"What is it?" Christian murmurs, his tone wary.

All the color drains from my face as my blood turns to ice and fear lances through my body. Instinctively I step between her and Christian.

I ignore him. I cannot believe Kate is doing this.

"No. Show me." He holds out his hand, and I know he's not to be argued with -- his voice is cold and hard. Reluctantly I give him the e-mail.

"Kate! This has nothing to do with you." I glare venomously at her, anger replacing my fear. How dare she do this? Not now, not today. Not on Christian's birthday. Surprised by my response, she blinks at me, green eyes wide.

"What's he done to you?" Kate asks, ignoring Christian. She looks so apprehensive. I flush as myriad erotic images flit quickly across my mind.

"Ana, what is it?" Christian says again, his tone more menacing.

"Christian, would you just go, please?" I ask him.

"That's none of your business, Kate." I can't keep the exasperation out of my voice.

"Where did you get this?" Christian asks, his head cocked to one side, his face expressionless, but his voice… so menacingly soft. Kate flushes.

"That's irrelevant." At his stony glare, she hastily continues. "It was in the pocket of a jacket -- which I assume is yours -- that I found on the back of Ana's bedroom door." Faced with Christian's burning gray gaze, Kate's steeliness slips a little, but she seems to recover and scowls at him.

She's a beacon of hostility in a slinky, bright red dress. She looks magnificent. But why the hell is she going through my clothes? It's usually the other way around.

"Have you told anyone?" Christian's voice is like a silk glove.

"Not even Elliot?" I ask, turning my attention back to Kate.

"No one," Kate says emphatically, and for the first time she looks puzzled and hurt. "I just want to know you're okay, Ana," she whispers.

"No! Of course not," Kate snaps, affronted. Christian nods and appears to relax. He turns and heads toward the fireplace. Wordlessly Kate and I watch as he picks up a lighter from the mantelpiece, sets fire to the e-mail, and releases it, letting it float afire slowly into the grate until it is no more. The silence in the room is oppressive.

"I'm fine, Kate. More than fine. Please, Christian and I are good, really good -- this is old news. Please ignore it."

"Ignore it?" she says. "How can I ignore that? What's he done to you?" And her green eyes are so full of heartfelt concern.

Christian wraps an arm around me and draws me close, not taking his eyes off Kate.

"Ana has consented to be my wife, Katherine," he says quietly.

"He hasn't done anything to me, Kate. Honestly -- I'm good."

She blinks at me. "Really?" she asks.

"Wife!" Kate squeaks, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"It doesn't, Kate. Forget it -- please. I love him and he loves me. Don't do this. Don't ruin his party and our night," I whisper. She blinks and unexpectedly her eyes are shining with tears.

"We're getting married. We're going to announce our engagement this evening," he says.

"Oh!" Kate gapes at me. She's stunned. "I leave you alone for sixteen days, and this happens? It's very sudden. So yesterday, when I said --" She gazes at me, lost. "Where does that e-mail fit into all this?"

She reaches forward and grabs my hand regardless of Christian's arm wrapped around me. "You really are okay?" she asks hopefully.

"I've never been happier," I whisper.

"Yes." I grin at her, my joy returning. She's back onside. She smiles at me, my happiness reflecting back on her. I step out of Christian's hold, and she hugs me suddenly.

"No. Of course I won't. You're okay?" She wants reassurance.

"Oh, Ana -- I was so worried when I read this. I didn't know what to think. Will you explain it to me?" she whispers.

"One day, not now."

"Good. I won't tell anyone. I love you so much, Ana, like my own sister. I just thought… I didn't know what to think. I'm sorry. If you're happy, then I'm happy." She looks directly at Christian and repeats her apology. He nods at her, his eyes glacial, and his expression does not change. Oh, shit, he's still mad.

There's a knock on the door that startles Kate and I apart. Grace pokes her head around.

"I really am sorry. You're right, it's none of my business," she whispers to me.

"I'm so happy for you," she says and caresses his face.

"Good." Grace enters. "Then you won't mind if I give my son a birthday hug." She beams at both of us. He hugs her tightly and thaws immediately.

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Grey," Kate says immediately.

"Christian, I really do apologize," Kate says humbly. Humble Kate is something to behold. Christian nods at her, and we follow her out.

