by E. L. James
There's a knock on the door, and Taylor enters bearing a black cardboard box
I ' ' ll 01 in creai i he idc
Holy cow!
"Food?" Dr. Bartley says surprised.
"Mrs. Grey is hung 1 stian sa> H chicken soup."
Dr. Bartley smiles. "Soup will be fine, just the broth. Nothing heavy." She
looks pointedly at both of us then exits the room » ilh Nurse Nora.
Christian pulls the \ heeled tray o er to me. and Tax lor places the box on it.
"Welcome back, Mrs. Grey."
"Hello, Taylor. Thank you."
off.
Christian is unpacking the box. producing a thermos, soup bowl, side plate,
linen napkin, soupspoon, a small basket of bread rolls, silver salt and pepper
shakers . . . The Olympic has gone all-out.
"This is great. Tax Kir." M stomach is rumbling. I am famished.
"Will that be all?" he asks.
"Yes, thanks," Christian saws, dismissing him.
Taylor nods.
" ra lor. thank on."
I glance at Christian. "Just some clean clothes for Christian."
Taylor exits.
lid of the thermos and pouring creams chicken soup into the bowl.
smells delicious, and steam curls in ilingK from its sui face. I lake a taste and it's
e cry thing it promised to be.
"Good?" Chrrsti 11 sk king in the bed again.
I nod enthusiastically and don't stop. My hunger is primal. I pause only to
wipe my mouth with the linen napkin.
"Tell mc what happened after you realized \ liai was going on."
Christian runs las hand through ins hail and shake-, Ins head. "Oh. na. it's
good to see you eat."
Christian glances down at his shirt,
"How long have you been wearing t
his shirt, bemused.
"I'm hungry. Tell me."
He frowns. "Well, alter the bank tailed and 1 dim. gin my world had com-
plete!) fallen apart " I le ean'l hide die pain in his oiec.
I stop eating. Oh shit.
"Don't stop eating, or Til slop talking." lie whispers, his lone adamant as he
glares at me. I continue with my soup. Okay, okay . . . Damn, it tastes good.
Christian's gaze soflens and after a beat, he resumes.
"Anyw i h 11 ii ti and I inish i it 1 i i
formed me that Hyde had been granted bail. How. I don't know, I thought we'd
managed lo ihwarl an altempls at bail. Bui ilia! gave me a inomenl lo think aboul
what you'd said . . . and 1 knew something was seriously wrong."
"It was never aboul the money." I snap suddenh . an unexpected surge of an-
ger Ifaring in my belly. My voice rises. "How could you even think that? It's nev-
er been about om I 1 ii I h i 1 | in ind I wince. Christi-
an gapes at me for a split second, surprised by my vehemence. He narrows his
eyes.
"Mind your language." lie grow is. ■■(/aim down and eat. "I glare mutinously at
you seeing that woman."
He inhales sharply as if I've slapped him and all of a sudden, lie looks e-
i I 1 II I I 1 i i e I
"I know." He sighs. "And I'm sorry. More than you know." His eyes arc lu-
ll II i I Ii
"Go on," I whisper, between biles of the illicit fresh w hue bread rod.
"We didn't know Mia was missing. I thought maybe he was blackmailing
you or something. I called you back, but you didn't answer." He scowls. "I left
you a message then called so :i Hivler si ai i tracking oui cell. I knew you
w ere at the bank, so we headed straight there."
"I don't know how Saw yer found me. W as he tracking m cell, too?"
"The Saab is fitted with a tracking device. All our cars are. By the time we
got near the bank, you were already on the move, and we followed. Why are you
smiling?"
"On some level I knew you'd be stalking me."
"And that is amusing because?" he asks.
"Jack had instructed me to get rid of my cell. So I borrowed Whelan's cell,
and that's the one I threw away. I put mine into one of the duffle bags so you
could track your money."
Christian sighs. "Our money, Ana," he says quietly. "Eat."
1 wipe my soup bowl with the last of my bread and pop it into my mouth. For
the firsl lime in a long while, i feel replete in spile ol'oui com ersalion.
"Finished."
"Good girl."
There's a knock on the door and Nurse Nora enters once more, carrying a
small paper cup. Christ I I i lai lilting 11 the items
back into the box.
