Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian (Fifty Shades 4) - Chapter 98

“She interviewed me for the WSU student newspaper.”

“Which Kate edits,” Ana interjects.

“I want to be a journalist,” Kate tells Mia.

My father offers Ana some wine while Mia and Kate discuss journalism. Kavanagh has an internship at the Seattle Times, no doubt set up for her by her father.

From the corner of my eye I notice that Ana’s studying me.

“What?” I ask.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” she says, so low that only I can hear.

“I’m not mad at you,” I lie.

Her eyes narrow, and it’s obvious she doesn’t believe me.

“Yes, I am mad at you,” I confess. And now I feel like I’m overreacting. I close my eyes.

Get a grip, Grey.

“Palm-twitchingly mad?” she whispers.

“What are you two whispering about?” Kavanagh interrupts.

Good God! Is she always like this? So intrusive? How the hell does Elliot put up with her? I glower at her, and she has the sense to back off.

“Just about my trip to Georgia,” Ana says, with sweetness and charm.

Kate smirks. “How was José when you went to the bar with him on Friday?” she asks, with a brash look in my direction.

What. The. Fuck. Is. This?

Ana tenses beside me.

“He was fine,” she says quietly.

“Palm-twitchingly mad,” I whisper to her. “Especially now.”

So she went to a bar with the guy who was trying to ram his tongue down her throat the last time I saw him. And she’d already agreed to be mine. Sneaking off to a bar with another man? And without my permission…

She deserves to be punished.

Around me, dinner is being served.

I’ve agreed not to go too hard on her…maybe I should use a flogger. Or maybe I should administer a straightforward spanking, harder than the last one. Here, tonight.

Yes. That has possibilities.

Ana’s looking down at her fingers. Kate, Elliot, and Mia are in a conversation about French cooking, and Dad returns to the table. Where’s he been?

“Call for you, darling. It’s the hospital,” he says to Grace.

“Please start, everyone,” Mom says, passing a plate of food to Ana.

Smells good.

Ana licks her lips and the action resonates in my groin. She must be starving. Good. That’s something.

Mom has surpassed herself: chorizo, scallops, peppers. Nice. And I realize that I, too, am hungry. That can’t be helping my mood. But I brighten watching Ana eat.

Grace returns, looking worried. “Everything okay?” Dad asks, and we all look up at her.

“Another measles case.” Grace sighs heavily.

“Oh no,” Dad says.

“Yes, a child. The fourth case this month. If only people would get their kids vaccinated.” Grace shakes her head. “I’m so glad our children never went through that. They never caught anything worse than chicken pox, thank goodness. Poor Elliot.” We all look at Elliot, who stops eating, mid-chew, mouth stuffed full, bovine. He’s uncomfortable being the center of attention.

Kavanagh gives Grace a questioning look.

“Christian and Mia were lucky,” Grace explains. “They got it so mildly, only a spot to share between them.”

Oh, give it a rest, Mom.

“So, did you catch the Mariners game, Dad?” Elliot’s clearly keen to move the conversation on, as am I.

“I can’t believe they beat the Yankees,” Carrick says.

“Did you watch the game, hotshot?” Elliot asks me.

“No. But I read the sports column.”

“The M’s are going places. Nine games won out of the last eleven, gives me hope.” Dad sounds excited.

“They’re certainly having a better season than 2010,” I add.

“Gutierrez in center field was awesome. That catch! Wow.” Elliot throws up his arms. Kavanagh fawns over him like a lovesick fool.

“How are you settling into your new apartment, dear?” Grace asks Ana.

“We’ve only been there one night, and I still have to unpack, but I love that it’s so central—and a short walk to Pike Place, and near the water.”

“Oh, so you’re close to Christian, then,” Grace remarks.

Mom’s helper starts to clear the table. I still can’t remember her name. She’s Swiss, or Austrian or something, and she doesn’t stop simpering and batting eyelashes at me.

“Have you been to Paris, Ana?” Mia asks.

“No, but I’d love to go.”

“We honeymooned in Paris,” Mom says. She and Dad exchange a look across the table, which frankly I’d prefer not to see. They obviously had a good time.

“It’s a beautiful city, in spite of the Parisians. Christian, you should take Ana to Paris!” Mia exclaims.

“I think Anastasia would prefer London,” I respond to my sister’s ridiculous suggestion. Placing my hand on Ana’s knee, I explore her thigh at a leisurely pace, her dress riding up as my fingers follow. I want to touch her; stroke her where her panties should be. As my cock rouses in anticipation I suppress a groan and shuffle in my seat.

She jerks away from me as if to cross her legs, and I close my hand around her thigh.

Don’t you dare!

Ana takes a sip of wine, not taking her eyes off my mother’s housekeeper, who is serving our entrées.

“So what was wrong with the Parisians? Didn’t they take to your winsome ways?” Elliot teases Mia.

“Ugh, no, they didn’t. And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such a domineering tyrant.”