"Mom, I'm fine." Christian smiles down at her. She pulls back, looks at him closely, and grins.

"Well, kids, if you've all finished your tête-à-tête, there's a throng of people here to check that you really are in one piece, Christian, and to wish you a happy birthday."

He grins at her -- his thousand-megawatt smile.

"I'll be right there."

"Everything okay, darling?" she asks Christian.

"Happy birthday, darling," she says softly, closing her eyes in his embrace. "I'm so glad you're still with us."

She knows! When did he tell her?

"Fine, Mom," Christian says.

Grace glances anxiously at Kate and me and seems reassured by our smiles. She winks at me as she holds the door open for us. Christian holds out his hand to me and I take it.

"Oh." And to think our evening could have been derailed by the tenacious Miss Kavanagh. I shudder at the thought -- the ramifications of Christian's lifestyle revealed to all.

"Yes."

In the hallway, I gaze anxiously up at Christian. "Does your mother know about us?"

"As ever, Miss Steele, you have a gift for understatement." He raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles as we walk into the living room to a sudden, spontaneous, and deafening round of applause.

"Well, that was an interesting start to the evening." I smile sweetly at him. He glances down at me -- and it's back, his amused look. Thank heavens.

I scan the room quickly: all the Greys, Ethan with Mia, Dr. Flynn and his wife, I assume. There's Mac from the boat, a tall, handsome African American -- I remember seeing him in Christian's office the first time I met Christian -- Mia's bitchy friend Lily, two women I don't recognize at all, and… oh no. My heart sinks. That woman… Mrs. Robinson.

Crap. How many people are here?

Gretchen materializes with a tray of champagne. She's wearing a low-cut black dress, hair in an updo instead of pigtails, flushing and fluttering her eyelashes at Christian. The applause dies down, and Christian squeezes my hand as all eyes turn to him expectantly.

"I've been busy."

"Christian, I was so worried." Elena gives him a brief hug and kisses both his cheeks. He doesn't let me go despite the fact I try to free my hand.

"Elena," I purr back. "Thank you."

"I'm good, Elena," Christian mutters coolly.

I catch Grace's eye. She frowns, watching the three of us.

Christian raises his glass to the rest of the room, and immediately everyone surges forward. Leading the charge is the evil woman in black. Does she ever wear any other color?

"Thank you, everyone. Looks like I'll need one of these." He grabs two drinks off Gretchen's tray and gives her a brief smile. I think Gretchen's going to expire or swoon. He hands a glass to me.

"Didn't you get my messages?"

"Ana," she purrs. "You look lovely, dear."

Christian shifts uncomfortably and pulls me closer, putting his arm around me. His face remains impassive as he regards Elena. She can no longer ignore me, so she nods politely in my direction.

"Why didn't you call me?" Her plea is desperate, her eyes searching his.

"Elena, I need to make an announcement," Christian says, eyeing her dispassionately.

"Everyone," Christian calls. He waits for a moment until the buzz in the room dies down and all eyes are once more on him.

Her clear blue eyes cloud. "Of course." She fakes a smile and steps back.

"Thank you for coming today. I have to say I was expecting a quiet family dinner, so this is a pleasant surprise." He stares pointedly at Mia, who grins and gives him a little wave. Christian shakes his head in exasperation and continues.

"Ros and I"-- he acknowledges the red-haired woman standing nearby with a small bubbly blonde --"we had a close call yesterday."

Oh, that's the Ros that works with him. She grins and raises her glass to him. He nods back at her.

There are general gasps of astonishment, the odd cheer, and then a round of applause! Jeez -- this is really happening. I think I am the color of Kate's dress. Christian grasps my chin, lifts my lips to his, and kisses me quickly.

"So I'm especially glad to be here today to share with all of you my very good news. This beautiful woman"-- he glances down at me --"Miss Anastasia Rose Steele, has consented to be my wife, and I'd like you all to be the first to know."

"I am already," I whisper.

"Legally," he mouths at me and gives me a wicked grin.

"You'll soon be mine."

Carrick and Grace interrupt my uncharitable thoughts, and soon I am being hugged and kissed and passed around by all the Greys.

"Um…" A ring! Jeez. I hadn't even thought about a ring. I glance up at Christian.

