Freed

by James, E L

  “Yes. It was.” She leans over and kisses me.

  “Do you think that supercilious fucker is still waiting tables?” I ask.

  “Supercilious? I thought he was fine.”

  “He was trying to impress you.”

  “Well, he succeeded.”

  Ana, you’re too easily impressed.

  “Shall we go see?” she says, amused.

  “Lead on, Mrs. Grey.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. For the last couple of hours I’ve been working in the confines of the ICU waiting room. Ana has been at Ray’s bedside since we returned from lunch; last time I checked, she was reading to him. She’s a kind and considerate daughter—he must have been a wonderful father to inspire such devotion.

  I’ve read through the Shipyard Heads of Agreement, and I have a list of questions, which I’ve e-mailed to Ros. I’m not signing anything until we’ve spoken, but all that can wait until Monday at the earliest.

  My phone buzzes. It’s Taylor, calling to say he’s delivered Ana’s mother and her husband to The Heathman. I check the time, noting it’s just after 5 p.m. Carla needs to know about Ray—I can’t put that off any longer. Reluctantly, I call the hotel and ask to be put through to the Adamses’ room.

  I’m not looking forward to this.

  “Hello,” Carla answers.

  I take a deep breath. “Carla, it’s Christian.”

  “Christian,” she gushes. “We had such a wonderful flight over here. Thank you so much.”

  “I’m glad you had a pleasant journey. I have some bad news, though.”

  “Oh no! Is Ana okay?”

  “Ana’s fine. It’s Ray. He was involved in a car accident and he’s in the ICU here in Portland. That’s why we’re in Portland and not Seattle. His condition is improving. Though he’s in an induced coma at the moment, but he’ll be coming out of it tomorrow.”

  “Oh no,” she breathes. “How’s Ana?”

  “She’s holding up. And because all the news from the ICU is good, I thought we’d go ahead and celebrate her birthday.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  “I thought you should know before this evening. But I’d still like to keep your arrival a surprise.”

  “Yes. Yes,” she says. “I’ve deliberately not called or texted Ana to keep the surprise.”

  “I appreciate that, and I’m sorry to be the bearer of this news. It must be upsetting.”

  “No. Christian. Thank you for telling me. I’m very fond of Ray.”

  “I’ll see you later this evening.”

  “Yes. You will. Bye for now.” She hangs up.

  That was not as bad as I anticipated.

  It’s time to go back to the hotel. I pack up my laptop, then stand and stretch. These are not the most comfortable seats.

  Ana is still reading off her phone to Ray. I watch from the end of the bed as she caresses his hand and glances at him occasionally, her lovelight burning bright.

  She notices me as Nurse Kellie approaches.

  “It’s time to go, Ana,” I say gently.

  She tightens her hold on Ray’s hand, making it clear she doesn’t want to leave him.

  “I want to feed you. Come. It’s late,” I insist.

  “I’m about to give Mr. Steele a sponge bath,” Nurse Kellie says.

  “Okay,” Ana acquiesces. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning.” Leaning over, she kisses Ray’s cheek.

  She’s quiet and thoughtful as we walk across the parking lot.

  “Do you want me to drive?” I ask.

  Her face whips to mine. “No. I’m good,” she says, and opens the driver’s door.

  There’s my girl.

  I grin and climb in beside her.

  In the elevator she’s quiet again. Her mind is with Ray, I’m sure of it. Wrapping her in my arms, I offer her the only comfort I can.

  Me. And the warmth of my body.

  I hold her close as we travel up to our floor.

  “I thought we’d dine downstairs. In a private room.” I open the door to our suite and usher her in.

  “Really? Finish what you started a few months ago?” Ana raises a brow.

  “If you’re very lucky, Mrs. Grey.”

  She laughs. “Christian, I don’t have anything dressy to wear.”

  Oh, ye of little faith, Ana.

  In the bedroom, I open the closet door. There, hanging where Sawyer said it would be, is a dress bag.

  “Taylor?” Ana’s surprised.

  “Christian,” I state, feeling a little aggrieved that she would doubt me.

