Текст книги "Fifty Shades Freed"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

He grins up at me. “Well, Mrs. Grey, now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

I lean down and whisper in his ear, “I am going to fuck you with my mouth.”

He closes his eyes, inhaling sharply, and I run my teeth gently along his jaw.

Christian is working at the computer. It’s a bright early morning, and he’s tapping out an e-mail, I think.

“Good morning,” I murmur shyly from the doorway. He turns and smiles at me.

“Mrs. Grey. You’re up early.” He holds open his arms.

I bolt across the suite and curl into his lap. “As are you.”

“I was just working.” He shifts as he kisses my hair.

“What?” I ask, sensing something wrong.

He sighs. “I got an e-mail from Detective Clark. He wants to talk to you about that fucker Hyde.”

“Really?” I sit back to gaze at Christian.

“Yes. I told him you’re in Portland for the time being, so he’ll have to wait. But he says he’d like to interview you here.”

“He’s coming here?”

“Apparently so.” Christian looks bemused.

I frown. “What’s so important that can’t wait?”

“Exactly.”

“When’s he coming?”

“Today. I’ll e-mail him back.”

“I have nothing to hide. I wonder what he wants to know?”

“We’ll find out when he gets here. I’m intrigued, too.” Christian shifts again. “Breakfast will be here shortly. Let’s eat, then we can go and see your dad.”

I nod. “You can stay here if you want. I can see you’re busy.”

He scowls. “No, I want to come with you.”

“Okay.” I grin, and wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.

Ray is bad-tempered. It’s a joy. He’s itchy, scratchy, impatient, and uncomfortable.

“Dad, you’ve been in a major car accident. It will take time to heal. Christian and I want to move you to Seattle.”

“I don’t know why you’re bothering with me. I’ll be fine here on my own.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I squeeze his hand fondly, and he has the grace to smile at me.

“Do you need anything?”

“I could murder a doughnut, Annie.”

I grin indulgently at him. “I’ll get you a doughnut or two. We’ll go to Voodoo.”

“Great!”

“You want some decent coffee, too?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Okay, I’ll go get some.”

Christian is once more in the waiting room, talking on the phone. He really should set up office in here. Weirdly, he’s by himself, although the other ICU beds are

occupied. I wonder if Christian’s frightened off the other visitors. He hangs up.

occupied. I wonder if Christian’s frightened off the other visitors. He hangs up.

“Clark will be here at four this afternoon.”

I frown. What could be so urgent? “Okay. Ray wants coffee and doughnuts.”

Christian laughs. “I think I would too if I’d been in an accident. Ask Taylor to go.”

“No, I’ll go.”

“Take Taylor with you.” His voice is stern.

“Okay.” I roll my eyes and he glares. Then he smirks and cocks his head to one side.

“There’s no one here.” His voice is deliciously low, and I know he’s threatening to spank me. I am about to dare him, when a young couple enters the room. She

is weeping softly.

I shrug apologetically at Christian, and he nods. He picks up his laptop, takes my hand, and leads me out of the room. “They need the privacy more than we do,”

Christian murmurs. “We’ll have our fun later.”

Outside Taylor is waiting patiently. “Let’s all go get coffee and doughnuts.”

At four o’clock precisely there’s a knock on the suite door. Taylor ushers in Detective Clark, who looks more bad-tempered than usual. He always seems to look

bad-tempered. Perhaps it’s the way his face is set.

“Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey, thank you for seeing me.”

“Detective Clark.” Christian shakes his hand and directs him to a seat. I sit down on the sofa where I enjoyed myself so much last night. The thought makes me

blush.

“It’s Mrs. Grey I wish to see,” Clark says pointedly to Christian and to Taylor stationed beside the door. Christian glances then nods almost imperceptibly at

Taylor who turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

“Anything you wish to say to my wife you can say in front of me.” Christian’s voice is cool and businesslike. Detective Clark turns to me.

“Are you sure you’d like your husband to be present?”

I frown at him. “Of course. I have nothing to hide. You are just interviewing me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’d like my husband to stay.”

Christian sits beside me, radiating tension.

