Could I ever leave him again--no matter what he did to me? Could I betray him like that? No. I don't think I could.
This isn't just co-dependency, it's the height of emotional manipulation. Christian made Ana work for that "I love you," and now she'll do whatever she can to keep it. She's building up self-esteem for the first time in her life, but she's building it entirely on his opinion. If she were to let him down, he wouldn't love her anymore, and then she couldn't love herself.
Okay, back to the ridiculousness.
He is an exceptional lover, I'm sure--though, of course, I have no comparison. But Kate would have raved more if it was always like this; it's not like her to hold back on details.
1. forming an exception or rare instance; unusual; extraordinary: The warm weather was exceptional for January.
2. unusually excellent; superior: an exceptional violinist.
What is she comparing him to?
Furthermore, if you've ever been friends with "the virgin," you know exactly why Kate isn't raving abot it. There's no point in trying to talk about sex to people who haven't had it. I remember going through the same thing with my BFF in college, who also waited until twenty-one to have sex. It was excruciating.
Me: Yeah, we tried a cock ring, and let me tell you, WOWZA.
TheVirgin: Um. That's disgusting.
And finally, Ana hates Kate. She can pretend otherwise, but every time that girl opens her mouth, Ana is praying for her to shut it. I'd put money on the idea that Kate has, in fact, talked about how awesome sex is, but Ana was drowning her out the whole time with thoughts of The Katherine Kavanaugh Inquisition and fuck you for being hot even when you're sick, and fuck your pj's too!
Once they're finished having sex on the boat, Christian and Ana go out to dinner at a restaurant miraculously inaffected by slutty blonde waitresses.
Next to SP's is a small Italian bistro called Bee's. It reminds me of the place in Portland--a few tables and booths, the decor very crisp and modern, with a large black-and-white photograph of a turn-of-the-century fiesta serving as a mural.
We continue the disturbing trend of naming restaurants after letters of the alphabet, and EL James misuses a record number of words in one sentence. How is a black-and-white photograph of a turn-of-the-century fiesta modern? What makes it a fiesta? Didn't they teach you the difference between Italian and Spanish at that school of yours?
How is it possible that a fanfiction beta reader and a legacy publisher's editor BOTH missed these glaring contradictions? For fuck's sake.
Ana refers to Mrs. Robinson as "the bitch-troll," because she's a mature and resonable young woman, and Christian claims that he doesn't really do anything.
"That's all I do--except sail and fly occasionally."
And, you know, play piano. And billiards. And speak French randomly with your little sister. And spend a hell of a lot of time at Washington State University, doing charity when you could be working on your business. And a bunch of other things we've haven't read about yet, because they won't appear until they're needed as plot devices.
They lament their relationship some more over dinner, and Ana tells Christian that she feels she has to reciprocate in some way for all he's given up for her. Maybe some role-play? I have to say, Bravo! to our dear Christian here. He's manipulated her so badly she believes that she OWES him something because she won't let him beat her.
Ana takes one more stab at the shitty restaurant before they leave:
But when the unreasonably large plates are placed before us...
Everyone else sucks. If there's one thing you should take away from these books, it's that everyone else sucks and that Ana is totally, definitely, 100% not racist. Oh, and she's not hungry - for food! Teehee!
After a long day of shit that could never happen in a single day, they head back to Escala. There's some talk of the shitty subplot, a.k.a Christian's psychotic ex-sub Leila, and more melodrama. Ana wanders into her closet and proves, once and for all, that material wealth means nothing to her.
I head upstairs to my room and open the walk-in closet. It's empty. All the clothes have gone. Oh no! Christian has taken me at my word and disposed of the clothes. Shit.
My subconscious glares at me. Well, that would be you and your big mouth.
Why did he take me at my word? My mother's advice comes back to haunt me: "Men are so literal, darling." I pout, staring at the empty space. There were some lovely clothes, too, like the silver dress I wore to the ball.
So...she just admitted that the only reason she told Christian that she didn't want the clothes was because she wanted the audience to think that she didn't want the clothes? If she didn't want Christian to take them, why did she tell him that? There's only one answer: because she's supposed to seem like she doesn't care about the clothes. And the money. And the car. But she does care about all that shit, which makes it all the more infuriating when she gets all pissy about their being gone.
Of course, the dresses aren't gone. Christian just moved them. Day. Saved.
What follows is the absolute worst part of Fifty Shades Darker, imho. They play pool. And I want to kill Ana more than I've ever wanted to kill her before. I actually devoted an entire post to how much this scene makes me want to rip her throat out, and haven't been able to lay eyes on it since, but I'll recap. Just for you.
Ana is amazing at pool. That's right! She sinks a ball on the break after not playing or even thinking about this game for the last five weeks. She continues to sink three more, or some other completely made-up number. UGH. It makes me so mad, I can't even check. Listen. Just listen to this bullshit.
I don't think I've ever played pool on such a large table before.
BULLSHIT. SHENANIGANS. HIIJINKS AND SKULDUGGERY.
JUST... FUCK YOU, ANA. FUCK. YOU.
In case you've never played pool, the table itself is a big fucking deal. What surface is it covered with? How often is it levelled? How often cleaned? How large is it? This is why you want the home-table advantage. If Ana has never played a nine-foot table before (which is, I'm guessing, the size of Christian's table, because he needs everything to be super professional and top grade or whatthefuckever) there is literally no. fucking. way. she would make those shots. She would have to relearn her game from the ground fucking up. THIS PISSES ME OFF SO BAD.
I think I just gave myself a nose bleed.
I can't recap this chapter anymore. I just ... I just fucking can't.