by E. L. James
I gaze at him quizzically. Inside is a black strapless bodysuit with a central panel of lace. He caresses my face, tilts my chin, and kisses me.
“I look forward to taking this off you later.”
Fresh out of my bath, washed, shaved and feeling pampered, I sit on the edge of the bed and start up the hair dryer. Christian wanders into the bedroom. I think he’s been working.
“Here, let me,” he says, pointing to the chair in front of the dressing table.
“Dry my hair?”
He nods. I blink at him.
“Come,” he says, regarding me intently. I know that expression, and I know better than to disobey. Slowly and methodically he dries my hair, one lock at a time. He’s obviously done this before . . . often.
“You’re no stranger to this,” I murmur. His smile is reflected in the mirror, but he says nothing and continues to brush through my hair. Hmm . . . it’s very relaxing.
When we step into the elevator on our way to dinner, we are not alone. Christian looks delicious in his signature white linen shirt, black jeans and jacket. No tie. The two women inside shoot admiring glances at him and less generous ones at me. I hide my smile. Yes, ladies, he’s mine. Christian takes my hand and pulls me close as we travel in silence down to the mezzanine level.
It’s busy, full of people dressed up for the evening, sitting around chatting and drinking, starting their Saturday night. I am grateful that I fit in. The dress hugs me, skimming over my curves and holding everything in place. I have to say, I feel . . . attractive wearing it. I know Christian approves.
At first, I think we’re heading for the private dining room where we first discussed the contract, but he leads me past that doorway and on to the far end where he opens the door to another wood paneled room.
“Surprise!”
Oh, my. Kate and Elliot, Mia and Ethan, Carrick and Grace, Mr. Rodriguez and José, and my mother and Bob are all there raising their glasses. I stand gaping at them, speechless. How? When? I turn in consternation to Christian, and he squeezes my hand. My mom steps forward and wraps her arms around me. Oh, Mom!
“Darling, you look beautiful. Happy birthday.”
“Mom!” I sob, embracing her. Oh Mommy. Tears stream down my face despite the audience, and I bury my face in her neck.
“Honey, darling. Don’t cry. Ray will be okay. He’s such a strong man. Don’t cry. Not on your birthday.” Her voice cracks, but she maintains her composure. She grasps my face in her hands and with her thumbs wipes away my tears.
“I thought you’d forgotten.”
“Oh, Ana! How could I? Seventeen hours of labor is not something you easily forget.”
I giggle through my tears, and she smiles.
“Dry your eyes, honey. Lots of people are here to share your special day.”
I sniffle, not wanting to look at anyone else in the room, embarrassed and thrilled that everyone has made such an effort to come and see me.
“How did you get here? When did you arrive?”
“Your husband sent his plane, darling.” She grins, impressed.
And I laugh. “Thank you for coming, Mom.” She wipes my nose with a tissue as only a mother would. “Mom!” I scold, composing myself.
“That’s better. Happy birthday, darling.” She steps aside while everyone lines up to hug me and wish me happy birthday.
“He’s doing well, Ana. Dr. Sluder is the one of the best in the country. Happy birthday, Angel.” Grace hugs me.
“You cry all you want to, Ana—it’s your party.” José embraces me.
“Happy birthday, darling girl.” Carrick smiles, cupping my face.
“S’up babe? Your old man will be fine.” Elliot enfolds me in his arms. “Happy birthday.”
“Okay.” Taking my hand, Christian pulls me from Elliot’s embrace. “Enough fondling my wife. Go fondle your fiancée.”
Elliot grins wickedly at him and winks at Kate.
A waiter I hadn’t noticed before presents Christian and me with glasses of pink champagne.
Christian clears his throat. “This would be a perfect day if Ray were here with us, but he’s not far away. He’s doing well, and I know he’d like you to enjoy yourself, Ana. To all of you, thank you for coming to share my beautiful wife’s birthday, the first of many to come. Happy birthday, my love.” Christian raises his glass to me amid a chorus of happy birthdays, and I have to fight again to keep my tears at bay.