“All right,” murmurs Clark, resigned. He clears his throat. “Mrs. Grey, Mr. Hyde maintains that you sexually harassed him and made several lewd advances

toward him.”

Oh! I almost burst out laughing, but put my hand on Christian’s thigh to restrain him as he shifts forward in his seat.

“That’s preposterous,” Christian splutters. I squeeze Christian’s leg to silence him.

“That’s not true,” I state calmly. “In fact, it was the other way around. He propositioned me in a very aggressive manner, and he was fired.”

Detective Clark’s mouth flattens briefly into a thin line before he continues.

“Hyde alleges that you fabricated a tale about sexual harassment in order to get him fired. He says that you did this because he refused your advances and because you wanted his job.”

I frown. Holy crap. Jack is even more delusional than I thought.“That’s not true.” I shake my head.

“Detective, please don’t tell me you have driven all this way to harass my wife with these ridiculous accusations.”

Detective Clark turns his steely blue glare on Christian. “I need to hear this from Mrs. Grey, sir,” he says with quiet restraint. I squeeze Christian’s leg once more,

silently imploring him to keep his cool.

“You don’t have to listen to this shit, Ana.”

“I think I should let Detective Clark know what happened.”

Christian gazes at me impassively for a beat then waves his hand in a gesture of resignation.

“What Hyde says is simply not true.” My voice sounds calm, although I feel anything but. I’m bewildered by these accusations and nervous that Christian might

explode. What’s Jack’s game? “Mr. Hyde accosted me in the office kitchen one evening. He told me that it was thanks to him that I had been hired and that he

expected sexual favors in return. He tried to blackmail me, using e-mails that I’d sent to Christian, who wasn’t my husband then. I didn’t know Hyde had been

monitoring my e-mails. He’s delusional—he even accused me of being a spy sent by Christian, presumably to help him take over the company. He didn’t know that

Christian had already bought SIP.” I shake my head as I recall my distressing, tense encounter with Hyde.

“In the end, I-I took him down.”

Clark’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Took him down?”

“My father is ex-army. Hyde . . . um, touched me, and I know how to defend myself.”

Christian glances at me with a brief look of pride.

“I see.” Clark leans back on the sofa, sighing heavily.

“Have you spoken to any of Hyde’s former PAs?” Christian asks almost genially.

“Yes, we have. But the truth is we can’t get any of his assistants to talk to us. They all say he was an exemplary boss, even though none of them lasted more than

three months.”

“We’ve had that problem, too,” Christian murmurs.

Oh? I gape at Christian as does Detective Clark.

“My security chief. He’s interviewed Hyde’s past five PAs.”

“And why’s that?”

Christian gives him a steely glare. “Because my wife worked for him, and I run security checks on anyone my wife works with.”

Detective Clark flushes. I shrug apologetically at him with a welcome-to-my-world smile.

“I see,” Clark murmurs. “I think there’s more to this than meets the eye, Mr. Grey. We are conducting a more thorough search of his apartment tomorrow, so

maybe something will present itself then. Though by all accounts he hasn’t lived there for some time.”

“You’ve searched already?”

“Yes. We’re doing it again. A fingertip search this time.”

“You’ve still not charged him with the attempted murder of Ros Bailey and myself?” Christian says softly.

What?

What?

“We’re hoping to find more evidence in regard to the sabotage of your aircraft, Mr. Grey. We need more than a partial print, and while he’s in custody, we can

build a case.”

“Is this all you came down here for?”

Clark bristles. “Yes, Mr. Grey, it is, unless you’ve had any further thoughts about the note?”

Note? What note?

“No. I told you. It means nothing to me.” Christian cannot hide his irritation. “And I don’t see why we couldn’t have done this over the phone.”

“I think I told you I prefer a hands-on approach. And I’m visiting my great-aunt who lives in Portland—two birds . . . one stone.” Clark remains stony faced and

unfazed by my husband’s bad temper.

“Well, if we’re all done, I have work to attend to.” Christian stands and Detective Clark follows his cue.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Grey,” he says politely.

I nod.