  She laughs, in that indulgent way she has sometimes, unzips the bag, and takes out the dress. She draws a sharp breath as she holds it up. “It’s lovely,” she says. “Thank you. I hope it fits.”

  “It will.” I hope. “And here.” From the depths of the closet I retrieve the box. “Shoes to match.”

  High-heeled fuck-me pumps. My favorite.

  “You think of everything. Thank you.” She kisses me, a sweet, chaste peck, and I flash her a quick grin, pleased.

  “I do.” I hand her a second, smaller Nordstrom bag that weighs nothing and seems to be all tissue. Ana ferrets around inside and discovers the black lace lingerie to complement the dress. Tilting her chin up, I plant a soft kiss on her lips. “I look forward to taking this off you later.”

  “So do I,” she whispers, and her words inspire my cock.

  Not now, Grey.

  “Shall I run you a bath?” I ask.

  “Please.”

  While Ana is soaking in the tub, I check with the hotel that all of Andrea’s arrangements are in place. It seems she’s thought of everything, right down to the decorations.

  Give the woman a raise, Grey.

  I have to wait for Ana, so I open my laptop, pull up Geolumara’s P&L, and spend several minutes running through it.

  Hmm…their sales could be better—but their cash deposits are healthy, given it’s a fairly new company. However, with their considerable expenses their profit margins aren’t as high as I would expect. We can get them there. I make a few notes of what we could do, until the sound of a hair dryer coming to life next door pulls me from the spreadsheet.

  I’ve lost track of time.

  Ambling into the bedroom I find a squeaky clean Ana sitting on the edge of the bed wrapped in a towel, drying her hair. “Here, let me,” I offer, and point to the chair by the dressing table.

  “Dry my hair?” Her disbelief is obvious.

  Ana, this is not my first rodeo.

  But I’m not sure she’d like to hear that I used to do this for my submissives as a reward for good behavior.

  “Come,” I coax her. She seats herself in the chair, throwing me a quizzical look in the mirror. But as I brush her hair she surrenders herself to my ministrations. It’s an absorbing task, and I soon find myself lost in it…detangling strands of her hair, then drying them. It takes me back, much further back than I want to go.

  To a small, shabby room in a slum in Detroit.

  I halt those thoughts immediately.

  “You’re no stranger to this.” Ana interrupts my reverie, and I smile at her in the mirror, but say nothing.

  You don’t want to know, Ana.

  When I’m finished, her hair is soft and lush, capturing the light from a lamp on the dressing table.

  Beautiful.

  “Thank you,” she says, shaking her head and letting her hair tumble down her back. I drop a kiss on her naked shoulder and tell her that I’ll have a quick shower. She smiles, though I see her sadness and it makes me wonder if I’ve made the right decision to host this party.

  Hell.

  These thoughts weigh heavily on me as I step under the cascade of hot water.

  So much so that I offer
a silent prayer to God.

  Make Ray better.

  Please, Lord.

  When I come out of the bathroom, Ana’s waiting for me. She looks stunning. The dress fits perfectly, accentuating her beautiful body, and the bracelet sparkles on her wrist. She does a quick twirl, then stops so I can zip her up. “You look gorgeous, as you should on your birthday,” I whisper.

  She turns and places her hands on my naked chest. “So do you.” She peeks up at me, through long lashes, in that way that heats my blood.

  Ana.

  “I’d better get dressed, before I change my mind about dinner and unzip that dress.”

  “You chose well, Mr. Grey.”

  “You wear it well, Mrs. Grey.”

  Mia has texted to let me know everyone has gathered in the room. Squeezing Ana’s hand as we step out of the elevator onto the mezzanine level, I hope she likes surprises. I steer us toward the private dining rooms, my stunning wife seemingly oblivious to the admiring glances she’s attracting. At the end of the corridor, I pause for the briefest moment before I open the door, then in we go—to a rousing chorus of “Surprise!”

  Mom, Dad, Kate, Elliot, both Josés, Mia, Ethan, Bob, and Carla all raise their glasses, cheering, as we stand together before our family and friends. Ana turns and gawks at me. I grin, squeezing her hand, delighted that this has all come together, and Carla steps forward, sweeping Ana into her arms.

