nis i 1! I i _ fist on il bl ii I i in i ii
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. ] want lo tell hint thai the shot was ineffective, but words
fail mc. I gaze down at my fingers. "I'm sorry," I whisper.
"Sorry? Fuck!" he says again.
"I know the timing's not very good."
I wanted to show you i i i til ii 1 h ' 1 1 ipeis and vomit and
shit!" He closes his eyes. 1 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 w hisper. I can't tell him about i lannah he'd fire her. I know .
' I tho I i da ced oi this 1 i ; houts.
"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 ami fuck everything up."
No . . . Lillle Blip. "Christian, please donT shoul al 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 a! it as he does. "You think I'm ready to he a father?" His
voice catches, and it's a mixture o! rage and panic.
And it all becomes clear, [he fear and loathing w ril 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 lor this, hut i think you'll make a wonder-
ful father," I choke. "We'll figure it out."
"How the fuck do you know !" lie shouts, louder tins time. "Tell me how !"
His gray eyes burn, and so main emotions cross his face. It's fear that's most
"Oh fuck this!" Christian bellows dismissively and holds his hands up in a
gesture of defeat. He turns on his heel and .-.talks toward the Iber, grabbing his
jacket as he leaves 1 1 i t Hi I I II I loden floot and he
it 1 1 ' t i t 11 tie more.
shudder involuntarily as I gaze numbly at the closed doors. He's walked out on
me. Shit! His reaction i i rse than I i I i i I push in
plate away and fold my arms on the table, letting my head sink into them while I
weep.
"Ana. dear." Mrs. Jones is lunering beside me.
"I heard. I'm sorry," she says gently. "Would you like an herbal tea or
Mis. .'ones pauses lor a fraction of a second, and I remember Blip. Now 1
can't drink alcohol. Can 1' i must study the do, and don'ls 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 from of me. "Is there an thing else I can get for
you, Ana?"
"No, this is line, thank ou."
"Are you sure? You didn't cat much."
1 ga^e 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 I ldc the nutcase Irving to make out
that 1 sexually harassed him. 1 suddenly hac 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 fi c w ceks. the doctor isn't sure."
I nod, and taking my tea, I head into the library. It's my refuge. 1 dig my
for him — but he really did overreact. When does he not overreact? My subcon-
-our daddy, Little Blip. Hopefully he'll cool off and come
:aflct of dos and don'ts and sit down to read.
;. 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 was so sweet this weekend. All those circumstances way beyond his
txmtrol, yet he managed fine. But this news was too much.
Ever since I met him. m life has been complicated. Is it him? Is it the two of
as together? Suppose he doesn't get past this? Suppose he wants a divorce? Bile
rises in my throat. No. I mustn't think this way. He'll be back. He will. I know he
will. 1 know regardless of the shouting and his harsh words he loves me ... yes.
And he'll love you, too, Little Blip.
Leaning back in my chair, I start to doze.
I wake cold and disorientated. SImcring 1 check my watch: eleven in the evening.
Oh yes . . . You. I pat my belly. Where's Christian? Is he back? Stiffly 1 ease out
ol'the armchair and go in search of my husband.
Five minutes later, I realize he's not home. I hope nothing's happened to him.
Memories of the king wait her. Charlie Tango went milling flood hack.
No, no, no. Stop thinking like this. He's probably gone to . . . where? Who
would he go and see? Elliot? Or maybe he's with Flynn. I hope so. I find my
BlaekBerrv back in lite library, and I text him.
*Where are you?*
1 head into the bathroom and run myself a bath. I am so cold.
He still hasn't returned when I climb out of the bath. 1 change into one of my
1930s-style satin nightdresses and my robe and head to the great room. On the
way, I pop into the spare bedroom. Perhaps this could be Little Blip's room. I am
startled by she thought and stand in the doorway, contemplating litis reality. Will
we paint it blue or pink? The sweet thought is soured by the fact that my errant
husband is so pissed at the idea (nabbing the dinel from [he spare bed, I head in-
to t!;e great toon, to keep lgil.
Something wakes me. A sound.
"Shit!" he repeats, more muffled this time.
I scramble up in time to see him stag i i i gl 11 double doors. He's
drank. My scalp prickles. Shit, Christian drunk? I know how much he hates
drunks. I leap up and ran toward him.
"Christian, are you okay?"
He leans against (he iamb of ihe foyer doors. "'Mis. Grey," he siurs.
Crap. He's very drunk. I don't know what to do.
"Oh . . . you look mighty fine, Anastasia."
""Where have you been?"