Lily, who is standing beside Mia, looks crestfallen; Gretchen looks like she's eaten something nasty and bitter. As I glance anxiously around at the assembled crowd, I catch sight of Elena. Her mouth is open. She's stunned -- horrified even, and I can't help a small but intense feeling of satisfaction to see her dumbstruck. What the hell is she doing here, anyway?

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Grey!" she scolds him, then wraps her arms around him. "I'm so thrilled for you, Christian," she says. She's the only person I know who is not intimidated by the Grey glower. It has me quailing… Well, it certainly used to.

"Oh, Ana -- I am so delighted you're going to be family," Grace gushes. "The change in Christian… He's… happy. I am so thankful to you." I blush, embarrassed by her exuberance but secretly delighted, too.

"Where is the ring?" exclaims Mia as she embraces me.

"We're going to choose one together." Christian glowers at her.

He shakes his head, his exasperation palpable. "No idea, and no we haven't. Ana and I need to discuss all that," he says irritably.

The response from the room is overwhelming, and it's a few minutes before I find myself back beside Christian with Dr. Flynn. Elena seems to have disappeared, and Gretchen is sullenly refilling champagne glasses.

"I hope you have a big wedding -- here," she beams enthusiastically, ignoring his caustic tone.

"We'll probably fly to Vegas tomorrow," he growls at her, and he's rewarded with a full-on Mia Grey pouty grimace. Rolling his eyes, he turns to Elliot, who gives him his second bear hug in as many days.

"When will you get married? Have you set a date?" She beams up at Christian.

"Way to go, bro." He claps Christian's back.

Beside Dr. Flynn is a striking young woman with long, dark, almost black hair, impressive cleavage, and lovely hazel eyes.

"John. Rhian." He kisses the dark-haired woman on her cheek. She's petite and pretty.

"Christian," says Flynn, holding out his hand. Christian shakes it gladly.

"Glad you're still with us, Christian. My life would be most dull -- and penurious -- without you."

Christian smirks.

"John!" Rhian scolds, much to Christian's amusement.

"Delighted to meet the woman who has finally captured Christian's heart." Rhian smiles kindly at me.

"John -- you and your cricket metaphors." Rhian rolls her eyes. "Congratulations to the pair of you and happy birthday, Christian. What a wonderful birthday present." She smiles broadly at me.

"Thank you," I mutter, embarrassed again.

"Rhian, this is Anastasia, my fiancée. Ana, this is John's wife."

"That was one googly you bowled there, Christian," Dr. Flynn shakes his head in amused disbelief. Christian frowns at him.

For a few minutes we make small talk. Rhian is a stay-at-home mom with two young boys. I deduce that she is the reason Dr. Flynn practices in the United States.

I had no idea Dr. Flynn would be here, or Elena. It's a shock, and I rack my brains to see if I have anything to ask him, but a birthday party hardly seems the appropriate venue for a psychiatric consultation.

"She's good, Christian, responding well to treatment. Another couple of weeks and we can consider an outpatient program." Dr. Flynn's and Christian's voices are low, but I can't help listening in, rather rudely tuning out Rhian.

Christian and Dr. Flynn lower their voices further; it's so frustrating. But they stop when we're joined by the two women I didn't recognize earlier -- Ros and the bubbly blonde whom Christian introduces as her partner, Gwen.

"So, what do you do, Anastasia?"

"So it's all playdates and diapers right now…"

"That must take up your time." I flush, turning my attention back to Rhian, who laughs sweetly. I know Christian and Flynn are discussing Leila.

"Ask her something for me," Christian murmurs.

"Ana, please. I work in publishing."

Ros is charming, and I soon discover they live almost opposite Escala. She is full of praise for Christian's piloting skills. It was her first time in Charlie Tango, and she says she wouldn't hesitate to go again. She's one of the few women I've met who isn't dazzled by him… well, the reason is obvious.

Gwen is giggly with a wry sense of humor, and Christian seems extraordinarily at ease with both of them. He knows them well. They don't discuss work, but I can tell that Ros is one smart woman who can easily keep up with him. She also has a great, throaty, too-many-cigarettes laugh.

Grace interrupts our leisurely conversation to inform everyone that dinner is being served buffet-style in the Grey kitchen. Slowly the guests make their way toward the back of the house.

"Here," she says mischievously. "This is one of my dad's special lemon martinis -- much nicer than champagne." She hands me a glass and watches anxiously while I take a tentative sip.

