Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades #2)(72)
Author: E.L. James

"I was listening," I whisper and stare back down at my hands.

"What? To our conversation?"

"Yes."

"Well?" He sounds resigned.

"She cares for you."

"Yes, she does. And I for her in my own way, but it doesn’t come close to how I feel about you. If that’s what this is about."

"I’m not jealous." I’m wounded that he would think that – or am I? Shit. Maybe that’s what this is. "You don’t love her," I murmur.

He sighs again. He really is pissed. "A long time ago, I thought I loved her," he says through gritted teeth.

Oh. "When we were in Georgia… you said you didn’t love her."

"That’s right."

I frown.

"I loved you then, Anastasia," he whispers. "You’re the only person I’d fly three thousand miles to see."

Oh my. I don’t understand. He still wanted me as a sub then. My frown deepens.

"The feelings I have for you are very different from any I ever had for Elena," he says by way of explanation.

"When did you know?"

He shrugs. "Ironically, it was Elena who pointed it out to me. She encouraged me to go to Georgia."

I knew it! I knew it in Savannah. I gaze at him, blankly.

What do I make of this? Maybe she is on my side and just worried that I’ll hurt him.

The thought is painful. I would never want to hurt him. She’s right – he’s been hurt enough.

Perhaps she’s not so bad. I shake my head. I don’t want to accept his relationship with her. I disapprove. Yes, that’s what this is. She’s an unsavory character who preyed on a vulnerable adolescent, robbing him of his teenage years, no matter what he says.

"So you desired her? When you were younger."

"Yes."

Oh.

"She taught me a great deal. She taught me to believe in myself."

Oh. "But she also beat the shit out of you."

He smiles fondly. "Yes, she did."

"And you liked that?"

"At the time I did."

"So much that you wanted to do it to others?"

His eyes grow wide and serious. "Yes."

"Did she help you with that?"

"Yes."

"Did she sub for you?"

"Yes."

Holy f**k. "Do you expect me to like her?" My voice sounds brittle and bitter.

"No. Though it would make my life a hell of a lot easier," he says wearily. "I do understand your reticence."

"Reticence! Jeez, Christian – if that were your son, how would you feel?"

He blinks at me as though he doesn’t comprehend the question. He frowns. "I didn’t have to stay with her. It was my choice, too, Anastasia," he murmurs.

This is getting me nowhere.

"Who’s Linc?"

"Her ex-husband."

"Lincoln Timber?"

"The very same," he smirks.

"And Isaac?"

"Her current submissive."

Oh no.

"He’s in his mid-twenties, Anastasia. You know – a consenting adult," he adds quickly, correctly deciphering my look of disgust.

I flush. "Your age," I mutter.

"Look, Anastasia, as I said to her, she’s part of my past. You are my future. Don’t let her come between us, please. And quite frankly, I’m really bored of this subject. I’m going to do some work." He stands and gazes down at me. "Let it go. Please."

I stare mulishly up at him.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he adds. "Your car arrived a day early. It’s in the garage. Taylor has the key."

Whoa… the Saab? "Can I drive it tomorrow?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You know why not. And that reminds me. If you are going to leave your office, let me know. Sawyer was there, watching you. It seems I can’t trust you to look after yourself at all." He scowls down at me, making me feel like an errant child – again. And I would argue with him, but he’s pretty worked up over Elena, and I don’t want to push him any further, but I can’t resist one comment.

"Seems I can’t trust you either," I mutter. "You could have told me Sawyer was watching me."

"Do you want to fight about that, too?" he snaps.

"I wasn’t aware we were fighting. I thought we were communicating," I mumble petulantly.

He closes his eyes briefly as he struggles to contain his temper. I swallow and watch anxiously. Jeez, this could go either way.

"I have to work," he says quietly, and with that, he leaves the room.

I exhale. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. I flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Can we ever have a normal conversation without it disintegrating into an argument?

It’s exhausting.

We just don’t know each other that well. Do I really want to move in with him? I don’t even know if I should make him a cup of tea or coffee while he’s working. Should I disturb him at all? I have no idea of his likes and dislikes.

Evidently he’s bored with the whole Elena thing – he’s right, I need to move on. Let it go. Well, at least he’s not expecting me to be friends with her, and I hope that she’ll now stop hassling me for a meeting.

I get off the bed and wander to the window. Unlocking the balcony door, I open it and stroll over to the glass railing. Its transparency is unnerving. The air’s chilly and fresh, as I’m up so high.

I gaze out over the twinkling lights of Seattle. He’s so far removed from everything up here in his fortress. Answerable to no one. He’d just told me he loves me, then all this crap comes up because of that dreadful woman. I roll my eyes. His life is so complicated.

He’s so complicated.

With a heavy sigh and a last glance at Seattle spread like cloths of gold at my feet, I decide to call Ray. I haven’t spoken to him for a while. It’s a brief conversation as per usual, but I ascertain he’s fine and that I’m interrupting an important soccer match.

"Hope all is well with Christian," he says casually, and I know he’s fishing for information but doesn’t really want to know.

"Yeah. We’re cool." Sort of, and I’m moving in with him. Though we haven’t discussed a timetable.

"Love you, Dad."

"Love you, too, Annie."

I hang up and check my watch. It’s only ten. Because of our discussion, I am feeling strangely innervated and restless.

I shower quickly, and back in the bedroom, decide to wear one of the nightdresses that Caroline Acton procured for me from Neiman Marcus. Christian’s always moaning about my T-shirts. There are three. I choose the pale pink and put it on over my head. The fabric skims across my skin, caressing and clinging to me as it falls around my body. It feels luxurious – the finest, thinnest satin. Holy crap. In the mirror, I look like a 1930s movie star. It’s long, elegant – and very un-me.