Текст книги "Fifty Shades Freed"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

Daddy.

I realize that the tube pulling at the right corner of his mouth leads to a ventilator. Its noise is weaving with the beep, beep, beep of his heart monitor into a

percussive rhythmic beat. Sucking, expelling, sucking, expelling, sucking, expelling in time with the beeps. There are four lines on the screen of his heart monitor,

each moving steadily across, demonstrating clearly that Ray is still with us.

Oh, Daddy.

Even though his mouth is distorted by the ventilator tube, he looks peaceful, lying there fast asleep.

A petite young nurse stands to one side, checking his monitors.

“Can I touch him?” I ask her, tentatively reaching for his hand.

“Yes.” She smiles kindly. Her badge says KELLIE RN, and she must be in her twenties. She’s blonde with dark, dark eyes.

Christian stands at the end of the bed, watching me carefully as I clasp Ray’s hand. It’s surprisingly warm, and that’s my undoing. I sink on to the chair by the

bed, place my head gently against Ray’s arm, and start to sob.

“Oh, Daddy. Please get better,” I whisper. “Please.”

Christian puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“All Mr. Steele’s vitals are good,” Nurse Kellie says quietly.

“Thank you,” Christian murmurs. I glance up in time to see her gape. She’s finally gotten a good look at my husband. I don’t care. She can gape at Christian all

she likes as long as she makes my father well again.

“Can he hear me?” I ask.

“He’s in a deep sleep. But who knows?”

“Can I sit for a while?”

“Sure thing.” She smiles at me, her cheeks pink from a telltale blush. Incongruously, I find myself thinking blond is not her true color.

Christian gazes down at me, ignoring her. “I need to make a call. I’ll be outside. I’ll give you some alone time with your dad.”I nod. He kisses my hair and walks

out of the room. I hold Ray’s hand, marveling at the irony that it’s only now when he’s unconscious and can’t hear me that I really want to tell him how much I love

him. This man has been my constant. My rock. And I’ve never thought about it until now. I’m not flesh of his flesh, but he’s my dad, and I love him so very much.

My tears trail down my cheeks. Please, please get better.

Very quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, I tell him about our weekend in Aspen and about last weekend when we were soaring and sailing aboard The Grace. I

tell him about our new house, our plans, about how we hope to make it ecologically sustainable. I promise to take him with us to Aspen so he can go fishing with

Christian and assure him that Mr. Rodriguez and José will both be welcome, too. Please be here to do that, Daddy. Please.

Ray remains immobile, the ventilator sucking and expelling and the monotonous but reassuring beep, beep, beep of his heart monitor his only response.

When I look up, Christian is sitting quietly at the end of the bed. I don’t know how long he’s been there.

“Hi,” he says, his eyes glowing with compassion and concern.

“Hi.”

“So, I’m going fishing with your dad, Mr. Rodriguez, and José?” he asks.

I nod.

“Okay. Let’s go eat. Let him sleep.”

I frown. I don’t want to leave him.

“Ana, he’s in a coma. I’ve given our cell numbers to the nurses here. If there’s any change, they’ll call us. We’ll eat, check into a hotel, rest up, then come back

this evening.”

The suite at the Heathman looks just as I remember it. How often have I thought about that first night and morning I spent with Christian Grey? I stand in the

entrance to the suite, paralyzed. Jeez, it all started here.

“Home away from home,” says Christian, his voice soft, putting my briefcase down beside one of the overstuffed couches.

“Do you want a shower? A bath? What do you need, Ana?” Christian gazes at me, and I know he’s rudderless—my lost boy dealing with events beyond his

“Do you want a shower? A bath? What do you need, Ana?” Christian gazes at me, and I know he’s rudderless—my lost boy dealing with events beyond his

control. He’s been withdrawn and contemplative all afternoon. This is a situation he cannot manipulate and predict. This is real life in the raw, and he’s kept himself

from that for so long, he’s exposed and helpless now. My sweet, sheltered Fifty Shades.

“A bath. I’d like a bath.” I murmur, aware that keeping him busy will make him feel better, useful even. Oh, Christian—I’m numb and I’m cold and I’m scared,

but I’m so glad you’re here with me.