Mia collars me in the hallway. In her pale pink, frothy babydoll dress and killer heels, she towers over me like a Christmas tree fairy. She's holding two cocktail glasses.

"Ana," she hisses conspiratorially. I glance up at Christian, who releases me with a best-of-luck-I-find-her-impossible-to-deal-with-too look, and I sneak into the dining room with her.

"Hmm… delicious. But strong." What does she want? Is she trying to get me drunk?

"I'll try and help. Fire away."

This is something I will have to contend with for a long time -- other women wanting my man. I push the unwelcome thought out of my head and distract myself with the matter in hand. I take another sip of my martini.

"As you know, Ethan and I met recently, thanks to you." She beams at me.

"Ana, I need some advice. And I can't ask Lily -- she's so judgmental about everything." Mia rolls her eyes then grins at me. "She is so jealous of you. I think she was hoping one day that she and Christian might get together." Mia bursts out laughing at the absurdity, and I quail inside.

"Oh." I blink at her, stunned, and I think, Maybe he's just not that into you.

"Yes." Where the hell is she going with this?

"Ana -- he doesn't want to date me." She pouts.

"Oh, I see," I mutter, trying to buy myself some time. What can I say? "Can you agree to be friends and give it some time? I mean you've only just met him."

"Look, that sounded all wrong. He doesn't want to date because his sister is going out with my brother. You know -- he thinks it's all kind of incestuous. But I know he likes me. What can I do?"

She cocks her eyebrow.

"Ana," she sneers.

Oh, crap.

Mia grins. "You've learned that look from Christian."

Elena breezes into the room, her face taut, set in grim, angry determination. She closes the door quietly behind her and scowls at me.

"Cool. Thanks, Ana." She gives me another hug and scuttles excitedly -- and impressively, given her high heels -- to the door, no doubt off to bother Kate. I take another sip of my martini, and I'm about to follow her when I am stopped in my tracks.

I summon all my self-possession, slightly fuzzy from two glasses of champagne and the lethal cocktail I hold in my hand. I think the blood has drained from my face, but I marshal both my subconscious and my inner goddess in order to appear as calm and as unflappable as I can.

"Look, I know I've only really just met Christian but…" I frown, not sure what I want to say. "Mia, this is something you and Ethan have to work out together. I would try the friendship route."

I flush. "If you want advice, ask Kate. She may have some insight as to how her brother feels."

"Yes." I smile encouragingly.

"You think?" Mia asks.

"Elena." My voice is small, but steady -- despite my dry mouth. Why does this woman freak me out so much? And what does she want now?

"I neither need nor want your congratulations, Elena. I'm surprised and disappointed to see you here."

She arches an eyebrow. I think she's impressed.

"I wouldn't have thought of you as a worthy adversary, Anastasia. But you surprise me at every turn."

"I would offer you my heartfelt congratulations, but I think that would be inappropriate." Her piercing cold blue eyes stare frostily into mine, filled with loathing.

"I haven't thought of you at all," I lie, coolly. Christian would be proud. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have much better things to do than waste my time with you."

"Not so fast, missy," she hisses, leaning against the door, effectively blocking it. "What on earth do you think you're doing, consenting to marry Christian? If you think for one minute you can make him happy, you're very much mistaken."

"What I'm consenting to do with Christian is none of your concern." I smile with sarcastic sweetness. She ignores me.

"What do you know of his needs?" I snarl. My sense of indignation flares brightly, burning inside me as adrenaline surges through my body. How dare this fucking bitch preach to me? "You're nothing but a sick child molester, and if it were up to me, I'd toss you into the seventh circle of hell and walk away smiling. Now get out of my way -- or do I have to make you?"

"He has needs -- needs you cannot possibly begin to satisfy," she gloats.

"You're making a big mistake here, lady." She shakes a long, skinny, finely manicured finger at me. "How dare you judge our lifestyle? You know nothing, and you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. And if you think he's going to be happy with a mousy little gold digger like you…"

That's it! I throw the rest of my lemon martini in her face, drenching her.

"Don't you dare tell me what I'm getting myself into!" I shout at her. "When will you learn? It's none of your goddamned business!"

She gapes at me, horror struck, wiping the sticky drink off her face. I think she's about to lunge at me, but she's suddenly shunted forward as the door opens.

