by E. L. James
“I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper.
“You could have told me!” he says vehemently, fisting his hands in his lap.
“He said he’d kill her if I told anyone. I couldn’t take that risk.”
Christian closes his eyes, dread etched in his face.
“I have died a thousand deaths since Thursday.”
Thursday?
“What day is it?”
“It’s almost Saturday,” he says, checking his watch. “You’ve been unconscious for over twenty-four hours.”
Oh.
“And Jack and Elizabeth?”
“In police custody. Although Hyde is here under guard. They had to remove the bullet you left in him,” Christian says bitterly. “I don’t know where in this hospital he is, fortunately, or I’d probably kill him myself.” His face darkens.
Oh shit. Jack is here?
“That’s for SIP you fucking bitch!” I pale. My empty stomach convulses, tears prick my eyes, and a deep shudder runs through me.
“Hey.” Christian scoots forward, his voice filled with concern. Taking the glass from my hand, he tenderly folds me into his arms. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice hoarse.
“Christian, I’m so sorry.” My tears start to fall.
“Hush.” He strokes my hair, and I weep into his neck.
“What I said. I was never going to leave you.”
“Hush, baby, I know.”
“You do?” His admission halts my tears.
“I worked it out. Eventually. Honestly, Ana, what were you thinking?” His tone is strained.
“You took me by surprise,” I mutter into his shirt collar. “When we spoke at the bank. Thinking I was leaving you. I thought you knew me better. I’ve said to you over and over I would never leave.”
“But after the appalling way I’ve behaved—” His voice is barely audible, and his arms tighten around me. “I thought for a short time that I’d lost you.”
“No, Christian. Never. I didn’t want you to interfere, and put Mia’s life in danger.”
He sighs, and I don’t know if it’s from anger, exasperation, or hurt.
“How did you work it out?” I ask quickly to distract him from his line of thought.
He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I’d just touched down in Seattle when the bank called. Last I’d heard, you were ill and going home.”
“So you were in Portland when Sawyer called you from the car?”
“We were just about to take off. I was worried about you,” he says softly.
“You were?”
He frowns. “Of course I was.” He skirts his thumb over my bottom lip. “I spend my life worrying about you. You know that.”
Oh, Christian!
“Jack called me at the office,” I murmur. “He gave me two hours to get the money.” I shrug. “I had to leave, and it just seemed the best excuse.”
Christian’s mouth presses into a hard line. “And you gave Sawyer the slip. He’s mad at you, as well.”
“As well?”
“As well as me.”
I tentatively touch his face, running my fingers over his stubble. He closes his eyes, leaning into my fingers.
“Don’t be mad at me. Please,” I whisper.
“I am so mad at you. What you did was monumentally stupid. Bordering on insane.”
“I told you, I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You don’t seem to have any regard for your personal safety. And it’s not just you now,” he adds angrily.
My lip trembles. He’s thinking about our Little Blip.
The door opens, startling us both, and a young African-American woman in a white coat over gray scrubs strides in.
“Good evening, Mrs. Grey. I’m Dr. Bartley.”
She starts to examine me thoroughly, shining a light in my eyes, making me touch her fingers, then my nose while closing first one eye and then the other, and checking all my reflexes. But her voice is soft and her touch gentle; she has a warm bedside manner. Nurse Nora joins her, and Christian wanders to the corner of the room and makes some calls while the two of them tend to me. It’s hard to concentrate on Dr. Bartley, Nurse Nora, and Christian at the same time, but I hear him call his father, my mother, and Kate to say I’m awake. Finally, he leaves a message for Ray.
Ray. Oh shit . . . A vague memory of his voice comes back to me. He was here—yes, while I was still unconscious.
Dr. Bartley checks my ribs, her fingers probing gently but firmly.
I wince.
“These are bruised, not cracked or broken. You were very lucky, Mrs. Grey.”
I scowl. Lucky? Not the word I would have chosen. Christian glowers at her, too. He mouths something at me. I think it’s foolhardy, but I’m not sure.
