"Fairmont Olympic. In my name."
"Thank you, Taylor. And, Taylor, be careful."
Taylor pauses. "Yes, sir," he says quietly, and Christian hangs up.
The streets of Seattle are deserted, and Christian roars up Fifth Avenue toward the I-5.
Once on the interstate, he floors the gas pedal, heading north. He accelerates so quickly I'm momentarily thrown back in my seat.
I peek at him. He's deep in thought, radiating a deadly brooding silence. He hasn't answered my question. He glances frequently at the rearview mirror, and I realize he's checking that we're not being followed. Perhaps that's why we're on the I-5. I thought the Fairmont was in Seattle.
I gaze out of the window, trying to rationalize my exhausted, overactive mind. If she'd wanted to hurt me, she had ample opportunity in the bedroom.
"No. It's not what I hope for, not anymore. I thought that was obvious." Christian interrupts my introspection, his voice soft.
I blink at him, pulling his denim jacket tighter around me, and I don't know if the chill is emanating from within me or from outside.
"I worry that, you know... that I'm not enough."
"You're more than enough. For the love of God, Anastasia, what do I have to do?"
Tell me about yourself. Tell me you love me.
"Why did you think I'd leave when I told you Dr. Flynn had told me all there was to know about you?"
He sighs heavily, closing his eyes for a moment, and for the longest time he doesn't answer. "You cannot begin to understand the depths of my depravity, Anastasia. And it's not something I want to share with you."
"And you really think I'd leave, if I knew?" My voice is high, incredulous. Doesn't he understand that I love him? "Do you think so little of me?"
"I know you'll leave," he says sadly.
"Christian... I think that's very unlikely. I can't imagine being without you." Ever...
"You left me once - I don't want to go there again."
"Elena said she saw you last Saturday," I whisper quietly.
"She didn't." He frowns.
"You didn't go to see her, when I left?"
"No," he snaps, irritated. "I just told you I didn't - and I don't like to be doubted," he scolds. "I didn't go anywhere last weekend. I sat and made the glider you gave me. Took me forever," he adds quietly.
My heart clenches again. Mrs. Robinson said she saw him.
Did she or didn't she? She's lying. Why?
"Contrary to what Elena thinks, I don't rush to her with all my problems, Anastasia. I don't rush to anybody. You may have noticed - I'm not much of a talker." He tightens his hold on the steering wheel.
"Carrick told me you didn't talk for two years."
"Did he now?" Christian's mouth presses into a hard line.
"I kind of pumped him for information." Embarrassed, I stare at my fingers.
"So what else did Daddy say?"
"He said your mom was the doctor who examined you when you were brought into the hospital. After you were discovered in your apartment."
Christian's expression remains blank... careful.
"He said learning the piano helped. And Mia."
His lips curl in a fond smile at the mention of her name. After a moment he says, "She was about six months old when she arrived. I was thrilled, Elliot less so. He'd already had to contend with my arrival. She was perfect." The sweet, sad awe in his voice is affecting.
"Less so now, of course," he mutters, and I recall her successful attempts at the ball to thwart our lascivious intentions. It makes me giggle.
Christian gives me a sideways glance. "You find that amusing, Miss Steele?"
"She seemed determined to keep us apart."
He laughs mirthlessly. "Yes, she's quite accomplished." He reaches across and squeezes my knee. "But we got there in the end." He smiles then glances in the rearview mirror once more. "I don't think we've been followed." He turns off the I-5 and heads back to central Seattle.
"Can I ask you something about Elena?" We are stopped at some traffic lights.
He gazes at me warily. "If you must," he mutters sullenly, but I don't let his irritability deter me.
"You told me ages ago that she loved you in a way you found acceptable. What did that mean?"
"Isn't it obvious?" he asks.
"Not to me."
"I was out of control. I couldn't bear to be touched. I can't bear it now. For a fourteen, fifteen-year-old adolescent boy with hormones raging, it was a difficult time. She showed me a way to let off steam."
Oh. "Mia said you were a brawler."
"Christ, what is it with my loquacious family? Actually - it's you." We've stopped at more lights, and he narrows his eyes at me. "You inveigle information out of people." He shakes his head in mock disgust.
"Mia volunteered that information. In fact, she was very forthcoming. She was worried you'd start a brawl in the marquee if you didn't win me at the auction," I mutter indignantly.
"Oh, baby, there was no danger of that. There was no way I would let anyone else dance with you."
"You let Dr. Flynn."
"He's always the exception to the rule."
Christian pulls into the impressive, leafy driveway of the Fairmont Olympic Hotel and parks near the front door, beside a quaint stone fountain.
"Come." He climbs out of the car and retrieves our luggage. A valet rushes toward us, looking surprised - no doubt at our late arrival. Christian tosses him the car keys.
"Name of Taylor," he says. The valet nods and can't contain his glee as he leaps into the R8 and drives off. Christian takes my hand and strides into the lobby.