Fifty Shades Darker (book 5)

Chapter 167

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In the kitchen, Mac approaches me to offer his congratulations.

“Please, Mac, call me Christian. You’re at my engagement party.”

“Heard about the crash.” He listens intently as I give him the grisly details.

My mother has set out a feast with a Moroccan theme. I load a plate while Mac and I shoot the

breeze about The Grace.

As I help myself to a second portion of lamb tagine, I wonder what the hell Ana and Mia are doing? I

decide to go and rescue Ana but outside the dining room, I hear her shouting. “Don’t you dare tell

me what I’m getting myself into!”

Shit. What gives?

“When will you learn? It’s none of your goddamned business!” Ana rages.

I try to open the door, but someone is in the way. The person moves and the door swings open. Ana

is bristling with anger. Her complexion reddening. She’s shaking with fury. Elena stands before her,

drenched in what must have been Ana’s drink. I shut the door and stand between them.

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“What the fuck are you doing, Elena?” I snarl.

I told you to leave her alone.

She wipes her face with the back of her hand. “She’s not right for you, Christian.”

“What?” I yell and I’m so loud that I’m sure I’ve startled Ana because Elena jumps, too. But I don’t

give a fuck.

I’ve warned her. And warned her.

“How the fuck do you know what’s right for me?”

“You have needs, Christian,” she says, her voice softer, and I know she’s trying to placate me.

“I’ve told you before, this is none of your fucking business.” I’m surprised by my own vehemence.

“What is this?” I scowl at her. “Do you think it’s you? You? You think you’re right for me?”

Elena’s expression hardens, her eyes like flint. She stands taller and steps toward me. “I was the

best thing that ever happened to you,” she hisses, with unrestrained arrogance. “Look at you now.

One of the richest, most successful entrepreneurs in the United States. Controlled, driven, you need

nothing. You are master of your universe.”

She’s going there.

Fuck.

I step back. Disgusted.

“You loved it, Christian, don’t try and kid yourself. You were on the road to self-destruction, and I

saved you from that, saved you from a life behind bars. Believe me, baby, that’s where you would

have ended up. I taught you everything you know, everything you need.”

I cannot remember a time when I’ve felt such rage. “You taught me how to fuck, Elena. But it’s

empty, like you. No wonder Linc left.”

She gasps. Shocked.

“You never once held me. You never once said you loved me.”

Her ice-blue eyes narrow. “Love is for fools, Christian.”

“Get out of my house,” Grace commands in a cold fury.

The three of us jump and turn to see my mother, an avenging angel, standing on the threshold of

the room. She fixates on Elena, and if looks could kill, Elena would be a small mound of ash on the

floor.

I look from Grace to Elena, her color now drained from her face. And as Grace stalks toward her,

Elena seems powerless to move or say anything while under my mother’s withering glare. Grace

slaps her hard across her face, astonishing us all. The sound resonates off the walls. “Take your

filthy paws off my son, you whore, and get out of my house—now!” Grace seethes through gritted

teeth.

Fuck. Mom!

Elena clutches her cheek in shock. She blinks rapidly, staring at Grace, then turns and abruptly

leaves the room, not bothering to close the door behind her.

Mom turns to me, and I cannot look away.

I see hurt and anguish written all over her face.

She says nothing as we stare at each other, and an oppressive and unbearable silence fills the

room.

Finally she speaks. “Ana, before I hand him over to you, would you mind giving me a minute or two

alone with my son?” It’s not a request.

“Of course,” Ana whispers. I watch Ana leave and close the door.

Mom glowers at me, saying nothing, looking at me as though she’s seeing me for the first time.

Seeing the monster she reared but did not create.

Shit.

I’m in big trouble. My scalp prickles in acknowledgment and I feel the blood drain from my face.

“How long, Christian?” she says, her voice low. And I know that tone—it’s the calm before the

storm.

How much did she hear?

“A few years,” I mumble. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want to hurt her and

I know it will. I’ve known that since I was fifteen.

“How old were you?”

I swallow and my heart rate accelerates like a Formula One engine. I have to be careful here. I don’t

want to cause trouble for Elena. I study Mom’s face, trying to judge how she’ll react. Should I lie to

her? Could I lie to her? And part of me knows I lied to her every time I saw Elena and told her I was

studying with a friend.

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