"What the fuck are you doing, Elena?" he says, his voice glacial and laced with menace.

"You have needs, Christian," she says her voice softer.

Christian is standing in the doorway. It takes him a nanosecond to assess the situation -- me ashen and shaking, her soaked and livid. His lovely face darkens and contorts with anger as he comes to stand between us.

"How the fuck do you know what's right for me?"

She blinks up at him. "She's not right for you, Christian," she whispers.

"I've told you before -- this is none of your fucking business," he roars.

"What?" he shouts, startling both of us. I can't see his face but his whole body has tensed, and he radiates animosity.

Oh crap -- Very Angry Christian has reared his not-so-ugly head. People are going to hear.

"What is this?" He pauses, glaring at her. "Do you think it's you? You? You think you're right for me?" His voice is softer but drips contempt, and suddenly I don't want to be here. I don't want to witness this intimate encounter. I'm intruding. But I'm stuck -- my limbs unwilling to move.

"I was the best thing that ever happened to you," she hisses arrogantly at him. "Look at you now. One of the richest, most successful entrepreneurs in the United States -- controlled, driven -- you need nothing. You are master of your universe."

Elena swallows and seems to draw herself upright. Her stance changes subtly, becoming more commanding, and she steps toward him.

He steps back as if he's been struck and gapes at her in outraged disbelief.

"You taught me how to fuck, Elena. But it's empty, like you. No wonder Linc left."

"You loved it, Christian, don't try and kid yourself. You were on the road to self-destruction, and I saved you from that, saved you from a life behind bars. Believe me, baby, that's where you would have ended up. I taught you everything you know, everything you need."

Christian blanches, staring at her in horror. When he speaks, his voice is low and incredulous.

Bile rises in my mouth. I should not be here. But I'm frozen to the spot, morbidly fascinated as they eviscerate each other.

"Take your filthy paws off my son, you whore, and get out of my house -- now!" she hisses through gritted teeth.

Time seems suspended as we collectively take a deep gasping breath, and Grace stalks deliberately into the room. Her eyes blaze with fury, never once leaving Elena, until she stands before her. Elena's eyes widen in alarm, and Grace slaps her hard across the face, the sound of the impact resounding off the walls of the dining room.

She narrows her eyes. "Love is for fools, Christian."

"Get out of my house." Grace's implacable, furious voice startles us. Three heads swing rapidly to where Grace stands on the threshold of the room. She is glaring at Elena, who pales beneath her Saint-Tropez tan.

"You never once held me," Christian whispers. "You never once said you loved me."

Grace turns slowly to face Christian and a tense silence settles like a thick blanket over us as Christian and Grace stare at each other. After a beat, Grace speaks. "Ana, before I hand him over to you, would you mind giving me a minute or two alone with my son?" Her voice is quiet, husky, but oh-so-strong.

Elena clutches her reddening cheek and stares in horror for a moment, shocked and blinking at Grace. Then she hurries from the room, not bothering to close the door behind her.

"Of course," I whisper, and exit as quickly as I can, glancing anxiously over my shoulder. But neither of them looks at me as I leave. They continue to stare at each other, their unspoken communication blaringly loud.

"How long, Christian?" Grace's voice is soft. I can barely hear her.

"Everything okay, Ana?" Ros interrupts me.

In the hallway I am momentarily lost. My heart pounds and my blood races through my veins… I feel panicked and out of my depth. Holy fuck, that was heavy and now Grace knows. I can't think what she's going to say to Christian, and I know it's wrong, but I lean against the door trying to listen.

"Yes. Fine. Thank you. I…"

I cannot hear his reply.

"How old were you?" Her voice is more insistent. "Tell me. How old were you when this all started?" Again I can't hear Christian.

Ros smiles. "I'm just going to get my purse. I need a cigarette."

"I'm off to the bathroom." I need to gather my wits and my thoughts, to process what I've just witnessed and heard. Upstairs seems the safest place to be on my own. I watch Ros stroll into the drawing room, and I bolt two stairs at a time to the second floor, then up to the third. There's only one place I want to be.

For a brief moment, I contemplate joining her.

Holy cow. That has to be, without doubt, one of the most excruciating confrontations I've ever had to endure, and now I feel numb. My fiancé and his ex-lover -- no would-be bride should have to see that. Having said that, part of me is glad she's revealed her true self, and that I was there to bear witness.