I watch the animated conversations around the dinner table. It’s strange to be cocooned in the bosom of my family, knowing the man I consider my father is on a life support machine in the cold clinical environs of the ICU. I’m detached from the proceedings but grateful that they’re all here. Watching the sparring between Elliot and Christian, José’s ready warm wit, Mia’s excitement and her enthusiasm for the food, Ethan slyly watching her. I think he likes her . . . though it’s hard to tell. Mr. Rodriguez is sitting back, like me, enjoying the conversations. He looks better. Rested. José is very attentive to him, cutting his food, keeping his glass filled. Having his surviving parent come so close to death has made José appreciate Mr. Rodriguez more . . . I know.
I gaze at Mom. She’s in her element, charming, witty, and warm. I love her so much. I must remember to tell her. Life is so precious, I realize that now.
“You okay?” Kate asks in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.
I nod and clasp her hand. “Yes. Thanks for coming.”
“You think Mr. Megabucks could keep me away from you on your birthday? We got to fly in the helicopter!” She grins.
“Really?”
“Yes. All of us. And to think Christian can fly it.”
I nod.
“That’s kinda hot.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
We grin.
“Are you staying here tonight?” I ask.
“Yes. We all are, I think. You knew nothing about this?”
I shake my head.
“Smooth, isn’t he?”
I nod.
“What did he get you for your birthday?”
“This.” I hold up my bracelet.
“Oh, cute!”
“Yes.”
“London, Paris . . . ice cream?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I can guess.”
We laugh, and I blush, recalling Ben & Jerry’s & Ana.
“Oh . . . and an R8.”
Kate spits her wine rather unattractively down her chin, making us both laugh some more.
“Over the top bastard, isn’t he?” She giggles.
For dessert I am presented with a sumptuous chocolate cake blazing with twenty-two silver candles and a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday.” Grace watches Christian singing with the rest of my friends and family, and her eyes shine with love. Catching my eye, she blows me a kiss.
“Make a wish,” Christian whispers to me. In one breath I blow out all the candles, fervently willing my father better. Daddy, get well. Please get well. I love you so.
At midnight, Mr. Rodriguez and José take their leave.
“Thank you so much for coming.” I hug José tightly.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Glad Ray’s heading in the right direction.”
“Yes. You, Mr. Rodriguez, and Ray have to come fishing with Christian in Aspen.”
“Yeah? Sounds cool.” José grins before he leaves to fetch his father’s coat, and I crouch down to say good-bye to Mr. Rodriguez.
“You know Ana, there was a time . . . well, I thought you and José . . .” His voice fades, and he gazes at me, his dark gaze intense but loving.
Oh no.
“I’m very fond of your son, Mr. Rodriguez, but he’s like a brother to me.”
“You would have made one fine daughter-in-law. And you do. To the Greys.” He smiles wistfully and I blush.
“I hope you’ll settle for friend.”
“Of course. Your husband is a fine man. You chose well, Ana.”
&n
bsp; “I think so,” I whisper. “I love him so.” I hug Mr. Rodriguez.
“Treat him good, Ana.”
“I will,” I promise.
Christian closes the door to our suite.
“Alone at last,” he murmurs, leaning back against the door, watching me.
I step toward him and run my fingers over the lapels of his jacket. “Thank you for a wonderful birthday. You really are the most thoughtful, considerate, generous husband.”
“My pleasure.”
“Yes . . . your pleasure. Let’s do something about that,” I whisper. Tightening my hands around his lapels, I pull his lips to mine.
After a communal breakfast, I open all my presents then give a series of cheery good-byes to all the Greys and the Kavanaghs who will be returning to Seattle via Charlie Tango. My mom, Christian, and I head up to the hospital with Taylor driving since the three of us would not fit into my R8. Bob has declined to visit, and I’m secretly glad. It’d be just too weird, and I’m sure Ray wouldn’t appreciate Bob seeing him at anything less than his best.
