"You look beautiful, Anastasia." He kisses my hand and exits the car.
A dark green carpet runs along the lawn to one side of the house, leading to the impressive grounds at the rear. Christian has a protective arm around me, resting his hand on my waist, as we follow the green carpet with a steady stream of Seattle's elite dressed in their finery and wearing all manner of masks the lanterns lighting the way. Two photographers marshal guests to pose for pictures against the backdrop of an ivy-strewn arbor.
"Mr. Grey!" one of the photographers calls. Christian nods in acknowledgement and pulls me close as we pose quickly for a photo. How do they know it's him? His trademark, unruly copper hair no doubt.
"Two photographers?" I ask Christian.
"One is from the Seattle Times; the other is for a souvenir. We'll be able to buy a copy later."
Oh, my picture in the press again. Leila briefly enters my mind. This is how she found me, posing with Christian. The thought is unsettling, though it's comforting that I am unrecognizable beneath my mask.
At the end of the line, white-suited servers hold trays of glasses brimming with champagne, and I'm grateful when Christian passes me a glass - effectively distracting me from my dark thoughts.
We approach a large white pergola hung with smaller versions of the paper lanterns.
Beneath it, shines a black and white checkered dance floor surrounded by a low fence with entrances on three sides. At each entrance stand two elaborate ice sculptures of swans. The fourth side of the pergola is occupied by a stage where a string quartet is playing softly, a haunting, ethereal piece I don't recognize. The stage looks set for a big band but as there's no sign of the musicians yet. I figure this must be for later. Taking my hand, Christian leads me between swans onto the dance floor where the other guests are congregating, chatting over glasses of champagne.
Toward the shoreline stands an enormous marquee, open on the side nearest to us so I can glimpse the formally arranged tables and chairs. There are so many!
"How many people are coming?" I ask Christian, thrown by the scale of the marquee.
"I think about three hundred. You'll have to ask my mother." He smiles down at me, and maybe it's because I can only see his smile that lights up his face, but my inner goddess swoons.
"Christian!"
A young woman appears out of the throng and throws her arms around his neck, and immediately I know it's Mia. She's dressed in a sleek, pale pink, full-length chiffon gown with a stunning, delicately detailed Venetian mask to match. She looks amazing. And for a moment, I have never felt so grateful for the dress Christian has given me.
"Ana! Oh, darling, you look gorgeous!" She gives me a quick hug. "You must come and meet my friends. None of them can believe that Christian finally has a girlfriend."
I shoot a quick panicked glance at Christian, who shrugs in a resigned I-know-she's-impossible-I-had-to-live-with-her-for-years way, and let Mia lead me over to a group of four young women, all expensively attired and impeccably groomed.
Mia makes hasty introductions. Three of them are sweet and kind, but Lily, I think her name is, regards me sourly from beneath her red mask.
"Of course we all thought Christian was gay," she says snidely, concealing her rancor with a large, fake smile.
Mia pouts at her.
"Lily, behave yourself. It's obvious he has excellent taste in women. He was waiting for the right one to come along, and it wasn't you!"
Lily blushes the same color as her mask, as do I. Could this be any more uncomfortable?"Ladies, if I could claim my date back, please?" Snaking his arm around my waist, Christian pulls me to his side. All four women flush, grin and fidget, his dazzling smile doing what it always does. Mia glances at me and rolls her eyes, and I have to laugh.
"Lovely to meet you," I say as he drags me away.
"Thank you," I mouth at Christian when we're some distance away.
"I saw that Lily was with Mia. She is one nasty piece of work."
"She likes you," I mutter dryly.
He shudders. "Well, the feeling is not mutual. Come, let me introduce you to some people."
I spend the next half hour in a whirlwind of introductions. I meet two Hollywood actors, two more CEOs, and several eminent physicians. Holy shit... there is no way I am going to remember everyone's name.
Christian keeps me close at his side, and I'm grateful. Frankly, the wealth, the glamour, and the sheer lavish scale of the event intimidates me. I have never been to anything like this in my life.