“Mr. Grey.” Christian opens the door, and Clark leaves.

I sag into the sofa.

“Can you believe that asshole?” Christian explodes.

“Clark?”

“No. That fucker, Hyde.”

“No, I can’t.”

“What’s his fucking game?” Christian whispers through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know. Do you think Clark believed me?”

“Of course he did. He knows Hyde is a fucked-up asshole.”

“You’re very sweary.”

“Sweary?” Christian smirks. “Is that even a word?”

“It is now.”

Unexpectedly he grins and sits down beside me, pulling me into his arms.

“Don’t think about that fucker. Let’s go see your dad and try to talk about the move tomorrow.”

“He was adamant that he wanted to stay in Portland and not be a bother.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“I want to travel with him.”

Christian gazes at me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say no. “Okay. I’ll come, too. Sawyer and Taylor can take the cars. I’ll let Sawyer drive your R8

tonight.”

The following day Ray is examining his new surroundings—an airy, light, room in the rehabilitation center of Northwest Hospital in Seattle. It’s noon, and he looks

sleepy. The journey, via helicopter no less, has exhausted him.

“Tell Christian I appreciate this,” he says quietly.

“You can tell him yourself. He’ll be along this evening.”

“Aren’t you going to work?”

“Probably. I just want to make sure you’re settled in here.”

“You get along. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I like worrying about you. My BlackBerry buzzes. I check the number—it’s not one I recognize.

“You going to answer that?” Ray asks.

“No. I don’t know who it is. The voice mail can take it for me. I brought you something to read.” I indicate the pile of sports magazines on his bedside table.

“Thanks, Annie.”

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

He nods.

“I’ll let you get some sleep.” I kiss his forehead. “Laters, Daddy,” I murmur.

“I’ll see you later, honey. And thank you.” Ray catches my hand and squeezes it gently. “I like that you call me Daddy. Takes me back.”

Oh, Daddy. I return his squeeze.

As I head out the main doors toward the SUV where Sawyer is waiting, I hear my name being called.

“Mrs. Grey! Mrs. Grey!”

Turning, I see Dr. Greene hurrying toward me, looking her usual immaculate self, if a little flustered.

“Mrs. Grey, how are you? Did you get my message? I called earlier.”

“No.” My scalp prickles.

“Well, I was wondering why you’d cancelled four appointments.”

Four appointments? I gape at her. I’ve missed four appointments! How?

“Perhaps we should talk about this in my office. I was going out for lunch—do you have time right now?”

I nod meekly. “Sure. I . . .” Words fail me. I’ve missed four appointments? I’m late for my shot. Shit.

I follow her in a daze back into the hospital and up to her office. How did I miss four appointments? I vaguely remember one being moved—Hannah mentioned

it—but four? How could I miss four?

Dr. Greene’s office is spacious, minimalistic, and well appointed.

“I’m so grateful you caught me before I left,” I mumble, still shell-shocked. “My father’s been in a car accident, and we’ve just moved him here from Portland.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing okay, thank you. On the mend.”

“That’s good. And it explains why you cancelled on Friday.”

Dr. Greene wiggles the mouse on her desk, and her computer comes to life.

“Yes . . . it’s been over thirteen weeks. You’re cutting it a bit close. We’d better do a test before we give you another shot.”

“Yes . . . it’s been over thirteen weeks. You’re cutting it a bit close. We’d better do a test before we give you another shot.”

“A test?” I whisper, all the blood rushing from my head.

“A pregnancy test.”

Oh, no.

She reaches into the drawer of her desk. “You know what to do with this.” She hands me a small container. “The restroom is just outside my office.”

I get up as if in a trance, my whole body operating as if on automatic pilot and I stumble to the restroom.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. How could I have let this happen . . . again? I suddenly feel sick and offer a silent prayer. Please no. Please no. It’s too soon. It’s too

soon. It’s too soon.

When I reenter Dr. Greene’s office, she gives me a tight smile and waves me to the seat in front of her desk. I sit down and wordlessly hand her my sample. She

dips a small white stick into it and watches. She raises her eyebrows as it turns pale blue.

