by James, E L
Hell. No. What did I say last night? I was just mad at you, Ana. Shocked by your revelation. I want to say it, but I can’t find the words.
“Well, you were right. I do choose this defenseless baby over you.”
My world grinds to an abrupt halt.
What does that mean?
“That’s what any loving parent does. That’s what your mother should have done for you. And I’m sorry that she didn’t—because we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if she had. But you’re an adult now. You need to grow up and smell the fucking coffee, and stop behaving like a petulant adolescent.” She’s on a roll.
I frown, and gape at her in all her glory. She’s naked except for sensational underwear, her hair a mahogany cloud spilling down to her breasts, dark eyes wide and desolate. The anger and hurt roll off her in waves, and in spite of all that, she’s stunning, and I am utterly lost. “You may not be happy about this baby,” she exclaims. “I’m not ecstatic, given the timing and your less-than-lukewarm reception to this new life, this flesh of your flesh. But you can either do this with me, or I’ll do it on my own. The decision is yours. While you wallow in your pit of self-pity and self-loathing I’m going to work. And when I return, I’ll be moving my belongings to the room upstairs.”
She’s moving out. She’s leaving.
She is choosing the baby over me.
Panic overwhelms me. It’s like a knife in my guts.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish getting dressed.”
My scalp prickles as I edge toward the abyss. She’s leaving. I step back. “Is that what you want?” My voice is a shocked whisper.
Her wounded eyes are impossibly wide as she scrutinizes me. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” she says quietly, and turning back to the mirror she smooths some face cream over her cheeks.
“You don’t want me?” There’s no oxygen in the room.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” she says, as she opens and applies her mascara.
How can she be so cold?
“You’ve thought about leaving.” The abyss opens and yawns in front of me.
“When one’s husband prefers the company of his ex-mistress, it’s usually not a good sign.” Her disdain drips from every word and pushes me closer to the abyss. Pursing her lips, she dabs on some lip gloss oh-so-fucking casually while I’m poised on the edge of this awful precipice.
She reaches for her boots, strides to the bed, and sits down. I watch her, completely at a loss. She pulls them on and stands to face me, her hands on her hips, her expression aloof.
Fuck.
In her boots and lingerie, her hair wild, she’s a woman to tame.
A Dom’s wet dream.
My wet dream.
My only dream.
I want her. I want her to tell me that she loves me. The way I love her.
Seduce her, Grey.
It’s my only weapon.
“I know what you’re doing here,” I murmur, pitching my voice lower.
“Do you?” Her voice cracks. Is that a chink in her armor? Hope flares briefly in my gut.
She feels.
I can do this. I step forward, but she steps back and holds up her hands, palms toward me. “Don’t even think about it, Grey.” Her words are bullets aimed at my heart.
“You’re my wife,” I murmur.
“I’m the pregnant woman you abandoned yesterday, and if you touch me I will scream the place down.”
What the fuck? No!
“You’d scream?”
“Bloody murder.”
This is too much! Or—does she want to play? Maybe that’s it—that’s what she wants. “No one would hear you,” I murmur.
“Are you trying to frighten me?”
What? No. Never. I back away. “That wasn’t my intention.”
I’m in free-fall.
Tell her. Just come clean, Grey.
And tell her what—that Elena reached for me, her intention clear?
I don’t think so.
“I had a drink with someone I used to be close to. We cleared the air. I’m not going to see her again.” Believe me, please. Ana.
“You sought her out?”
“Not at first. I tried to see Flynn. But…I found myself at the salon.”
Ana’s eyes narrow, fury smoldering in their depths. “And you expect me to believe you’re not going to see her again?” She raises her voice. “What about the next time I step across some imaginary line? This is the same argument we have over and over again. Like we’re on some Ixion’s wheel. If I fuck up again, are you going to run back to her?”
It’s not like that! “I am not going to see her again. She finally understands how I feel.”
Elena saw me recoil. She knows I don’t want her.
“What does that mean?”
If I tell her Elena made a pass at me, Ana will go into meltdown.
Shit. Why the fuck did you go to see her, Grey?
I gaze at my furious, beautiful wife. What can I say?
“Why can you talk to her and not to me?” Ana whispers.
No. It’s not like that. You don’t understand. She was my only friend.
“I was mad at you. Like I am now.” The words come in a desperate rush.
“You don’t say,” Ana shouts. “Well, I am mad at you right now. Mad at you for being so cold and callous yesterday, when I needed you. Mad at you for saying I got knocked up deliberately when I didn’t. Mad at you for betraying me.”
I didn’t!
“I should have kept better track of my shots,” she continues, quieter. “But I didn’t do it on purpose. This pregnancy is a shock to me, too. It could be that the shot failed.”
You’re shocked! I’m shocked, too.
We’re not ready for a baby.
I’m not ready for a baby.
“You really fucked up yesterday,” she whispers. “I’ve had a lot to deal with over the last few weeks.”