The white-suited servers move effortlessly through the growing crowd of guests with bottles of champagne, topping off my glass with worrying regularity. I must not drink too much. I must not drink too much, I repeat to myself, but I'm beginning to feel light-headed, and I don't know if it's the champagne, the charged atmosphere of mystery and excitement created by the masks, or the secret silver balls. The dull ache below my waist is becoming impossible to ignore.
"So you work at SIP?" asks a balding gentleman in a half-bear - or is it a dog? - mask.
"Heard rumors of a hostile takeover."
I flush. There is a hostile takeover from a man who has more money than sense and is a stalker par excellence.
"I'm just a lowly assistant, Mr. Eccles. I wouldn't know about these things."
Christian says nothing and smiles blandly at Eccles.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The master of ceremonies, wearing an impressive black and white harlequin mask, interrupts us. "Please take your seats. Dinner is served."
Christian takes my hand, and we follow the chattering crowd to the large marquee.
The interior is stunning. Three enormous, shallow chandeliers throw rainbow-colored sparkles over the ivory silk lining of the ceiling and walls. There must be at least thirty tables, and they remind me of the private dining room at the Heathman - crystal glasses, crisp white linen covering the tables and chairs, and in the center, an exquisite display of pale pink peonies gathered around a silver candelabra. Wrapped in gossamer silk beside it is a basket of goodies.
Christian consults the seating plan and leads me to a table in the center. Mia and Grace are already in situ, deep in conversation with a young man I don't know. Grace is wearing a shimmering mint green gown with a Venetian mask to match. She looks radiant, not stressed at all, and she greets me warmly.
"Ana, how delightful to see you again! And looking so beautiful, too."
"Mother," Christian greets her stiffly and kisses her on both cheeks.
"Oh, Christian, so formal!" she scolds him teasingly.
Grace's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan, join us at our table. They seem exuberant and youthful, though it's difficult to tell beneath their matching bronze masks. They are delighted to see Christian.
"Grandmother, Grandfather, may I introduce Anastasia Steele?"
Mrs. Trevelyan is all over me like a rash. "Oh, he's finally found someone, how wonderful and so pretty! Well I do hope you make an honest man of him," she gushes, shaking my hand.
Holy cow. I thank the heavens for my mask.
"Mother, don't embarrass Ana." Grace comes to my rescue.
"Ignore the silly old coot, m'dear." Mr. Trevelyan shakes my hand. "She thinks because she's so old, she has a God-given right to say whatever nonsense pops into that woolly head of hers."
"Ana, this is my date, Sean." Mia shyly introduces her young man. He gives me a wicked grin, and his brown eyes dance with amusement as we shake hands.
"Pleased to meet you, Sean."
Christian shakes Sean's hand as he regards him shrewdly. Don't tell me that poor Mia suffers from her overbearing brother, too. I smile at Mia in sympathy.
Lance and Janine, Grace's friends, are the last couple at our table, but there is still no sign of Mr. Grey.
Abruptly, there's the hiss of a microphone, and Mr. Grey's voice booms over the PA system, causing the babble of voices to die down. Carrick stands on a small stage at one end of the marquee, wearing an impressive, gold, Punchinello mask.
"Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to our annual charity ball. I hope that you enjoy what we have laid out for you tonight and that you'll dig deep into your pockets to support the fantastic work that our team does with Coping Together. As you know, it's a cause that is very close to my wife's heart, and mine."
I peek nervously at Christian, who is staring impassively, I think, at the stage. He glances at me and smirks.
"I'll hand you over now to our master of ceremonies. Please be seated, and enjoy,"
Carrick finishes.
Polite applause follows, then the babble in the tent starts again. I am seated between Christian and his grandfather. I admire the small white place card with fine silver calligraphy that bears my name as a waiter lights the candelabra with a long taper. Carrick joins us, kissing me on both cheeks, surprising me.
"Good to see you again, Ana," he murmurs. He really looks very striking in his extraordinary gold mask.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please nominate a table head," the MC calls out.
"Ooo - me, me!" says Mia immediately, bouncing enthusiastically in her seat.