“Bath. Good. Yes.” He strides into the bedroom and out of sight into the palatial bathroom. A few moments later, the roar of water gushing to fill the tub echoes

from the room.

Finally, I galvanize myself to follow him into the bedroom. I’m dismayed to see several bags from Nordstrom on the bed. Christian reenters, sleeves rolled up, tie

and jacket discarded.

“I sent Taylor to get some things. Nightwear. You know,” he says, eyeing me warily.

Of course he did. I nod my approval to make him feel better. Where is Taylor?

“Oh, Ana,” Christian murmurs. “I’ve not seen you like this. You’re normally so brave and strong.”

I don’t know what to say. I merely gaze wide-eyed at him. I have nothing to give right now. I think I’m in shock. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to keep

the pervading cold at bay, even though I know it’s a fruitless task as this cold comes from within. Christian pulls me into his arms.

“Baby, he’s alive. His vital signs are good. We just have to be patient,” he murmurs. “Come.” He takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom. Gently, he slips

my jacket off my shoulders and places it on the bathroom chair, then turning back, he undoes the buttons on my shirt.

The water is deliciously warm and fragrant, the smell of lotus blossom heavy in the warm, sultry air of the bathroom. I lie between Christian’s legs, my back to his

front, my feet resting on top of his. We’re both quiet and introspective, and I’m finally feeling warm. Intermittently Christian kisses my hair as I absentmindedly pop

the bubbles in the foam. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders.

“You didn’t get into the bath with Leila, did you? That time you bathed her?” I ask.

He stiffens and snorts, his hand tightening on my shoulder where it rests. “Um . . . no.” He sounds astounded.

“I thought so. Good.”

He tugs gently at my hair knotted in a crude bun, tilting my head around so he can see my face. “Why do you ask?”

I shrug. “Morbid curiosity. I don’t know . . . seeing her this week.”

His face hardens. “I see. Less of the morbid.” His tone is reproachful.

“How long are you going to support her?

“Until she’s on her feet. I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Why?”

“Are there others?”

“Others?”

“Exes who you support.”

“There was one, yes. No longer though.”

“Oh?”

“She was studying to be a doctor. She’s qualified now and has someone else.”

“Another Dominant?”

“Yes.”

“Leila says you have two of her paintings,” I whisper.

“I used to. I didn’t really care for them. They had technical merit, but they were too colorful for me. I think Elliot has them. As we know, he has no taste.”

I giggle, and he wraps his other arm around me, sloshing water over the side of the bath.

“That’s better,” he whispers and kisses my temple.

“He’s marrying my best friend.”

“Then I’d better shut my mouth,” he says.

I feel more relaxed after our bath. Wrapped in my soft Heathman robe, I gaze at the various bags on the bed. Jeez, this must be more than nightwear. Tentatively, I

peek into one. A pair of jeans and a pale blue hooded sweatshirt, my size. Holy cow . . . Taylor’s bought a whole weekend’s worth of clothes, and he knows what I

like. I smile, remembering this is not the first time he’s shopped for clothes for me when I was at the Heathman.

“Apart from harassing me at Clayton’s, have you ever actually gone into a store and just bought stuff?”

“Harassing you?”

“Yes. Harassing me.”

“You were flustered, if I recall. And that young boy was all over you. What was his name?”

“Paul.”

“One of your many admirers.”

I roll my eyes, and he smiles a relieved, genuine smile and kisses me.

“There’s my girl,” he whispers. “Get dressed. I don’t want you getting cold again.”

“Ready,” I murmur. Christian is working on the Mac in the study area of the suite. He’s dressed in black jeans and a gray cable-knit sweater, and I’m wearing the

jeans, the hoodie, and a white T-shirt.

“You look so young,” Christian says softly, glancing up, his eyes glowing. “And to think you’ll be a whole year older tomorrow.” His voice is wistful. I give him

a sad smile.

“I don’t feel much like celebrating. Can we go see Ray now?”

“Sure. I wish you’d eat something. You barely touched your food.”

“Christian, please. I’m just not hungry. Maybe after we’ve seen Ray. I want to wish him goodnight.”

