I stare at the fames, mesmerized. They dance and weave bright blazing orange with tips of cobalt blue in the freplace in Christian's apartment. And despite the heat pumping out of the fre and the blanket draped around my shoulders, I'm cold. Bone-chillingly cold.

I'm aware of hushed voices, many hushed voices. But they're in the background, a distant buzz. I don't hear the words. All I can hear, all I can focus on, is the soft hiss of the gas from the fre.

My thoughts turn to the house we saw yesterday and the huge freplaces-real fre- places for burning wood. I'd like to make love with Christian in front of a real fre. I'd like to make love with Christian in front of this fre. Yes, that would be fun. No doubt, he'd think of some way to make it memorable like all the times we've made love. I snort wryly to myself, even the times when we were just f.u.c.king. Yes, those were pretty memorable, too. Where is he?

The fames shimmy and ficker, holding me captive, keeping me numb. I focus solely on their faring, scorching beauty. They are bewitching.

Anastasia, you've bewitched me.

He said that the frst time he slept with me in my bed. Oh no ... I wrap my arms around myself, and the world falls away from me and reality bleeds into my consciousness. The creeping emptiness inside expands some more. Charlie Tango is missing.

"Ana. Here," Mrs. Jones gently coaxes me, her voice bringing me back into the room, into the now, into the anguish. She hands me a cup of tea. I take the cup and saucer grate- fully, the rattle betraying my shaking hands.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice hoa.r.s.e from unshed tears and the large lump in my throat.

Mia sits across from me on the larger-than-large U-shaped couch, holding hands with Grace. They gaze at me, pain and anxiety etched on their lovely faces. Grace looks older- a mother worried for her son. I blink dispa.s.sionately at them. I can't offer a rea.s.suring smile, a tear even-there's nothing, just blankness and the growing emptiness. I gaze at El- liot, Jose, and Ethan, who stand around the breakfast bar, all serious faces, talking quietly.

Discussing something in soft subdued voices. Behind them, Mrs. Jones busies herself in the kitchen.

Kate is in the TV room, monitoring the local news. I hear the faint squawk from the big plasma TV. I can't bear to see the news item again-cHristian grey missing-his beautiful face on TV.

Idly, it occurs to me that I've never seen so many people in this room, yet they are still dwarfed by its sheer size. Little islands of lost, anxious people in my Fifty's home. What would he think about them being here?

Somewhere, Taylor and Carrick are talking to the authorities who are drip-feeding us information, but it's all meaningless. The fact is-he's missing. He's been missing for eight hours. No sign, no word from him. The search has been called off-this much I do know.

It's just too dark. And we don't know where he is. He could be hurt, hungry, or worse. No!

I offer another silent prayer to G.o.d. Please let Christian be okay. Please let Christian be okay. I repeat it over and over in my head-my mantra, my lifeline, something concrete to cling to in my desperation. I refuse to think the worst. No, don't go there. There is hope.

"You're my lifeline."

Christian's words come back to haunt me. Yes, there is always hope. I must not despair.

His words echo through my mind.

"I'm now a frm advocate of instant gratifcation. Carpe diem, Ana."

Why didn't I seize the day?

"I'm doing this because I've fnally met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with."

I close my eyes in silent prayer, rocking gently. Please, let the rest of his life not be this short. Please, please. We haven't had enough time ... we need more time. We've done so much in the last few weeks, come so far. It can't end. All our tender moments: the lipstick, when he made love to me for the frst time at the Olympic hotel, on his knees in front of me offering himself to me, fnally touching him.

"I am just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you. Touch me. Please."

Oh, I love him so. I will be nothing without him, nothing but a shadow-all the light eclipsed. No, no, no ... my poor Christian."This is me, Ana. All of me ... and I'm all yours. What do I have to do to make you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way I can get you. That I love you."

And I you, my Fifty Shades.

I open my eyes and gaze unseeing into the fre once more, memories of our time to- gether fitting through my mind: his boyish joy when we were sailing and gliding; his suave, sophisticated, hot-as-h.e.l.l look at the masked ball; dancing, oh yes, dancing here in the apartment to Sinatra, whirling round the room; his quiet, anxious hope yesterday at the house-that stunning view.

