Happy Tuesday, ducks and geese! Well, we’re almost done with Fifty Shades of Grey, and after Chapter Twenty-four, we only have two more chapters left. I’ve been reading the second book and am only 20% through it, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to throw my Kindle across the room already. But would that solve anything? No. So let me hold on tight to it while we fly through this shit show of a chapter.
‘Time to get up, baby. I’m going to switch on the sidelight.’ His voice is quiet.
‘No,’ I groan.
‘I want to chase the dawn with you,’ he says, kissing my face, my eyelids, the tip of my nose, my mouth, and I open my eyes. The sidelight is on. ‘Good morning, beautiful,’ he murmurs.
God, he is such a douche!
Through the haze of light, I squint and see Christian leaning over me, smiling. Amused. Amused at me. Dressed! In black.
‘I thought you wanted sex,’ I grumble.
‘Anastasia, I always want sex with you. It’s heartwarming to know that you feel the same,’ he says dryly.
Oh, wow, E. L., your sloppiness knows no bounds. Men aren’t horny horndog hornbeasts who want sex all the time, and women actually do have sex drives and just aren’t the type to “lie back and think of England.”
I clamber off the bed and search for my clothes. Of course they are neatly folded on the chair beside my bed. He’s laid out a pair of his jersey boxer briefs, too – Ralph Lauren, no less. I slip them on, and he grins at me. Hmm, another piece of Christian Grey’s underwear ““ a trophy to add to my collection ““ along with the car, the BlackBerry, the Mac, his black jacket, and a set of old valuable first editions.
Nope, not liking this constant thing of her wearing his underwear, either. That’s what is called pretty fucking stupid and making it sound kinky when it really isn’t.
Outside, in the relative cool of the half light of pre-dawn, the valet hands Christian a set of keys to a flash sports car with a soft top. I raise an eyebrow at Christian, who smirks back at me.
‘You know, sometimes it’s great being me,’ he says with a conspiratorial but smug grin that I simply can’t help emulating. He’s so lovable when he’s playful and carefree. He opens my car door with an exaggerated bow, and in I climb. He is in such a good mood.
‘What’s this?’ I ask as the sweet, sweet sound of a hundred violin strings assails us.
‘It’s from La Traviata. An opera by Verdi.’
Oh, my”¦ it’s lovely.
‘La Traviata? I’ve heard of that. I can’t think where. What does it mean?’
Christian glances at me and smirks.
‘Well, literally, the woman led astray. It’s based on Alexander Dumas’s book, La Dame aux Camelias.’
‘Ah. I’ve read it.’
‘I thought you might.’
‘The doomed courtesan.’ I squirm uncomfortably in the plush leather seat. Is he trying to tell me something? ‘Hmm, it’s a depressing story,’ I mutter.
HOW CAN YOU SAY YOU LOVE AND HAVE STUDIED “THE CLASSICS” AND NOT KNOW THAT LA TRAVIATA IS BASED ON LA DAME AUX CAMELIAS, WHICH IN TURN IS BASED ON DUMAS FILS’S OWN LOVE AFFAIR WITH MARIE DUPLESSIS? HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW THAT?!
Once more, Ana gives proof as to why she deserves to be the Too Stupid to Live type of romance heroine.
“˜I’ve never wanted more, until I met you.’
I gasp, reeling. Oh my. Isn’t this what I want? He wants more. He wants it, too! My inner goddess has back-flipped off the podium and is doing cartwheels around the stadium. It’s not just me.
‘Okay. In no particular order, I’ve only had long term relationships with four women, apart from Elena.’
‘Mrs. Robinson to you.’ He half smiles his secret private joke smile.
Elena! Holy Fuck. The evil one has a name and it’s all foreign sounding. A vision of a glorious, pale-skinned vamp with raven hair and ruby-red lips comes to mind, and I know that she’s beautiful.
First? What sort of first? First time flying a glider”¦ shit! No ““ he said that he’s done it before. I relax. He walks round and opens my door. The sky has turned to a subtle opal, shimmering and glowing softly behind the sporadic childlike clouds. Dawn is upon us.
Dawn? So is this when Christian shows that he’s truly a glittery sparklevamp?
And suddenly, my stomach disappears from my throat and free-falls through my body to the ground ““ we’re airborne.
What? Her stomach dropped to the ground! You need to go back and pick that up!
I’m gripping the edge of my seat with both hands, so tightly my knuckles are white. We head west, inland away from the rising sun, gaining height, crossing over fields and woods and homes and I-95. Oh my. This is amazing, above us only sky. The light is extraordinary, diffuse and warm in hue, and I remember JosÃ© rambling on about “˜magic hour,’ a time of day that photographers adore ““ this is it”¦ just after dawn, and I’m in it, with Christian.
My heart is in my mouth. Holy shit. I am flying a glider”¦ I’m soaring.
And soon you’ll crash…YAY! BOOK OVER! No? SHIT!
It’s 8:30 a.m. but quiet in the restaurant. It smells of sweet batter, fried food, and disinfectant. Hmm”¦ not such an enticing aroma. Christian leads me to a booth.
What? It’s like an aphrodisiac, Eau de IHOP.
I ignore the unwelcome stab of disappointment. Why do I want to spend every single minute with this controlling sex god? Oh yes, I’ve fallen in love with him, and he can fly.
And that’s all for this week, kiddos! See you next week!