Hi, lovelies! I realize I didn't write a note with the last chapter update, which felt kind of stale and distant. So I decided I needed to type up a note along with this chapter.
I hope you're all doing well.
I am appalled and overwhelmed at the popularity of this fic, and I'm so grateful for it all.
I'm really enjoying writing this. As we speak, I'm currently working on the next TWO chapters.
So in case you're worried about having to wait as long as you did for the last chapter again, don't worry. You will not be short of FSOG reading material!
Hope you all enjoy this next chapter, and that everyone is doing well. Leave your love and feedback in the reviews!
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Sunday, May 29th
I sleep for about an hour, and wake feeling fully refreshed.
Carefully, I extricate myself from the way I'm wrapped around Anastasia. She moans softly, stirring as I sit up. I examine her face closely for a moment, afraid I've woken her, but she settles again. As I rise, she rolls, stretching across the side of the bed I've just abandoned.
I exit her bedroom quietly, and go downstairs, into my bedroom. I head into the en suite to shower. Back in the bedroom, after I'm dressed, I pick up my Blackberry from where I've left it on the dresser. Idly, I scroll through my emails and missed calls.
I get caught up in dealing with business and it's just after seven when I check the time. I finish up the email I'm composing to Ros.
I cross into the kitchen and pour Ana a glass of cranberry juice and sparkling water. I head back upstairs to see if she's awake yet, gathering her dress and bra from the playroom in the process. Slight amusement touches me as I realize her panties are tucked away in the inside pocket of my jacket. If she wants them back, she'll have to ask for them.
As I crack the door to her bedroom, I realize that she's still asleep, sprawled across the bed. Her hair is mostly loosened from the braid, strands of hair sticking to her face.
I hang the dress on her wardrobe, leave her bra on the chair, and cross the room to her, leaning over her. I almost don't want to wake her—she's so peaceful. But I want to give her enough time to get ready for dinner at my parents'.
I set the glass on her bedside table and kiss her temple softly, inhaling the delicious scent of her hair.
She groans petulantly, turning her face into her pillow.
I smirk, amused at her response. "Anastasia, wake up," I urge her.
"No."
"We have to leave in half an hour for dinner at my parents'."
I never would have taken Anastasia for not being a morning person, and I'm grinning wider now, in entertainment. I find it hilarious.
Slowly, her eyes flutter open, and that gorgeous blue finds my face.
"Come on, sleepyhead. Get up," I tell her, and I lean down to kiss her on the lips.
Abruptly, I find myself excited for Anastasia to meet my parents. The fluttery feeling in my stomach is unfamiliar.
"I've brought you a drink. I'll be downstairs. Don't go back to sleep," I warn her, "or you'll be in trouble." I kiss her once more, quickly, and head back downstairs, leaving her to get ready.
Back downstairs, I turn on some music—Frank Sinatra—to wait for her. I go to the window to admire the lights of the city. They twinkle, shining brightly, and I get the odd feeling that they're speaking to me, welcoming me.
That excitement I felt briefly upstairs, thrums full force in my chest. I can't wait, and all at once I am anxious. I'm proud of this woman. She's beautiful, smart, kind of sassy, and I can't wait to see my family's reaction when I introduce them to her.
Fifteen minutes later, I hear her enter the room. As I turn to look at her, I'm overwhelmed by her beauty once more. She looks refreshed and clean; her eyes are bright and aware. That dress… I can't get over it. The way it hugs her curves and wraps around her body… My, oh my.
I smile at her, remembering that she's not wearing any underwear. I wait for her to ask for them…
A beat of silence passes between us, but she doesn't ask.
"Hi," she says instead. Her voice is soft, and as she grins hugely at me, I realize the magnitude of my own smile.
"Hi. How are you feeling?"
"Good, thanks. You?" she replies. She is being so cavalier, so casual, and I'm trying really hard not to laugh. Two can play this off-the-cuff game.
"I feel mighty fine, Miss Steele." I'm still waiting for it. There's no way she's going to ignore her absence of underwear for this occasion. She's meeting my parents, for god's sake!
"Frank," she says, noting the song playing on the iPod dock, "I never figured you for a Sinatra fan."
She's really not going to ask for them back, and I can't hide my shocked expression at the realization. It turns me on, her bravado, her stubbornness.
"Eclectic taste, Miss Steele," I tell her. I can't help but move toward her. I've had her twice today already, but I can't deny it: I want her again.
We don't have time, though, and I know it. So it will have to wait. I lift my hand and trail my fingers over her cheek. Her skin is so creamy and soft, but her cheeks hold a pink blush.