My thoughts turn to Grace. Poor Grace, to hear all that. I clutch one of Christian's pillows. She'll have overheard that Christian and Elena had an affair -- but not the nature of it. Thank heavens. I groan.

I open the door to Christian's childhood bedroom and shut it behind me, taking a huge gulping breath. Heading for his bed, I flop onto it and stare at the plain white ceiling.

What am I doing? Perhaps the evil witch had a point.

No, I refuse to believe that. She's so cold and cruel. I shake my head. She's wrong. I am right for Christian. I am what he needs. And in a moment of stunning clarity, I don't question how he's lived his life until recently -- but why. His reasons for doing what he's done to countless girls -- I don't even want to know how many. The how isn't wrong. They were all adults. They were all -- how did Flynn put it? -- in safe, sane, consensual relationships. It's the why. The why was wrong. The why was from his place of darkness.

Shakily I get to my feet, kick off my shoes, walk over to his desk, and examine the bulletin board above it. The photos of young Christian are all still there -- more poignant than ever, as I think of the spectacle I've just witnessed between him and Mrs. Robinson. And there in the corner is the small black-and-white photo -- his mother, the crack whore.

I close my eyes and drape my arm over them. But now he's moved on, left it behind, and we are both in the light. I'm dazzled by him, and he by me. We can guide each other. A thought occurs to me. Shit! A gnawing, insidious thought and I'm in the one place where I can lay this ghost to rest. I sit up. Yes, I must do this.

I switch on the desk lamp and focus the light on her picture. I don't even know her name. She looks so much like him, but younger and sadder, and all I feel, looking at her sorrowful face, is compassion. I try to see the similarities between her face and mine. I squint at the picture, getting really, really close, and see none. Except maybe our hair, but I think hers is lighter than mine. I don't look like her at all. It's a relief.

"Hi," I answer warily.

My subconscious tuts at me, arms crossed, glaring over her half-moon glasses. Why are you torturing yourself? You've said yes. You've made your bed. I purse my lips at her. Yes I have, gladly so. I want to lie in that bed with Christian for the rest of my life. My inner goddess, sitting in the lotus position, smiles serenely. Yes. I've made the right decision.

I must find him -- Christian will be worried. I have no idea how long I've been in his room; he'll think that I've fled. I roll my eyes as I contemplate his overreaction. I hope that he and Grace have finished. I shudder to think what else she might have said to him.

I meet Christian as he climbs the stairs to the second floor, looking for me. His face is strained and weary -- not the carefree Fifty I arrived with. As I stand on the landing, he stops on the top stair so that we are eye to eye.

"I know," I interrupt him. "I'm sorry -- I couldn't face the festivities. I just had to get away, you know. To think." Reaching up, I caress his face. He closes his eyes and leans his face into my hand.

"Hi," he says cautiously.

"I was worried --"

He reaches for my hand and pulls me into an embrace, and I go willingly into his arms, my favorite place in the whole world. He smells of fresh laundry, body wash, and Christian -- the most calming and arousing scent on the planet. He inhales with his nose in my hair.

"Yes."

Whoa! Breakthrough. "Can we sit?" I ask.

"And you thought you'd do that in my room?"

I try not to react. "Not anymore. How's your mom?"

"Can you blame her?" My voice is quiet, cajoling.

"Mom is pretty fucking mad at me right now. I'm really glad you're here, and that we're in the middle of a party. Otherwise I might be breathing my last."

"That bad, huh?"

He nods, his eyes serious, and I sense his bewilderment at her reaction.

He gazes down at me, and his mouth curls apologetically. "She's a family friend."

"It's not your fault, Christian. Why was she here?"

"Sure. Here?"

He hugs me tightly and he seems uncertain, processing his thoughts.

Finally he answers. "No."

"I'm sorry you had to endure all that."

I nod and we both sit at the top of the stairs. "So, how do you feel?" I ask, anxiously clutching his hand and gazing at his sad, serious face.

"Well you should. From the look and smell of Elena, that was one of my father's lethal cocktails you threw on her." He gazes at me, trying and failing to keep the amusement off his face.

Oh, crap.

"No."

He snorts. "I'm not that vindictive, Anastasia," he admonishes me. "No. I'll gift them to her. I'll talk to my lawyer Monday. I owe her that much."