As we arrive at the ICU, we meet José leaving. He’s alone.

“Ana, Christian, hi.”

“Where’s your dad?”

“He was too tired to come back. He was in a car accident this morning,” José grins ruefully. “And his painkillers have kicked in. He was out for the count. I had

to fight to get in to see Ray since I’m not next of kin.”

“And?” I ask anxiously.

“He’s good, Ana. Same . . . but all good.”

“He’s good, Ana. Same . . . but all good.”

Relief floods my system. No news is good news.

“See you tomorrow, birthday girl?”

“Sure. We’ll be here.”

José eyes Christian quickly then pulls me into a brief hug. “Mañana.”

“Goodnight, José.”

“Good-bye, José,” Christian says. José nods and walks down the corridor. “He’s still nuts about you,” Christian says quietly.

“No he’s not. And even if he is . . .” I shrug because right now I just don’t care.

Christian gives me a tight smile, and my heart melts.

“Well done,” I murmur.

He frowns.

“For not frothing at the mouth.”

He gapes at me, wounded—but amused, too. “I’ve never frothed. Let’s see your dad. I have a surprise for you.”

“Surprise?” My eyes widen in alarm.

“Come.” Christian takes my hand, and we push open the double doors of the ICU.

Standing at the end of Ray’s bed is Grace, deep in discussion with Crowe and a second doctor, a woman I’ve not seen before. Seeing us, Grace grins.

Oh, thank heavens.

“Christian.” She kisses his cheek, then turns to me and folds me in her warm embrace.

“Ana. How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine. It’s my father I’m worried about.”

“He’s in good hands. Doctor Sluder is an expert in her field. We trained together at Yale.”

Oh . . .

“Mrs. Grey,” Dr. Sluder greets me very formally. She’s short-haired and elfin with a shy smile and a soft southern accent. “As the lead physician for your father,

I’m pleased to tell you that all is on track. His vital signs are stable and strong. We have every faith that he’ll make a complete recovery. The brain swelling has

stopped, and shows signs of decreasing. This is very encouraging after such a short time.”

“That’s good news,” I murmur.

She smiles warmly at me. “It is, Mrs. Grey. We’re taking real good care of him.”

“Great to see you again, Grace.”

Grace smiles. “Likewise, Lorraina.”

“Dr. Crowe, let’s leave these good people to visit with Mr. Steele.” Crowe follows in Dr. Sluder’s wake to the exit.

I glance over at Ray, and for the first time since his accident, I feel more hopeful. Dr. Sluder and Grace’s kind words have rekindled my hope.

Grace takes my hand and squeezes gently. “Ana, sweetheart, sit with him. Talk to him. It’s all good. I’ll visit with Christian in the waiting room.”

I nod. Christian smiles his reassurance, and he and his mother leave me with my beloved father sleeping peacefully to the gentle lullaby of his ventilator and heart

monitor.

I slip Christian’s white T-shirt on and get into bed.

“You seem brighter,” Christian says cautiously as he pulls on his pajamas.

“Yes. I think talking to Dr. Sluder and your mom made a big difference. Did you ask Grace to come here?”

Christian slides into bed and pulls me into his arms, turning me to face away from him.

“No. She wanted to come and check on your dad herself.”

“How did she know?”

“I called her this morning.”

Oh.

“Baby, you’re exhausted. You should sleep.”

“Hmm,” I murmur in agreement. He’s right. I’m so tired. It’s been an emotional day. I crane my head around and gaze at him a beat. We’re not going to make

love? And I’m relieved. In fact, he’s had a totally hands-off approach with me all day. I wonder if I should be alarmed by this turn of events, but since my inner

goddess has left the building and taken my libido with her, I’ll think about it in the morning. I turn over and snuggle against Christian, wrapping my leg over his.

“Promise me something,” he says softly.

“Hmm?” It’s a question that I am too tired to articulate.

“Promise me you’ll eat something tomorrow. I can just about tolerate you wearing another man’s jacket without frothing at the mouth, but, Ana . . . you must eat.

Please.”

“Hmm,” I acquiesce. He kisses my hair. “Thank you for being here,” I mumble and sleepily kiss his chest.