Ray looks much the same. Hairier. Mom is shocked when she sees him, and together we cry a little more.
“Oh, Ray.” She squeezes his hand and gently strokes his face, and I’m moved to see her love for her ex-husband. I’m glad I have tissues in my purse. We sit beside him, me holding her hand while she holds his.
“Ana, there was a time when this man was the center of my world. The sun rose and set with him. I’ll always love him. He’s taken such good care of you.”
“Mom—” I choke and she strokes my face and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“You know I’ll always love Ray. We just drifted apart.” She sighs. “And I just couldn’t live with him.” She gazes down at her fingers, and I wonder if she’s thinking about Steve, Husband Number Three, who we don’t talk about.
“I know you love Ray,” I whisper, drying my eyes. “They’re going to bring him out of his coma today.”
“Good. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s so stubborn. I think you learned it from him.”
I smile. “Have you been talking to Christian?”
“Does he think you’re stubborn?”
“I believe so.”
“I’ll tell him it’s a family trait. You look so good together, Ana. So happy.”
“We are, I think. Getting there, anyway. I love him. He’s the center of my world. The sun rises and sets with him for me, too.”
“He obviously adores you, darling.”
“And I adore him.”
“Make sure you tell him. Men need to hear that stuff just like we do.”
I insist on going to the airport with Mom and Bob to say good-bye. Taylor follows in the R8, and Christian drives the SUV. I’m sorry they can’t stay longer, but they have to get back to Savannah. It’s a tearful good-bye.
“Take good care of her, Bob,” I whisper as he hugs me.
“Sure will, Ana. And you look after yourself.”
“Will do.” I turn to my mother. “Good-bye, Mom. Thank you for coming,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I love you so much.”
“Oh my darling girl, I love you, too. And Ray will be fine. He’s not ready to shuffle off his mortal coil just yet. There’s probably a Mariners game he can’t miss.”
I giggle. She’s right. I resolve to read the sports pages of the Sunday newspaper to Ray that evening. I watch her and Bob climb the steps into the GEH jet. She gives me a tearful wave, then she’s gone. Christian wraps his arm around my shoulder.
“Let’s head back, baby,” he murmurs
“Will you drive?”
“Sure.”
When we return to the hospital that evening, Ray looks different. It takes me a moment to realize that the suck and push of the ventilator has vanished. Ray is breathing on his own. Relief floods through me. I stroke his stubbly face, and taking out a tissue to gently wipe, the spittle from his mouth.
Christian stalks off to find Dr. Sluder or Dr. Crowe for an update, while I take my familiar seat beside his bed to keep a watchful vigil.
I unfold the sports section of the Sunday Oregonian and conscientiously begin reading out the report about the Sounders soccer game against Real Salt Lake. By all accounts, it was a wild game, but the Sounders were defeated by an own goal from Kasey Keller. I grip Ray’s hand firmly in mine as I read it through.
“And the final score, Sounders 1, Real Salt Lake 2.”
“Hey, Annie, we lost? No!” Ray rasps, and he squeezes my hand.
Daddy!
Tears stream down my face. He’s back. My daddy is back.
“Don’t cry, Annie.” Ray’s voice is hoarse. “What’s happening?”
I take up his hand in both of mine and cradle it against my face. “You’ve been in an accident. You’re in the hospital in Portland.”
Ray frowns, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s uncomfortable with my uncharacteristic display of affection, or that he can’t remember the accident.
“Do you want some water?” I ask, though I’m not sure if I’m allowed to give him any. He nods, bewildered. My heart swells. I stand up and lean over him, kissing his forehead. “I love you, Daddy. Welcome back.”
He waves his hand, embarrassed. “Me, too, Annie. Water.” I run the short distance to the nurses’ station.
“My dad—he’s awake!” I beam at Nurse Kellie, who smiles back.
“Page Dr. Sluder,” she says to her colleague and hurriedly makes her way around the desk.
“He wants water.”
“I’ll bring him some.”