"Dance with me." I'm aware that it's not a question, but a command, and I know that—but I'm not used to asking for something. Demanding things is the only way I really know how.
I slip the dock's remote out of my pocket and bump the volume up a few notches. Once that's taken care of, I turn back toward Ana, holding my hand out to her. Obediently, she puts her hand in mine, and I grin at her, pulling her to me, hand flat on her lower back.
Her grin echoes my own, and I ease us into a dance.
Briefly, I'm taken back to all the dancing I did with Elena. She was the one who taught me how to move, and since, it hasn't failed me. There's something about a man who can dance, I suppose. Anastasia moves with me, graceful and with ease.
We sway over to the kitchen, and back to the windows, around the dining table, over to the grand baby piano, and back to the glass wall.
She tilts her head back, laughing freely, and the sound makes my heart pound. My god, she is so, so glorious.
"There's no nicer witch than you," I murmur, repeating Frank's lyrics, and I tilt my face to hers, kissing her slowly, softly, tenderly. "Well, that's brought some color to your cheeks, Miss Steele," I observe, tracing the flush covering her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "Thank you for the dance. Shall we go and meet my parents?"
"You're welcome, and yes, I can't wait to meet them," she replies, a little out of breath.
"Do you have everything you need?"
"Oh, yes."
"Are you sure?"
She nods wordlessly. She's trying to stay casual, but her blush darkens just slightly.
She's really not going to ask for her panties back? Really?! This woman is absolutely bewitching, beguiling, and she stands her own. I'm not used to that.
"Okay, if that's the way you want to play it, Miss Steele," I tell her, grinning wildly.
I take her hand; collect my jacket from one of the barstools. I lead her through the foyer and to the elevator.
We step inside, and I still can't believe it. We're going to meet my parents, and Anastasia isn't wearing any panties. I am amused and baffled and impressed, all at once.
As the elevator descends, I feel that familiar arousal building in my belly, and when I glance down at Ana, I see it in her eyes, too.
The slow build bursts to life inside me, and that's it, I'm going to do it, I'm going to push her up against the wall of this elevator, lift the hem of that dress around her waist and fuck her—but the ding interrupts us, and the doors pull open on the ground floor, where Taylor is waiting with the Audi.
I shake the arousing thoughts from my head and then gesture for Ana to exit the elevator before I do.
At the curb, Taylor pulls up. I pull open the back door for Anastasia, and she climbs inside. I duck in after her, buckle in, and we're off.
Taylor takes us up Interstate 5, and as we travel north, the feelings and sensations that have been merely sparking in waves before, are beginning to churn in my stomach. The anxiety is growing steadily, and I can't deny the fact that I'm nervous now, really nervous.
How will this all pan out? I'm not sure of what Ana means to me anymore—our arrangement is so different from anything I've ever been familiar with—and all I know is that I approve of her, wholeheartedly. Will my parents and siblings feel the same way? I've never brought a girl to meet my family before. There is a first time for everything, but I'm not sure I'm ready for this.
"Where did you learn to dance?" Anastasia asks me, and her soft, hesitant voice shatters my dark thoughts.
I turn my gaze to her, surfacing slowly from the depth of my doubtful reverie. She's not going to like the answer. "Do you really want to know?"
She hesitates for just a second, but then says, quietly, "Yes." It sounds more like a question.
"Mrs. Robinson was fond of dancing," I tell her, using Anastasia's name for her.
The expression in her eyes darkens and I know she's not fond of the answer. Finally she says, "She must have been a good teacher."
"She was," I assure her. I examine her face closely, watching for a reaction. She seems lost in thought, her expression unreadable, aside from the small smile that flicks the corners of her lips up, briefly.
I wonder what her deal is with Elena. Elena was one of the best things that ever happened to me. When I was fifteen, my parents 'loaned me out' to do a job for her one summer. I was almost immediately brought into her world of Dom/sub relationships. She saved me from a lot of things, and I shudder now to think of where I could be if she hadn't stepped into my life like that, then. I know for a fact it wouldn't have been good—or even, anything at all. Would I be dead by now if Elena hadn't rescued me from the life I was surely headed for?
The only way I knew how to express my emotions was through violence at school. I was getting into so many brawls, on the verge of expulsion from yet another school. My parents were at the end of their rope. They had no idea what to do for me, and though my mother pleaded with me through her tears many a time, I didn't know how to express to her what I needed. I didn't know how to say what I needed to say. The words were buried somewhere deep inside of me, where I couldn't reach.
