o as he says and settle into a director’s chair.
Christian takes a seat beside me and passes me a gin and tonic.
“Cheers, Mrs. Grey.”
“Cheers, Mr. Grey.”
I take a welcome sip. It’s thirst-quenching, cold, and delicious. When I gaze
at him, he’s watching me carefully, his mood unreadable. It’s very frustrating .
. . I don’t know if he’s still mad at me. I deploy my patented distraction
technique.
“Who owns this boat?” I ask.
“A British knight. Sir Somebody-or-Other. His great-grandfather started a
grocery store. His daughter’s married to one of the Crown Princes of
Europe.”
Oh. “Super-rich?”
Christian looks suddenly wary. “Yes.”
“Like you,” I murmur.
“Yes.”
Oh.
“And like you,” Christian whispers and pops an olive into his mouth. I blink
rapidly . . . a vision of him in his tux and silver waistcoat comes to mind . . .
his eyes burning with sincerity as he gazes down at me during our wedding
ceremony.
“All that is mine is now yours,” he says, his voice ringing out clearly reciting
his vows from memory.
All mine? Holy cow.
“It’s odd. Going from nothing to”—I wa一ve my hand to indicate our opulent
surroundings—“to everything.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”
Taylor appears on deck. “Sir, you ha一ve a call.” Christian frowns but takes the
proffered Blackberry.
“Grey,” he snaps and rises from his seat to stand at the bow of the yacht.
26 | P a g e
E L JAMES
I gaze out at the sea, tuning out his conversation with Ros—I think—his
number two. I am rich . . . stinking rich. I ha一ve done nothing to earn this money
. . . just married a rich man. I shudder as my mind drifts back to our
conversation about prenups. It was Sunday after his birthday and we were
seated at the kitchen table enjoying a leisurely breakfast . . . all of us, Elliot,
Kate, Grace, and I were debating the merits of bacon versus sausage, while
Carrick and Christian read the Sunday paper . . .
~o0o~
“Look at this,” squeals Mia as she sets her netbook on the table before us on
th
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