Book 1 - Page 45 (2/2)

”Oh, no, you don't,” Christian threatens. ”You can wear something of mine.” He's slipped on a white t-s.h.i.+rt and runs his hand through his just-f.u.c.ked hair. In spite of my anxiety, I lose my train of thought. Will I ever get used to looking at this beautiful man?

His beauty is derailing.

”Anastasia, you could be wearing a sack and you'd look lovely. Please don't worry.

I'd like you to meet my mother. Get dressed. I'll just go and calm her down.” His mouth presses into a hard line. ”I will expect you in that room in five minutes, otherwise I'll come and drag you out of here myself in whatever you're wearing. My t-s.h.i.+rts are in this drawer.

My s.h.i.+rts are in the closet. Help yourself.” He eyes me speculatively for a moment, then leaves the room.

Holy s.h.i.+t. Christian's mother. This is so much more than I bargained for. Perhaps meeting her will help put a little part of the jigsaw in place. Might help me understand why Christian is the way he is... Suddenly, I want to meet her. I pull my s.h.i.+rt off the floor, and I'm pleased to discover that it has survived the night well with hardly any creases. I find my blue bra under the bed and dress quickly. But if there's one thing I hate, it's not wearing clean panties. I rifle through Christian's chest of drawers and come across his boxer briefs.

After pulling on a pair of tight gray Calvin Kleins, I tug on my jeans and my Converse.

Grabbing my jacket, I dash into the bathroom and stare at my too-bright eyes, my flushed face - and my hair! Holy c.r.a.p... just-f.u.c.ked pigtails do not suit me either. I hunt in the vanity unit for a brush and find a comb. It will have to do. A ponytail is the only answer. I despair at my clothes. Maybe I should take Christian up on his offer of clothes.

My subconscious purses her lips and mouths the word 'ho'. I ignore her. Struggling into my jacket, pleased that the cuffs cover the tell-tale patterns from his tie, I take a last anxious glance at myself in the mirror. This will have to do. I make my way into the main living room.

”Here she is.” Christian stands from where he's lounging on the couch.

His expression is warm and appreciative. The sandy-haired woman beside him turns and beams at me, a full megawatt smile. She stands too. She's impeccably attired in a camel-colored fine knit sweater dress with matching shoes. She looks groomed, elegant, beautiful, and inside I die a little, knowing I look such a mess.

”Mother, this is Anastasia Steele. Anastasia, this is Grace Trevelyan-Grey.”

Dr. Trevelyan-Grey holds her hand out to me. T... for Trevelyan?

”What a pleasure to meet you,” she murmurs. If I'm not mistaken, there is wonder and maybe stunned relief in her voice and a warm glow in her hazel eyes. I grasp her hand, and I can't help but smile, returning her warmth.

”Dr. Trevelyan-Grey,” I murmur.

”Call me Grace,” she grins, and Christian frowns. ”I am usually Dr. Trevelyan, and Mrs. Grey is my mother-in-law.” She winks. ”So how did you two meet?” She looks questioningly at Christian, unable to hide her curiosity.

”Anastasia interviewed me for the student paper at WSU because I'm conferring the degrees there this week.”

Double c.r.a.p. I'd forgotten that.

”So you are graduating this week?” Grace asks.

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