Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian Read online

  “Do you have everything you need?”

  “Oh yes,” she says with easy confidence.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nods, her lips carved in a smirk.

  God, she has guts.

  I grin. “Okay.” I can’t hide my delight. “If that’s the way you want to play it, Miss Steele.” I grab my jacket and we head to the elevator.

  She never fails to surprise, impress, and disarm me. Now I will have to sit through dinner with my parents, knowing my girl is not wearing any underwear. In fact, I’m traveling down in this elevator right now, knowing she’s naked beneath her skirt.

  She’s turned the tables on you, Grey.

  SHE’S QUIET AS TAYLOR drives us north on I-5. I catch a glimpse of Union Lake; the moon disappears behind a cloud, and the water darkens, like my mood. Why am I taking her to see my parents? If they meet her, they’ll have certain expectations. And so will Ana. And I’m not sure if the relationship I want with Ana will live up to those expectations. And to make matters worse, I put all this in motion when I insisted she meet Grace. I’m the only one to blame. Me, and the fact that Elliot is fucking her roommate.

  Who am I kidding? If I didn’t want her to meet my folks, she wouldn’t be here. I just wish I wasn’t so anxious about it.

  Yeah. That’s the problem.

  “Where did you learn to dance?” she asks, interrupting my chain of thoughts.

  Oh, Ana. She’s not going to want me to go there.

  “Christian, hold me. There. Properly. Right. One step. Two. Good. Keep in time to the music. Sinatra is perfect for the fox-trot.” Elena is in her element.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Do you really want to know?” I answer.

  “Yes,” she replies, but her tone says otherwise.

  You asked. I sigh in the darkness beside her. “Mrs. Robinson was fond of dancing.”

  “She must have been a good teacher.” Her whisper is tinged with regret and reluctant admiration.

  “She was.”

  “That’s right. Again. One. Two. Three. Four. Baby, you’ve got this.”

  Elena and I glide across her basement.

  “Again.” She laughs, her head thrown back, and she looks like a woman half her age.

  Ana nods and studies the landscape, no doubt concocting some theory about Elena. Or maybe she’s thinking about meeting my parents. I wish I knew. Perhaps she’s nervous. Like me. I’ve never taken a girl home.

  When Ana starts fidgeting I sense something is worrying her. Is she concerned about what we did today?

  “Don’t,” I say, my voice softer than I intend.

  She turns to look at me, her expression unreadable in the dark. “Don’t what?”

  “Overthink things, Anastasia.” Whatever you’re thinking about. I reach over, take her hand, and kiss her knuckles. “I had a wonderful afternoon. Thank you.”

  I get a brief flash of white teeth and a timid smile.

  “Why did you use a cable tie?” she asks.

  Questions about this afternoon; this is good. “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.” My voice is dry as I try to inject a little humor back into our conversation. “Very effective at keeping you in your place.”

  Her eyes dart toward Taylor in the front seat.

  Sweetheart, don’t worry about Taylor. He knows exactly what’s going on, and he’s done this for four years.

  “All part of my world, Anastasia.” I give her hand a reassuring squeeze before I release it. Ana returns to staring out of the window; we’re surrounded by water as we cross Lake Washington on the 520 bridge, my favorite part of this journey. She draws up her feet and, curled on the seat, coils her arms around her legs.

  Something is up.

  When she glances at me, I ask, “Penny for your thoughts?”

  She sighs.

  Shit. “That bad, huh?”

  “I wish I knew what you were thinking,” she says.

  I smirk, relieved to hear this, and glad she doesn’t know what’s really on my mind.

  “Ditto, baby,” I reply.

  TAYLOR PULLS UP OUTSIDE my parents’ front door. “Are you ready for this?” I ask. Ana nods and I squeeze her hand. “First for me, too,” I whisper. When Taylor’s out the door I give her a wicked, salacious grin. “Bet you wish you were wearing your underwear right now.”

  Her breath hitches and she scowls, but I climb out of the car to greet my mother and father, who are waiting on the doorstep. Ana looks cool and calm as she walks around the car to us. “Anastasia, you’ve met my mother, Grace. This is my dad, Carrick.”