Elena helped me deal with them, in a way that was familiar and acceptable to me.
I gaze down at Anastasia now, wondering what she's making of all of this. Despite my time spent in deep thought, Anastasia's spent her time there longer. I wonder what she's thinking about, but I know it can't be good, and I also know that she has to be making more of it than it really deserves.
"Don't," I mutter to her. My words seem to break her from thought and she glances at me, frowning.
"Don't what?" she inquires, obviously confused.
"Overthink things, Anastasia." I reach out to take her hand, bringing it to my lips so I can kiss her knuckles. Elena is in the past, and what matters currently is the here and now. "I had a wonderful afternoon. Thank you."
She blinks and smiles bashfully at me. "Why did you use a cable tie?" she asks. Her question is very random, so out of the blue, but I also feel that I'm becoming accustomed to them.
I grin at her, and explain: "It's quick, it's easy, and it's something different for you to feel and experience. I know they're quite brutal, and I do like that in a restraining device. Very effective at keeping you in your place." Which you seem to have trouble doing, Miss Steele.
Blood stains Ana's cheeks, and she glances over at Taylor, obviously worried about him overhearing our conversation. Her gaze turns back on me.
"All part of my world, Anastasia," I say, squeezing her hand quickly. As I let it go, I turn to stare out at the passing world. Why are those words beginning to feel… almost uncomfortable to say?
When I turn back to look at Ana, she's staring out her own window, lost in her thoughts again. "Penny for your thoughts?"
She exhales softly, the edges of her lips turning down.
"That bad, huh?"
"I wish I knew what you were thinking," she tells me.
I smirk. "Ditto, baby."
~~…~~
"Are you ready for this?" I ask Anastasia as Taylor pulls up in front of my parents' house. I am abruptly overwhelmed by anxiety.
She nods, and I squeeze her hand for reassurance—for myself, or for her, I don't know.
"First for me, too," I whisper in reminder. My grin overtakes my face, recalling the fact that she's not wearing any panties right now. "Bet you wish you were wearing your underwear right now." That beautiful blush colors her cheeks, and I have the feeling she'd forgotten about that.
Taylor pulls open the back door on Anastasia's side of the car. She shoots me a fierce glare—which I can't help but grin at—and slides out, onto the front walkway.
As I exit the Audi as well, I find that my mother is standing on the doorstep. Obviously she saw us pull up. She seems ecstatic, and I hope it's not just because I've brought a girl to dinner—though, I can understand the lure. My father stands at her elbow.
Anastasia and I climb the steps to reach them. "Anastasia, you've met my mother, Grace. This is my dad, Carrick," I introduce, upon our arrival at the door.
"Mr. Grey, what a pleasure to meet you," Anastasia tells my father, smiling broadly, and taking his outstretched hand in her small, soft one. They shake.
"The pleasure is all mine, Anastasia," he assures her.
"Please, call me Ana," she insists. I wonder why she pushes people to call her Ana, so much. She has a very beautiful, sophisticated full name, and I love to use it. It suits her.
"Ana, how lovely to see you again," my mother says to her now, and pulls her into an embrace, which I am a tad surprised by. My mother is not one to hug her son's… What? Anastasia is hardly my girlfriend. Anyway, she was never one to hug any of Elliot's girlfriends when we happened to bring one to meet our parents. Why is she hugging Anastasia? As my mother pulls Ana to her, she gazes at me over her shoulder, and she looks absolutely joyful. The site of her face warms me. "Come in, my dear."
I follow my parents and Anastasia inside.
"Is she here?" I hear Mia screech from somewhere inside—probably upstairs—as we step into the front foyer.
I don't miss the fearful glance Anastasia shoots me. She has every right to be anxious. My sister can be a maniac sometimes.
"That would be Mia, my little sister," I explain to her. As I say the words, my sister comes crashing down the corridor.
"Anastasia! I've heard so much about you!" she crows, and smashes Ana to her in a voracious hug. It looks a tad rough, and that's saying something, coming from me.
Unexpectedly, I watch Ana grin at her. She's obviously amused by my little sister. What can I say, so am I. I love her unbridled enthusiasm for life, her jump-right-in attitude.
"He's never brought a girl home before," Mia's saying now.
Oh, hell. Here we go. I roll my eyes at my sister, and as my pupils complete their circuit, I find Anastasia staring at me. As our eyes lock, she raises a soft, feathery eyebrow at me. I narrow my own at her. Make of it what she likes.