""Pain relief." Nora smiles, show ing ine Hie w hile phi in the paper cup.
"Is this okay to take? You know — with the baby?"
"Yes. Mrs. Grey. It's Lortab it's fine: ii won't affect the baby."
I nod gratefully. My head is pounding. I swallow it down with a sip of w ■net .
i i i i i i > 1 i i i ill 1 1 ii * I i i
He nods.
Christian snorts. "If you ihink for one moment I'm going to let you out of my
Nora huffs but hovers over me and readjusts my pillows so that I have to lie
"Goodnight, Mrs. Grey," she says, and with one last censorious glance at
He raises an ey ebrow as she closes the door.
""I don't think Nurse Nora approves of mc."
He stands by the feci, looking tired, and despite the fael that 1 want him to
stay. I know I should in to persuade him to go home.
"You need rest, too, Christian. Go home. You look exhausted."
"I'm not leaving you. I'll doze in this armchair."
I scowl at him then shift onto my side.
"Sleep with me."
He frowns. "No. I can't."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't hurt me. Please, Christian."
"You have an IV."
"Christian. Please."
i le gazes at inc. and 1 can tell he's tempted.
"Please." I lift up the blankets, inviting him into the bed.
"Fuck it." He sit 11" I I soc d gingerl limbs in beside me.
Gently, he wraps his arm around me, and I lay my head on his chest. He kisses my
"I don't think Nurse Nora w ill he very happy w ith this arrangement."' he
whispers conspiratonally.
I giggle, then stop as pain lances through my chest. "Don't make me laugh. It
"Oh, but I love that sound," he says a little sadly, his voice low. "I'm sorry,
baby, so, so sorry." He kisses my hair again and inhales deeply, and I don't know
what he's apologizing for . . . making me laugh? Or the mess we're in? 1 rest my
hand over his heart, and lie genth places his hand on mine. We arc both silent for
"Why did you go see that woman?"
"Oh, Ana." He groans. "You want to discuss that now? Can't we drop this? I
regret it, okay?"
"I need to know."
to talk to you. Just routine. Now go to sleep."
1 le kisses my hair. I sigh heavily. I need to know why. At least he says he re-
grets it. That's something, my subconscious agrees. She's in an agreeable mood
today, it seems. Ugh, Detective Clark. 1 shudder at the thought of reliving
Thnrsda 's events for him.
"Do we know why Jack was doing all this?"
"Hmm," Christian murmurs. I'm soothed by the slow rise and fall of his
chest, gently rocking my head, lulling mc to sleep as his breathing slows. And
while I drift I try to make sense of the fragments of conversations 1 heard while I
was on the edge of
consciousness, but they slither through my mind, remaining
steadfastly elusive, taunting mc from the edges of my memory. Oh, it's frustrating
and exhausting . . . and . . .
Nurse Nora's month K pursed arid her arms folded in hostility. I hold my finger
up to my lips.
"Please let him -Icon." i w Insper. squinting in die earls morning light.
"This is your bed. Not his," she hisses sternly.
"1 slept better because he was here." I insist, rushing to my husband's de-
fense. Besides, it's true. Christian stirs, and Nurse Nora and I freeze.
lie mumbles in his sleep. "Don't touch mc. No more Only Ana."
I frown. I have rarely heard ( hrislian talk in fas sleep. Admittedly, that might
be because he sleeps less than 1 do. I've only ever heard his nightmares. 1 lis arms
lighten around me. squeezing me. and I ss ince.
"Mrs. Grey—" Nurse Nora glowers.
"Please," I beg.
She shakes her head, turns on her heel and leaves, and I snuggle up against
ws, and I can nosv really appreciate the room. / haw flowers! I didn't n
. soft knock distracts me, and Carrick peeks around the door. He b
ic shressdls. He's wearing a dt
"I don't know how to thank you for my daughter, you crazy, brave, darling
girl. What you did probably saved her life. 1 will be forever in your debt." His
voice wavers, filled w illi gratitude and compassion.
Oh ... I don't know what to say. 1 squeeze his hand but remain mute.
"How arc you feeling?"
"Better. Sore." I say, for honesty's sake.
"Have they given you mcds for ihc pain'.'"
"Lor . . . something."
"Good. Where's Christian?"
"1 don'! know . When I woke up. lie was gone."
