Unknown - fifty shades darker

As I slip my dress back on, I check out the photographs on the pin board. Christian as a sullen teen was gorgeous even then: with Elliot and Mia on the ski slopes; on his own in Paris, the Arc de Triomphe serving as a giveaway background; in London; New York; the Grand Canyon; Sydney Opera House; even the Great Wall of China. Master Grey was well traveled at a young age.

There are ticket stubs to various concerts: U2, Metallica, The Verve, Sheryl Crow, the New York Philharmonic performing Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet —what an eclectic mix!

And in the corner, there’s a passport-size photograph of a young woman. It’s in black and white. She looks familiar, but for the life of me, I can’t place her. Not Mrs. Robinson, thank heavens.

“Who’s this?” I ask.

“No one of consequence,” he mutters as he slips on his jacket and straightens his bow tie. “Shall I zip you up?”

“Please. Then why is she on your pin board?”

“An oversight on my part. How’s my tie?” He raises his chin like a small boy, and I grin and straighten it for him.

“Now it’s perfect.”

“Like you,” he murmurs and grabs me, kissing me passionately. “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you, Mr. Grey.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Steele.”

The guests are assembling on the dance floor. Christian grins at me—we’ve made it just in time—and he leads me onto the checkered floor.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the first dance. Mr. and Dr. Grey, are you ready?” Carrick nods in agreement, his arms around Grace.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the First Dance Auction, are you ready?” We all nod in agreement. Mia is with someone I don’t recognize. I wonder what happened to Sean?

“Then we shall begin. Take it away, Sam!”

A young man strolls onto the stage amid warm applause, turns to the band behind him and snaps his fingers. The familiar strains of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” fill the air.

Christian smiles down at me, takes me in his arms, and starts to move. Oh, he dances so well, making it easy to follow. We grin at each other like idiots as he whirls me around the dance floor.

“I love this song,” Christian murmurs, gazing down at me. “Seems very fitting.” He’s no longer grinning, but serious.

“You’re under my skin, too,” I respond. “Or you were in your bedroom.” He purses his lips but he’s unable to hide his amusement.

“Miss Steele,” he admonishes me teasingly, “I had no idea you could be so crude.”

“Mr. Grey, neither did I. I think it’s all my recent experiences. They’ve been an education.”

“For both of us.” Christian is serious again, and it could just be the two of us and the band. We are in our own private bubble.

As the song finishes we both applaud. Sam the singer bows graciously and introduces his band.

“May I cut in?”

I recognize the man who bid on me at the auction. Christian grudgingly lets me go, but he’s amused, too.

“Be my guest. Anastasia, this is John Flynn. John, Anastasia.” Shit!

Christian smirks at me and wanders off to one side of the dance floor.

“How do you do, Anastasia?” Dr. Flynn says smoothly, and I realize he’s British.

“Hello,” I stutter.

The band strikes up another song, and Dr. Flynn pulls me into his arms. He’s much younger than I imagined, though I can’t see his face. He’s wearing a mask similar to Christian’s. He’s tall, but not as tall as Christian, and he doesn’t move with Christian’s easy grace.

What do I say to him? Why is Christian so fucked-up? Why did he bid on me? It’s the only thing I want to ask him, but somehow that seems rude.

“I’m glad to finally meet you, Anastasia. Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

“I was,” I whisper.

“Oh. I hope I’m not responsible for your change of heart.” He gives me a brief, warm smile that puts me a little more at ease.

“Doctor Flynn, you’re the shrink. You tell me.”

He grins. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? The shrink bit?” I giggle. “I’m worried what I might reveal, so I’m a little self-conscious and intimidated. And really I only want to ask you about Christian.” He smiles. “First, this is a party so I’m not on duty,” he whispers conspiratorially. “And second, I really can’t talk to you about Christian. Besides,” he teases, “we’d need until Christmas.”

I gasp in shock.

“That’s a doctor’s joke, Anastasia.”

I flush, embarrassed, and then feel slightly resentful. He’s making a joke at Christian’s expense. “You’ve just confirmed what I’ve been saying to Christian . . . that you’re an expensive charlatan,” I admonish him.

Dr. Flynn snorts with laughter. “You could be onto something there.”

“You’re British?”

“Yes. Originally from London.”

“How did you find yourself here?”

“Happy circumstance.”

“You don’t give much away, do you?”

“There’s not much to give away. I’m really a very dull person.”

“That’s very self-deprecating.”

“It’s a British trait. Part of our national character.”

“Oh.”

“And I could accuse you of the same, Anastasia.”

“That I’m a dull person, too, Dr. Flynn?”

He snorts. “No, Anastasia, that you don’t give much away.”

“There’s not much to give away.” I smile.

“I sincerely doubt that.” He unexpectedly frowns.

I flush, but the music finishes and Christian is once more by my side. Dr. Flynn releases me. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Anastasia.” He gives me his warm smile again, and I feel that I’ve passed some kind of hidden test.

“John.” Christian nods at him.

“Christian.” Dr. Flynn returns his nod, turns on his heel, and disappears through the crowd.

Christian pulls me into his arms for the next dance.

“He’s much younger than I expected,” I murmur to him. “And terribly indiscreet.” Christian cocks his head to one side. “Indiscreet?”

“Oh yes, he told me everything,” I tease.

Christian tenses. “Well, in that case, I’ll get your bag. I’m sure you want nothing more to do with me,” he says softly.

I stop. “He didn’t tell me anything!” My voice fills with panic.

Christian blinks before relief floods his face. He pulls me into his arms again. “Then let’s enjoy this dance.” He beams down, reassuring me, then spins me round.

Why would he think that I’d want to leave? It makes no sense.

We dance for two more numbers, and I realize I need the restroom.

“I won’t be long.”

As I make my way to the powder room, I remember I have left my purse on the dinner table, so I head down to the marquee. When I enter, it’s still lit but quite deserted, except for a couple at the other end, who really ought to get a room! I reach for my bag.

“Anastasia?”

A soft voice startles me, and I turn to see a woman dressed in a long, tight, black velvet gown. Her mask is unique. It covers her face to her nose but also covers her hair. It’s stunning with elaborate gold filigree.

“I’m so glad you’re on your own,” she says softly. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all evening.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”

She pulls the mask from her face and releases her hair.

Shit! It’s Mrs. Robinson.

“I’m sorry, I startled you.”

I gape at her. Holy cow—what the fuck does this woman want?

I don’t know what the social conventions are for meeting known molesters of children.

She’s smiling sweetly and gesturing for me to sit at the table. And because I am lacking any sphere of reference, I do as she asks out of stunned politeness, grateful that I am still wearing my mask.