Fifty Shades Darker(95)

"Go ahead."

"Your biological father... do you know who he was?" This thought has been bugging me. His brow creases, and then he shakes his head. "I have no idea. Wasn't the savage who was her pimp, which is good."

"How do you know?"

"Something my dad... something Carrick said to me."

I gaze at my Fifty expectantly, waiting. He smirks at me.

"So hungry for information, Anastasia," he sighs, shaking his head. "The pimp discovered the crack whore's body and phoned it in to the authorities. Took him four days to make the discovery though. He shut the door when he left... left me with her... her body." His eyes cloud at the memory.

I inhale sharply. Poor baby boy - the horror is too grim to contemplate.

"Police interviewed him later. He denied flat out I was anything to do with him, and Carrick said he looked nothing like me."

"Do you remember what he did look like?"

"Anastasia, this isn't a part of my life I revisit very often. Yes, I remember what he looked like. I'll never forget him." Christian's face darkens and hardens, becoming more angular, his eyes frosting with anger. "Can we talk about something else?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

He shakes his head. "It's old news, Ana. Not something I want to think about."

"So what's this surprise, then?" I need to change the subject before he goes all Fifty on me. His expression lightens immediately.

"Can you face going out for some fresh air? I want to show you something."

"Of course."

I marvel how quickly he turns - mercurial as ever. He grins at me with his boyish, carefree, I'm-only-twenty-seven smile, and my heart lurches into my mouth. So it's something close to his heart, I can tell. He swats me playfully on my behind.

"Get dressed. Jeans will be good. I hope Taylor's packed some for you."

He rises and pulls on his boxer briefs. Oh... I could sit here all day, watching him wander around the room. My inner goddess agrees, swooning as she ogles from her chaise longue.

"Up," he scolds, bossy as ever. I gaze at him, grinning.

"Just admiring the view."

He rolls his eyes at me.

As we dress, I notice that we move with the synchronization of two people who know each other well, each watchful and acutely aware of the other, exchanging the occasional shy smile and sweet touch. And it dawns on me that this is just as new for him as it is for me. "Dry your hair," Christian orders once we're dressed.

"Domineering as ever." I smirk at him, and he leans down to kiss my hair.

"That's never going to change, baby. I don't want you sick."

I roll my eyes at him, and his mouth twists in amusement.

"My palms still twitch, you know, Miss Steele."

"I am glad to hear it, Mr. Grey. I was beginning to think you were losing your edge,"

I retort.

"I could easily demonstrate that is not the case, should you so wish." Christian drags a large, cream, cable-knit sweater out of his bag and drapes it artfully over his shoulders.

With his white T-shirt and jeans, his artfully rumpled hair, and now this, he looks as if he's stepped out of the pages of a high-end glossy magazine.

No one should look this good. And I don't know if it's the momentary distraction of his sheer perfect looks or the knowledge that he loves me, but his threat no longer fills me with dread. This is my Fifty Shades; this is the way he is.

As I reach for the hairdryer, a tangible ray of hope blossoms. We will find a middle way. We just have to recognize each other's needs and accommodate them. I can do that, surely?