"He won't be far away, I'm sure. He wouldn't leave you while you were
"lie's a Iiille mad al you. a:-; ho should bo." Carrick smirks. Ah. this is where
Christian gets it from.
"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 an-
ger is a healthy reaction to w liai happened to hot."
"Is she here?"
1 I I II I ! 1 ! 1 I !| I I ! I i ! i 1
"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 ofm grandchild."
I flush. He knows!
"Grace read your chart. She told me. Congratulations."
"Lin . . . thank you."
He gazes down at me, and his eyes soften, though he frowns at my
"Christian will eome round . .oil In II be the best thing I'oi
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. 1 can never repay
what you've done for us. Thank you."
I lookup 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 de-
bacle go. My subc i t I yet again. I shake
on my feet than yesterday. In spite of ( hristian sharing lite 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 1 just need a bath. I feel grimy. I
head into the en suite.
'"Ana!" Christian shouts.
ignore my reflection in the mirror. Jeez, 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 sha cd. show ered. and looks well rested.
"Good morning. Mrs. Grey." he says brightly. "I have your breakfast." lie
looks so boyish and much happier.
wheels and lifts the cover to reveal my breakfast: oatmeal with dried fruits, pan-
M mouth w aters: I'm so hungry . I down the orange juice in a few gulps and dig
"What?" I ask with my mouth full.
about. "How are you feeling?"
"Better." 1 mutter between mottlhfuls.
"I've never seen you eat like this."
I glance up at him. and my heart sinks. Wc have lo address die very liny ele-
phant in the room. "It's because I'm pregnant, Christian."
He snorts, and his inoulli twists into an ironic smile. " II" I knew gelling you
knocked up was going to make you eat, I might have done it earlier."
"'Christian Grey !" 1 gasp .aid set die 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, des-
perately trying to look nonchalant, but all I can see is his fear. Pushing the tray
aside. I craw 1 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.
"What kind of father could I possibly be?" His voice is hoarse, barely
"Oh, Christian." I stifle a sob. "One that tries his best. That's all any of us can
"Ana — I don't know il l can . . ."
boundaries. Our child will want for nothing."
He's frozen, staring at me, doubt etched on his beautiful face.
us. But we'll be tin e i II h e 11 be a family. Our
own family. And your child will lo e you unconditional!} . like I do." Tears spring
to my eyes.
"Oh, Ana Christian w his| i iiguish i I p uncd I thought
I'd lost you. Then 1 thought I'd losl }ou again. Seeing oli King 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
"Yes, I do love }ou. Cliri iai di perau 1 I i ill
CicnlK taking m_ head between his hands, lie wipes my icars away with his
thumbs. He gazes into my eyes, gray to blue, and all I sec is his fear and wonder
and love.
breathes. And he kisses mc sw eetly, lenderly like a man
try to be a good father." ite u hispers against my lips.
II succeed. And let's face it; you don't have much choice
p and I are not going anywhere."
ile raises his eyebrows. "1 had the name Junior i
""Junior it is, then."
"But I like Blip." He smiles his shy smile and ki
Chapter Twenty-Four
"Much as I'd like lo kiss you al! day. your breakfast Is gelling cold." Christian
murmurs against my lips. He gazes down at me, now amused, except his eyes are
darkct suisu il llol ( lit ii led ag i Mi Mercurial.
"Eat," he orders, his voice soft. I swallow, a reaction to his smoldering look,
and crawl back into d. aoid n in IV I I ie 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 mouthl'uls. "Blip might be a girl."
C hrislian runs his hand through his hair. "'Two women, eh'.'" Alarm dashes
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 quielK clearly disconcerted by the
question. "hat." lie snaps, and 1 know lie's try iny lo aoid die subject.
"I'm eating, I'm eating . . . Jeez, keep your hair on, Grey." I watch him care-
fully. 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 inc. picking up the Seattle Times.
"You made the papers again. Mrs. < ire." I lis is tone bitter.
"The hacks are just rehashing yesterday's story, but it seems factually accur-
ate. You want to read it?"
I shake my head. "Read it to me. I'm eating."
He smirks and proceeds lo read the article aloud. It's a report on Jack and El-
izabeth, 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 1 arc in the same hospital. How does die press gel all this information? 1 nuisl
ask Kate.
