fifty-shades-of-grey

As we leave the room, Christian throws a sweatshirt at me.“You’ll need this.”I look at him, puzzled.“Trust me.” He grins, leans over and kisses me quickly on the lips, then grabs my handand we head out.Outside, in the relative cool of the half-light of pre-dawn, the valet hands Christian aset of keys to a flash sports car with a soft top. I raise an eyebrow at Christian, who smirksback at me.“You know, sometimes it’s great being me,” he says with a conspiratorial but smug grinthat I simply can’t help emulating. He’s so lovable when he’s playful and carefree. Heopens my car door with an exaggerated bow, and in I climb. He is in such a good mood.“Where are we going?”“You’ll see.” He grins as he slips the car into drive, and we head out on SavannahParkway. He programs the GPS and presses a switch on the steering wheel and a classicalorchestral piece fills the car.“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 headr 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, LaDame aux Camelias.”“Ah. I’ve read it.”“I thought you might.”“The doomed courtesan.” I squirm uncomfortably in the plush leather seat. Is he tryingto tell me something? “Hmm, it’s a depressing story,” I mutter.“Too depressing? Do you want to choose some music? This is on my iPod.” Christianhas that secret smile again.I can’t see his iPod anywhere. He taps the screen on the console between us, and behold- there is a play list.“You choose.” His lips twitch up into a smile, and I know it’s a challenge.Christian Grey’s iPod, this should be interesting. I scroll through the touch screen,and find the perfect song. I press play. I wouldn’t have figured him for a Britney fan. Theclub-mix, techno beat assaults us both, and Christian turns the volume down. Maybe it’stoo early for this: Britney’s at her most sultry.“Toxic, eh?” Christian grins.“I don’t know what you mean.” I feign innocence.He turns the music down a little more, and inside I am hugging myself. My innergoddess is standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. He turned the music down.Victory!“I didn’t put that song on my iPod,” he says casually, and puts his foot down so that Iam thrown back into my seat as the car accelerates along the freeway.What? He knows what he’s doing, the bastard. Who did? And I have to listen to Britneygoing on and on. Who… who?