Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Good morning, Miss Steele. It'salways a treat to wake up to you."

She strokes my cheek. "And you, Mr. Grey." Her tone is soft. "Do wehave to get up? I like being here inyour room."

"No." I glance at my watch onthe nightstand. It's 9:15. "Myparents will be at Mass." I shift toher side.

"I didn't know they were churchgoers."

I grimace. "Yes. They are. Catholic."

"Are you?"

"No, Anastasia."

God and I went our separate ways a long time ago.

"Are you?" I ask, recalling that Welch could find no religious affiliations during her background check.

She shakes her head. "No. Neither of my parents practice afaith. But I would like to go tochurch today. I need tothank...someone for bringing you back alive from the helicopter accident."

I sigh, visualizing a bolt oflightning burning me to a cinder if Istep onto the hallowed grounds of achurch, but for her, I'll go.

"Okay. I'll see what we can do." Ikiss her quickly. "Come, shower with me."

There's a small leather duffel outside my bedroom door-Taylor has delivered clean clothes. I scoop up the bag and shut the door. Ana iswrapped in a towel, beads of water glistening on her shoulders. Her attention is focused on my bulletin board, paused at the photograph ofthe crack whore. She turns her head toward me, a question on her beautiful face...a question I don'twant to answer. "You still have it," she says.

Yeah. I still have the photo. What of it?

As her question hangs in the air between us, her eyes grow luminous in the morning sunshine, drinking me in, begging me to say something. But I can't. This is not somewhere Iwant to go. For a moment, I'mreminded of the gut punch I felt when Carrick handed me the photograph so many years ago.

Hell. Don't go there, Grey.

"Taylor brought a change ofclothes for us," I whisper as I sling the duffel onto the bed. There's animpossibly long silence before she responds.

"Okay," she says, and she walks toward the bed and unzips the bag.

I've eaten my fill. My parents have returned from Mass and mymother has cooked her traditional brunch: a delicious, coronary-inducing plate of bacon, sausage, hash browns, eggs, and English muffins. Grace is a little quiet, and Isuspect that she might have ahangover.

Throughout the morning I have avoided my father.

I haven't forgiven him for last night.

Ana, Elliot, and Kate are in aheated debate about bacon, of all things-and arguing over who should have the last sausage. I half listen with amusement while I read anarticle about the failure rate of local banks in the Sunday edition of The Seattle Times.

Mia shrieks and reclaims her place at the table, holding her laptop. "Look at this. There's agossipy item on the Seattle Nooz website about you being engaged, Christian."

"Already?" Mom says, surprised.

Don't these assholes have anything better to do?

Mia reads the column out loud. "Word has reached us here at the Nooz that Seattle's most eligible bachelor, the Christian Grey, has finally been snapped up, and wedding bells are in the air.""

I glance at Ana, who pales asshe stares, doe-eyed, from Mia tome.

"But who is the lucky, lucky lady?"" Mia continues. "The Nooz ison the hunt. Bet she's reading one helluva prenup." Mia starts giggling.

I glare at her. Shut the fuck up, Mia.

She stops and presses her lips together. Ignoring her, and all the anxious looks exchanged at the table, I turn my attention to Ana, who blanches even more.

"No," I mouth, trying to reassure her.

"Christian," Dad says.

"I'm not discussing this again," Isnarl at him. He opens his mouth tosay something. "No prenup!" I snap with such vehemence that he closes his mouth. Shut up, Carrick!

Picking up the paper, I find myself rereading the same sentence in the banking article over and over while I fume.

"Christian," Ana murmurs. "I'llsign anything you and Mr. Grey want."

I look up and she's beseeching me, a sheen of unshed tears reflecting in her eyes.

Ana. Stop.

"No!" I exclaim, imploring her todrop this subject.

"It's to protect you."

"Christian, Ana-I think you should discuss this in private," Grace chastises us and scowls at Carrick and Mia.

"Ana, this is not about you," Dad mumbles. "And please call meCarrick."

Don't try and make it up to her now. I seethe, inwardly, and suddenly there's a burst of activity. Kate and Mia get up to clear the table and Elliot quickly stabs the last remaining sausage with his fork.

"I definitely prefer sausage," heroars with forced levity.

Ana is staring at her hands. She looks crestfallen.

Jesus. Dad. Look what you'vedone.

I reach over and grasp both her hands in mine, and whisper so only she can hear me, "Stop it. Ignore mydad. He's really pissed about Elena. That stuff was all aimed at me. Iwish my mom had kept her mouth shut."

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