"In the center of the table you will find an envelope," the MC continues. "Would everyone find, beg, borrow, or steal a bill of the highest denomination you can manage, write your name on it, and place it inside the envelope. Table heads, please guard these envelopes carefully. We will need them later."
Holy crap. I haven't brought any money with me. How stupid - it's a charity event!
Fishing out his wallet, Christian produces two hundred-dollar bills.
"Here," he says.
What?
"I'll pay you back," I whisper.
His mouth twists slightly, and I know he's not happy, but he doesn't comment. I sign my name using his fountain pen - it's black, with a white flower motif on the cap - and Mia passes the envelope round.
In front of me I find another card inscribed with silver calligraphy - our menu.
Well, that accounts for the number of crystal glasses in every size that crowd my place setting. Our waiter is back, offering wine and water. Behind me, the sides of the tent through which we entered are being closed, while at the front, two servers pull back the canvas, revealing the sunset over Seattle and Meydenbauer Bay.
It's an absolutely breathtaking view, the twinkling lights of Seattle in the distance and the orange, dusky calm of the bay reflecting the opal sky. Wow. It's so calm and peaceful.
Ten servers, each holding a plate, come to stand between us. On a silent cue, they serve us our starters in complete synchronization, then vanish again. The salmon looks delicious, and I realize I am famished.
"Hungry?" Christian murmurs so only I can hear. I know he's not referring to the food, and the muscles deep in my belly respond.
"Very," I whisper, boldly meeting his gaze, and Christian's lips part as he inhales.
Ha! See... two can play at this game.
Christian's grandfather engages me in conversation immediately. He's a wonderful old man, so proud of his daughter and three children.
It is weird to think of Christian as a child. The memory of his burn scars come unbidden to my mind, but I quickly quash it. I don't want to think about that now, though ironically, it's the reason behind this party.
I wish Kate was here with Elliot. She would fit in so well - the sheer number of forks and knives laid out before her wouldn't daunt Kate - she would command the table. I imagine her duking it out with Mia over who should be table head. The thought makes me smile.
The conversation at the table ebbs and flows. Mia is entertaining, as usual, and quite eclipses poor Sean, who mostly stays quiet like me. Christian's grandmother is the most vocal. She, too, has a biting sense of humor, usually at the expense of her husband. I begin to feel a little sorry for Mr. Trevelyan.
Christian and Lance talk animatedly about a device Christian's company is developing, inspired by Schumacher's principle Small is Beautiful. It's hard to keep up. Christian seems intent on empowering impoverished communities all over the world with wind-up technology - devices that need no electricity or batteries and minimal maintenance.
Watching him in full flow is astonishing. He's passionate and committed to improving the lives of the less fortunate. Through his telecommunications company, he's intent on being first to market with a wind-up mobile phone.
Whoa. I had no idea. I mean I knew about his passion about feeding the world, but this...
Lance seems unable to comprehend Christian's plan to give the technology away and not patent it. I wonder vaguely how Christian made all his money if he's so willing to give it all away.
Throughout dinner a steady stream of men in smartly tailored dinner jackets and dark masks stop by the table, keen to meet Christian, shake his hand, and exchange pleasantries.
He introduces me to some but not others. I'm intrigued to know how and why he makes the distinction.
During one such conversation, Mia leans across and smiles.
"Ana, will you help in the auction?"
"Of course," I respond only too willing.
By the time dessert is served, night has fallen, and I'm really uncomfortable. I need to get rid of the balls. Before I can excuse myself, the master of ceremonies appears at our table, and with him - if I'm not mistaken - is Miss European Pigtails.
What's her name? Hansel, Gretel... Gretchen.
She's masked of course, but I know it's her when her gaze doesn't move beyond Christian. She blushes, and selfishly I'm beyond pleased that Christian doesn't acknowledge her at all.The MC asks for our envelope and with a very practiced and eloquent flourish, asks Grace to pull out the winning bill. It's Sean's, and the silk-wrapped basket is awarded to him.I applaud politely, but I'm finding it impossible to concentrate on any more of the proceedings.
"If you'll excuse me," I murmur to Christian.
He looks at me intently.
"Do you need the powder room?"