  “Darling, you look beautiful. Happy birthday.”

  “Mom!” Ana sobs. It’s a bittersweet sound and I step away to give them some privacy, and to greet the rest of our guests.

  I’m actually pleased to see everyone—even José. He and his father are looking well rested, and less battered than yesterday. Elliot and Ethan rave about Charlie Tango, Mia and Kate about The Heathman.

  “And I got to fly in your helicopter! Thank you so much!” Mia throws her arms around me. I ask her how her job’s going. “So far so good.” She grins. “Oh, my turn for Ana!” She darts off to pester my wife.

  “Thanks for all this, Christian,” Kate says. “I’m sure Ana appreciates it.”

  “I hope so.”

  When I return to her, Elliot has Ana in a tight embrace. Taking her hand, I ease her to my side. “Enough fondling my wife. Go fondle your fiancée,” I say without rancor. Elliot winks at Kate.

  A waiter presents Ana and me with flutes of rosé champagne—our usual, Grande Année, of course. I clear my throat; the general hum in the room dies down as everyone gives me their attention. “This would be a perfect day if Ray were here with us, but he’s not far away. He’s doing well, and I know he’d like you to enjoy yourself, Ana. To all of you—thank you for coming to share my beautiful wife’s birthday, the first of many to come. Happy birthday, my love.” I raise my glass to my girl, amid a chorus of “happy birthdays,” and tears shine in her eyes.

  Oh, baby.

  I kiss her temple, longing to take her hurt away. “Good surprise?” I ask, suddenly nervous.

  “Very good surprise. Thank you, you darling man.” She raises her lips to mine, and I give her a quick, chaste peck, suitable for family viewing.

  Ana is not her usual self during dinner—she’s subdued, but I understand; she’s worried about her father. She follows the conversations, laughs in the right places, and I think she’s buoyed by the merriment of our family and friends. But deep down my girl is aching: she’s pale, she’s chewing her lip, and occasionally, she’s distracted—probably lost in her dark thoughts.

  I see her pain and I’m powerless to help.

  It’s frustrating.

  She picks at her food, but I don’t nag her. I’m just grateful she ate a hearty lunch.

  Elliot and José are in top form. I had no idea the photographer had such a sharp sense of humor. Kate, too, has noticed Ana’s state; she’s solicitous, and during a hushed conversation I watch them laughing. Ana shows off her new bracelet and Kate makes the right appreciative noises. My feelings toward Kavanagh thaw a little more.

  Make my wife laugh. She needs the distraction right now.

  Finally, a magnificent chocolate cake with twenty-two candles ablaze is delivered by two waitstaff. Elliot starts a spirited rendition of “Happy Birthday,” and we all join in. Ana’s smile is wistful.

  “Make a wish,” I whisper to her, and she screws her eyes shut like a child might, then blows out every candle in one breath. She looks up at me, anxiously, and I know she’s thinking of Ray. “He’ll be fine, Ana. Just give him time.”

  Bidding good night to all our guests, we wander up to our hotel room. I think the night has been a success. Ana seems more content, and I’m surprised, given the circumstances, how much I enjoyed everyone’s company. I close the door to our suite and lean against it as Ana turns to face me. “Alone at last,” I mutter.

  She must be exhausted.

  She steps toward me and runs her fingers over my lapels. “Thank you for a wonderful birthday. You really are the most thoughtful, considerate, generous husband.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Yes, your pleasure. Let’s do something about that,” she whispers, and raises her lips to mine.

  Sunday, September 11, 2011

  Ana is curled up on the sofa in our suite, reading a manuscript that she’s had printed out at the hotel. She’s calm and focused, that little v forming between her brows as she scribbles her blue-penciled hieroglyphics in the margins. Occasionally she chews her plump lower lip, and I don’t know if it’s a judgment on what she’s reading or if she’s immersed in the narrative, but it has the usual effect on my body.

  I want to bite that lip.

