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Christian is slumbering peacefully beside me as I stare at the pink and golden streaks of the new dawn through the vast windows. His arm is draped loosely over my breasts, and I try to match his breathing in an effort to get back to sleep, but 92/551

it’s hopeless. I’m wide-awake, my body clock on Greenwich mean time, my mind racing.

So much has happened in the last three weeks— who am I kidding, the last three months —that I feel that my feet haven’t touched the ground. And now here I am, Mrs. Anastasia Grey, married to the most delicious, sexy, philanthropic, absurdly wealthy mogul a woman could meet. How did this all happen so fast?

I shift onto my side to gaze at him, appraising his beauty. I know he watches me sleep, but I rarely get the opportunity to repay the compliment. He looks so young and carefree in his sleep, his long lashes fanned against his cheek, a light smattering of stubble covering his jaw, and his sculptured lips slightly parted, relaxed as he breathes deeply. I want to kiss him, to push my tongue between his lips, run my fingers over his soft yet prickly stubble. I really have to fight the urge not to touch him, not to disturb him. Hmm . . . I could just tease his earlobe with my teeth and suck. My subconscious glares up at me over her half-moon spec-tacles, distracted from volume two of the Complete Works of Charles Dickens , and mentally chastises me. Leave the poor man alone, Ana .

I am back to work on Monday. We have today to reacclimatize, then we’re back into our routine. It will be odd not seeing Christian for a whole day after spending almost every minute together for the last three weeks. I lie back and stare at the ceiling. One would think that spending so much time together would be suffocating, but that’s just not the case. I’ve loved each and every minute, even our fighting. Every minute . . . except the news of the fire at Grey House.

My blood chills. Who could want to harm Christian? My mind gnaws at this mystery again. Someone in his business? An ex? A disgruntled employee? I have no idea, and Christian remains tight-lipped about it all, drip feeding me the minimum information he can get away with in a bid to protect me. I sigh. My shining white-and-dark knight always trying to protect me. How am I going to make him open up more?

He stirs and I still, not wanting to wake him, but it has the opposite effect.

Damn! Two bright eyes gaze at me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.” I try my reassuring smile. He stretches, rubs his face, and then grins at me.

“Jet lag?” he asks.

“Is that what this is? I can’t sleep.”

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“I have the universal panacea right here, just for you, baby.” He grins like a schoolboy, making me roll my eyes and giggle at the same time. And just like that my dark thoughts are swept aside and my teeth find his earlobe.

Christian and I cruise north on the I-5 toward the 520 bridge in the Audi R8. We are going to have lunch at his parents’, a welcome-home Sunday lunch. All the family will be there, plus Kate and Ethan. It will be strange to be in so much company when we’ve been on our own all this time. I haven’t had an opportunity to talk to Christian most of the morning. He was holed up in his study while I unpacked. He said I didn’t have to, that Mrs. Jones would do it. But that’s something else I need to get used to—having domestic help. I run my fingers absentmindedly over the leather upholstery of the door to distract my wandering thoughts. I feel out of sorts. Is it the jet lag? The arson?

“Would you let me drive this?” I ask, surprised that I say the words out loud.

“Of course,” Christian replies, smiling. “What’s mine is yours. If you dent it, though, I will take you into the Red Room of Pain.” He glances swiftly at me with a malicious grin.

Shit! I gape at him. Is this a joke?

“You’re kidding. You’d punish me for denting your car? You love your car more than you love me?” I tease.

“It’s close,” he says and reaches across to squeeze my knee. “But she doesn’t keep me warm at night.”

“I’m sure it could be arranged. You could sleep in her,” I snap.

Christian laughs. “We haven’t been home one day and you’re kicking me out already?” He seems delighted. I gaze at him and he gives me a face-splitting grin, and although I want to be mad at him, it’s impossible when he’s in this kind of mood. Now that I think about it, he’s been in a better frame of mind ever since he left his study this morning. And it dawns on me that I’m being petulant because we have to go back to reality, and I don’t know if he’s going to revert to the more closed pre-honeymoon Christian, or if I’ll get to keep the new improved version.

“Why are you so pleased?” I ask.

He flashes yet another grin at me. “Because this conversation is so . . .

normal.”

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“Normal!” I snort. “Not after three weeks of marriage! Surely.” His smile slips.

“I’m kidding, Christian,” I mutter quickly, not wanting to kill his mood. It strikes me how unsure he is of himself sometimes. I suspect that he’s always been like this, but has just hidden his uncertainty beneath an intimidating exterior. He’s very easy to tease, probably because he’s not used to it. It’s a revelation, and I marvel again that we still have so much to learn about each other.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stick to the Saab,” I mutter and turn to stare out of the window, trying to shake off my bad mood.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re so frustrating sometimes, Ana. Tell me.” I turn and smirk at him. “Back at you, Grey.” He frowns. “I’m trying,” he says softly.

“I know. Me too.” I smile and my mood brightens a little.

Carrick looks ridiculous in his chef’s hat and Licensed to Grill apron as he stands at the barbecue. Every time I look at him, it makes me smile. In fact, my spirits have lifted considerably. We are all sitting around the table on the terrace of the Grey family home, enjoying the late summer sun. Grace and Mia are setting various salads out on the table, while Elliot and Christian trade friendly insults and discuss plans for the new house, and Ethan and Kate grill me about our honeymoon. Christian keeps hold of my hand, his fingers toying with my wedding and engagement rings.

“So if you can get the plans finalized with Gia, I have a window September through to mid-November and can get the whole crew on it,” Elliot says as he stretches and drops an arm around Kate’s shoulder, making her smile.

“Gia is due to come over to discuss the plans tomorrow evening,” replies Christian. “I hope we can finalize everything then.” He turns and looks expectantly at me.

Oh . . . this is news.

“Sure.” I smile at him, mostly for the benefit of his family, but my spirits take a nosedive again. Why does he make these decisions without telling me? Or is it 95/551

the thought of Gia—all lush hips, full breasts, expensive designer clothes, and perfume—smiling too provocatively at my husband? My subconscious glares at me. He’s given you no reason to be jealous. Shit, I am up and down today. What’s wrong with me?

“Ana,” Kate exclaims, snapping me out of my reverie. “You still in the South of France?”

“Yes,” I reply with a smile.

“You look so well,” she says, though she frowns as she says it.

“You both do.” Grace beams while Elliot refills our glasses.

“To the happy couple.” Carrick grins and raises his glass, and everyone around the table echoes the sentiment.

“And congratulations to Ethan for getting into the psych program at Seattle,” chips in Mia proudly. She gives him an adoring smile, and Ethan smirks at her. I wonder idly if she’s made any headway with him. It’s difficult to tell.