“What does blue mean?” The tension is almost choking me.

She looks up at me, her eyes serious. “Well, Mrs. Grey, it means you’re pregnant.”

What? No. No. No. Fuck.

I gape at Dr. Greene, my world collapsing around me. A baby. A baby. I don’t want a baby . . . not yet. Fuck. And I know deep down that Christian is going to

freak.

“Mrs. Grey, you’re very pale. Would you like a glass of water?”

“Please.” My voice is a barely audible. My mind is racing. Pregnant? When?

“I take it you’re surprised.”

I nod mutely at the good doctor as she hands me a glass of water from her conveniently placed water cooler. I take a welcome sip. “Shocked,” I whisper.

“We could do an ultrasound to see how advanced the pregnancy is. Judging by your reaction, I suspect you’re just a couple of weeks or so from conception—

four or five weeks pregnant. I take it you haven’t been suffering any other symptoms?”

I shake my head mutely. Symptoms? I don’t think so. “I thought . . . I thought this was a reliable form of contraceptive.”

Dr. Greene arches a brow. “It normally is, when you remember to have the shot,” she says coolly.

“I must have lost track of time.” Christian is going to freak. I know it.

“Have you been bleeding at all?”

I frown. “No.”

“That’s normal for the Depo. Let’s do an ultrasound shall we? I have time.”

I nod, bewildered, and Dr. Greene directs me toward a black leather exam table behind a screen.

“If you’ll just slip off your skirt, underwear, and cover yourself with the blanket on the table, we’ll go from there,” she says briskly.

Underwear? I was expecting an ultrasound scan over my belly. Why do I need to remove my panties? I shrug in consternation then quickly do as she says and lie

down beneath the soft white blanket.

“That’s good.” Dr. Greene appears at the end of the table, pulling the ultrasound machine closer. It’s a hi-tech stack of computers. Sitting down, she positions the

screen so that we can both see it and jogs the trackball on the keyboard. The screen pings into life.

“If you could lift and bend your knees, then part them wide,” she says matter-of-factly.

I frown warily.

“This is a transvaginal ultrasound. If you’re only just pregnant, we should be able to find the baby with this.” She holds up a long white probe.

Oh, you have got to be kidding!

“Okay,” I mutter, mortified, and do as she says. Greene pulls a condom over the wand and lubricates it with clear gel.

“Mrs. Grey, if you could relax.”

Relax? I’m pregnant, damn it! How do you expect me to relax? I blush, and endeavor to find my happy place . . . which has relocated somewhere near the lost

Island of Atlantis.

Slowly and gently she inserts the probe.

Holy fuck!

All I can see on the screen is the visual equivalent of white noise—although it’s more sepia in color. Slowly, Dr. Greene moves the probe about, and it’s very

disconcerting.

“There,” she murmurs. She presses a button, freezing the picture on the screen, and points to a tiny blip in the sepia storm.

It’s a little blip. There’s a tiny little blip in my belly. Tiny. Wow. I forget my discomfort as I stare shell-shocked at the blip.

“It’s too early to see the heartbeat, but yes, you’re definitely pregnant. Four or five weeks, I would say.” She frowns. “Looks like the shot ran out early. Oh well,

that happens sometimes.”

I am too stunned to say anything. The little blip is a baby. A real honest to goodness baby. Christian’s baby. My baby. Holy cow. A baby!

“Would you like me to print out a picture for you?”

“Would you like me to print out a picture for you?”

I nod, still unable to speak, and Dr. Greene presses a button. Then she gently removes the wand and hands me a paper towel to clean myself.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Grey,” she says as I sit up. “We’ll need to make another appointment. I suggest in four weeks’ time. Then we can ascertain the exact age

of your baby and set a likely due date. You can get dressed now.”

“Okay.” I’m reeling and I dress hurriedly. I have a blip, a little blip. When I emerge from behind the screen, Dr. Greene is back at her desk.

“In the meantime, I’d like you to start this course of folic acid and prenatal vitamins. Here’s a leaflet of dos and don’ts.”