  Smiling to myself, I remember my surprise wake-up call this morning. Ana is becoming more and more proactive when it comes to sex, but as the beneficiary of her passion, I’m not complaining. I think seeing her nearest and dearest at this difficult time has been therapeutic.

  Having said that, it’s been an emotional morning. After a convivial breakfast with our family and friends, we said good-bye to everyone, except Carla and Bob. My parents have driven back to Seattle; Stephan has flown Elliot, Mia, Kate, and Ethan back home in Charlie Tango. Ryan, who’s still in Seattle, will pick them up at Boeing Field.

  After everyone left, Carla, Ana, and I visited Ray. Well, Carla and Ana did; I gave them some privacy and worked in the waiting room until it was time to take Carla and Bob to the airport. We delivered them into the safe hands of First Officer Beighley and her copilot, who were standing by with the Gulfstream. Ana said a tearful farewell to her mother, and now we’re back in our suite, cooling our heels after a light lunch. I think Ana is reading to distract herself from thinking about Ray.

  I’d just like to go home.

  But I guess that depends on Ray’s recovery.

  I hope he wakes shortly, and we can make plans to move him to Seattle and return to Escala. I don’t mention this to Ana, though—I don’t want to add to her worries.

  I’ve had my fill of reading, so to pass the time, I’ve started assembling a collage of photographs of my wife to use as a screensaver on my laptop and phone. I have so many photographs of her from our honeymoon—and in all of them, Ana is stunning. I’m delighted to have captured her in so many different moods: laughing, pensive, pouting, amused, relaxed, happy, and in some, she’s scowling at me. Those are the photos that make me grin.

  I’m reminded of the shock at seeing her image, large and lovely, at José Rodriguez’s exhibition, and our conversation afterward.

  I want you that relaxed with me.

  I glance over at her again. Here she is. Relaxed. Absorbed in her work.

  Mission accomplished, Grey.

  We’ll hang the other photographs in our new house, and maybe I’ll put one of them in the study at Escala.

  She looks up. “What?”

  I tap my index finger against my li
ps and shake my head. “Nothing. How’s the book?”

  “It’s a political thriller. Set in a dystopian surreal future.”

  “Sounds riveting.”

  “It is. It’s a take on Dante’s Inferno by a new writer who’s based in Seattle. Boyce Fox.” Ana’s eyes shine, animated with the thrill of a good book.

  “I can’t wait to read it.”

  She smiles and returns to her manuscript.

  Smiling, I return to my collage.

  A little later she gets up and wanders over to me, her expression hopeful. “Can we go back?”

  “Of course.” I close my laptop, pleased with my photomontage of Mrs. Anastasia Grey.

  “Will you drive?” she asks.

  “Sure.” Taylor is visiting his daughter, and I’ve given Sawyer the day off.

  “I want to grab a copy of The Oregonian on the way, so I can read Dad the sports page.”

  “Good idea. I’m sure they’ll have one at reception. Let’s go.” I grab my jacket and my laptop, and we head out.

  Ray lies peacefully asleep in his hospital bed, and it takes a few seconds for Ana and me to realize that he’s no longer on a ventilator. The repetitive, measured blast of air that had been his constant companion is no more; he’s breathing on his own. Ana’s face glows in relief. With infinite tenderness she strokes his stubbled chin and wipes his spittle with a tissue.

  I look away.

  I’m intruding. This wordless expression of love from a daughter to her father is too intimate for me to witness. I know Ray would be mortified if he knew I was standing here watching him at his most vulnerable. I stalk off to find one of his doctors for an update. Nurse Kellie and her colleague Liz are at the nurses’ station. “Dr. Sluder is in surgery.” Kellie picks up the phone. “She’s due out any minute. Do you want me to page her?”

  “No. That’s fine. Thanks.” I leave both nurses and head back to the all-too-familiar waiting room. Again, I’m here alone; slumping into one of the chairs I open my laptop and pull up the latest iteration of my Ana collage. I’ve decided I want to add a few photographs from our wedding.

  I’m completely absorbed in the task when Ana bursts into the room, dragging me from the screen. Her eyes are red-rimmed from fresh tears, but she’s brimming with elation. “He’s awake,” she exclaims.