nd pops it into
the microwa一ve. I perch back on the stool and watch the
beauty that is Mr. Christian Grey—the man who wants to
marry me—move gracefully and with ease around his
kitchen.
“So you know how to use the microwa一ve then?” I
tease softly.
“If it’s in a packet, I can usually do something with it.
It’s real food I ha一ve a problem with.”
I cannot believe this is the same man who was on his
knees in front of me not half an hour before. He’s his usual
mercurial self. He sets out plates, cutlery, and placemats
on the breakfast bar.
“It’s very late,” I mutter.
“Don’t go to work tomorrow.”
“I ha一ve to go to work tomorrow. My boss is lea一ving
“I ha一ve to go to work tomorrow. My boss is lea一ving
for New York.”
Christian frowns. “Do you want to go there this
weekend?”
“I checked the weather forecast, and it looks like rain,”
I say, shaking my head.
“Oh, so what do you want to do?”
The microwa一ve’s ping announces that our supper is
warmed through.
“I just want to get through one day at a time at the
moment. All this excitement is . . . tiring.” I raise an
eyebrow at him, which he judiciously ignores.
Christian places the white bowl in between our place
settings and takes his seat beside me. He looks deep in
thought, distracted. I dish the macaroni onto our plates. It
smells divine, and my mouth waters in anticipation. I am
famished.
“Sorry about Leila,” he murmurs.
“Why are you sorry?” Mmm, the macaroni tastes as
good as it smells. My stomach grumbles gratefully.
“It must ha一ve been a terrible shock for you, finding her
in your apartment. Taylor swept it earlier himself. He’s
very upset.”
“I don’t blame Taylor.”
“Neither do I. He’s been out looking for you.”
“Really? Why?”
“I didn’t know where you were. You left your purse,
your phone. I couldn’t even track you. Where did you
go?” he asks. His voice is soft, but there’s an ominous
undercurrent to his words.
“Ethan and I just went to a bar across the street. So I
could watch what was happening.”
“I see.” The atmosphere
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