𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘//𝐁.𝐄

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

Light fills the room, coaxing me from deep sleep to wakefulness. I stretch out and open my eyes. It's a beautiful May morning, Seattle at my feet. Wow, what a view. Beside me, Anastasia Grey is fast asleep. Wow, what a view. I'm surprised she's still in bed.

She's facing me, and I have an unprecedented opportunity to study her. Her lovely face looks younger, relaxed in sleep. Her sculptured, pouty lips are parted slightly, and her shiny, clean hair is a glorious mess. How could anyone look this good and still be legal?

I remember her room upstairs ... perhaps she's not legal. I shake my head, so much to think about. It's tempting to reach out and touch her, but like a small child, she's so lovely when she's asleep. I don't have to worry about what I'm saying, what she's saying, what plans she has, especially her plans for me. I could gaze at her all day, but I have needs—bathroom needs. Slipping out of bed, I find her white shirt on the floor and shrug it on.

I walk through a door thinking that it might be the bathroom, but I'm in a vast walk-in closet as big as my bedroom. Lines and lines of expensive suits, shirts, shoes, and ties. How can anyone need this many clothes? I tut with disapproval. Actually, Liv's wardrobe probably rivals this.

Liv! Oh no. I didn't think about her all evening. I was supposed to text her. Crap. I'm going to be in trouble. I wonder briefly how she's getting on with Alex. Returning to the bedroom, Anastasia is still asleep. I try the other door. It's the bathroom, and it's bigger than my bedroom. Why does one woman need so much space? Two sinks, I notice with irony. Given she doesn't sleep with anyone, one of them can't have been used.

I stare at myself in the gigantic mirror above the sinks. Do I look different? I feel different. I feel a little sore, if I'm honest, and my muscles—jeez, it's like I've never done any exercise in my life. You don't do any exercise in your life. My subconscious has woken. She's staring at me with pursed lips, tapping her foot.

So you've just slept with her, given her your virginity, a woman who doesn't love you. In fact, she has very odd ideas about you, wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave. Are you crazy? She's shouting at me. I wince as I look in the mirror. I am going to have to process all this. Honestly, fancy falling for a woman who's beyond beautiful, richer than Croesus, and has a Red Room of Pain waiting for me. I shudder.

I'm bewildered and confused. My hair is its usual wayward self. Just-fucked hair doesn't suit me. I try to bring order to the chaos with my fingers but fail miserably and give up—maybe I'll fund hair ties in my purse. I'm starving. I head back out to the bedroom. Sleeping beauty is still sleeping, so I leave her and head for the kitchen. Oh no ... Liv. I left my purse in Anastasia's study.

I fetch it and reach for my cell phone. Three texts.

*RU OK Bil?*

*Where RU Bil?*

*Damn it Billie*

I call Olivia. When she doesn't answer, I leave her a groveling message to tell her I am alive and have not succumbed to Bluebeard, well, not in the sense she would be worried about—or perhaps I have. Oh, this is so confusing. I have to try to categorize and analyze my feelings for Anastasia Grey.

It's an impossible task. I shake my head in defeat. I need alone time, away from here to think. I find two welcome hair ties at the same time in my bag and quickly tie my hair in pigtails. Yes! The more girly I look perhaps the safer I'll be from Bluebeard.

I take my iPod out of the bag and plug my headphones in. There's nothing like music to cook by. I slip it into the breast pocket of Anastasia's shirt, turn it up loud, and start dancing. Holy hell, I'm hungry. I am daunted by her kitchen. It's so sleek and modern, and none of the cupboards has handles. It takes me a few seconds to deduce that I have to push the cupboard doors to open them. Perhaps I should cook Anastasia breakfast.