Grey
Page 63
“Hi,” she says, her eyes large and luminous in her pale face.
“Hi.”
“Come in.” She seems shy and awkward. Why? What’s happened?
“If I may.” I hold up the bottle of champagne. “I thought we’d celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger.”
“Interesting choice of words.” Her voice is sardonic.
“Oh, I like your ready wit, Anastasia.” There she is…my girl.
“We only have teacups. We’ve packed all the glasses.”
“Teacups? Sounds good to me.”
I watch her wander into the kitchen. She’s nervous and skittish. Perhaps because she’s had a big day, or because she’s agreed to my terms, or because she’s here alone—I know Kavanagh is with her own family this evening; her father told me. I hope the champagne will help Ana relax…and talk.
The room is empty, except for packing crates, the sofa, and the table. There’s a brown parcel on the table with a handwritten note attached.
“I agree to the conditions, Angel; because you know best what my punishment ought to be; only—only—don’t make it more than I can bear!”
“Do you want saucers as well?” she calls.
“Teacups will be fine, Anastasia,” I respond, distracted. She’s wrapped up the books—the first editions I sent her. She’s giving them back to me. She doesn’t want them. This is why she’s nervous.
How the hell will she react to the car?
Looking up, I see her standing there, watching me. And carefully she places the cups on the table.
“That’s for you.” Her voice is small and strained.
“Hmm, I figured as much,” I mutter. “Very apt quote.” I trace her handwriting with my finger. The letters are small and neat, and I wonder what a graphologist would make of them. “I thought I was d’Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement.” Of course it’s the perfect quote. My smile is ironic. “Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately.”
“It’s also a plea,” she whispers.
“A plea? For me to go easy on you?”
She nods.
To me these books were an investment, but for her I thought they’d mean something.
“I bought these for you.” It’s a small white lie—as I’ve replaced them. “I’ll go easier on you if you accept them.” I keep my voice calm and quiet, masking my disappointment.
“Christian, I can’t accept them, they’re just too much.”
Here we go, another battle of wills.
Plus ?a change, plus c’est la même chose.
“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, and that’s the end of the discussion. It’s very simple. You don’t have to think about this. As a submissive you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so.”
“I wasn’t a submissive when you bought them for me,” she says quietly.
As ever, she has an answer for everything.
“No…but you’ve agreed, Anastasia.”
Is she reneging on our deal? God, this girl has me on a roller coaster.
“So they are mine to do with as I wish?”
“Yes.” I thought you loved Hardy?
“In that case, I’d like to give them to a charity—one working in Darfur, since that seems to be close to your heart. They can auction them.”
“If that’s what you want to do.” I’m not going to stop you.
You can burn them, for all I care…
Her pale face colors. “I’ll think about it,” she mutters.
“Don’t think, Anastasia. Not about this.” Keep them, please. They’re for you, because your passion is books. You’ve told me more than once. Enjoy them.
Placing the champagne on the table, I stand in front of her and cup her chin, tipping back her head so my eyes are on hers. “I will buy you lots of things, Anastasia. Get used to it. I can afford it. I’m a very wealthy man.” I kiss her quickly. “Please,” I add, and release her. “It makes me feel cheap,” she says.
“It shouldn’t. You’re overthinking it. Don’t place some vague moral judgment on yourself based on what others might think. Don’t waste your energy. It’s only because you have reservations about our arrangement; that’s perfectly natural. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Anxiety is etched all over her lovely face.
“Hey, stop this. There is nothing about you that is cheap, Anastasia. I won’t have you thinking that. I just sent you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that’s all.”
She blinks a couple of times and stares at the package, obviously conflicted.
Keep them, Ana—they’re for you.
“Have some champagne,” I whisper, and she rewards me with a small smile.
“That’s better.” I open the champagne and fill the dainty teacups she’s placed in front of me.
“It’s pink.” She’s surprised, and I haven’t the heart to tell her why I chose pink.
“Bollinger La Grande Année Rosé 1999—an excellent vintage.”
“In teacups.” She grins. It’s infectious.
“In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Anastasia.”
We touch cups, and I drink. It tastes good, as I knew it would.
“Thank you.” She raises the cup to her lips and takes a quick sip. “Shall we go through the soft limits?”
“Always so eager.” Taking her hand, I lead her to the sofa—one of the only remaining pieces of furniture in the living room—and we sit, surrounded by boxes.
“Your stepfather’s a very taciturn man.”
“You managed to get him eating out of your hand.”
I chuckle. “Only because I know how to fish.”
“How did you know he liked fishing?”
“You told me. When we went for coffee.”
“Oh, did I?” She takes another sip and closes her eyes, savoring the taste. Opening them again, she asks, “Did you try the wine at the reception?”