  “Mr. Grey, what a pleasure to meet you.” She smiles and shakes his outstretched hand.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Anastasia.”

  “Please, call me Ana.”

  “Ana, how lovely to see you again.” Grace hugs her. “Come in, my dear.” Taking Ana’s arm, she leads her inside and I follow in her pantyless wake.

  “Is she here?” Mia screams from somewhere inside the house. Ana gives me a startled look.

  “That would be Mia, my little sister.”

  We both turn in the direction of the high heels clattering through the hall. And there she is. “Anastasia! I’ve heard so much about you!” Mia wraps her in a big hug. Though she’s taller than Ana, I remember they’re almost the same age.

  Mia takes her hand and drags her into the vestibule as my parents and I follow. “He’s never brought a girl home before,” Mia tells Ana in a shrill voice.

  “Mia, calm down,” Grace chides.

  Yes, for fuck’s sake, Mia. Stop making such a scene.

  Ana catches me rolling my eyes and shoots me a withering look.

  Grace greets me with a kiss on both cheeks. “Hello, darling.” She’s glowing, happy to have all her children home. Carrick offers his hand. “Hello, son. Long time no see.” We shake hands and follow the women into the living room. “Dad, you saw me yesterday,” I mutter. “Dad jokes”—my father excels at them.

  Kavanagh and Elliot are cuddling on one of the sofas. But Kavanagh gets up to hug Ana when we enter.

  “Christian.” She gives me a polite nod.

  “Kate.”

  And now Elliot has his big paws all over Ana.

  Fuck, who knew my family was so touchy-feely all of a sudden? Put her down. I glare at Elliot and he grins—an I’m-just-showing-you-how-it’s-done expression plastered all over his face. I slip my arm around Ana’s waist and pull her to my side. All eyes are on us.

  Hell. This feels like a freak show.

  “Drinks?” Dad offers. “Prosecco?”

  “Please,” Ana and I reply together.

  Mia bounces on the spot and claps her hands. “You’re even saying the same things. I’ll get them.” She dashes out of the room.

  What the hell is wrong with my family?

  Ana frowns. She’s probably finding them weird, too.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Grace says as she follows Mia out of the room.

  “Sit,” I tell Ana, and I lead her over to one of the sofas. She does as she’s told and I sit at her side, careful not to touch her. I need to set an example for my overly demonstrative family.

  Maybe they’ve always been this way?

  My father diverts me. “We were just talking about vacations, Ana. Elliot has decided to follow Kate and her family to Barbados for a week.”

  Dude! I stare at Elliot. What the hell happened to Mr. Love ’Em and Leave ’Em? Kavanagh must be good in the sack. She certainly looks smug enough.

  “Are you taking a break now that you’ve finished your degree?” Carrick asks Ana.

  “I’m thinking about going to Georgia for a few days,”
she answers.

  “Georgia?” I exclaim, unable to hide my surprise.

  “My mother lives there,” she says, her voice wavering, “and I haven’t seen her for a while.”

  “When were you thinking of going?” I snap.

  “Tomorrow, late evening.”

  Tomorrow! What the fuck? And I’m only learning of this now?

  Mia returns with pink prosecco for Ana and me.

  “Your good health!” Dad raises his glass.

  “For how long?” I persist, trying to keep my voice level.

  “I don’t know yet. It will depend how my interviews go tomorrow.”

  Interviews? Tomorrow?

  “Ana deserves a break,” Kavanagh interrupts, staring at me with ill-concealed antagonism. I want to tell her to mind her own fucking business, but for Ana’s sake I hold my tongue.

  “You have interviews?” Dad asks Ana.

  “Yes, for internships at two publishers, tomorrow.”

  When was she going to tell me this? I’m here with her for two minutes and I’m finding out details of her life that I should know!

  “I wish you the best of luck,” Carrick says to her with a kind smile.

  “Dinner is ready,” Grace calls from across the hall.

  I let the others exit the room but grab Ana’s elbow before she can follow.

  “When were you going to tell me you were leaving?” My temper is rapidly unraveling.