As she hands me a package of pills and a leaflet, she continues to talk at me, but I’m not listening. I’m in shock. Overwhelmed. Surely I should be happy. Surely

I should be thirty . . . at least. This is too soon—far too soon. I try to quell my rising sense of panic.

I wish Dr. Greene a polite good-bye and head in a daze back down to the exit and out into the cool fall afternoon. I’m gripped suddenly by a creeping cold and

deep sense of foreboding. Christian is going to freak, I know, but how much and how far, I have no idea. His words haunt me. “I’m not ready to share you yet.” I

pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to shake off the cold.

Sawyer leaps out of the SUV and holds open the door. He frowns when he sees my face, but I ignore his concerned expression.

“Where to, Mrs. Grey?” he asks gently.

“SIP.” I nestle into the backseat of the car, closing my eyes and leaning my head on the headrest. I should be happy. I know I should be happy. But I’m not. This

is too early. Far too early. What about my job? What about SIP? What about Christian and me? No. No. No. We’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He loved baby Mia—I

remember Carrick telling me—he dotes on her now. Perhaps I should warn Flynn . . . Perhaps I shouldn’t tell Christian. Perhaps I . . . perhaps I should end this. I

halt my thoughts on that dark path, alarmed at the direction they’re taking. Instinctively my hand sweeps down to rest protectively over my belly. No. My little Blip.

Tears spring to my eyes. What am I going to do?

A vision of a little boy with copper-colored hair and bright gray eyes, running through the meadow at the new house invades my thoughts, teasing and tantalizing

me with possibilities. He’s giggling and squealing with delight as Christian and I chase him. Christian swings him high in his arms and carries him on his hip as we

walk hand in hand back to the house.

My vision morphs into Christian turning away from me in disgust. I’m fat and awkward, heavy with child. He paces the long hall of mirrors, away from me, the

sound of his footsteps echoing off the silvered glass, walls, and floor. Christian . . .

I jerk awake. No. He’s going to freak out.

When Sawyer pulls up outside SIP, I leap out and head into the building.

“Ana, great to see you. How’s your dad?” Hannah asks as soon as I reach my office. I regard her coolly.

“He’s better, thank you. Can I see you in my office?”

“Sure.” She looks surprised as she follows me in. “Is everything okay?”

“I need to know if you’ve moved or cancelled any appointments with Dr. Greene.”

“Dr. Greene? Yes, I have. About two or three of them. Mostly because you were in other meetings or running late. Why?”

Because now I’m fucking pregnant! I scream at her in my head. I take a deep, steadying breath. “If you move any appointments, will you make sure I know? I

don’t always check my calendar.”

“Sure,” Hannah says quietly. “I’m sorry. Have I done something wrong?”

I shake my head and sigh loudly. “Can you make me some tea? Then let’s discuss what’s been happening while I’ve been away.”

“Sure. I’ll jump to it.” Brightening, she heads out of the office.

I gaze after her departing figure. “You see that woman?” I talk quietly to the Blip. “She might be the reason you’re here.” I pat my belly then feel like a complete

idiot, because I am talking to the blip. My tiny little Blip. I shake my head, exasperated at myself and at Hannah . . . though deep down I know I can’t really blame

Hannah. Despondently I switch on my computer. There’s an e-mail from Christian.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Missing You

Date: September 13, 2011 13:58

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

I’ve been back in the office for only three hours, and I’m missing you already.

Hope Ray has settled into his new room okay. Mom is going to see him this afternoon and check up on him.

I’ll collect you around six this evening, and we can go and see him before heading home.

Sound good?

Your loving husband

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I type a quick response.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Missing You

Date: September 13, 2011 14:10

To: Christian Grey

Sure.

x

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Missing You

Date: September 13, 2011 14:14

To: Anastasia Grey

Are you okay?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

No, Christian, I’m not. I’m freaking out about you freaking out. I don’t know what to do. But I am not going to tell you via e-mail.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Missing You

Date: September 13, 2011 14:17

To: Christian Grey

Fine. Just busy.

See you at six.

x

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

When will I tell him? Tonight? Maybe after sex? Maybe during sex. No, that might be dangerous for both of us. When he’s asleep? I put my head in my hands.

