by E. L. James
“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. Where’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 any more 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 I was 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. Crap, 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.
“Good morning, Mrs. Grey,” he says brightly. “I have your breakfast.” He looks so boyish and much happier.
Wow. I smile broadly as I climb back into bed. He pulls over the tray on wheels and lifts the cover to reveal my breakfast: oatmeal with dried fruits, pancakes with maple syrup, bacon, orange juice, and Twinings English breakfast tea. My mouth waters; I’m so hungry. I down the orange juice in a few gulps and dig into the oatmeal. Christian sits down on the edge of the bed to watch. He smirks.
“What?” I ask with my mouth full.
“I like to watch you eat,” he says. But I don’t think that’s what he’s smirking about. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I mutter between mouthfuls.
“I’ve never seen you eat like this.”
I glance up at him, and my heart sinks. We have to address the very tiny elephant in the room. “It’s because I’m pregnant, Christian.”
He snorts, and his mouth twists into an ironic smile. “If I knew getting you knocked up was going to make you eat, I might have done it earlier.”
“Christian Grey!” I gasp and set the oatmeal down.
“Don’t stop eating,” he warns.
“Christian, we need to talk about this.”
He stills. “What’s there to say? We’re going to be parents.” He shrugs, desperately trying to look nonchalant, but all I can see is his fear. Pushing the tray aside, I crawl down the bed to him and take his hands in mine.
“You’re scared,” I whisper. “I get it.”
He gazes at me, impassive, his eyes wide and all his earlier boyishness stripped away.
“I am, too. That’s normal,” I whisper.
“What kind of father could I possibly be?” His voice is hoarse, barely audible.
“Oh, Christian.” I stifle a sob. “One that tries his best. That’s all any of us can do.”
“Ana—I don’t know if I can …”
“Of course you can. You’re loving, you’re fun, you’re strong, you’ll set boundaries. Our child will want for nothing.”
He’s frozen, staring at me, doubt etched on his beautiful face.
“Yes, it would have been ideal to have waited. To have longer, just the two of us. But we’ll be three of us, and we’ll all grow up together. We’ll be a family. Our own family. And your child will love you unconditionally, like I do.” Tears spring to my eyes.
“Oh, Ana,” Christian whispers, his voice anguished and pained. “I thought I’d lost you. Then I thought I’d lost you again. Seeing you lying on the ground, pale and cold and unconscious—it was all my worst fears realized. And now here you are—brave and strong … giving me hope. Loving me after all that I’ve done.”
“Yes, I do love you, Christian, desperately. I always will.”
Gently taking my head between his hands, he wipes my tears away with his thumbs. He gazes into my eyes, gr
ay to blue, and all I see is his fear and wonder and love.
“I love you, too,” he breathes. And he kisses me sweetly, tenderly, like a man who adores his wife. “I’ll try to be a good father,” he whispers against my lips.
“You’ll try, and you’ll succeed. And let’s face it; you don’t have much choice in the matter, because Blip and I are not going anywhere.”
“Blip?”
“Blip.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I had the name Junior in my head.”
“Junior it is, then.”
“But I like Blip.” He smiles his shy smile and kisses me once more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
* * *
Much as I’d like to kiss you all day, your breakfast is getting cold,” Christian murmurs against my lips. He gazes down at me, now amused, except his eyes are darker, sensual. Holy cow, he’s switched again. My Mr. Mercurial.
“Eat,” he orders, his voice soft. I swallow, a reaction to his smoldering look, and crawl back into bed, avoiding snagging my IV line. He pushes the tray in front of me. The oatmeal is cold, but the pancakes under the cover are fine—in fact, they’re mouthwatering.
“You know,” I mutter between mouthfuls, “Blip might be a girl.”
Christian runs his hand through his hair. “Two women, eh?” Alarm flashes across his face, and his dark look vanishes.
Oh crap. “Do you have a preference?”
“Preference?”
“Boy or girl.”
He frowns. “Healthy will do,” he says quietly, clearly disconcerted by the question. “Eat,” he snaps, and I know he’s trying to avoid the subject.
“I’m eating, I’m eating … Jeez, keep your hair on, Grey.” I watch him carefully. The corners of his eyes are crinkled with worry. He’s said he’ll try, but I know he’s still freaked out by the baby. Oh, Christian, so am I. He sits down in the armchair beside me, picking up the Seattle Times.
“You made the papers again, Mrs. Grey.” His tone is bitter.
“Again?”
“The hacks are just rehashing yesterday’s story, but it seems factually accurate. You want to read it?”
I shake my head. “Read it to me. I’m eating.”
He smirks and proceeds to read the article aloud. It’s a report on Jack and Elizabeth, depicting them as a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. It briefly covers Mia’s kidnapping, my involvement in Mia’s rescue, and the fact that both Jack and I are in the same hospital. How does the press get all this information? I must ask Kate.
When Christian finishes, I say, “Please read something else. I like listening to you.”
He obliges and reads me a report about a booming bagel business and the fact that Boeing has had to cancel the launch of some plane. Christian frowns as he reads. But listening to his soothing voice as I eat, secure in the knowledge that I am fine, Mia is safe, and my Little Blip is safe, I feel a precious moment of peace despite all that has happened over the last few days.
I understand that Christian is scared about the baby, but I don’t understand the depth of his fear. I resolve to talk to him some more about this. See if I can put his mind at ease. What puzzles me is that he hasn’t lacked for positive role models as parents. Both Grace and Carrick are exemplary parents, or so they seem. Maybe it was the Bitch Troll’s interference that damaged him so badly. I’d like to think so. But in truth I think it goes back to his birth mom, though I’m sure Mrs. Robinson didn’t help. I halt my thoughts as I nearly recall a whispered conversation. Damn! It hovers on the edge of my memory from when I was unconscious. Christian talking with Grace. It melts away into the shadows of my mind. Oh, it’s so frustrating.
