words in Christian's mouth. I wish we were dating, but it's not like we've been on a date. Is this a date? Crap. Is this a date? Like a real date? Melinda's smile grows and I look down at my feet as my cheeks flush a furious pink. "I mean, I don't know what we're doing."

"Clearly," she laughs. "Now, Ana, tell me-what do you do?"

"Oh," I start, unprepared for her question, "I just graduated from WSU Vancouver with a degree in English Literature and now I'm an editing assistant at Seattle Independent Publishing. I just started last week."

"How do you like it?" she asks, and I realize that I really like her. She's personable and friendly and so sweet.

"It's great. A lot of work," I shrug my shoulders, "but great. It's exactly what I saw myself doing after graduation. Which is pretty remarkable considering I just graduated last month and spent the past year assuming I would be working in fast food for a while." Melinda laughs and her eyes crinkle in amusement when they gaze over my shoulder at someone or something.

"Fast food?" I shiver when I hear the laugh in Christian's deep voice behind me. I turn around and he's standing only inches away from me with a tumbler of some kind of amber-colored spirit in one hand and another class filled with a dark pink concoction in the other. I reach for the pink option and bring the straw up to my lips while gazing up at him and nodding. "I would have hired you."

"I don't think I'd want to work with you," I counter, silently finishing my thought with a because I wouldn't get anything done with you around me. His grin grows and his free hand gently rubs my back, beverage-cooled fingers dancing along the edge of my dress and the exposed skin above.

"Not with him," another male voice says, "for him." I turn back toward Melinda and am shocked when I see Bill fucking Gates standing next to her. Then it hits me. Bill Gates. Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Bill and Melinda Gates. Holy crap. "Not many people work with Christian."

"I think Ana would work fine with Christian," Melinda counters, and I want to say thank you, but I'm a little star struck, so I say nothing and stare blankly at the Grey's friends.

"Ana," Christian says, "this is my colleague, Bill." Holy crap. Christian's colleague is Bill Gates.

Check out my Pinterest (link in my profile) for CT Ball outfits and some extra inspiration- pinterest dot com slash naiadv slash what-if