What the hell am I going to do?

“Hi,” Christian says warily as I climb into the SUV.

“Hi,” I murmur.

“What’s wrong?” He frowns. I shake my head as Taylor sets off toward the hospital.

“Nothing.” Maybe now? I could tell him now when we’re in a contained space and Taylor is with us.

“Is work all right?” Christian continues to probe.

“Yes. Fine. Thanks.”

“Ana, what’s wrong?” His tone is a little more forceful, and I chicken out.

“I’ve just missed you, that’s all. And I’ve been worried about Ray.”

Christian visibly relaxes. “Ray’s good. I spoke to Mom this afternoon and she’s impressed with his progress.” Christian grasps my hand. “Boy, your hand is cold.

Have you eaten today?”

I blush.

“Ana,” Christian scolds me, annoyed.

Well, I haven’t eaten because I know you’re going to go bat-shit crazy when I tell you I’m pregnant.

“I’ll eat this evening. I haven’t really had time.”

He shakes his head in frustration. “Do you want me to add ‘feed my wife’ to the security detail’s list of duties?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll eat. It’s just been a weird day. You know, moving Dad and all.”

His lips press into a hard line, but he says nothing. I gaze out the window. Tell him! My subconscious hisses. No. I’m a coward.

Christian interrupts my reverie. “I may have to go to Taiwan.”

“Oh. When?”

“Later this week. Maybe next week.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to come with me.”

I swallow. “Christian, please. I have my job. Let’s not rehash this argument again.”

He sighs and pouts like a sulky teenager. “Thought I’d ask,” he mutters petulantly.

“How long will you go for?”

“Not more than a couple of days. I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you.”

How can he tell? “Well, now that my beloved husband is going away . . .”

Christian kisses my knuckles. “I won’t be away for long.”

“Good.” I smile weakly at him.

Ray is much brighter and a lot less grumpy when we see him. I’m touched by his quiet gratitude to Christian, and for a moment I forget about my impending news

as I sit and listen to them talk fishing and the Mariners. But he tires easily.

“Daddy, we’ll leave you to sleep.”

“Thanks, Ana honey. I like that you drop by. Saw your mom today, too, Christian. She was very reassuring. And she’s a Mariners fan.”

“She’s not crazy about fishing, though,” Christian says wryly as he rises.

“Don’t know many women who are, eh?” Ray grins.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” I kiss him. My subconscious purses her lips. That’s provided Christian hasn’t locked you away . . . or worse. My spirits take a

nosedive.

“Come.” Christian holds out his hand, frowning at me. I take it and we leave the hospital.

I pick at my food. It’s Mrs. Jones’s chicken chasseur, but I’m just not hungry. My stomach is knotted in a tight ball of anxiety.

“Damn it! Ana, will you tell me what’s wrong?” Christian pushes his empty plate away, irritated. I gaze at him. “Please. You’re driving me crazy.”

I swallow and try to subdue the panic rising in my throat. I take a deep steadying breath. It’s now or never. “I’m pregnant.”

He stills, and very slowly all the color drains from his face. “What?” he whispers, ashen.

“I’m pregnant.”

His brow furrows with incomprehension. “How?”

How . . . how? What sort of ridiculous question is that? I blush, and give him a quizzical how-do-you-think look.

His stance changes immediately, his eyes hardening to flint. “Your shot?” he snarls.

Oh shit.

“Did you forget your shot?”

“Did you forget your shot?”

I just gaze at him unable to speak. Jeez, he’s mad—really mad.

“Christ, Ana!” He bangs his fist on the table, making me jump, and stands so abruptly he almost knocks the dining chair over. “You have one thing, one thing to

remember. Shit! I don’t fucking believe it. How could you be so stupid?”

Stupid! I gasp. Shit. I want to tell him that the shot was ineffective, but words fail me. I gaze down at my fingers. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Sorry? Fuck!” he says again.

“I know the timing’s not very good.”