  “I’m not leaving. I’m going to see my mother. And I was only thinking about it.” Ana dismisses me, as if I’m a child.

  “What about our arrangement?”

  “We don’t have an arrangement yet.”

  But….

  I lead us through the living room door and into the hallway. “This conversation is not over,” I warn as we enter the dining room.

  Mom has gone all out—best china, best crystal—for Ana’s and Kavanagh’s benefit. I hold out a chair for Ana; she sits down and I take a seat beside her. Mia beams at both of us from across the table. “Where did you meet Ana?” Mia asks.

  “She interviewed me for the WSU student newspaper.”

  “Which Kate edits,” Ana interjects.

  “I want to be a journalist,” Kate tells Mia.

  My father offers Ana some wine while Mia and Kate discuss journalism. Kavanagh has an internship at the Seattle Times, no doubt set up for her by her father.

  From the corner of my eye I notice that Ana’s studying me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” she says, so low that only I can hear.

  “I’m not mad at you,” I lie.

  Her eyes narrow, and it’s obvious she doesn’t believe me.

  “Yes, I am mad at you,” I confess. And now I feel like I’m overreacting. I close my eyes.

  Get a grip, Grey.

  “Palm-twitchingly mad?” she whispers.

  “What are you two whispering about?” Kavanagh interrupts.

  Good God! Is she always like this? So intrusive? How the hell does Elliot put up with her? I glower at her, and she has the sense to back off.

  “Just about my trip to Georgia,” Ana says, with sweetness and charm.

  Kate smirks. “How was José when you went to the bar with him on Friday?” she asks, with a brash look in my direction.

  What. The. Fuck. Is. This?

  Ana tenses beside me.

  “He was fine,” she says quietly.

  “Palm-twitchingly mad,” I whisper to her. “Especially now.”

  So she went to a bar with the guy who was trying to ram his tongue down her throat the last time I saw him. And she’d already agreed to be mine. Sneaking off to a bar with another man? And without my permission…

  She deserves to be punished.

  Around me, dinner is being served.

  I’ve agreed not to go too hard on her…maybe I should use a flogger. Or maybe I should administer a straightforward spanking, harder than the last one. Here, tonight.

  Yes. That has possibilities.

  Ana’s looking down at her fingers. Kate, Elliot, and Mia are in a conversation about French cooking, and Dad returns to the table. Where’s he been?

  “Call for you, darling. It’s the hospital,” he says to Grace.

  “Please start, everyone,” Mom says, passing a plate of food to Ana.

  Smells good.

  Ana licks her lips and the action resonates in my groin. She must be starving. Good. That’s something.

  Mom has surpassed herself: chorizo, scallops, peppers. Nice. And I realize that I, too, am hungry. That can’t be helping my mood. But I brighten watching Ana eat.

  Grace returns, looking worried. “Everything okay?” Dad asks, and we all look up at her.

  “Another measles case.” Grace sighs heavily.

  “Oh no,” Dad says.

  “Yes, a child. The fourth case this month. If only people would get their kids vaccinated.” Grace shakes her head. “I’m so glad our children never went through that. They never caught anything worse than chicken pox, thank goodness. Poor Elliot.” We all look at Elliot, who stops eating, mid-chew, mouth stuffed full, bovine. He’s uncomfortable being the center of attention.

  Kavanagh gives Grace a questioning look.

  “Christian and Mia were lucky,” Grace explains. “They got it so mildly, only a spot to share between them.”

  Oh, give it a rest, Mom.

  “So, did you catch the Mariners game, Dad?” Elliot’s clearly keen to move the conversation on, as am I.

  “I can’t believe they beat the Yankees,” Carrick says.

  “Did you watch the game, hotshot?” Elliot asks me.

  “No. But I read the sports column.”

  “The M’s are going places. Nine games won out of the last eleven, gives me hope.” Dad sounds excited.

  “They’re certainly having a better season than 2010,” I add.

  “Gutierrez in center field was awesome. That catch! Wow.” Elliot throws up his arms. Kavanagh fawns over him like a lovesick fool.

  “How are you settling into your new apartment, dear?” Grace asks Ana.