When Chnstt in I i islt 1 I 1 i s i 'a ,i I like listening lo
i 1 n ill i i report about a boom hagc business and the fact
reads. But listening to his soothing voice as I eat, secure in the know ledge thai I
i ic. Mia i d nd i L d 1 i i Mli i ill i
despite all that has happened over the last few days.
I understand that Christian is scared about the baby, but 1 don't understand
the depth of his fear. 1 rcsoh c to talk to him some more about this. See if I can put
his m It I it lip sitrve lole models
as parents. Both Grace and Carrick are exemplary parents, or so they seem.
Maybe it was the Bitch Troll's interference dial damaged him so badly. I'd like to
think so. But in truth 1 think it goes hack lo ins birth mom. though I'm sure Mrs.
Robinson didn't help. I halt my thoughts as I nearly recall a whispered
conversation. Damn! It limcrs on the edge of ni memory from when I was un-
conscious. 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 Clatk t | c i II tin !! i 1
apologetic m heart sink- when I see him
"Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey. Am I interrupting?'"
"Yes," snaps Christian.
Chirk ignores him. "(ilad U> see you're awake. Mrs. Grey. I need to ask you a
lew questions about Thursday afternoon. Just routine. Is now a comenient time?"
"Sure," I mumble, but 1 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 raid oilers (. lark his chair, then sits down beside me on the
bed. lakes my hand, raid 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
"I wish you'd in i li i i n n
"Might have done womankind a service if Mrs. Grey had." Clark agrees.
"Thank you. Mis. Grey. Thai's all for now "
"You won't let him out again, will you?"
"Do we know w ho posted his bail?" ( hrisiian asks.
"No sir. It was confidential."
Christian frow its. but i think he has hj s suspicions. Clark rises to leave just as
After a thorough examination. Dr. Singh declares me fit to go home. Christian
sags with relief.
"Mrs. Grey, 01 llhaei 111 ling headac cs and blurry vision.
If that occurs ou must return to the hospital immcdialeh ."
I nod, trying to contain m deligln at going home.
As Dr. Singh leaves, Christian asks her for a quick word in the corridor. I Ic
keeps the door ajar as he asks her a question. She smiles.
"Yes, Mr. Grey, that's fine."
i Ic grins and returns to die room a happier man.
"What was all that about?"
""Sex." lie Hashing a \ icked 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. 1 was just checking."
Off limits? I frown at the momentary stab of disappointment I feel. I'm not
Nurse Nora joins us to remove my IV. She glares at Christian. I think she's
she leaves with my IV stand.
"I'd like to see Ray first."
"Docs he know about the baby?"
"I thought you'd want to be the one to tell him. I haven't told your mom
"Thank you." I snide, grateful dial 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 sou."
When:' Christian laughs al m appalled expression, "i told him I'd be only too
willing to oblige."
"You didn't!" 1 gu»p. 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
As Christian predicted. Rav is furious. ! (ion"; eer remember him being litis mad.
Christian has wisely decided to leave us alone. For such a taciturn man, Ray fills
his hospital room w ill! his in eclh e. berating me lor no irresponsible beha ior. I
am 1\ eh e ears 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 grumhles, waving both of his
"'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 check, and finally he relents from his tirade.
" I'll call her. I really am sorry. But thank you for teaching me to shoot."
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.
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 lc;ue through the rear cxil of the hospital to avoid ihe paparazzi gathered a!
the entrance. Taylor leads us to the waiting in the SUV.
Christian t-; quiet as Sawyer drives tis home. 1 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, lie's nervous . . . something's happened.
"What's wrong?" I ask when I'm I'inallv free from tnv mother
"Welch wants to sec me."
"Welch? Why?"
"He's found something out about that flicker Mule." Christian's lip curls into
a snarl, and a frisson of fear passes through me. "He didn't want to tell me on the
"Oh."
u . il. il ksi i la a I i
ids me to the waiting elevator.
"Yes," I whisper. But as i stand in lite familiar surroundings of lite elevator.
"Hey — " Christian wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. "You're
>me. You're safe," he says, kissing my hair.