"Mia, calm down," my mother chides Mia, though the words hold hardly any weight. My mother has never been the one to discipline. That's dad's job. "Hello, darling," she greets me and kisses both my cheeks without touching me. I grin at her warmly; always respectful of her carefully keeping her boundaries, and then I turn to my father and shake his hand.
Mia leads us all into the living room, and I note that she's holding Anastasia's hand now, and has no intention of letting it go anytime soon. Upon entering, I find Elliot and Miss. Kavanagh cozied up on one of the couches close to the unlit fireplace. They are each holding a flute of champagne. Kate rises up and goes to hug Anastasia.
"Hi, Ana! Christian," she nods at me, her address to me a lot curter than Ana got.
"Kate," I return, my tone equally as glacial. If somebody's curt with me, I'll be curt with them.
I think I see Anastasia frown, but I can't be too sure, because before I can really examine her face from where I've just turned my gaze away from Kate, Elliot is sweeping Ana off her feet—literally. He squeezes her, and just as he releases her, I curl my arm around her waist.
I'm feeling a tad possessive, all of a sudden. I spread my fingers out over her hip, feeling the softness of her curve beneath my palm, and I shift her closer to me. It's not close enough, but we're hardly alone. In fact, we're the center of attention. All eyes are on us, and it's easy to figure out why.
"Drinks?" my father suddenly suggests. "Prosecco?"
"Please," Anastasia and I blurt in exact rhythm.
Mia claps her hands giddily. I wouldn't take it above her if she jumped up and down for joy. "You're even saying the same things!" I shoot her a glare no one else, thank god, percepts. "I'll get them," she says and quickly exits the room.
"Dinner's almost ready," my mother informs us all as she follows my sister out of the room.
I glance down at Anastasia and find her cheeks red and her lips turned down into a frown. She looks extremely troubled by something, and it kills me that I don't know what that's about.
"Sit," I tell her, and point to the empty couch, the one Kate and Elliot aren't occupying. She does, and I watch her cross her legs with extreme measure. I lower myself onto the cushion beside her.
"We were just talking about vacations, Ana," my father says, bringing us up to speed, surely, "Elliot has decided to follow Kate and her family to Barbados for a week."
Can't say I'm not surprised at this news. Elliot has hardly ever led the single life; in fact, he's had more girlfriends than I can count. But he's never gone to Barbados with any of them. As Kate and Ana exchange some sort of silent, girlish exchange, I watch the way he's got his arm around her and the easy, lazy grin on his face.
I wish I could be that at ease around Anastasia. But then, what Elliot surely has with Kate, is not what I'm looking for with Anastasia. My tastes are very singular. As I think the thought, it's almost as if I'm reminding myself of it. Strange.
"Are you taking a break now that you've finished your degree?" my father asks now, and I'm not sure whom he's speaking too—Anastasia or Miss. Kavanagh.
"I'm thinking about going to Georgia for a few days," Anastasia answers him.
What the hell? She's leaving?! She's mentioned not one fucking thing about going to fucking Georgia to me. And here she is, telling my fucking father that she's planning on going? Not without asking me first, no fucking way.
I'm aware I'm gaping at her now, but I can't pull myself together. "Georgia?" I ask her, forcing myself not to snap, but to murmur. I can't lose my shit here, not in front of my family. But I'm desperate to show Anastasia who is in charge of this relationship. She can't just fucking pull things like this on me! The lust which flared inside me earlier this evening, in the living room, and then in the elevator, is a flame now—a burning, searing need, flaying my insides. I need to extinguish the fire, and I know exactly how I'd do it.
"My mother lives there, and I haven't seen her for a while," Anastasia explains now, her voice as low as mine—discreet.
"When were you thinking of going?" This is not the way I want to be having this conversation, but I can't very well go Dom on her in front of these people, now.
"Tomorrow, late evening."
That fucking soon?! Oh, now I'm mad. Palm-twitchingly mad. Before I can get another word out, Mia reenters the room, handing out champagne flutes filled with pale pink Prosecco.
"Your good health!" my father toasts.
I raise my glass numbly, more focused on battling the rage insides that twists my guts into a knot. Oh my fuck, I want to spank her. What a stupid, stupid thing of her to do. How could she not have asked permission? How could she think this wouldn't affect me?
"For how long?" I ask her, leaning a little closer to her.
She blinks once at me, and I think she's caught on to how angry I am.
"I don't know yet," she answers, "It will depend how my interviews go tomorrow."
Doesn't know? She doesn't fucking know? She can't give me a timeline, as to how long she'll be gone? Does she have any reference for my sanity at all? I feel my jaw clench audibly, at least to my ears.