I skip back to my father’s bed, I feel so light-hearted. His eyes are closed when I reach him, and I immediately worry that he’s slipped back into a coma.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here,” he mutters and his eyes flutter open as Nurse Kellie appears with a jug of ice chips and a glass.
“Hello, Mr. Steele. I’m Kellie, your nurse. Your daughter tells me you’re thirsty.”
In the waiting room, Christian is staring fixedly at his laptop, deep in concentration. He glances up when I close the door.
“He’s awake,” I announce. He smiles, and the tension around his eyes vanishes. Oh . . . I hadn’t noticed before. Has he been tense all this time? He sets his laptop aside, stands, and embraces me.
“How is he?” he asks as I wrap my arms around him.
“Talking, thirsty, bewildered. He doesn’t remember the accident at all.”
“That’s understandable. Now that he’s awake, I want to get him moved to Seattle. Then we can go home, and my mom can keep an eye on him.”
Already?
“I’m not sure he’s well enough to be moved.”
“I’ll talk to Dr. Sluder. Get her opinion.”
“You miss home?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“You haven’t stopped smiling,” Christian says as I pull up outside the Heathman.
“I’m very relieved. And happy.”
Christian grins. “Good.”
The light is fading, and I shiver as I step out into the cool, crisp evening and hand my key to the parking valet. He’s eyeing my car with lust, and I don’t blame him. Christian puts his arm around me.
“Shall we celebrate?” he asks as we enter the foyer.
“Celebrate?”
“Your dad.”
I giggle. “Oh, him.”
“I’ve missed that sound.” Christian kisses my hair.
“Can we just eat in our room? You know, have a quiet night in?”
“Sure. Come.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the elevators.
“That was delicious,” I murmur with satisfaction as I push my plate away, replete for the first time in ages. “They sure know how to make a fine tarte Tatin here.”
I am freshly bathed and wearing only Christian’s T-shirt and my panties. In the background, Christian’s iPod is on shuffle and Dido is warbling on about white flags.
Christian eyes m
e speculatively. His hair is still damp from our bath, and he’s wearing just his black T-shirt and jeans. “That’s the most I’ve seen you eat the entire time we’ve been here,” he says.
“I was hungry.”
He leans back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk and takes a sip of his white wine. “What would you like to do now?” His voice is soft.
“What do you want to do?”
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “What I always want to do.”
“And that is?”
“Mrs. Grey, don’t be coy.”
Reaching across the dining table, I grasp his hand, turn it over, and skim my index finger over his palm. “I’d like you to touch me with this.” I run my finger up his index finger.
He shifts in his chair. “Just that?” His eyes darken and heat at once.
“Maybe this?” I run my finger up his middle finger and back to his palm. “And this.” My nail traces his ring finger. “Definitely this.” My finger stops at his wedding ring. “This is very sexy.”
“Is it, now?”
“It sure is. It says this man is mine.” And I skim the small callous that has already formed on his palm beneath the ring. He leans forward and cups my chin with his other hand.
“Mrs. Grey, are you seducing me?”
“I hope so.”
“Anastasia, I’m a given.” His voice is low. “Come here.” He tugs my hand, pulling me onto his lap. “I like having unfettered access to you.” He runs a hand up my thigh to my behind. He grasps the nape of my neck with his other hand and kisses me, holding me firmly in place.
He tastes of white wine and apple pie and Christian. I run my fingers through his hair, holding him to me while our tongues explore and curl and twist around each other, my blood heating in my veins. We’re breathless when Christian pulls away.
“Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Bed?”
He pulls back further and tugs my hair so I am looking up at him. “Where would you prefer, Mrs. Grey?”
My inner goddess stops stuffing her face with tarte Tatin. I shrug, feigning indifference. “Surprise me.”
He smirks. “You’re feisty this evening.” He runs his nose along mine.
“Maybe I need to be restrained.”
“Maybe you do. You’re getting mighty bossy in your old age.” He narrows his eyes, but can’t disguise the latent humor there.