"Oh. Christian." A dam 1 didn't cv en know was in place bursts, and I start to
"Hush now." Chrisli I I i I h
But it's too late. I weep, overwhelmed, into his T-shirt, recalling Jack's vi-
llus attack— "That's for SIP, you fucking bitch! "—telling Christian I was
leaving — "You're leaving me?"— and my fear, my gut-wrenching fear for Mia,
for -.elf. mid for Lilile Blip.
i ii filled i ii i n. Christian | me up like a child
and carries me into the foyer. 1 wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him,
keening quietly.
He carries me through to our bathroom and gently settles me on the chair.
"Bath?" he asks.
1 shake my head. No . . . no . . . no! like Leila.
"Shower?" His voice is choked with concern.
I i 1 1 h I I II 1 1 I e i I
wash away the mennii lai i i 1 ' i« whore. " I sob m
hands as ll ound the walei i n r ! i u i *l i ci ^ h f ill I
"Hey," Christian croons. Kneeling in front of me, he pulls my hands away
from my tearstaincd cheeks and cups m lace in his hands. I naze at him, blinking
away my tears.
"You're safe. You both are," he whispers.
Blip and me. My eyes brim with tears again.
"Stop, now. 1 can't bear it when you cry." His voice is hoarse. His thumbs
wipe my cheeks, but my tears still flow.
"I'm sorry, Christian. Just sorry for everything. For making you worry, for
risking cv cry thing — for the things I said."
"Hush, baby, please." He kisses my forehead. "I'm sorry. It takes two to
tango, Ana." He gives me a crooked smile. "Well, that's what my mom always
says. I said things and did things I'm not proud of." His gray eyes are bleak but
i 1 ul n hi ii i h im lurch c in. e
Briskly he strips me. laking particular care as he pulls my T-shirt over my
head. But my head is not loo sore. Leading me to die shower, he peels off his own
clolhing in record lime before slepping into ihe welcome ho! walcr with me. He
pulls me into his arms and holds me, holds me for the longest time, as the water
gushes over us, soothing us both.
He lets mc cry into his chest. < leeasionalh he kisses m hair, but he doesn't
lcl go. he just rocks me gently benealh Ihe warm water. To ieel his skin againsl
mine, his chest hair againsl m> cheek . . . this man I line, ihis self-doubling, beau-
tiful man, the man I could have lost through my own recklessness. I feel empty
and aching al the thought but grateful that he's here, still here — despite everything
that's happened.
He has some explaining to do, but right now I want to revel in the feel of his
comforting, protective arms around me. And in that moment it occurs to me; any
explanations on his part have to come from him. I can't force him — he's got to
want to tell me. 1 won't be cast as the nagging wife, constantly trying to wheedle
information out of her husband. It's just exhausting. I know he loves me. I know
he loves me more than he's ever loved anyone, and lot now. that's enough. The
realization is liberating. 1 slop en ing and step back.
"Better?" he asks.
I nod.
"Good. Let me look at you," he says, and for a moment I don't know what he
means. But he takes my hand and examines the arm I fell on when Jack hit me.
There are braises on my shoulder and scrapes at my elbow and wrist. He kisses
each of them. He grabs a washcloth and shower gel from the rack, and the sweet
familiar scent of jasmine Tills my nostrils.
"Turn around." Gently, he proceeds to wash my injured arm, then my neck,
my shoulders, my back, and my other arm. He turns me sideways, and traces his
long fingers down my side. 1 wince as they skate over the large braise at my hip.
cryptically. I frown then shivei al his bleak expression, lie squirts more shower
my behind, then, kneeling, moves down my legs. He pauses to examine my knee.
He lips brush over the bruise before he returns m washing my legs and my feet.
Reaching down I care his I t unit m I tht gh his wet hair. He
stands, and his fingers trace the outline of the bruise on mv ribs where Jack kicked
"Oh, baby he n n 1 oie fill. I ill ngui I hi eves dark with fury.
"I'm okay." I pull his head down to mine and kiss his lips. He's hesitant to
reciprocate, but as my tongue meets | us body stirs against me.
"No," he whispers i tit i nvv lip md lit ill " 1 1- s get you clean."
His face is serious. Damn ... He means it. I pout, and the atmosphere
between us lightens in an instant I le grins and kisses me briefly.
"Clean," he emphasizes. "Not dirty."
"I like dirty."