"Ana deserves a break," I hear Miss Kavanagh say now, almost snapping at me.
I ignore her.
"You have interviews?" my father asks her.
"Yes, for internships at two publishers tomorrow." I barely hear her. Her words almost sound like they're coming from underwater. My head is buzzing with the heat of anger boiling my blood.
"I wish you the best of luck."
"Dinner is ready." My mother's voice breaks through the surface of the water, and everyone rises, heading into the dining room. As Anastasia goes to follow everyone else, I grip her elbow, yanking her to a halt.
"When were you going to tell me you were leaving?" I demand, attempting in vain, to quell my rage. It wouldn't be appropriate to yell at her here, in the company of so many people we know.
"I'm not leaving," she tells me, turning those big blue eyes on me. "I'm going to see my mother, and I was only thinking about it."
"What about our arrangement?" Another racy, blurring sensation trickles through my veins. I can't think clearly through it. I can only comprehend that she's leaving, and I don't know how we will continue to work out if she does.
"We don't have an arrangement yet."
That racy feeling gives way to an incredible surge of anger, and I'd like to hit her, to bend her over and cane that ass of hers, so she won't be able to sit for a week. Try to fly to Georgia on a red, caned behind, Miss Steele. Blinking, I remember where we are, and I release her hand I hadn't realize I'd taken hold of. I grip her underneath her elbow again and drag her out of the room. I need to be in the presence of other people, of my family, so that I don't give in to the temptations rattling in my bones.
"This conversation is not over," I assure her, on the precipice of the dining room.
We enter, and I force myself to soften my grip on her elbow. This room hasn't changed in as long as I can remember, though a lot of the rest of the house has. My mom has a knack for interior design, despite the fact that she's a doctor.
I note the familiar huge crystal chandelier hanging over the dark wood table; and the mirror on the wall. The table is covered in white linen, set for the seven of us. There are pink flowers in the middle.
We take our seats at the table, and my father opens a bottle of Shiraz. I watch, wound tightly, as he offers some first to Miss Kavanagh.
Mia sits down beside me, and I'm surprised when I feel her hand on mine. She takes it, squeezing it firmly, and immediately I defrost monumentally. I can't help but smile at her. Mia has a way of soothing me, in a way nothing else really has, not to this margin.
As kids, even, I remember her causing that anger—which seemed to live inside me like a monster at all times—disappear at the squeeze of a hand or a pat of the shoulder, or especially when she wound her arms around my waist and hugged me.
"Where did you meet, Ana?" she asks now.
"She interviewed me for the WSU student newspaper," I jump in; worried that she might not offer a nonchalant sufficient answer.
"Which Kate edits," Anastasia adds.
My sister turns her gaze on Miss Kavanagh and grins widely at her. They jump into a conversation all about student newspapers. I don't try to keep up. That was one thing I was never very interested in, in school. In fact, there were many things I wasn't very interested in.
My father offers Ana wine now, and rises to fill the rest of our glasses. I catch Ana sneak a glance up at me, and the expression in her eyes is full of fear.
I cock my head at her. What is she so scared of? Is it me? "What?"
"Please don't be mad at me," she breathes.
"I'm not mad at you," I lie.
She stares at me, those cerulean eyes so clear, so transparent, so cutting, like lasers. She sees right through me, I just know it, and I sigh, relenting.
"Yes, I am mad at you," I admit, and I close my eyes briefly, trying to reign in the rage that peaks like a tsunami.
"Palm-twitchingly mad?" she inquires, her voice quaking underneath the weight of her anxiety.
"What are you two whispering about?" Miss Kavanagh interrupts us, and I turn searing eyes on her. This is none of her fucking business, and I want to tell her so, but my mother would hide me. Ha… Okay, maybe she wouldn't hide me—but the idea is entertained either way.
I'm satisfied when I watch Kate pale slightly as I glare at her.
"Just about my trip to Georgia," Anastasia lies, her voice sickly sweet, and a couple octaves too high. I can tell she's lying, but can Kate?
She smiles at Anastasia now. "How was Jose when you went to the bar with him on Friday?"
I bristle immediately at that fucking photographer's name, and my blood is singing with rage again. Anastasia went to the fucking bar with him on Friday? What the fucking fuck?
Oh, all these new revelations. What else is there that I should know about you, Miss Steele?
"He was fine," Anastasia murmurs, barely audible.
I lean over in my seat, inhaling deeply through my nose. I am so mad that my lungs ache for air. "Palm twitchingly mad. Especially now."
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