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 ques-

tion howhe’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.

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.

Shakily I get to my feet, kick off my shoes, walk over to his desk, and examine the pin

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 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 sor-

rowful 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.

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 in-

ner 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.

“Hi,” he says cautiously.

“Hi,” I answer warily.

“I was worried—”

“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.

“And you thought you’d do that in my room?”

“Yes.”

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 Chris-

tian—the most calming and arousing scent on the planet. He inhales with his nose in my

hair.“I’m sorry you had to endure all that.”

“It’s not your fault, Christian. Why was she here?” He gazes down at me, and his

mouth curls apologetically.

“She’s a family friend.”

I try not to react. “Not any more. How’s your mom?”

“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.

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

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

Finally he answers. “No.”

Whoa! Breakthrough.“Can we sit?” I ask.

“Sure. Here?”

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, seri-

ous face.

He sighs.

“I feel liberated.” He shrugs, then beams—a glorious, carefree Christian smile, and the

weariness and strain present moments ago have vanished.

“Really?” I beam back. Wow, I’d crawl over broken glass for that smile.

“Our business relationship is over. Done.”

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

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.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “No more Mrs. Robinson?” His mouth twists in amusement

and he shakes his head.

“Gone.”

I grin.

“I’m sorry you lost a friend.”

He shrugs then smirks. “Are you?”

“No,” I confess, flushing.

“Come.” He stands and offers me his hand. “Let’s join the party in our honor. I might

even get drunk.”

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

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

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

Oh crap.

“No.”

“Well you should. From the look and smell of Elena, that was one of my father’s lethal

cocktails you threw over her.” He gazes at me, trying and failing to keep the amusement

off his face.

“Christian, I—”

He holds up his hand.

“No arguing, Anastasia. If you’re going to drink—and throw alcohol over my exes—

you need to eat. It’s rule number one. I believe we’ve already had that discussion after our

first night together.”

Oh yes. The Heathman.

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

“I lay awake for hours and watched you sleep,” he murmurs. “I might have loved you

even then.”

Oh.

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.

“Eat,” he whispers.

“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.

“Goodnight, John, Rhian.”

“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.

“Goodnight.”

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

bright with excitement.

What’s this?

“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.

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

I succeed.

“Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”

“I am.”

“It’s been quite a day.”

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

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 Car-

rick, Ethan, and Elliot are talking Mariners, drinking the last of the cocktails, and eating

leftovers.

“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.

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 of shades of gray

as the lights of Seattle twinkle sweetly in the distance. The lights of the boathouse are on,