“Where else would I be? I want to be wherever you are, Ana. Being here makes me think of how far we’ve come. And the night I first slept with you. What a

night that was. I watched you for hours. You were just . . . yar,” he breathes. I smile against his chest.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, and it’s a command. I close my eyes and drift.

I stir, opening my eyes to a bright September morning. Warm and comfortable between clean, crisp sheets, I take a moment to orientate myself and am

overwhelmed by a sense of déja vu. Of course, I’m at the Heathman.

“Shit! Daddy!” I gasp out loud, recalling with a gut-wrenching surge of apprehension that twists my heart and starts it pounding why I’m in Portland.

“Hey.” Christian is sitting on the edge of the bed. He strokes my cheek with his knuckles, instantly calming me. “I called the ICU this morning. Ray had a good

night. It’s all good,” he says reassuringly.

“Oh, good. Thank you,” I mutter, sitting up.

He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead. “Good morning, Ana,” he whispers and kisses my temple.

“Hi,” I mutter. He’s up and dressed in a black T-shirt and blue jeans.

“Hi,” he replies, his eyes soft and warm. “I want to wish you happy birthday. Is that okay?”

I offer him a tentative smile and caress his cheek. “Yes, of course. Thank you. For everything.”

His brow furrows. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

He looks momentarily confused, but it’s fleeting and his eyes widen with anticipation. “Here.” He hands me a small, exquisitely wrapped box with a tiny gift

card.

In spite of the worry I feel about my father, I sense Christian’s anxiety and excitement, and it’s infectious. I read the card.

Oh my, how sweet is that? “I love you, too,” I murmur, smiling at him.

He grins. “Open it.”

Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn’t tear, I find a beautiful red leather box. Cartier. It’s familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my watch.

Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of silver, or platinum or white gold—I don’t know, but it’s absolutely enchanting. Attached to it are

several charms: the Eiffel Tower, a London black cab, a helicopter—Charlie Tango, a glider—the soaring, a catamaran—The Grace, a bed, and an ice cream cone?

I look up at him, bemused.

“Vanilla?” He shrugs apologetically, and I can’t help but laugh. Of course.

“Christian, this is beautiful. Thank you. It’s yar.”

He grins.

My favorite is the heart. It’s a locket.

“You can put a picture or whatever in that.”

“A picture of you.” I glance at him through my lashes. “Always in my heart.”

He smiles his lovely, heartbreakingly shy smile.

I fondle the last two charms: a letter C—oh yes, I was his first girlfriend to use his first name. I smile at the thought. And finally, there’s a key.

“To my heart and soul,” he whispers.

Tears prick my eyes. I launch myself at him, curling my arms around his neck and settling into his lap. “It’s such a thoughtful present. I love it. Thank you,” I

murmur against his ear. Oh, he smells so good—clean, of fresh linen, body wash, and Christian. Like home, my home. My threatened tears begin to fall.

He groans softly and enfolds me in his embrace.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” My voice cracks as I try to hold back the overwhelming swell of emotion.

He swallows hard and tightens his hold on me. “Please don’t cry.”

I sniff in a rather unladylike way. “I’m sorry. I’m just so happy and sad and anxious at the same time. It’s bittersweet.”

“Hey.” His voice is feather soft. Tipping my head back, he plants a gentle kiss on my lips. “I understand.”

“I know,” I whisper, and I’m rewarded with his shy smile again.

“I wish we were in happier circumstances and at home. But we’re here.” He shrugs apologetically once more. “Come, up you go. After breakfast, we’ll check on

Ray.”

Once dressed in my new jeans and T-shirt, my appetite makes a brief but welcome return during breakfast in our suite. I know Christian is pleased to see me eating

my granola and Greek yogurt.

“Thank you for ordering my favorite breakfast.”

“It’s your birthday,” Christian says softly. “And you have to stop thanking me.” He rolls his eyes in exasperation, but fondly, I think.

“I just want you to know that I appreciate it.”

“Anastasia, it’s what I do.” His expression is serious—of course, Christian in command and control. How could I forget . . . Would I want him any other way?

I smile. “Yes, it is.”