"I will lay my world at your feet, Anastasia. I want you, body and soul, forever."

Oh, please, let him be okay. He cannot be gone. He is the center of my universe.

An involuntary sob escapes my throat, and I clutch my hand to my mouth. No. I must be strong.

Jose is suddenly at my side, or has he been there a while? I have no idea.

"Do you want to call your mom or dad?" he asks gently.

No! I shake my head and clutch Jose's hand. I cannot speak, I know I will dissolve if I do, but the warmth and gentle squeeze of his hand offers me no solace.

Oh, Mom. My lip trembles at the thought of my mother. Should I call her? No. I couldn't deal with her reaction. Maybe Ray, he wouldn't get emotional-he never gets emotional, not even when the Mariners lose.

Grace rises to join the boys, distracting me. That must be the longest she's sat still. Mia comes to sit beside me too and grabs my other hand.

"He will come back," she says, her voice initially determined but cracking on the last word. Her eyes are wide and red-rimmed, her face pale and pinched from lack of sleep.

I gaze up at Ethan, who is watching Mia and Elliot, who has his arms around Grace. I glance at the clock. It's after eleven, heading toward midnight. d.a.m.n time! With each pa.s.s- ing hour, the clawing emptiness expands, consuming me, choking me. I know deep down inside I am preparing myself, preparing myself for the worst. I close my eyes and offer up another silent prayer, clasping both Mia and Jose's hands.

Opening them again, I stare into the fames once more. I can see his shy smile-my favorite of all his expressions, a glimpse of the real Christian, my real Christian. He is so many people: control freak, CEO, stalker, s.e.x G.o.d, Dom-and at the same time-such a boy with his toys. I smile. His car, his boat, his plane ... Charlie Tango ... no ... no ...

my lost boy, truly lost right now. My smile fades and pain lances through me. I remember him in the shower, wiping away the lipstick marks.

"I'm nothing, Anastasia. I'm a husk of a man. I don't have a heart."

The lump in my throat expands. Oh, Christian, you do, you do have a heart, and it's mine. I want to cherish it forever. Even though he's so complex and diffcult, I love him. I will always love him. There will never be anyone else. Ever.

I remember sitting in Starbucks weighing up my Christian pros and cons. All those cons, even those photographs I found this morning, melt into insignifcance now. There's just him and whether he'll come back. Oh please, Lord, bring him back, please let him be okay. I'll go to church ... I'll do anything. Oh, if I get him back, I shall seize the day. His voice echoes around my head once more: "Carpe diem, Ana."I gaze deeper into the fre, the fames still licking and curling around each other, blaz- ing brightly. Then Grace shrieks, and everything goes into slow motion.

"Christian!"

I turn my head in time to see Grace barreling across the great room from where she had been pacing somewhere behind me, and there in the entrance stands a dismayed Christian.

He's dressed in just his shirtsleeves and suit pants, and he's holding his navy jacket, shoes, and socks. He looks tired, dirty, and utterly beautiful.

Holy f.u.c.k . . . Christian. He's alive. I gaze numbly at him, trying to work out if I'm hallucinating or if he's really here.

His expression is one of utter bewilderment. He deposits his jacket and shoes on the foor in time to catch Grace, who throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard on the cheek.

"Mom?"

Christian gazes down at her, completely at a loss.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Grace whispers, voicing our collective fear.

"Mom, I'm here." I hear the consternation in his voice.

"I died a thousand deaths today," she whispers, her voice barely audible, echoing my thoughts. She gasps and sobs, no longer able to hold back her tears. Christian frowns, hor- rifed or mortifed-I don't know which-then after a beat, envelops her in a huge hug, holding her close.

"Oh, Christian," she chokes, wrapping her arms around him, weeping into his neck- all self-restraint forgotten-and Christian doesn't balk. He just holds her, rocking to and fro, comforting her. Scalding tears pool in my eyes. Carrick hollers from the hallway.

"He's alive! s.h.i.t-you're here!" He appears from Taylor's offce, clutching his cell phone, and embraces both of them, his eyes closed in sweet relief.

"Dad?"