  “We’ve only been there one night, and I still have to unpack, but I love that it’s so central—and a short walk to Pike Place, and near the water.”

  “Oh, so you’re close to Christian, then,” Grace remarks.

  Mom’s helper starts to clear the table. I still can’t remember her name. She’s Swiss, or Austrian or something, and she doesn’t stop simpering and batting eyelashes at me.

  “Have you been to Paris, Ana?” Mia asks.

  “No, but I’d love to go.”

  “We honeymooned in Paris,” Mom says. She and Dad exchange a look across the table, which frankly I’d prefer not to see. They obviously had a good time.

  “It’s a beautiful city, in spite of the Parisians. Christian, you should take Ana to Paris!” Mia exclaims.

  “I think Anastasia would prefer London,” I respond to my sister’s ridiculous suggestion. Placing my hand on Ana’s knee, I explore her thigh at a leisurely pace, her dress riding up as my fingers follow. I want to touch her; stroke her where her panties should be. As my cock rouses in anticipation I suppress a groan and shuffle in my seat.

  She jerks away from me as if to cross her legs, and I close my hand around her thigh.

  Don’t you dare!

  Ana takes a sip of wine, not taking her eyes off my mother’s housekeeper, who is serving our entrées.

  “So what was wrong with the Parisians? Didn’t they take to your winsome ways?” Elliot teases Mia.

  “Ugh, no, they didn’t. And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such a domineering tyrant.”

  Ana chokes on her wine.

  “Anastasia,
are you okay?” I ask, and release her thigh.

  She nods, her cheeks red, and I pat her back and gently caress her neck. Domineering tyrant? Am I? The thought amuses me. Mia shoots me a look of approval at my public display of affection.

  Mom has cooked her signature dish, Beef Wellington, a recipe she picked up in London. I have to say it ranks close to yesterday’s buttermilk fried chicken. In spite of her choking episode, Ana tucks into her meal and it’s so good to see her eat. She’s probably hungry after our energetic afternoon. I take a sip of my wine as I contemplate other ways to make her hungry.

  Mia and Kavanagh are discussing the relative merits of St. Bart’s vs. Barbados, where the Kavanagh family will be staying.

  “Remember Elliot and the jellyfish?” Mia’s eyes shine with mirth as she looks from Elliot to me.

  I chuckle. “Screaming like a girl? Yeah.”

  “Hey, that could have been a Portuguese man-of-war! I hate jellyfish. They ruin everything.” Elliot is emphatic. Mia and Kate burst into giggles, nodding in agreement.

  Ana is eating heartily and listening to the banter. Everyone else has calmed down, and my family is being less weird. Why am I so tense? This happens every day all across the country, families gathering to enjoy good food and each other’s company. Am I tense because I have Ana here? Am I worried they won’t like her, or that she won’t like them? Or is it because she’s fucking off to Georgia tomorrow, and I knew nothing about that?

  It’s confusing.

  Mia takes center stage as usual. Her tales of French life and French cooking are entertaining. “Oh, Mom, les pâtisseries sont tout simplement fabuleuses. La tarte aux pommes de M. Floubert est incroyable,” she says.

  “Mia, chérie, tu parles français,” I interrupt her. “Nous parlons anglais ici. Eh bien, à l’exception bien sûr d’Elliot. Il parle idiote, couramment.”

  Mia throws her head back with a bellowing laugh, and it’s impossible not to join her.

  But by the end of dinner the tension is really wearing me down. I want to be alone with my girl. I’ve only so much tolerance for inane chatter, even if it’s with my family, and I’ve reached my limit. I peer down at Ana, then reach over and tug her chin. “Don’t bite your lip. I want to do that.”

  I also have to establish a few ground rules. We need to discuss her impromptu trip to Georgia and going out for drinks with men who are infatuated with her. I put my hand on Ana’s knee again; I need to touch her. Besides, she should accept my touch, whenever I want to touch her. I gauge her reaction as my fingers travel up her thigh toward her panty-free zone, teasing her skin. Her breath catches and she squeezes her thighs together, blocking my fingers, stopping me.