"Do you get drunk?" I ask as I take his hand.

"Come." He stands and offers me his hand. "Let's join the party in our honor. I might even get drunk."

"No," I confess, flushing.

I frown at him. "Will you liquidate the salon business?"

He sighs.

I grin. "I'm sorry you lost a friend."

I arch an eyebrow at him. "No more Mrs. Robinson?" His mouth twists in amusement and he shakes his head.

"Really?" I beam back. Wow, I'd crawl over broken glass for that smile.

"I feel liberated." He shrugs, then beams -- a glorious, carefree Christian smile, and the weariness and strain present moments ago have vanished.

"Have you eaten?" he asks.

"Not since I was a wild teenager." We walk down the stairs.

"Our business relationship is over. Done."

He shrugs then smirks. "Are you?"

"Gone."

"Congratulations again, Ana. You two will be just fine." Dr. Flynn smiles kindly at us, standing arm in arm in the hallway as he and Rhian take their leave.

Oh yes. The Heathman.

"Good night, John, Rhian."

He leans down and kisses me softly, and I melt everywhere, all the tension of the last hour or so seeping languidly from my body.

"Good night."

Oh.

He holds up his hand.

"Christian, I --"

"Okay," I acquiesce because right now I'd probably do anything for him. Taking my hand, he leads me toward the kitchen where the party is in full swing.

"I lay awake for hours and watched you sleep," he murmurs. "I might have loved you even then."

"Eat," he whispers.

"No arguing, Anastasia. If you're going to drink -- and toss alcohol on my exes -- you need to eat. It's rule number one. I believe we've already had that discussion after our first night together."

Back in the hallway, he pauses to caress my face, his fingers skimming my jaw.

Christian closes the door and shakes his head. He gazes down at me, his eyes suddenly bright with excitement.

"Just the family left. I think my mother has had too much to drink." Grace is singing karaoke on some game console in the family room. Kate and Mia are giving her a run for her money.

"Christian, recently, every day with you has been quite a day." My voice is sardonic.

What's this?

"Do you blame her?" I smirk at him, trying to keep the atmosphere between us light. I succeed.

"I am."

"Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?"

He shakes his head. "Fair point well made, Miss Steele. Come -- I want to show you something." Taking my hand, he leads me through the house to the kitchen where Carrick, Ethan, and Elliot are talking Mariners, drinking the last of the cocktails, and eating leftovers.

As we make our way up the steps to the lawn, I take off my shoes. The half moon shines brightly over the bay. It's brilliant, casting everything in myriad shades of gray as the lights of Seattle twinkle in the distance. The lights of the boathouse are on, a soft glowing beacon in the cool cast of the moon.

"It's been quite a day."

"Off for a stroll?" Elliot teases suggestively as we make our way through the French doors. Christian ignores him. Carrick frowns at Elliot, shaking his head in a silent rebuke.

Christian glances at me and smiles. "Okay. I'll talk to Elliot. He knows a good architect; she did some work on my place in Aspen. He can do the remodeling."

"I remember the last time you took me to the boathouse."

"Oh?"

"I do. When did you buy it?"

"You bought it?"

We wander hand in hand in a relaxed silence for a few moments. Then something occurs to me.

"Christian, I'd like to go to church tomorrow."

"Where are you going to put the photos José took of me?"

"I prayed you'd come back alive and you did. It's the least I could do."

"I thought we might put them in the new house."

"Okay."

"Don't knock it down. Please. It's such a lovely house. It just needs some tender loving care."

"Yesterday morning. Now we need to decide what to do with it," he murmurs, relieved.

I snort, suddenly remembering the last time we crossed the lawn under the moonlight to the boathouse. Oh, perhaps that's what we're going to do now. I grin.

He stops to stare at me, and his voice full of concern. "Yes. I thought you liked it."

"What?"

Christian chuckles quietly. "Oh, that was fun. In fact…" He suddenly stops and scoops me over his shoulder, and I squeal, though we don't have far to go.

"No, you're not."

"You were really angry, if I remember correctly," I gasp.

He swats my behind as he stops outside the wooden door. He slides me down his body back to the ground and takes my head in his hands.

"Anastasia, I'm always really angry."

