Fifty Shades Freed (Fifty Shades 3) - Chapter 132

“Hey, Annie.” He grins. And his face falls.

“Oh, Daddy . . .” I rush to his side, and in a very uncharacteristic move, he opens his arms wide and hugs me.

“Annie?” he whispers. “What is it?” He holds me tight and kisses my hair. As I’m in his arms, I realize how rare these moments between us have been. Why is that? Is that why I like to crawl into Christian’s lap? After a moment, I pull away from him and sit down in the chair beside the bed. Ray’s brow is furrowed with concern.

“Tell your old man.”

I shake my head. He doesn’t need my problems right now.

“It’s nothing, Dad. You look well.” I reach over and clasp his hand.

“Feeling more like myself, though this leg in a cast is bitchin’.”

“Bitchin’?” His word prompts my smile.

He smiles back. “Bitchin’ sounds better than itchin’.”

“Oh, Dad, I am so glad you’re okay.”

“Me, too, Annie. I’d like to bounce some grandchildren on this bitchin’ knee one day. Wouldn’t want to miss that for the world.”

I blink at him. Shit. Does he know? And I fight the tears that prick the corners of my eyes.

“You and Christian getting along?”

“We had a fight,” I whisper, trying to speak past the knot in my throat. “We’ll work it out.”

He nods. “He’s a fine man, your husband,” Ray says reassuringly.

“He has his moments. What did the doctors say?” I don’t want to talk about my husband right now; he’s a painful topic of conversation.

Back at Escala, Christian is not home.

“Christian called and said that he’d be working late,” Mrs. Jones informs me apologetically.

“Oh. Thanks for letting me know.” Why couldn’t he tell me? Jeez, he really is taking his sulk to a whole new level. I am briefly reminded of the fight over our wedding vows and the major tantrum he had then. But I’m the aggrieved one here.

“What would you like to eat?” Mrs. Jones has a determined, steely glint in her eye.

“Pasta.”

She smiles. “Spaghetti, penne, fusilli?”

“Spaghetti, your Bolognese.”

“Coming up. And Ana . . . you should know Mr. Grey was frantic this morning when he thought you’d left. He was beside himself.” She smiles fondly.

Oh . . .

He’s still not home by nine. I am sitting at my desk in the library, wondering where he is. I call him.

“Ana,” he says, his voice cool.

“Hi.”

He inhales softly. “Hi,” he says, his voice lower.

“Are you coming home?”

“Later.”

“Are you in the office?”

“Yes. Where did you expect me to be?”

With her. “I’ll let you go.”

We both hang on the line, the silence stretching and tightening between us.

“Goodnight, Ana,” he says eventually.

“Goodnight, Christian.”

He hangs up.

Oh shit. I gaze at my BlackBerry. I don’t know what he expects me to do. I’m not going to let him walk all over me. Yes, he’s mad, fair enough. I’m mad. But we are where we are. I haven’t run off looselipped to my ex-paedo lover. I want him to acknowledge that that is not an acceptable way to behave.

I sit back in my chair, gazing at the billiard table in the library, and recall fun times playing snooker. I place my hand on my belly. Maybe it’s just too early. Maybe this is not meant to be . . . And even as I think that, my subconscious is screaming no! If I terminate this pregnancy, I will never forgive myself – or Christian. “Oh, Blip, what have you done to us?” I can’t face talking to Kate. I can’t face talking to anyone. I text her, promising to call soon.

By eleven, I can no longer keep my eyelids open. Resigned, I head up to my old room. Curling up beneath the duvet, I finally let myself go, sobbing into my pillow, great heaving unladylike sobs of grief . . .

My head is heavy when I wake. Crisp fall light shines through the great windows of my room. Glancing at my alarm I see it’s seven thirty. My immediate thought is where’s Christian? I sit up and swing my legs out of bed. On the floor beside the bed is Christian’s silver-gray tie, my favorite. It wasn’t there when I went to bed last night. I pick it up and stare at it, caressing the silky material between my thumbs and forefingers, then hug it against my cheek. He was here, watching me sleep. And a glimmer of hope sparks deep inside me.

Mrs. Jones is busy in the kitchen when I arrive downstairs.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

“Morning. Christian?” I ask.

Her face falls. “He’s already left.”

“So he did come home?” I need to check, even though I have his tie as evidence.

“He did,” she pauses, “Ana, please forgive me for speaking out of turn, but don’t give up on him. He’s a stubborn man.”

I nod, and she stops. I’m sure my expression tells her I do not want to discuss my errant husband right now.

When I arrive at work, I check my e-mails. My heart leaps into overdrive when I see there’s one from Christian.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Portland

Date: September 15, 2011 06:45

To: Anastasia Grey

Ana,

I am flying down to Portland today.

I have some business to conclude with WSU.

I thought you would want to know.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh. Tears prick my eyes. That’s it? My stomach flips. Shit! I am going to be sick. I race to the powder room and make it just in time, depositing my breakfast into the toilet. I sink to the floor of the cubicle and put my head in my hands. Could I be any more miserable? After a while, there’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Ana?” It’s Hannah.