I glance nervously around the bar but cannot see him.
“Ana, what is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s Christian, he’s here.”
“What? Really?” She glances around the bar too.
I have neglected to mention Christian’s stalker tendencies to my mom.
I see him. My heart leaps, beginning a juddering thumping beat as he makes his way
toward us. He’s really here – for me. My inner goddess leaps up cheering from her chaise
longue. Moving smoothly through the crowd, his hair glints burnished copper and red under the recessed halogens. His bright gray eyes are shining with – anger? Tension? His
mouth is set in a grim line, jaw tense. Oh holy shit… no. I am so mad at him right now,
and here he is. How can I be angry with him in front of my mother?
He arrives at our table, gazing at me warily. He’s dressed in customary white linen
shirt and jeans.
“Hi,” I squeak, unable to hide my shock and awe at seeing him here in the flesh.
“Hi,” he replies, and leaning down, he kisses my cheek, taking me by surprise.
“Christian, this is my mother, Carla.” My ingrained manners take over.
He turns to greet my mom.
“Mrs. Adams, I am delighted to meet you.”How does he know her name? He gives her the heart-stopping, Christian Grey patented, full-blown-no-prisoners-taken smile. She doesn’t have a hope. My mother’s lower
jaw practically hits the table. Jeez, get a grip Mom. She takes his proffered hand and they
shake. My mother hasn’t replied. Oh, complete dumbfounded speechlessness is genetic
– I had no idea.
“Christian,” she manages finally, breathlessly.
He smiles knowingly at her, his gray eyes twinkling. I narrow my eyes at them both.
“What are you doing here?” My question sounds more brittle than I mean, and his
smile disappears, his expression now guarded. I am thrilled to see him, but completely
thrown off balance, my anger about Mrs. Robinson simmering through my veins. I don’t
know if I want to shout at him or throw myself into his arms – but I don’t think he’d like
either – and I want to know how long he has been watching us. I’m also a little anxious
about the email I just sent him.
“I came to see you, of course.” He gazes down at me impassively. Oh, what is he thinking? “I’m staying in this hotel.”
“You’re staying here?” I sound like a sophomore on amphetamines, too high-pitched
even for my own ears.
“Well, yesterday you said you wished I was here.” He pauses trying to gauge my reaction. “We aim to please, Miss Steele.” His voice is quiet with no trace of humor.
Crap – Is he mad? Maybe the Mrs. Robinson comments? Or the fact that I am on my
third, soon to be fourth Cosmo? My mother is glancing anxiously at the two of us.