Mia squeals something unintelligible from beside me, then she's up, running, joining her parents, hugging all of them, too.

Finally the tears start to cascade down my cheeks. He's here, he's fne. But I cannot move.

Carrick is the frst to pull away, wiping his eyes and clapping Christian on the shoulder.

Mia releases them and Grace steps back.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

"Hey, Mom-it's okay," Christian says, consternation still evident on his face.

"Where were you? What happened?" Grace cries and puts her head in her hands.

"Mom," Christian mutters. He draws her into his arms again and kisses the top of her head. "I'm here. I'm good. It's just taken me a h.e.l.l of a long time to get back from Portland.

What's with the welcoming committee?" He looks up and scans the room until his eyes lock with mine.

He blinks and glances briefy at Jose, who lets go of my hand. Christian's mouth tight- ens. I drink in the sight of him and relief courses through me, leaving me spent, exhausted, and completely elated. Yet my tears don't stop. Christian turns his attention back to his mother."Mom, I'm good. What's wrong?" Christian says rea.s.suringly. She places her hands on either side of his face.

"Christian, you've been missing. Your fight plan-you never made it to Seattle. Why didn't you contact us?"

Christian's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "I didn't think it would take this long."

"Why didn't you call?"

"No power in my cell."

"You didn't stop ... call collect?"

"Mom-it's a long story."

"Oh, Christian! Don't you ever do that to me again! Do you understand?" she half shouts at him.

"Yes, Mom." He wipes her tears away with his thumb and hugs her once more. When she composes herself, he releases her to hug Mia, who slaps him hard on the chest.

"You had us so worried!" she blurts out, and she, too, is in tears.

"I'm here now, for heaven's sake," Christian mutters.

As Elliot comes forward, Christian relinquishes Mia to Carrick, who already has one arm around his wife. He curls the other around his daughter. Elliot hugs Christian briefy, much to Christian's surprise, and slaps him hard on the back.

"Great to see you." Elliot says loudly, if a little gruffy, trying to hide his emotion.

As the tears stream down my face, I can see it all. The great room is bathed in it-un- conditional love. He has it in spades; he's just never accepted it before, and even now he's at a total loss.

Look, Christian, all these people love you! Perhaps now you'll start believing it.

Kate is standing behind me-she must have left the TV room-and she gently strokes my hair.

"He's really here, Ana," she murmurs comfortingly.

"I'm going to say hi to my girl now," Christian tells his parents. Both nod, smile, and step aside.

He moves toward me, gray eyes bright though weary and still bemused. From some- where deep inside, I fnd the strength to stagger to my feet and bolt into his open arms.

"Christian!" I sob.

"Hush," he says and holds me, burying his face in my hair and inhaling deeply. I raise my tear-stained face to his, and he kisses me far too briefy.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hi," I whisper back, the lump in the back of my throat burning.

"Miss me?"

"A bit."

He grins. "I can tell." And with a gentle touch of his hand, he wipes away the tears that refuse to stop running down my cheeks.

"I thought ... I thought-" I choke.

"I can see. Hush ... I'm here. I'm sorry. Later," he murmurs and kisses me chastely again.

"Are you okay?" I ask, releasing him and touching his chest, his arms, his waist-oh, the feel of this warm, vital, sensual man beneath my fngers-rea.s.sures me that he's here, standing in front of me. He's back. He doesn't so much as finch. He just regards me in- tently.

"I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh, thank G.o.d," I clasp him round his waist again, and he hugs me once more. "Are you hungry? Do you need something to drink?"

"Yes."

I step back to fetch him something, but he doesn't let me go. He tucks me under his arm and extends a hand to Jose.

"Mr. Grey," says Jose evenly.

Christian snorts. "Christian, please," he says.

"Christian, welcome back. Glad you're okay ... and um-thanks for letting me stay."

"No problem." Christian narrows his eyes, but he's distracted by Mrs. Jones, who is suddenly at his side. It only occurs to me now that she's not her usual smart self. I hadn't noticed it before. Her hair is loose, and she's in soft gray leggings and a large gray sweat- shirt that dwarfs her with WSU Cougars emblazoned on the front. She looks years younger.