Fifty Shades Book 1 - Page 29

"What?" He glances at me. He looks quizzical in the half-light of the instruments.

"Flying," I reply.

"It requires control and concentration... how could I not love itThough, my favorite is soaring."

"Soaring?"

"Yes. Gliding to the layperson. Gliders and helicopters - I fly them both."

"Oh." Expensive hobbies. I remember him telling me during the interview. I like reading and occasionally going to the movies. I am out of my depth here.

"Charlie Tango come in please, over." The disembodied voice of air traffic control interrupts my reverie. Christian answers, sounding in control and confident.

Seattle is getting closer. We are on the very outskirts now. Wow! It looks absolutely stunning. Seattle at night, from the sky...

"Looks good, doesn't it?" Christian murmurs.

I nod enthusiastically. It looks otherworldly - unreal - and I feel like I'm on a giant film set, Jose's favorite film maybe, 'Bladerunner.' The memory of Jose's attempted kiss haunts me. I'm beginning to feel a bit cruel not calling him back. He can wait until tomorrow... surely.

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Christian mutters, and suddenly my blood is pounding in my ears as my heartbeat accelerates and adrenaline spikes through my system. He starts talking to air traffic control again, but I am no longer listening. Oh my... I think I'm going to faint. My fate is in his hands.

We are now flying amongst the buildings, and up ahead I can see a tall skysc.r.a.per with a helipad on top. The word Escala is painted in white on top of the building. It's getting nearer and nearer, bigger and bigger... like my anxiety. G.o.d, I hope I don't let him down.

He'll find me lacking in some way. I wish I'd listened to Kate and borrowed one of her dresses, but I like my black jeans, and I'm wearing a soft mint green s.h.i.+rt and Kate's black jacket. I look smart enough. I grip the edge of my seat tighter and tighter. I can do this. I can do this. I chant this mantra as the skysc.r.a.per looms below us.

The helicopter slows and hovers, and Christian sets it down on the helipad on top of the building. My heart is in my mouth. I can't decide if it's from nervous antic.i.p.ation, relief that we've arrived alive, or fear that I will fail in some way. He switches the ignition off and the rotor blades slow and quiet until all I hear is the sound of my own erratic breathing.

Christian takes his headphones off, and reaches across and pulls mine off too.

"We're here," he says softly.

His look is so intense, half in shadow and half in the bright white light from the landing lights. Dark knight and white knight, it's a fitting metaphor for Christian. He looks strained. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are tight. He unfastens his seatbelt and reaches over to unbuckle mine. His face is inches from mine.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You know that don't you?" His tone is so earnest, desperate even, his gray eyes impa.s.sioned. He takes me by surprise.

"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 s.p.a.ce. 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 gla.s.s. 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s wall, is a dining table surrounded by sixteen chairs. And tucked in the corner is a full size, s.h.i.+ny 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s wall - and Christian is opening a bottle of wine. He's removed his jacket.