"No, not anymore." Leaning down, he kisses me, hard. When he pulls away, I'm breathless and desire is racing around my body.

The harsh light of the fluorescents illuminates the impressive motor launch in the dock, bobbing gently on the dark water. There's a rowboat beside it.

"I've something to show you in here," he murmurs and opens the door.

He gazes down at me, and in the glow of the strip of light coming from inside the boathouse, I can see he's anxious. My anxious man, not a white knight or a dark knight, but a man -- a beautiful, not-quite-so-fucked-up man -- whom I love. I reach up and caress his face, running my fingers through his sideburns and along his jaw to his chin, then let my index finger touch his lips. He relaxes.

My mouth drops to the floor. The attic is unrecognizable. The room is filled with flowers… there are flowers everywhere. Someone has created a magical bower of beautiful wild meadow flowers mixed with glowing Christmas lights and miniature lanterns that glow soft and pale all around the room.

"Come." Christian takes my hand and leads me up the wooden stairs. Opening the door at the top, he steps aside to let me in.

"You have my heart." And he waves toward the room.

I blink at him, not quite believing what I'm seeing.

My face whips around to meet his, and he's gazing at me, his expression unreadable. He shrugs.

"You wanted hearts and flowers," he murmurs.

"And here are the flowers," I whisper, completing his sentence. "Christian, it's lovely." I can't think of what else to say. My heart is in my mouth as tears prick my eyes.

From his inside jacket pocket he produces a ring and gazes up at me, his eyes bright gray and raw, full of emotion.

Tugging my hand, he pulls me into the room, and before I know it, he's sinking to one knee in front of me. Holy hell… I did not expect this! I stop breathing.

He grins, relieved, and slowly slides the ring on my finger. It's beautiful, an oval diamond in a platinum ring. Whoa -- it's big… Big, yet simple and stunning in its simplicity.

"Anastasia Steele. I love you. I want to love, cherish, and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always. Share my life with me. Marry me."

The cigarette end glows brightly in the darkness as he takes a deep pull. He blows the smoke out in a long exhale, finishing with two smoke rings that dissolve in front of him, pale and ghostly in the moonlight. He shifts in his seat, bored, and takes a quick shot of cheap bourbon from a bottle wrapped in shabby brown paper before resting it back between his thighs.

"Oh, Christian," I sob, suddenly overwhelmed with joy, and I join him on my knees, my fingers fisting in his hair as I kiss him, kiss him with all my heart and soul. I kiss this beautiful man, who loves me as I love him; and he wraps his arms around me, his hands moving to my hair, his mouth on mine. I know deep down I will always be his, and he will always be mine. We've come so far together, we have so far to go, but we are made for each other. We are meant to be.

I blink down at him as my tears fall. My Fifty, my man. I love him so, and all I can say as the tidal wave of emotion hits me is, "Yes."

He snorts.

He can't believe he's still on the trail. His mouth twists in a sardonic sneer. The helicopter had been a rash and bold move. One of the most exhilarating things he'd ever done in his life. But to no avail. He rolls his eyes ironically. Who would have thought the son of a bitch could actually fly the fucker?

It had been the same all his life. People constantly underestimating him -- just a man who reads books. Fuck that! A man with a photographic memory who reads books. Oh, the things he's learned, the things he knows. He snorts again. Yeah, about you, Grey. The things I know about you.

They have underestimated him. If Grey thought for one minute he'd go whimpering quietly into the dusk, that prick didn't know jack shit.

Not bad for the kid who worked his ass off through college and got into publishing.

Not bad for a kid from the gutter end of Detroit.

And now all of that's fucked, fucked because of Grey and his little bitch. He scowls at the house as if it represents everything he despises. But there's nothing doing. The only drama had been the stacked, blonde broad in black, teetering down the driveway in tears before she climbed into the white CLK and fucked off.

Not bad for the kid who won a scholarship to Princeton.

He chuckles mirthlessly, then winces. Fuck, his ribs. Still sore from the swift kicking Grey's henchman delivered.

That motherfucker will get it good, too. Yeah -- get what's coming to him.

He replays the scene in his mind. "You fucking touch Miss Steele again, I'll fucking kill you."

He settles back in his seat. Looks like it's going to be a long night. He'll stay, watch, and wait. He takes another drag off his Marlboro Red. His chance will come. His chance will come soon.