freak me out so much? And what does she want now?

“I would offer you my heartfelt congratulations, but I think that would be inappropri-

ate.” Her piercing cold blue eyes stare frostily into mine, filled with loathing.

“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 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 sar-

castic sweetness. She ignores me.

“He has needs—needs you cannot possibly begin to satisfy,” she gloats.

“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 was 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?”

“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.

Christian is standing in the doorway. It takes him a nanosecond to assess the situa-

tion—me ashen and shaking, her soaked and livid. His lovely face darkens and contorts

with anger as he comes to stand between us.

“What the fuck are you doing, Elena?” he says, his voice glacial and laced with men-

ace.She blinks up at him. “She’s not right for you, Christian,” she whispers.

“What?” he shouts, startling both of us. I can’t see his face but his whole body has

tensed, and he radiates animosity.

“How the fuck do you know what’s right for me?”

“You have needs, Christian,” she says her voice softer.

“I’ve told you before—this is none of your fucking business,” he roars. 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.

Elena swallows and seems to draw herself upright. Her stance changes subtly, becomes

more commanding, and she steps toward him.

“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 US—controlled, driv-

en—you need nothing. You are master of your universe.”

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

“You loved it, Christian, don’t try and kid yourself. You were on the road to self-de-

struction, 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 in-

credulous.

“You taught me how to fuck, Elena. But it’s empty, like you. No wonder Linc left.”

Bile rises in my mouth. I should not be here. But I’m frozen to the spot, morbidly fas-

cinated as they eviscerate each other.

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

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 St. Tropez tan.

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.

“Take your filthy paws off my son, you whore, and get out of my house—now!” she

hisses through gritted teeth.

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. 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.

“Of course,” I whisper, and exit as quickly as I can, glancing anxiously over my shoul-

der. But neither of them look at me as I leave. They continue to stare at each other, their

unspoken communication blaringly loud.

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. Crap. I can’t think what she’s going to say to Christian, and I know it’s wrong, I

know, but I lean against the door trying to listen.

“How long, Christian?” Grace’s voice is soft. I can barely hear her.

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.

“Everything okay, Ana?” Ros interrupts me.

“Yes. Fine. Thank you. I . . .”

Ros smiles. “I’m just going to fetch my purse. I need a cigarette.”

For a brief moment, I contemplate joining her.

“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.

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.

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 pil-

lows. She’ll have overheard that Christian and Elena had an affair—but not the nature of

it. Thank heavens. I groan.