He gives me a puzzled look then shakes his head. “Shall we go?”

“I’ll just brush my teeth.”

He smirks. “Okay.”

Why is he smirking? The thought nags me as I head into the en suite. A memory springs unbidden to my mind. I used his toothbrush after I first spent the night

with him. I smirk and grab his toothbrush in homage to that first time. Gazing at myself as I brush my teeth, I’m pale, too pale. But then I’m always pale. The last

time I was here I was single, and now I’m married at twenty-two! I’m getting old. I rinse out my mouth.

Holding up my wrist, I shake it, and the charms on my bracelet give a satisfying rattle. How does my sweet Fifty always know exactly the right thing to give me?

I take a deep breath, attempting to stem the emotion still lurking in my system, and gaze down at the bracelet once more. I bet it cost a fortune. Ah . . . well. He can

I take a deep breath, attempting to stem the emotion still lurking in my system, and gaze down at the bracelet once more. I bet it cost a fortune. Ah . . . well. He can

afford it.

As we walk to the elevators, Christian takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, his thumb brushing over Charlie Tango on my bracelet. “You like?”

“More than like. I love it. Very much. Like you.”

He smiles and kisses my knuckles once more. I feel lighter than I did yesterday. Perhaps because it’s morning and the world always seems a more hopeful place

than it does in the dead of night. Or maybe it’s my husband’s sweet wake-up. Or maybe it’s knowing that Ray is no worse.

As we step into the empty elevator, I glance up at Christian. His eyes flicker quickly down to mine, and he smirks again.

“Don’t,” he whispers as the doors shut.

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

“Fuck the paperwork,” I mutter, grinning.

He laughs, and it’s such a carefree, boyish sound. He tugs me into his arms and tilts my head up. “Someday, I’ll rent this elevator for a whole afternoon.”

“Just the afternoon?” I arch my brow.

“Mrs. Grey, you are greedy.”

“When it comes to you, I am.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” He kisses me gently.

And I don’t know if it’s because we are in this elevator or because he’s not touched me in over twenty-four hours or if he’s just my intoxicating husband, but

desire unwinds and stretches lazily deep in my belly. I run my fingers into his hair and deepen the kiss, pushing him against the wall and bringing my body flush

against his.

He groans into my mouth and cups my head, cradling me as we kiss—really kiss, our tongues exploring the oh-so-familiar but still oh-so-new, oh-so-exciting

territory that is the other’s mouth. My inner goddess swoons, bringing my libido back from purdah. I caress his dear, dear face in my hands.

“Ana,” he breathes.

“I love you, Christian Grey. Don’t forget that,” I whisper as I gaze into darkening gray eyes.

The elevator comes smoothly to a halt and the doors open.

“Let’s go and see your father before I decide to rent this today.” He kisses me quickly, takes my hand, and leads me into the lobby.

As we walk past the concierge, Christian gives a discreet signal to the kindly middle-aged man standing behind the desk. He nods and picks up his phone. I

glance questioningly at Christian, and he gives me his secret smile. I frown at him, and for a moment he looks nervous.

“Where’s Taylor?” I ask.

“We’ll see him shortly.”

Of course, he’s probably fetching the car. “Sawyer?”

“Running errands.”

What errands?

Christian avoids the revolving door, and I know it’s so he doesn’t have to release my hand. The thought warms me. Outside it’s a mild late-summer morning, but

the scent of the coming fall is in the breeze. I glance around, looking for the Audi SUV and Taylor. No sign. Christian’s hand tightens around mine, and I look up at

him. He seems anxious.

“What is it?”

He shrugs. The hum of an approaching car engine distracts me. It’s throaty . . . familiar. As I turn to find the source of the noise, it stops suddenly. Taylor is

climbing out of a sleek white sports car parked in front of us.

Oh shit! It’s an R8. I whip my head back to Christian, who’s watching me warily. “You can buy me one for my birthday . . . a white one, I think.”

“Happy birthday,” he says, and I know he’s gauging my reaction. I gape at him because that’s all I can do. He holds out a key.