"Me, too, Mrs. Grey. But not now, not here." He grabs the shampoo, and bc-
I'ore 1 can persuade him otherwise, he's washing my hair.
I love clean, too. I feel refreshed and reinvigorated, and I don't know if it's from
the shower, the cr in m> i i top h i i ' h i 1 1 in ibout everything.
He wraps me in a large towel and drapes one around his hips while I gingerly dry
my hair. My head aches, but it's a dull persistent pain that is more than manage-
able. 1 have some painkillers from Dr. Singh, but she's asked me not to use them
unless I have to.
As I dry my hair, I think about Elizabeth.
"I still don't understand why Elizabeth was involved with Jack."
"I do," Christian mutters darkly.
a towel, his chest and shoulders still wet with beads of water that glint beneath the
"Enjoying the view?"
my own husband.
"That you're enjoying the view?" he teases.
"No," I scold. "About Elizabeth."
1 give him my lell-me-more expression, and another nagging memory from
ber what he said.
"Hyde had videos. Videos of all of them. On several USB flash drives."
What? I frown, my skin tightening across my forehead.
idt him fucking h nd fuel II his i v
Oh!
"kxaclly. Blackmail material, iic likes a rough." C hristian frowns, and I
watch confusion followed by disgust cross his lace. He pales as his disgust turns
to self-loathing. ( if course C hrislian likes it rough, too.
"Don't." The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
His frown deepens. "Don't what?" He stills and regards me with
apprehension.
"You aren't anything like him."
Christian's eves harden, but he says nothing, confirming that's exactly what
he's thinking.
"You're not." My voice is adamant.
"We're cut from the same cloth."
"No. you're not." 1 snap, though I understand why he might think so. "His
dad died in a bran I bar. His r, r < u , < oblivion. He was in
and out ofjoslci Inn hit too— mainly boosting curs.
Spent time in juvic." 1 recall ll inform i i ilcd on the plane to
Aspen.
"You both have troubled pasts, and you were both born in Detroit. That's it,
"Ana. your faith in me is touching, especially in light of the last few days.
We'll know more when Welch is here." He's dismissing the subject.
"Christian—"
He stops mc with a kiss. "Enough," he breathes, and I remember the promise
I made to myself not to hound him for information.
"And don't pout," he adds. "Come. Let me dry your hair."
And I know the subject is closed.
"So did Clark tell you anything else while I was unconscious?"
"Not that I recall."
"1 heard a lew of your com ersalions."
The hairbrush stills in my hair.
"Did you?" he asks, his tone nonchalant.
"Ye*. M Jail. > our dad. Deleeli e Clark . . . your mom."
"And Kate?"
"Kate was there?"
"Briefly, yes. She's mad at you, too."
I turn in his lap. "Stop with the n cryimc is mad ai Ami crap. okay?"
"Just telling you the truth." ( 'hristian says, bemused by my outburst.
"Yes, it was reckless, but you know, your sister was in danger."
His face falls. "Yes. She was." Switching off the hairdryer, he puts it down
on the bed beside him. He grasps my chin.
"Thank you," he says, surprising inc. "But no more recklessness. Because
next time, 1 will spank the In ing shil oul of sou."
"You wouldn't!"
"I would." lie's serious. Holy cow. Deadly serious. "1 have your stepfather's
permission." He smirks. I le's leasing me! < >r is lie? I launch myself at him, and he
diool hrough mc 11 I I v, incc.
C hristian pale-.. "Behave 1 " he admonishes, and far a momenl he's angry.
"Sorry," I mumble, caressing his cheek.
lie nuzzles my hand and kisses il gently, "lloneslly. Ana. you really have no
regard for your own sal'en ." i le lags up the heir, of m T-shirt then rests his fin-
gers on my belly. 1 slop breathing. "It's not just you am more." he whispers, trail-
ing his fingertips along the waistband ol'mv sweats, caressing my skin. Desire ex-
plodes unexpected, hot. and heavy in mv blood. I gasp and C hristian tenses, halt-
ing his fingers and gazing down at me. He moves his hand up and tucks a stray
hick of hair behind my ear.
"No," he whispers.
What?
"Don't look at me like that. I've seen the bruises. And the answer's no." His
voice is firm, and he kisses my forehead.