“Not very good!” he shouts. “We’ve known each other five fucking minutes. I wanted to show you the fucking world and now . . . Fuck. Diapers and vomit and

shit!” He closes his eyes. I think he’s trying to contain his temper and losing the battle.

“Did you forget? Tell me. Or did you do this on purpose?” His eyes blaze and anger emanates off him like a force field.

“No,” I whisper. I can’t tell him about Hannah—he’d fire her. I know.

“I thought we’d agreed on this!” he shouts.

“I know. We had. I’m sorry.”

He ignores me. “This is why. This is why I like control. So shit like this doesn’t come along and fuck everything up.”

No . . . Little Blip. “Christian, please don’t shout at me.” Tears start to slip down my face.

“Don’t start with waterworks now,” he snaps. “Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at it as he does. “You think I’m ready to be a father?” His voice

catches, and it’s a mixture of rage and panic.

And it all becomes clear, the fear and loathing writ large in his eyes—his rage is that of a powerless adolescent. Oh, Fifty, I am so sorry. It’s a shock for me, too.

“I know neither one of us is ready for this, but I think you’ll make a wonderful father,” I choke. “We’ll figure it out.”

“How the fuck do you know!” he shouts, louder this time. “Tell me how!” His gray eyes burn, and so many emotions cross his face. It’s fear that’s most

prominent.

“Oh fuck this!” Christian bellows dismissively and holds his hands up in a gesture of defeat. He turns on his heel and stalks toward the foyer, grabbing his jacket

as he leaves the great room. His footsteps echo off the wooden floor, and he disappears through the double doors into the foyer, slamming the door behind him and

making me jump once more.

I am alone with the silence—the still, silent emptiness of the great room. I shudder involuntarily as I gaze numbly at the closed doors. He’s walked out on me.

Shit! His reaction is far worse than I could ever have imagined. I push my plate away and fold my arms on the table, letting my head sink into them while I weep.

“Ana, dear.” Mrs. Jones is hovering beside me.

I sit up quickly, dashing the tears from my face.

“I heard. I’m sorry,” she says gently. “Would you like an herbal tea or something?”

“I’d like a glass of white wine.”

Mrs. Jones pauses for a fraction of a second, and I remember Blip. Now I can’t drink alcohol. Can I? I must study the dos and don’ts Dr. Greene gave me.

“I’ll get you a glass.”

“Actually, I’ll have a cup of tea, please.” I wipe my nose. She smiles kindly.

“Cup of tea coming up.” She clears our plates and heads over to the kitchen area. I follow her and perch on a stool, watching her prepare my tea.

She places a steaming mug in front of me. “Is there anything else I can get for you, Ana?”

“No, this is fine, thank you.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t eat much.”

I gaze up at her. “I’m just not hungry.”

“Ana, you should eat. It’s not just you anymore. Please let me fix you something. What would you like?” She looks so hopefully at me. But really, I can’t face

anything.

My husband has just walked out on me because I’m pregnant, my father has been in a major car accident, and there’s Jack Hyde the nutcase trying to make out

that I sexually harassed him. I suddenly have an uncontrollable urge to giggle. See what you’ve done to me, Little Blip! I caress my belly.

Mrs. Jones smiles indulgently at me. “Do you know how far you are?” she asks softly.

“Very newly pregnant. Four or five weeks, the doctor isn’t sure.”

“If you won’t eat, then at least you should rest.”

I nod, and taking my tea, I head into the library. It’s my refuge. I dig my BlackBerry out of my purse and contemplate calling Christian. I know it’s a shock for

him—but he really did overreact. When does he not overreact? My subconscious arches a finely plucked brow at me. I sigh. Fifty Shades of fucked up.

“Yes, that’s your daddy, Little Blip. Hopefully he’ll cool off and come back . . . soon.”

I pull out the leaflet of dos and don’ts and sit down to read.

I can’t concentrate. Christian’s never walked out on me before. He’s been so thoughtful and kind over the last few days, so loving and now . . . Suppose he never

comes back? Shit! Perhaps I should call Flynn. I don’t know what to do. I’m at a loss. He’s so fragile in so many ways, and I knew he’d react badly to the news. He