“You are completely over the top,” I whisper. He’s bought me a fucking Audi R8! Holy shit. Just like I asked! My face splits in a huge grin, and my inner

goddess does a backflip off the high dive. I jump up and down on the spot in a moment of unguarded and unbridled overexcitement. Christian’s expression mirrors

mine, and I dance forward into his waiting arms. He swings me around.

“You have more money than sense!” I whoop. “I love it! Thank you.” He stops and dips me low suddenly, startling me, so that I have to grasp his upper arms.

“Anything for you, Mrs. Grey.” He grins down at me. Oh my. What a very public display of affection. He bends and kisses me. “Come. Let’s go see your dad.”

“Yes. And I get to drive?”

He grins down at me. “Of course. It’s yours.” He stands me up and releases me, and I hurry around to the driver’s door.

Taylor opens it for me, smiling broadly. “Happy birthday, Mrs. Grey.”

“Thank you, Taylor.” I startle him by giving him a swift hug, which he returns awkwardly. He’s still blushing when I climb into the car, and he closes the door

promptly once I’m inside.

“Drive safe, Mrs. Grey,” he says gruffly. I beam up at him, barely able to contain my excitement.

“Will do.” I promise, putting the key in the ignition as Christian stretches out beside me.

“Take it easy. Nobody chasing us now,” he warns. When I turn the key, the engine thunders to life. I check the rearview and side mirrors, and spotting a rare

moment of clear traffic, execute a huge perfect U-turn and roar off in the direction of OSHU.

“Whoa!” Christian exclaims, alarmed.

“What?”

“I don’t want you in the ICU beside your father. Slow down,” he growls, not to be argued with. I ease off the accelerator and grin at him.

“Better?”

“Much,” he mutters, trying hard to look stern—and failing miserably.

Ray’s condition is the same. Seeing him grounds me after the heady road trip here. I really should drive more carefully. You can’t legislate for every drunk driver in

this world. I must ask Christian what’s become of the asshole who hit Ray—I’m sure he knows. In spite of the tubes, my father looks comfortable, and I think he

has a little more color in his cheeks. While I tell him about my morning, Christian wanders off to the waiting room to make phone calls.

Nurse Kellie hovers, checking Ray’s lines and making notes on his chart. “All his signs are good, Mrs. Grey.” She smiles kindly at me.

“That’s very encouraging.”

A little later Dr. Crowe appears with two nursing assistants and says warmly, “Mrs. Grey, time to take your father up to radiology. We’re giving him a CT scan.

To see how his brain is doing.”

“Will you be long?”

“Up to an hour.”

“Up to an hour.”

“I’ll wait. I’d like to know.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Grey.”

I wander into the thankfully empty waiting room where Christian is talking on the phone, pacing. As he speaks, he gazes out of the window at the panoramic

view of Portland. He turns to me when I shut the door, and he looks angry.

“How far above the limit? . . . I see . . . All charges, everything. Ana’s father is in the ICU—I want you to throw the fucking book at him, Dad . . . Good. Keep

me informed.” He hangs up.

“The other driver?”

He nods. “Some drunken trailer trash from Southeast Portland.” He sneers, and I’m shocked by his terminology and his derisory tone. He walks over to me, and

his tone softens.

“Finished with Ray? Do you want to go?”

“Um . . . no.” I peer up at him, still reeling at his display of contempt.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Ray’s being taken to radiology for a CT scan to check the swelling in his brain. I’d like to wait for the results.”

“Okay. We’ll wait.” He sits down and holds out his arms. As we’re alone, I go willingly and curl up in his lap.

“This is not how I envisaged spending today,” Christian murmurs into my hair.

“Me neither, but I’m feeling more positive now. Your mom was very reassuring. It was kind of her to come last night.”

Christian strokes my back and rests his chin on my head. “My mom is an amazing woman.”

“She is. You’re very lucky to have her.”

Christian nods.

“I should call my mom. Tell her about Ray,” I murmur and Christian stiffens. “I’m surprised she hasn’t called me.” I frown in a moment of realization. In fact, I

feel hurt. It’s my birthday after all, and she was there when I was born. Why hasn’t she called?