I wonder if Christian will ever volunteer the reason he went to see her or if I’ll have to push him. I’m about to ask when there’s a knock on the door.
Detective Clark makes an apologetic entry into the room. He’s right to be apologetic—my heart sinks when I see him.
“Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey. Am I interrupting?”
“Yes,” snaps Christian.
Clark ignores him. “Glad to see you’re awake, Mrs. Grey. I need to ask you a few questions about Thursday afternoon. Just routine. Is now a convenient time?”
“Sure,” I mumble, but I do not want to relive Thursday’s events.
“My wife should be resting.” Christian bristles.
“I’ll be brief, Mr. Grey. And it means I’ll be out of your hair sooner rather than later.”
Christian stands and offers Clark his chair, then sits down beside me on the bed, takes my hand, and squeezes it reassuringly.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, Clark is done. I’ve learned nothing new, but I have recounted the events of Thursday to him in a halting, quiet voice, watching Christian go pale and grimace at some parts.
“I wish you’d aimed higher,” Christian mutters.
“Might have done womankind a service if Mrs. Grey had,” Clark agrees.
What?
“Thank you, Mrs. Grey. That’s all for now.”
“You won’t let him out again, will you?”
“I don’t think he’ll make bail this time, ma’am.”
“Do we know who posted his bail?” Christian asks.
“No sir. It was confidential.”
Christian frowns, but I think he has his suspicions. Clark rises to leave just as Dr. Singh and two interns enter the room.
AFTER A THOROUGH EXAMINATION, Dr. Singh declares me fit to go home. Christian sags with relief.
“Mrs. Grey, you’ll have to watch for worsening headaches and blurry vision. If that occurs you must return to the hospital immediately.”
I nod, trying to contain my delight at going home.
As Dr. Singh leaves, Christian asks her for a quick word in the corridor. He keeps the door ajar as he asks her a question. She smiles.
“Yes, Mr. Grey, that’s fine.”
He grins and returns to the room a happier man.
“What was all that about?”
“Sex,” he says, flashing a wicked grin.
Oh. I blush. “And?”
“You’re good to go.” He smirks.
Oh, Christian!
“I have a headache.” I smirk right back.
“I know. You’ll be off limits for a while. I was just checking.”
Off limits? I frown at the momentary stab of disappointment I feel. I’m not sure I want to be off limits.
Nurse Nora joins us to remove my IV. She glares at Christian. I think she’s one of the few women I’ve met who is oblivious to his charms. I thank her when she leaves with my IV stand.
“Shall I take you home?” Christian asks.
“I’d like to see Ray first.”
“Sure.”
“Does he know about the baby?”
“I thought you’d want to be the one to tell him. I haven’t told your mom either.”
“Thank you.” I smile, grateful that he hasn’t stolen my thunder.
“My mom knows,” Christian adds. “She saw your chart. I told my dad but no one else. Mom said couples normally wait for twelve weeks or so … to be sure.” He shrugs.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to tell Ray.”
“I should warn you, he’s mad as hell. Said I should spank you.”
What? Christian laughs at my appalled expression. “I told him I’d be only too willing to oblige.”
“You didn’t!” I gasp, though an echo of a whispered conversation tantalizes my memory. Yes, Ray was here while I was unconscious …
He winks at me. “Here, Taylor brought you some clean clothes. I’ll help you dress.”
AS CHRISTIAN PREDICTED, RAY is furious. I don’t ever remember him being this mad. Christian has wisely decided to leave us alone. For such a taciturn man, Ray fills his hospital room with his invective, berating me for my irresponsible behavior. I am twelve years old again.
Oh, Dad, please calm down. Your blood pressure is not up to this.
“And I’ve had to deal with your mother,” he gr
umbles, waving both of his hands in exasperation.
“Dad, I’m sorry.”
“And poor Christian! I’ve never seen him like that. He’s aged. We’ve both aged years over the last couple of days.”
“Ray, I’m sorry.”
“Your mother is waiting for your call,” he says in a more measured tone.
I kiss his cheek, and finally he relents from his tirade.
“I’ll call her. I really am sorry. But thank you for teaching me to shoot.”
For a moment, he regards me with ill-concealed paternal pride. “I’m glad you can shoot straight,” he says, his voice gruff. “Now go on home and get some rest.”
“You look well, Dad.” I try to change the subject.
“You look pale.” His fear is suddenly evident. His look mirrors Christian’s from last night, and I grasp his hand.
“I’m okay. I promise I won’t do anything like that again.”
He squeezes my hand and pulls me into a hug. “If anything happened to you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and low. Tears prick my eyes. I am not used to displays of emotion from my stepfather.
“Dad, I’m good. Nothing that a hot shower won’t cure.”
WE LEAVE THROUGH THE rear exit of the hospital to avoid the paparazzi gathered at the entrance. Taylor leads us to the waiting SUV.
Christian is quiet as Sawyer drives us home. I avoid Sawyer’s gaze in the rearview mirror, embarrassed that the last time I saw him was at the bank when I gave him the slip. I call my mom, who sobs and sobs. It takes most of the journey home to calm her down, but I succeed by promising that we’ll visit soon. Throughout my conversation with her, Christian holds my hand, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. He’s nervous … something’s happened.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when I’m finally free from my mother.
“Welch wants to see me.”
“Welch? Why?”
“He’s found something out about that fucker Hyde.” Christian’s lip curls into a snarl, and a frisson of fear passes through me. “He didn’t want to tell me on the phone.”
“Oh.”
“He’s coming here this afternoon from Detroit.”
“You think he’s found a connection?”
Christian nods.