I nod.
"I'll show you," he says darkly.
When I stand, all the other men round the table stand with me. Oh, such manners.
"No, Christian! You're not taking Ana - I will."
Mia is on her feet before Christian can protest. His jaw tenses, I know he's not pleased.
Quite frankly, neither am I. I have... needs. I shrug apologetically at him, and he sits down quickly, resigned.
On our return, I feel a little better, though the relief of removing the balls has not been as instantaneous as I'd hoped. They're now stashed safely in my clutch purse.
Why did I think I could last the whole evening? I am still yearning - perhaps I can persuade Christian to take me to the boathouse later. I flush at the thought and glance at him as I take my seat. He stares at me, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips.
Phew... he's no longer mad at a missed opportunity, though maybe I am. I feel frustrated - irritable even. Christian squeezes my hand, and we both listen attentively to Carrick, who is back on stage talking about Coping Together. Christian passes me another card - a list of the auction prizes. I scan them quickly.
Holy shit. I blink up at Christian.
"You own property in Aspen?" I hiss. The auction is underway, and I have to keep my voice down.
He nods, surprised at my outburst and irritated, I think. He puts his finger to his lips to silence me.
"Do you have property elsewhere?" I whisper.He nods again and inclines his head to one side in a warning.
The whole room erupts with cheering and applause; one of the prizes has gone for twelve thousand dollars.
"I'll tell you later," Christian says quietly. "I wanted to come with you," he adds rather sulkily.
Well, you didn't. I pout and I realize that I'm still querulous, and no doubt, it's the frustrating effect of the balls. My mood darkens after seeing Mrs. Robinson on the list of generous donors.
I glance around the marquee to see if I can spot her, but I can't see her telltale hair.
Surely Christian would have warned me if she was invited tonight. I sit and stew, applauding when necessary, as each lot is sold for astonishing amounts of money.
The bidding moves to Christian's place in Aspen and reaches twenty thousand dollars.
"Going once, going twice," the MC calls.
And I don't know what possesses me, but I suddenly hear my own voice ringing out clearly over the throng.
"Twenty-four thousand dollars!"
Every mask at the table turns to me in shocked amazement, the biggest reaction of all coming from beside me. I hear his sharp intake of breath and feel his wrath washing over me like a tidal wave.
"Twenty-four thousand dollars, to the lovely lady in silver, going once, going twice...
Sold!"
Holy shit, did I really just do that? It must be the alcohol. I've had champagne plus four glasses of four different wines. I glance up at Christian who's busy applauding.
Crap, he's going to be so angry, and we've been getting on so well. My subconscious has finally decided to make an appearance, and she's wearing her Edvard Munch Scream face.Christian leans over to me, a large fake smile plastered across his face. He kisses my cheek and then moves closer to whisper in my ear in a very cold, controlled voice.
"I don't know whether to worship at your feet or spank the living shit out of you."
Oh, I know what I want right now. I gaze up at him, blinking through my mask. I just wish I could read what's in his eyes.
"I'll take option two, please," I whisper frantically as the applause dies down. His lips part as he inhales sharply. Oh that chiseled mouth - I want it on me, now. I ache for him. He gives me a radiant sincere smile that leaves me breathless.
"Suffering, are you? We'll have to see what we can do about that," he murmurs as he runs his fingers along my jaw.
His touch resonates deep, deep inside where that ache has spawned and grown. I want to jump him right here, right now, but we sit back to watch the auction of the next lot.
I can barely sit still. Christian drapes an arm around my shoulders, his thumb rhythmically stroking my back, sending delicious tingles down my spine. His free hand clasps mine, bringing it to his lips, then letting it rest on his lap.
Slowly and surreptitiously, so I don't realize his game until it's too late, he eases my hand up his leg and against his erection. I gasp, and my eyes dart in panic around the table, but all eyes are fixed on the stage. Thank heavens for my mask.
Taking full advantage, I slowly caress him, letting my fingers explore. Christian keeps his hand over mine, hiding my bold fingers, while his thumb skates softly over the nape of my neck. His mouth opens as he gasps softly, and it's the only reaction I can see to my inexperienced touch. But it means so much. He wants me. Everything south of my navel contracts. This is becoming unbearable.