“Maybe she did,” Christian says. I fish my BlackBerry out of my pocket. It shows no missed calls, but quite a few texts: happy birthdays from Kate, José, Mia,

and Ethan. Nothing from my mother. I shake my head despondently.

“Call her now,” he says softly. I do, but there’s no reply, just the answering machine. I don’t leave a message. How can my own mother forget my birthday?

“She’s not there. I’ll call later when I know the results of the brain scan.”

Christian tightens his arms around me, nuzzling my hair once more, and wisely makes no comment on my mother’s lack of maternal concern. I feel rather than

hear the buzz of his BlackBerry. He doesn’t let me stand up but fishes it awkwardly out of his pocket.

“Andrea,” he snaps, businesslike again. I make another move to stand and he stops me, frowning and holding me tightly around my waist. I nestle back against

his chest and listen to the one-sided conversation.

“Good . . . ETA is what time? . . . And the other, um . . . packages?” Christian glances at his watch. “Does the Heathman have all the details? . . . Good . . . Yes.

It can hold until Monday morning, but e-mail it just in case—I’ll print, sign, and scan it back to you . . . They can wait. Go home, Andrea . . . No, we’re good,

thank you.” He hangs up.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

“Is this your Taiwan thing?”

“Yes.” He shifts beneath me.

“Am I too heavy?”

He snorts. “No, baby.”

“Are you worried about the Taiwan thing?”

“No.”

“I thought it was important.”

“It is. The shipyard here depends on it. There are lots of jobs at stake.”

Oh!

“We just have to sell it to the unions. That’s Sam and Ros’s job. But the way the economy’s heading, none of us have a lot of choice.”

I yawn.

“Am I boring you, Mrs. Grey?” He nuzzles my hair again, amused.

“No! Never . . . I’m just very comfortable on your lap. I like hearing about your business.”

“You do?” He sounds surprised.

“Of course.” I lean back to gaze directly at him. “I like hearing any bit of information you deign to share with me.” I smirk, and he regards me with amusement

and shakes his head.

“Always hungry for more information, Mrs. Grey.”

“Tell me.” I urge him as I snuggle up against his chest again.

“Tell you what?”

“Why you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Work the way you do.”

“A guy’s got to earn a living.” He’s amused.

“Christian, you earn more than a living.” My voice is full of irony. He frowns and is quiet for a moment. I think he’s not going to divulge any secrets, but he

surprises me.

“I don’t want to be poor,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve done that. I’m not going back there again. Besides . . . it’s a game,” he murmurs. “It’s about winning. A

game I’ve always found very easy.”

“Unlike life,” I murmur to myself. Then I realize I said the words out loud.

“Yes, I suppose.” He frowns. “Though it’s easier with you.”

Easier with me? I hug him tightly. “It can’t all be a game. You’re very philanthropic.”

He shrugs, and I know he’s growing uncomfortable. “About some things, maybe,” he says quietly.

“I love philanthropic Christian,” I murmur.

“Just him?”

“Oh, I love megalomaniac Christian, too, and control-freak Christian, sexpertise Christian, kinky Christian, romantic Christian, shy Christian . . . the list is

“Oh, I love megalomaniac Christian, too, and control-freak Christian, sexpertise Christian, kinky Christian, romantic Christian, shy Christian . . . the list is endless.”

“That’s a whole lot of Christians.”

“I’d say at least fifty.”

He laughs. “Fifty Shades,” he murmurs into my hair.

“My Fifty Shades.”

He shifts, tipping my head back, and kisses me. “Well, Mrs. Shades, let’s see how your dad is doing.”

“Okay.”

“Can we go for a drive?”

Christian and I are back in the R8, and I’m feeling giddily buoyant. Ray’s brain is back to normal—all swelling gone. Dr. Sluder has decided to wake him from

his coma tomorrow. She says she’s pleased with his progress.

“Sure.” Christian grins at me. “It’s your birthday—we can do anything you want.”

Oh! His tone makes me turn and gaze at him. His eyes are dark.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

How much promise can he load into one word? “Well, I want to drive.”

“Then drive, baby.” He grins, and I grin back.

My car handles like a dream, and as we hit the I-5, I subtly put my foot down, forcing us both back in our seats.