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I listen to the banter around the table. Christian is running through our extensive itinerary over the last three weeks, embellishing here and there. He sounds relaxed and in control, the worry of the arsonist forgotten. I, on the other hand, don’t seem to be able to shake my mood. I pick at my food. Christian said I was fat yesterday. He was joking! My subconscious glares at me again. Elliot acci-dentally knocks his glass onto the terrace, startling everyone, and there’s a sudden flurry of activity to get it cleaned up.

“I am going to take you to the boathouse and finally spank you in there if you don’t snap out of this mood,” Christian whispers to me.

I gasp with shock, turn, and gape at him. What? Is he teasing me?

“You wouldn’t dare!” I growl at him and from deep inside I feel a familiar, welcome excitement. He cocks an eyebrow at me. Of course he would. I glance quickly at Kate across the table. She’s watching us with interest. I turn back to Christian, narrowing my eyes at him.

“You’d have to catch me first—and I’m wearing flats,” I hiss.

“I’d have fun trying,” he whispers with a licentious grin, and I think he’s joking.I blush. Confusingly, I feel better.

As we finish our dessert of strawberries and cream, the heavens open and unexpectedly soak us. We all leap up to clear the plates and glasses from the table, depositing them in the kitchen.

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“Good thing the weather held off till we finished,” Grace says pleased, as we drift into the back room den. Christian sits down at the shiny black upright piano, presses the quiet pedal, and starts to play a familiar tune that I can’t immediately place.

Grace asks me for my impressions of Saint Paul de Vence. She and Carrick went years ago during their honeymoon, and it occurs to me that this is a good omen, seeing how happy they are together now. Kate and Elliot are cuddling on one of the large overstuffed couches, while Ethan, Mia, and Carrick are deep in a conversation about psychology, I think.

Suddenly, as one, all the Greys stop talking and gape at Christian.

What?

Christian is singing softly to himself at the piano. Silence descends on us all as we strain to hear his soft, lyrical voice. I’ve heard him sing before, haven’t they? He stops, suddenly conscious of the deathly hush that’s fallen over the room. Kate glances questioningly at me and I shrug. Christian turns on the stool and frowns, embarrassed to realize he’s become the center of attention.

“Go on,” Grace urges softly. “I’ve never heard you sing, Christian. Ever.” She stares at him in wonder. He sits on the piano stool, looking absently at her, and after a beat, he shrugs. His eyes flicker nervously to me, then over to the French windows. The rest of the room suddenly erupts in self-conscious chatter, and I’m left watching my dear husband.

Grace distracts me, grasping my hands then suddenly folding me in her arms.

“Oh, darling girl! Thank you, thank you,” she whispers, so only I can hear. It brings a lump to my throat.

“Um . . .” I hug her back, not really sure why I am being thanked. Grace smiles, her eyes shining, and kisses my cheek. Oh my . . . What have I done?

“I am going to make some tea,” she says, her voice hoarse with unshed tears.

I amble over to Christian who is now standing, staring out through the French windows.

“Hi,” I murmur.

“Hi.” He puts his arm around my waist, pulling me to him, and I slip my hand into the back pocket of his jeans. We gaze out at the rain.

“Feeling better?”

I nod.

“Good.”

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“You certainly know how to silence a room.”

“I do it all the time,” he says and he grins at me.

“At work, yes, but not here.”

“True, not here.”

“No one’s ever heard you sing? Ever?”

“It appears not,” he says dryly. “Shall we go?” I gaze up at him, trying to gauge his mood. His eyes are soft and warm and slightly bemused. I decide to change the subject.

“You going to spank me?” I whisper, and suddenly there are butterflies in my stomach. Perhaps this is what I need . . . this is what I have been missing.

He gazes down at me, his eyes darkening.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m more than happy to play.” I glance nervously around the large room, but we are out of earshot.

“Only if you misbehave, Mrs. Grey.” He bends and murmurs in my ear.

How can he put so much sensual promise into six words?

“I’ll see what I can do.” I grin.

Once we’ve said our good-byes, we walk over to the car.

“Here.” Christian throws me the keys to the R8. “Don’t bend it”—he adds in all seriousness—“or I will be fucking pissed.” My mouth goes dry. He’s letting me drive his car? My inner goddess whips on her leather driving gloves and flat shoes. Oh yes! she cries.

“Are you sure?” I mouth, stunned.

“Yes, before I change my mind.”

I don’t think I have ever grinned so hard. He rolls his eyes and opens the driver’s door so that I can climb in. I start the engine before he’s even reached the passenger side, and he jumps in quickly.

“Eager, Mrs. Grey?” he asks with a wry smile.

“Very.”

Slowly, I ease the car backward and turn it in the driveway. I manage not to stall it, surprising myself. Boy, is the clutch sensitive. Carefully navigating the driveway, I glance in my rearview mirror and see Sawyer and Ryan climb into the 98/551

Audi SUV. I had no idea our security had followed us here. I pause before I set out onto the main road.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yes,” Christian says tightly, telling me he’s not sure about this at all. Oh, my poor, poor Fifty . I want to laugh at both him and myself because I’m nervous and excited. A small part of me wants to lose Sawyer and Ryan just for the kicks. I check for traffic then inch the R8 out onto the road. Christian curls up with tension and I can’t resist. The road is clear. I put my foot down on the gas and we shoot forward.

“Whoa! Ana!” Christian shouts. “Slow down—you’ll kill us both.” I immediately ease off the gas. Wow, can this car move!

“Sorry,” I mutter, trying to sound contrite and failing miserably. Christian smirks at me, to hide his relief, I think.

“Well, that counts as misbehaving,” he says casually and I slow right down.

I glance in the rearview mirror. No sign of the Audi, just a solitary dark car with tinted windows behind us. I imagine Sawyer and Ryan flustered, frantic to catch up, and for some reason this gives me a thrill. But not wanting to give my dear husband a coronary, I decide to behave and drive steadily with growing confidence toward the 520 bridge.

Suddenly, Christian swears and struggles to pull his BlackBerry from the pocket of his jeans.

“What?” he snaps angrily at whoever it is on the other end of the line. “No.” he says and glances behind us. “Yes. She is.” I briefly check the rearview mirror, but I don’t see anything odd, just a few cars behind us. The SUV is about four cars back, and we’re all cruising at an even pace.

“I see.” Christian sighs long and hard and rubs his forehead with his fingers, tension radiates off him. Something’s wrong.

“Yes . . . I don’t know.” He glances at me and lowers the phone from his ear.

“We’re fine. Keep going,” he says calmly, smiling at me, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes. Shit! Adrenaline spikes through my system. He picks the phone up again.

“Okay on the 520. As soon as we hit it . . . Yes . . . I will.” He slots the phone into the speaker cradle, putting it on hands-free.