A week by Lake Adriana in Montana is the final lot for auction. Of course Mr. and Dr.
Grey have a house in Montana, and the bidding escalates rapidly, but I am barely aware of it. I feel him growing beneath my fingers, and it makes me feel so powerful.
"Sold, for one hundred ten thousand dollars!" the MC declares victoriously. The whole room bursts into applause, and reluctantly I follow as does Christian, ruining our fun.
He turns to me and his lips twitch. "Ready?" he mouths over the rapturous cheering.
"Yes," I mouth back
"Ana!" Mia calls. "It's time!"
What? No. Not again! "Time for what?"
"The First Dance Auction. Come on!" She stands and holds out her hand.
I glance at Christian who is, I think, scowling at Mia, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry, but it's laughter that wins. I succumb to a cathartic bubble of schoolgirl giggles, as we are thwarted once more by the tall, pink powerhouse that is Mia Grey. Christian peers at me, and after a beat, there's a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"The first dance will be with me, okay? And it won't be on the dance floor," he murmurs lasciviously into my ear. My giggles subside as anticipation fans the flames of my need. Oh, yes! My inner goddess performs a perfect triple Salchow in her ice skates.
"I look forward to it." I lean over and plant a soft, chaste kiss on his mouth. Glancing around, I realize that our fellow guests at the table are astonished. Of course, they've never seen Christian with a date before.
He smiles broadly at me. And he looks... happy. Wow.
"Come on, Ana," Mia nags. Taking her outstretched hand, I follow her onto the stage where ten more young women have assembled, and I note with vague unease that Lily is one of them.
"Gentlemen, the highlight of the evening!" the MC booms over the babble of voices.
"The moment you've all been waiting for! These twelve lovely ladies have all agreed to auction their first dance to the highest bidder!"
Oh no. I blush from head to toe. I hadn't realized what this meant. How humiliating!
"It's for a good cause," Mia hisses at me, sensing my discomfort. "Besides, Christian will win." She rolls her eyes. "I can't imagine him letting anyone outbid him. He hasn't taken his eyes off you all evening."
Yes, focus on the good cause, and Christian is bound to win. Let's face it, he's not short of a dime or two.
But it means spending more money on you! my subconscious snarls at me. But I don't want to dance with anyone else - I can't dance with anyone else - and it's not spending money on me, he's donating it to the charity. Like the twenty-four thousand dollars he's already spent? My subconscious narrows her eyes.
Shit. I seem to have gotten away with my impulsive bid. Why am I arguing with myself?"Now, gentlemen, pray gather round, and take a good look at what could be yours for the first dance. Twelve comely and compliant wenches."
Jeez! I feel like I'm in a meat market. I watch, horrified, as at least twenty men make their way to the stage area, Christian included, moving with easy grace between the tables and pausing to say a few hellos on the way. Once the bidders are assembled, the MC begins.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in the tradition of the masquerade we shall maintain the mystery behind the masks and stick to first names only. First up we have the lovely Jada."
Jada is giggling like a schoolgirl, too. Maybe I won't be so out of place. She's dressed head to foot in navy taffeta with a matching mask. Two young men step forward expectantly. Lucky Jada.
"Jada speaks fluent Japanese, is a qualified fighter pilot, and an Olympic gymnast...
hmm." The MC winks. "Gentleman, what am I bid?"
Jada gapes, astounded at the MC; obviously, he's talking complete garbage. She grins shyly back at the two contenders.
"A thousand bucks!" one calls.
Very quickly the bidding escalates to five thousand dollars.
"Going once... going twice... sold!" the MC declares loudly, "to the gentleman in the mask!" And of course all the men are wearing masks so there are hoots of laughter, applause, and cheering. Jada beams at her purchaser and quickly exits the stage.
"See? This is fun!" whispers Mia. "I hope Christian wins you, though... We don't want a brawl," she adds.
"Brawl?" I answer horrified.
"Oh yes. He was very hot-headed when he was younger." She shudders.