I fucked up? What about you? Cornered again, I lash out. “You really fucked up three weeks ago. Or whenever you forgot your shot.”
“Well, God forbid I should be perfect like you.”
Touché, Anastasia. “This is quite a performance, Mrs. Grey.”
“Well, I’m glad that even knocked up I’m entertaining.”
Fuck this! “I need a shower,” I grit between my teeth.
“And I’ve provided enough of a floor show.”
“It’s a mighty fine floor show,” I whisper, stepping forward. One more try. She steps back. No dice.
“Don’t.”
“I hate that you won’t let me touch you.”
“Ironic, huh?”
I gasp as her words slice through me. Who knew she could be such a…bitch? My sweet Ana, hurt and aching, unleashing her claws. Is this what I’ve driven her to?
This is getting us nowhere.
“We haven’t resolved much, have we?” My voice is bleak and flat. I don’t know what else to say; I have failed to turn her around.
“I’d say not. Except that I’m moving out of this bedroom.”
So…she’s not leaving me. I grasp on to this hope as I hang over the abyss.
One more pitch, Grey. This is your marriage.
“She doesn’t mean anything to me,” I whisper. Not like you do.
“Except when you need her.”
“I don’t need her. I need you.”
“You didn’t yesterday. That woman is a hard limit for me, Christian.”
“She’s out of my life.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ana.”
“Please let me get dressed.”
Sighing, I run my hand through my hair. What can I do? She won’t let
me touch her. She’s too mad. I have to regroup and come up with a different strategy. And right now, I need to put some distance between us, before I do something I’ll regret. “I’ll see you this evening.” I storm out and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. Like her, I lock it, for the first time ever, protecting myself. Ana has the power to wound me like no other. Standing against the door, I tip my head back and close my eyes.
I have really fucked up. The last time I really fucked up she left me.
“You don’t want me?”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
I clutch on to that hope. Right now I need a shower to wash last night’s stink off me.
The water is blistering, the way I like it. I tilt my face into the stream, welcoming its stinging heat as it douses me.
Christ, I’m confused. Nothing is simple where Ana is concerned; I should know that by now. She’s mad because I shouted at her and left, and she’s mad because I saw Elena.
That woman is a hard limit for me, Christian.
Elena has been a thorn in Ana’s side from the beginning. And now, because of that careless fucking text, she’s a thorn in mine. Last night should have put an end to it. All of it. But she had to send that text.
Elena’s words haunt me. Maybe I could make you feel better? I’m sure you miss it.
I shudder at the memory.
Shit, what a mess.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Ana’s gone. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.
Disappointed.
With a heavy heart, I dress, choosing my favorite tie as a talisman for the day. It’s brought me luck before.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Jones is still emitting glacial disapproval. It’s irritating and chastening at the same time. However, she’s prepared a substantial fried breakfast for me.
“Thank you,” I mutter. Her only reply is a tight smile. I suspect she heard Ana and me fighting last night.
Grey, you were shouting.
Everyone heard you.
Shit.
I stare out of the car window as Taylor drives through the morning rush-hour traffic. Ana didn’t even say good-bye; she just fucking left, with Sawyer. “Taylor, tell Sawyer I want him to stick to Mrs. Grey like glue. I need to know if she’s eating.”
“Yes, sir.” His words are clipped. Even Taylor is frosty this morning.
I wonder if Ana will follow through with her threat to move upstairs.
I hope not.
She fucks up her contraception, saddling us with a child before we’re ready, before we’ve done anything—and I’m in the fucking doghouse? I don’t even know how pregnant she is. I resolve to call Dr. Greene when I get to the office. Maybe she can shed some light on how my wife came to miss her shot.
My phone buzzes, and immediately my heart starts pounding. Ana? No, it’s Ros.
“Grey,” I snap.
“You’re bright and breezy this morning, Christian.”
“What is it, Ros?” I snap again.
She pauses for a nanosecond, then she’s all business. “Hansell from the shipyard wants a meeting. And Senator Blandino, too.”
Damn. The unions and the politicians. Could this day get any better?
“They have wind of the Taiwan deal already?”
“So it would seem, and they want to talk.”
“Okay, this afternoon. Set it up. I want you and Samir there, too.”
“Will do, Christian.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” I hang up.
What am I going to do about my wife? Truth is, I’m still smarting from angry Anastasia. Who knew she had such gumption? I don’t think anyone’s bawled me out like that since…forever. Apart from my mother and father—at my own birthday party, no less. And that was because of fucking Elena, as well. I snort at the irony. Yeah, fucking Elena.
I shake my head in disgust. Why did I seek her out? Why?
The Advil has kicked in, and Mrs. Jones’s fried breakfast has helped. I feel almost human, but miserable…utterly miserable.
What is Ana doing now? I picture her in her tiny office, wearing her purple dress. Perhaps she’s sent me an e-mail. I scramble for my phone, but there’s nothing.