“Yes. It was foul.” I grimace.
“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”
“Hi.”
“Come in.” She seems shy and awkward. Why? What’s happened?
“If I may.” I hold up the bottle of champagne. “I thought we’d celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger.”
“Interesting choice of words.” Her voice is sardonic.
“Oh, I like your ready wit, Anastasia.” There she is…my girl.
“We only have teacups. We’ve packed all the glasses.”
“Teacups? Sounds good to me.”
I watch her wander into the kitchen. She’s nervous and skittish. Perhaps because she’s had a big day, or because she’s agreed to my terms, or because she’s here alone—I know Kavanagh is with her own family this evening; her father told me. I hope the champagne will help Ana relax…and talk.
The room is empty, except for packing crates, the sofa, and the table. There’s a brown parcel on the table with a handwritten note attached.
“I agree to the conditions, Angel; because you know best what my punishment ought to be; only—only—don’t make it more than I can bear!”
“Do you want saucers as well?” she calls.
“Teacups will be fine, Anastasia,” I respond, distracted. She’s wrapped up the books—the first editions I sent her. She’s giving them back to me. She doesn’t want them. This is why she’s nervous.
How the hell will she react to the car?
Looking up, I see her standing there, watching me. And carefully she places the cups on the table.
“That’s for you.” Her voice is small and strained.
“Hmm, I figured as much,” I mutter. “Very apt quote.” I trace her handwriting with my finger. The letters are small and neat, and I wonder what a graphologist would make of them. “I thought I was d’Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement.” Of course it’s the perfect quote. My smile is ironic. “Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately.”
“It’s also a plea,” she whispers.
“A plea? For me to go easy on you?”
She nods.
To me these books were an investment, but for her I thought they’d mean something.
“I bought these for you.” It’s a small white lie—as I’ve replaced them. “I’ll go easier on you if you accept them.” I keep my voice calm and quiet, masking my disappointment.
“Christian, I can’t accept them, they’re just too much.”
Here we go, another battle of wills.
Plus ?a change, plus c’est la même chose.
“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, and that’s the end of the discussion. It’s very simple. You don’t have to think about this. As a submissive you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so.”
“I wasn’t a submissive when you bought them for me,” she says quietly.
As ever, she has an answer for everything.
“No…but you’ve agreed, Anastasia.”
Is she reneging on our deal? God, this girl has me on a roller coaster.
“So they are mine to do with as I wish?”
“Yes.” I thought you loved Hardy?
“In that case, I’d like to give them to a charity—one working in Darfur, since that seems to be close to your heart. They can auction them.”
“If that’s what you want to do.” I’m not going to stop you.
You can burn them, for all I care…
Her pale face colors. “I’ll think about it,” she mutters.
“Don’t think, Anastasia. Not about this.” Keep them, please. They’re for you, because your passion is books. You’ve told me more than once. Enjoy them.
Placing the champagne on the table, I stand in front of her and cup her chin, tipping back her head so my eyes are on hers. “I will buy you lots of things, Anastasia. Get used to it. I can afford it. I’m a very wealthy man.” I kiss her quickly. “Please,” I add, and release her. “It makes me feel cheap,” she says.
“It shouldn’t. You’re overthinking it. Don’t place some vague moral judgment on yourself based on what others might think. Don’t waste your energy. It’s only because you have reservations about our arrangement; that’s perfectly natural. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Anxiety is etched all over her lovely face.
“Hey, stop this. There is nothing about you that is cheap, Anastasia. I won’t have you thinking that. I just sent you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that’s all.”
She blinks a couple of times and stares at the package, obviously conflicted.
Keep them, Ana—they’re for you.
“Have some champagne,” I whisper, and she rewards me with a small smile.
“That’s better.” I open the champagne and fill the dainty teacups she’s placed in front of me.
“It’s pink.” She’s surprised, and I haven’t the heart to tell her why I chose pink.
“Bollinger La Grande Année Rosé 1999—an excellent vintage.”
“In teacups.” She grins. It’s infectious.
“In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Anastasia.”
We touch cups, and I drink. It tastes good, as I knew it would.
“Thank you.” She raises the cup to her lips and takes a quick sip. “Shall we go through the soft limits?”
“Always so eager.” Taking her hand, I lead her to the sofa—one of the only remaining pieces of furniture in the living room—and we sit, surrounded by boxes.
“Your stepfather’s a very taciturn man.”
“You managed to get him eating out of your hand.”
I chuckle. “Only because I know how to fish.”
“How did you know he liked fishing?”
“You told me. When we went for coffee.”
“Oh, did I?” She takes another sip and closes her eyes, savoring the taste. Opening them again, she asks, “Did you try the wine at the reception?”
“Yes. It was foul.” I grimace.
“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”