“I’ll prescribe some painkillers. You’ll need them for this and for the headache you must have. But all’s looking as it should, Mrs. Grey. I suggest you get some sleep. Depending on how you feel in the morning, we may let you go home. My colleague Dr. Singh will be attending you then.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Taylor enters bearing a black cardboard box with Fairmont Olympic emblazoned in cream on the side.
Holy cow!
“Food?” Dr. Bartley says surprised.
“Mrs. Grey is hungry,” Christian says. “This is chicken soup.”
Dr. Bartley smiles. “Soup will be fine, just the broth. Nothing heavy.” She looks pointedly at both of us then exits the room with Nurse Nora.
Christian pulls the wheeled tray over to me, and Taylor places the box on it.
“Welcome back, Mrs. Grey.”
“Hello, Taylor. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, ma’am.” I think he wants to say more, but he holds off.
Christian is unpacking the box, producing a thermos, soup bowl, side plate, linen napkin, soupspoon, a small basket of bread rolls, silver salt and pepper shakers . . . The Olympic has gone all-out.
“This is great, Taylor.” My stomach is rumbling. I am famished.
“Will that be all?” he asks.
“Yes, thanks,” Christian says, dismissing him.
Taylor nods.
“Taylor, thank you.”
“Anything else I can get you, Mrs. Grey?”
I glance at Christian. “Just some clean clothes for Christian.”
Taylor smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”
Christian glances down at his shirt, bemused.
“How long have you been wearing that shirt?” I ask.
“Since Thursday morning.” He gives me a crooked smile.
Taylor exits.
“Taylor’s real pissed at you, too,” Christian adds grumpily, unscrewing the lid of the thermos and pouring creamy chicken soup into the bowl.
Taylor, too! But I don’t dwell on that as my chicken soup distracts me. It smells delicious, and steam curls invitingly from its surface. I take a taste and it’s everything it promised to be.
“Good?” Christian asks, perching on the bed again.
I nod enthusiastically and don’t stop. My hunger is primal. I pause only to wipe my mouth with the linen napkin.
“Tell me what happened—after you realized what was going on.”
Christian runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Oh, Ana, it’s good to see you eat.”
“I’m hungry. Tell me.”
He frowns. “Well, after the bank called and I thought my world had completely fallen apart—” He can’t hide the pain in his voice.
I stop eating. Oh shit.
“Don’t stop eating, or I’ll stop talking,” he whispers, his tone adamant as he glares at me. I continue with my soup. Okay, okay . . . Damn, it tastes good. Christian’s gaze softens and after a beat, he resumes.
“Anyway, shortly after you and I had finished our conversation, Taylor informed me that Hyde had been granted bail. How, I don’t know, I thought we’d managed to thwart any attemp
ts at bail. But that gave me a moment to think about what you’d said . . . and I knew something was seriously wrong.”
“It was never about the money,” I snap suddenly, an unexpected surge of anger flaring in my belly. My voice rises. “How could you even think that? It’s never been about your fucking money!” My head starts to pound and I wince. Christian gapes at me for a split second, surprised by my vehemence. He narrows his eyes.
“Mind your language,” he growls. “Calm down and eat.”I glare mutinously at him.
“Ana,” he warns.
“That hurt me more than anything, Christian,” I whisper. “Almost as much as you seeing that woman.”
He inhales sharply as if I’ve slapped him and all of a sudden, he looks exhausted. Closing his eyes briefly, he shakes his head, resigned.
“I know.” He sighs. “And I’m sorry. More than you know.” His eyes are luminous with contrition. “Please, eat. While your soup is still hot.” His voice is soft and compelling, and I do as he asks. He breathes a sigh of relief.
“Go on,” I whisper, between bites of the illicit fresh white bread roll.
“We didn’t know Mia was missing. I thought maybe he was blackmailing you or something. I called you back, but you didn’t answer.” He scowls. “I left you a message then called Sawyer. Taylor started tracking your cell. I knew you were at the bank, so we headed straight there.”