1 squirm. "Christian," I whine.
"No. Get into bed." He sits up.
"Bed?"
"You need rest."
"I need you."
a ureal effort of will. When
live. "Just do as you're told,
I'm tempted to take off all my clothes, but then I remember the bruises and
mow I won't win that way.
I it I 1 nod. "Ol I I ei i inn
He grins, amused. "I'll bring you some lunch."
"You're going to cook?" I nearly expire.
He has the grace 10 laugh. -I'm going to heal something up. Mrs. Jones has
)een busy."
"Christian, I'll do it. I'm fine. Jeez, I want sex — I can certainly cook." I sit up
iv kwardly. Irving lo hide my 11 inch from my smarting ribs.
"Bed!" Christian's eyes flash, and he points to the pillow.
"Join me," I murmur, w i Jiing I « ere w earing something ;i little more alluring
han sweatpants and a T-shirt.
"Ana. get into bed. Now."I scowl, stand up, and let my pants drop unccrcmo-
liously to the floor, glaring at hint the whole lime. I its mouth twitches with hu-
"You heard Dr. Singh. She said rest." His voice is gentler. I slip into bed and
bid my arms in frusli u S 1 , learl enjoying himself
My scowl deepens.
Mrs. Jones's chicken i i 1 i hi. o i 1 i i ^ 1 ri i
eats with me, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed.
"That was very well heated." I smirk and he grins. I'm replete and sleepy.
"You look tired." lie nicks up my tray
"I am."
"Good. Sleep." He kisses mc. "I have some work I need to do. I'll do it in
here if that's okay with you."
I nod . . . fighting a losing battle with my eyelids. I had no idea chicken stew
could be so exhausting.
I lIlis! ill i kc le | 111! ill i. Christian is sium_ in ihc
armchaii watching ne. gni lumii ih ii H in i n ighl He's clutching
some papers. His face is ashen.
Holy cow! "What's wrong?" I ask immediately, sitting up and ignoring my
protesting ribs.
"Welch has just left."
Oh shit. "And?"
"I lived with the fucker," he whispers.
"Lived? With Jack?"
He nods, eyes wide.
"You're related?"
"No. Good God, no."
I shuffle over and pull the duvet back, inviting him into bed beside me, and to
my surprise he doesn't hesitate. 1 le kicks off his shoes and slides in alongside me.
Wrapping one arm around me, he curls up, resting his head in my lap. I'm
"I don't undetsi n 1 nuirmni in i> 1 is th igh his hair and gaz-
ing down at him. Christian closes his o; es and furrows ins brow as if he's strain-
ing to remember.
"After I was found with the crack whore, before I went to live with Carrick
and Grace, I was in the care of Michigan State. I lived in a foster home. But I
My mind reels. A foster home? This is news to both of us.
"For how long?" I whisper.
"Tw o months of so I have no recollection."
"Have you spoken to your mom and dad about it?"
"No."
"Perhaps you should. Maybe they could fill in the blanks."
He hugs me tightly. "Here." He hands me the papers, which turn out to be
two photographs. I reach over and switch on the bedside light so I can examine
litem in detail. The first photo is of a shabby house w ilh a yellow front door and a
large gabled w un in the roof. It ha I I front yard. It's an un-
remarkable house.
The second phot oi'afamil it i'i glat in ordinal blue-collar fam-
ily — a man and his w il 1 Ihinl an their children fh iduhs are both dressed in
dowdy, overwashcd blue T-shirt*. Thc must be in llieir forties. The woman has
scraped-back blond hair, and the man a severe buzz-cut, but they are both smiling
warmly at the camera. The nun) lias his hand draped o er die -.boulders of a sullen
teenage girl. I gaze at each of the children: two boys — identical twins, about
twelve — both with sandy blond hair, grinning broadly al the camera; there's an-
other boy, who's smaller, with reddish blond hair, scowling; and hiding behind
him, a coppcr-han eu < 1 il hi idc dam ired dressed in mis-
matched clothes, and clutching a child's dirty blanket.
Fuck. "This is you," 1 whisper. m heart lurching into nn throat. I know
Christian was four when his mother died. But Ibis child looks much younger. He
must have been scerely malnourished. 1 stifle a sob as tears spring to my eyes.
Oh, my sweet Fifty.