Is she thinking about me like I’m thinking about her? I hope so. I want to be in her thoughts, always.
Taylor pulls up outside GEH, and I brace myself for a long day.
“Good morning, Mr. Grey.” Andrea smiles as I step out of the elevator, but her smile fades when she sees my expression.
“Get me Dr. Greene on the line and tell Sarah to bring me some coffee.”
“Yes, sir.”
“After I’ve finished with Greene, I need to talk to Flynn. Then you can bring in my schedule for the day. Has Ros spoken to you about Hansell and Blandino?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Dr. Flynn left for a conference in New York early this morning.”
Fuck! “I forgot. See if he can find a moment for me on the phone.”
“Will do. The flat screen you requested for Mr. Steele will be installed this afternoon.”
“And the additional PT?”
“That will start tomorrow.”
“Okay. Put Dr. Greene through when you have her.” I don’t wait for an answer, but stalk into my office and sit down, under the watchful gaze of my wife. I let out a long, slow breath, wondering if her photographer friend ever witnessed her the way she was this morning. From Aphrodite to Athena, goddess of war—a scolding, angry, alluring Athena.
My phone buzzes. “I have Dr. Greene for you.”
“Thanks, Andrea. Dr. Greene?”
“Mr. Grey, what can I do for you?”
“I thought the shot was a reliable form of contraceptive,” I hiss. There’s a prolonged silence on the other end of the line. “Dr. Greene?”
“Mr. Grey, no form of contraception is one hundred percent effective. That would be abstinence, or sterilization for yourself or your wife.” Her tone is icy. “I can send you some literature if you’d like to read up on it.”
I sigh. “No. That won’t be necessary.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Grey?”
“I would like to know how pregnant my wife is.”
“Can’t Mrs. Grey tell you that herself?”
What is this? Just answer the question!
“I’m asking you, Dr. Greene. That’s what I pay you for.”
“My patient is Mrs. Grey. I suggest you talk to your wife, and she can give you the details. Is there anything else you need?”
My temper reaches boiling point.
Take a deep breath, Grey.
“Please,” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Mr. Grey. Talk to your wife. Good day.” She hangs up, and I glare at the phone, expecting it to shrivel to ashes under my gaze; some bedside manner she has.
There’s a knock at my door and Sarah appears with my coffee. “Thanks,” I mutter, trying to rein in my fury at the goddamned, officious, unhelpful so-called doctor. “Ask Andrea to come in—I want to go through my schedule.”
Sarah dashes out and I stare at monochrome Ana on my wall.
Even your doctor is pissed at me.
Misery is my constant companion, all the way through my meetings, my lunch, and my kickboxing session with Bastille.
“You look like a wet weekend, Grey.”
“I feel it.”
“Let’s see if we can turn that frown upside down.”
Really?
I knock him on his ass twice; he deserves to go down for that comment alone.
By 4:30 I’ve heard nothing from my wife, not even an angry hectoring e-mail liberally sprinkled with shouty capitals. Sawyer has reported in to let me know that
she had a bagel for lunch. That’s something. I have fifteen minutes before showtime with Brad Hansell, the head of the shipbuilders’ union, and Senator Blandino. This is going to be a tough meeting. I’m briefed but I can’t focus; instead, I’m sitting here staring at my computer, willing an e-mail to arrive from my wife. I can’t believe I’ve heard nothing from Ana all day. Nothing.
I don’t like this. I don’t like being the object of her anger. I put my head in my hands. Maybe…maybe I should apologize. What did Flynn say? It’s better to concede the battle to win the war.
And deep down, I know I’ve fucked up. But I’d hoped that she would have forgiven me by now.
I type out an e-mail.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: I’m Sorry
Date: September 14 2011 16:45
To: Anastasia Grey
I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.
I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.
I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.
I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.
I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.
I fucked up. Please forgive me.
Christian Grey
CEO & Penitent Husband, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
I don’t want to go home to face her anger again. I want her smiles, her laughter, and her love. I gaze up at her smiling face in the photo. I want her to look at me like she does in this portrait. I return to the e-mail, wondering whether to hit send. This meeting could go on for a while. I call Mrs. Jones.
“Mr. Grey.”
“I may not be home for dinner. Please make sure Mrs. Grey eats.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Cook her something nice.”
“I will.”
“Thank you, Gail.” I hang up and delete the e-mail—it’s not going to be enough. I could try jewelry. Flowers? My phone buzzes.
“Yes, Andrea.”
“Mr. Hansell and Senator Blandino are here with their teams.”
“Call Ros and Samir to join us.”
“Yes, sir.”
This will be a fight about layoffs. I grit my teeth. Sometimes I hate my job.
Blandino is appealing for calm. “These are our economic realities in 2011,” she says to Hansell, who sits red-faced on the other side of my boardroom table.