“I don’t know how Sawyer found me. Was he tracking my cell, too?”
“The Saab is fitted with a tracking device. All our cars are. By the time we got near the bank, you were already on the move, and we followed. Why are you smiling?”
“On some level I knew you’d be stalking me.”
“And that is amusing because?” he asks.
“Jack had instructed me to get rid of my cell. So I borrowed Whelan’s cell, and that’s the one I threw away. I put mine into one of the duffle bags so you could track your money.”
Christian sighs. “Our money, Ana,” he says quietly. “Eat.”
I wipe my soup bowl with the last of my bread and pop it into my mouth. For the first time in a long while, I feel replete in spite of our conversation.
“Finished.”
“Good girl.”
There’s a knock on the door and Nurse Nora enters once more, carrying a small paper cup. Christian clears away my plate, and starts putting all the items back into the box.
“Pain relief.” Nora smiles, showing me the white pill in the paper cup.
“Is this okay to take? You know—with the baby?”
“Yes, Mrs. Grey. It’s Lortab—it’s fine; it won’t affect the baby.”
I nod gratefully. My head is pounding. I swallow it down with a sip of water.
“You ought to rest, Mrs. Grey.” Nurse Nora looks pointedly at Christian.
He nods.
No! “You’re going?” I exclaim, panic setting in. Don’t go—we’ve just started talking!
Christian snorts. “If you think for one moment I’m going to let you out of my sight, Mrs. Grey, you are very much mistaken.”
Nora huffs but hovers over me and readjusts my pillows so that I have to lie down.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Grey,” she says, and with one last censorious glance at Christian, she leaves.
He raises an eyebrow as she closes the door.
“I don’t think Nurse Nora approves of me.”
He stands by the bed, looking tired, and despite the fact that I want him to stay, I know I should try to persuade him to go home.
“You need rest, too, Christian. Go home. You look exhausted.”
“I’m not leaving you. I’ll doze in this armchair.”
I scowl at him then shift onto my side.
“Sleep with me.”
He frowns. “No. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me. Please, Christian.”
“You have an IV.”
“Christian. Please.”
He gazes at me, and I can tell he’s tempted.
“Please.” I lift up the blankets, inviting him into the bed.
“Fuck it.” He slips off his shoes and socks, and gingerly climbs in beside me. Gently, he wraps his arm around me, and I lay my head on his chest. He kisses my hair.
“I don’t think Nurse Nora will be very happy with this arrangement,” he whispers conspiratorially.
I giggle, then stop as pain lances through my chest. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“Oh, but I love that sound,” he says a little sadly, his voice low. “I’m sorry, baby, so, so sorry.” He kisses my hair again and inhales deeply, and I don’t know what he’s apologizing for . . . making me laugh? Or the mess we’re in? I rest my hand over his heart, and he gently places his hand on mine. We are both silent for a moment.
“Why did you go see that woman?”
“Oh, Ana.” He groans. “You want to discuss that now? Can’t we drop this? I regret it, okay?”
“I need to know.”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he mutters, irritated. “Oh, and Detective Clark wants to talk to you. Just routine. Now go to sleep.”
He kisses my hair. I sigh heavily. I need to know why. At least he says he regrets it. That’s something, my subconscious agrees. She’s in an agreeable mood today, it seems. Ugh, Detective Clark. I shudder at the thought of reliving Thursday’s events for him.
“Do we know why Jack was doing all this?”
“Hmm,” Christian murmurs. I’m soothed by the slow rise and fall of his chest, gently rocking my head, lulling me to sleep as his breathing slows. And while I drift I try to make sense of the fragments of conversations I heard while I was on the edge of consciousness, but they slither through my mind, remaining steadfastly elusive, taunting me from the edges of my memory. Oh, it’s frustrating and exhausting . . . and . . .
Nurse Nora’s mouth is pursed and her arms folded in hostility. I hold my finger up to my lips.
“Please let him sleep,” I whisper, squinting in the early morning light.
