Fifty Shades of Grey

“I’d never do anything I didn’t want to do, Christian.” And as I say the words, I don’t quite feel their conviction because at this moment in time – I’d probably do anything for this man seated beside me. But this does the trick. He’s mollified.

He eyes me warily for a moment and somehow, even though he’s so tall, he manages to ease his way gracefully to the door of the helicopter and open it. He jumps out, waiting for me to follow, and takes my hand as I clamber down on to the helipad. It’s very windy on top of the building, and I’m nervous about the fact that I’m standing at least thirty stories high in an unenclosed space. Christian wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me tightly against him.

“Come,” he shouts above the noise of the wind. He drags me over to an elevator shaft and, after tapping a number into a keypad, the doors open. It’s warm inside and all mirrored glass. I can see Christian to infinity everywhere I look, and the wonderful thing is, he’s holding me to infinity too. Christian taps another code into the keypad, then the doors close and the elevator descends.

Moments later, we’re in an all-white foyer. In the middle is a round, dark wood table, and on it is an unbelievably huge bunch of white flowers. On the walls there are paintings, everywhere. He opens two double doors, and the white theme continues through the wide corridor and directly opposite where a palatial room opens up. It’s the main living area, double height. Huge is too small a word for it. The far wall is glass and leads on to a balcony that overlooks Seattle.

To the right is an imposing ‘U’ shaped sofa that could sit ten adults comfortably. It faces a state-of-the-art stainless steel – or maybe platinum for all I know - modern fireplace.

The fire is lit and flaming gently. On the left beside us, by the entryway, is the kitchen area.

All white with dark wood worktops and a large breakfast bar which seats six.

Near the kitchen area, in front of the glass wall, is a dining table surrounded by sixteen chairs. And tucked in the corner is a full size, shiny black grand piano. Oh yes… he probably plays the piano too. There is art of all shapes and sizes on all the walls. In fact, this apartment looks more like a gallery than a place to live.

“Can I take your jacket?” Christian asks. I shake my head. I’m still cold from the wind on the helipad.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks. I blink at him. After last night! Is he trying to be funny? For one second, I think about asking for a margarita – but I don’t have the nerve.

“I’m going to have a glass of white wine, would you like to join me?”

“Yes, please,” I murmur.

I am standing in this enormous room feeling out of place. I walk over to the glass wall, and I realize that the lower half of the wall opens concertina-style on to the balcony. Seattle is lit up and lively in the background. I walk back to the kitchen area – it takes a few seconds, it’s so far from the glass wall – and Christian is opening a bottle of wine. He’s removed his jacket.

“Pouilly Fume okay with you?”

“I know nothing about wine, Christian. I’m sure it will be fine.” My voice is soft and hesitant. My heart is thumping. I want to run. This is seriously rich. Seriously over-the-top Bill Gates style wealthy. What am I doing here? You know very well what you’re doing here - my subconscious sneers at me. Yes, I want to be in Christian Grey’s bed.

“Here.” He hands me a glass of wine. Even the glasses are rich… heavy, contempo-rary, crystal. I take a sip, and the wine is light, crisp, and delicious.

“You’re very quiet, and you’re not even blushing. In fact – I think this is the palest I’ve ever seen you, Anastasia,” he murmurs. “Are you hungry?”

I shake my head. Not for food.

“It’s a very big place you have here.”

“Big?”

“Big.”

“It’s big,” he agrees, and his eyes glow with amusement. I take another sip of wine.

“Do you play?” I point my chin at the piano.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you do. Is there anything you can’t do well?”

“Yes… a few things.” He takes a sip of his wine. He doesn’t take his eyes off me. I feel them following me as I turn and glance around this vast room. Room is the wrong word.

It’s not a room – it’s a mission statement.

“Do you want to sit?”

I nod, and he takes my hand and leads me to the large off-white couch. As I sit, I’m struck by the fact that I feel like Tess Durbeyfield looking at the new house that belongs to the notorious Alec D’Urberville. The thought makes me smile.

“What’s so amusing?” He sits down beside me, turning to face me. He rests his head on his right hand, his elbow propped on the back of the couch.

“Why did you give me Tess of the D’Urbervilles specifically?” I ask. Christian stares at me for a moment. I think he’s surprised by my question.

“Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy.”