“This is your bed. Not his,” she hisses sternly.
“I slept better because he was here.” I insist, rushing to my husband’s defense. Besides, it’s true. Christian stirs, and Nurse Nora and I freeze.
He mumbles in his sleep, “Don’t touch me. No more. Only Ana.”
I frown. I have rarely heard Christian talk in his sleep. Admittedly, that might be because he sleeps less than I do. I’ve only ever heard his nightmares. His arms tighten around me, squeezing me, and I wince.
“Mrs. Grey—” Nurse Nora glowers.
“Please,” I beg.
She shakes her head, turns on her heel and leaves, and I snuggle up against Christian again.
When I wake, Christian is nowhere to be seen. The sun is blazing through the windows, and I can now really appreciate the room. I have flowers! I didn’t notice them the night before. Several bouquets. I wonder idly who they’re from.
A soft knock distracts me, and Carrick peeks around the door. He beams when he sees that I’m awake.
“May I come in?” he asks.
“Of course.”
He strides into the room and over to me, his soft, gentle blue eyes assessing me shrewdly. He’s wearing a dark suit—he must be working. He surprises me by leaning down and kissing my forehead.
“May I sit?”
I nod, and he perches on the edge of the bed and takes my hand.
“I don’t know how to thank you for my daughter, you crazy, brave, darling girl. What you did probably saved her life. I will be forever in your debt.” His voice wavers, filled with gratitude and compassion.
Oh . . . I don’t know what to say. I squeeze his hand but remain mute.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. Sore.” I say, for honesty’s sake.
“Have they given you meds for the pain?”
“Lor . . . something.”
“Good. Wher
e’s Christian?”
“I don’t know. When I woke up, he was gone.”
“He won’t be far away, I’m sure. He wouldn’t leave you while you were unconscious.”
“I know.”
“He’s a little mad at you, as he should be.” Carrick smirks. Ah, this is where Christian gets it from.
“Christian is always mad at me.”
“Is he?” Carrick smiles, pleased—as if this is a good thing. His smile is infectious.
“How’s Mia?”
His eyes cloud and his smile vanishes. “She’s better. Mad as hell. I think anger is a healthy reaction to what happened to her.”
“Is she here?”
“No, she’s back at home. I don’t think Grace will let her out of her sight.”
“I know how that feels.”
“You need watching, too,” he admonishes. “I don’t want you taking anymore silly risks with your life or the life of my grandchild.”
I flush. He knows!
“Grace read your chart. She told me. Congratulations.”
“Um . . . thank you.”
He gazes down at me, and his eyes soften, though he frowns at my expression.
“Christian will come around,” he says gently. “This will be the best thing for him. Just . . . give him some time.”
I nod. Oh . . . They’ve spoken.
“I’d better go. I’m due in court.” He smiles and rises. “I’ll check in on you later. Grace speaks highly of Dr. Singh and Dr. Bartley. They know what they’re doing.”
He leans down and kisses me once more. “I mean it, Ana. I can never repay what you’ve done for us. Thank you.”
I look up at him, blinking back tears, suddenly overwhelmed, and he strokes my cheek affectionately. Then he turns on his heel and leaves.
Oh my. I’m reeling from his gratitude. Perhaps now I can let the prenup debacle go. My subconscious nods sagely in agreement with me yet again. I shake my head and gingerly get out of bed. I’m relieved to find that I am much steadier on my feet than yesterday. In spite of Christian sharing the bed, I have slept well and feel refreshed. My head still aches, but it’s a dull nagging pain, nothing like the pounding yesterday. I’m stiff and sore, but I just need a bath. I feel grimy. I head into the en suite.
“Ana!” Christian shouts.
“I’m in the bathroom,” I call as I finish brushing my teeth. That feels better. I ignore my reflection in the mirror. Jeez, I look a mess. When I open the door, Christian is by the bed, holding a tray of food. He’s transformed. Dressed entirely in black, he’s shaved, showered, and looks well rested.