He puts his finger' lo bis lips and smiles crookedh al me. "Shli!"
"I think you'd better come to bed."
"With you . . ." He snickers.
Snickering! Frowning, I gently put my arm around his waist because he can
hardly stand, lei alone w alk. Where has lie been'.' I low did he get home?
"Let me help you to bed. Lean on mc."
knocking both of us over.
"Okay," he says as if he's trying to concentrate.
We slumble dow n ihe corridor and finally make ii inlo lire bedroom.
""Beth" he says, grinning.
"Yes, bed." I maneuver him to the edge, but he holds me.
"Join mc," he says.
'"Christian. 1 think you need some sleep."
"And so it begins. I've heard about this."
I frown. "Heard about what?"
"I'm sure that's not true. ( libera isc we'd ail come from one-child families."
I le gazes down at me. "You're funny."
"You're drank."
"Yes." He smiles, but his smile changes as he thinks about it. and a haunted
expression crosses his face, a look that chills me to the bone.
"Come on, Christian," 1 say gently. I hate his expression. It speaks of horrid,
ugly memories thai no child should see. "Let's get you into bed." I push him
gently, and he flops dow 11 onto (he mattress, spraw ling in all directions and grin-
ning np ,n me. ins haunted expression gone.
"Join me," he slurs.
"Let's get you undressed first."
I le grins w idely, drunkenly. "Now you're talking."
Holy cow. Drunk Christian is enie and playful. I'll lake him over mad-as-hell
Christian anytime.
"Sit up. Let me take your jacket off."
"The room is spinning."
Shit ... is he going to throw up? "Christian, sit up!"
He smirks up at me. "Mrs. Grey, you are a bossy little thing . . ."
"Yes. Do as you're told and sit up." I put my hands on my hips. He grins
again, struggles up onto his elbows men sis up in a most un( hrislian-like. gawky
fashion. Before he can Hop down again, i grab his lie and wrestle him oui of his
gray jacket, one arm at a time.
"You smell good."
"You smell of hard liquor."
"Yes . . . bour-bon." He pronounces the syllables with such exaggeration that
I have to stifle a giggle. Discarding Ins jacket on the lloor beside me. I make a
"I like the feel of this fabric on you, Anastay-shia," he says, slurring his
words. "You should always be in satin or silk." He runs his hands up and down
my hips then jerks me forward, pressing his mouth against my belly.
""And we hae an imader in here."
I stop breaming. Holy cow. He's talking to Little Blip.
"You're going to keep me awake, aren'l >ou?" lie says to my belly.
Oh my. Christian looks up at me through his long dark lashes, gray eyes
blurred and cloudy. My heart constricts.
"You'll choose him over me," he says sadly.
"Christian, you don't know what you're talking about. Don't be ridiculous — I
am not choosing anyone over anyone. And he might be a she."
He frowns. "A she . . . Oh, God." He flops back down on to the bed and cov-
ers his eyes with his arm. 1 hac managed to loosen his tie. I undo one shoelace
and yank oil his shoe and sock, then the other. When I stand, I see why I've met
no resistance — Christian has passed out completely. He's sound asleep and snor-
ing softly.
I stare at him. He's so goddamned beautiful. een drunk and snoring. His
pmred li| llii II!
laxed. He looks sou i is young: i ung. si scd out, drank, un-
i i i I ind. The ll gin i i in my heart.
Well, at least lie's home, i wonder here lie went. I'm not sure I have the en-
ergy or the strength to move him or undress him any further. He's on top of the
duvet, too. Heading back into the great room I pick up the duvet I was using and
bring it back to our bedroom.
He's slill fist asleep, -.till wearing his tie and his belt. 1 climb onto the bed be-
side him. remove hi> tie. and gently undo the lop button of his shirt. He mumbles
something incoherently in his sleep, but he doesn't wake. Carefully, I unbuckle
his belt and pull it through the belt loops, and after some difficulty it's off. His
shirt has come dislodged from ins pants, rex ealing a inn! of Ins happy trail. I can't
I sit up and gaze at him again. ( tin fifty, i illy, fifty . . . what am I going to
"I love you, Christian. Even when you're drunk and you've been out God
know s w here, 1 love you. I'll always love you."
"Hmm," he murmurs. I kiss his temple once more, then get off the bed, and
cover him up with the spare duvet. I can sleep I i I, n sideways across the
First I'll sort out his clothes, though. I shake my head and pick up his socks
and lie. and fold his jacket over my arm. As 1 do, his BlackBcrry falls to the floor.
I pick it up and inadvertently unlock it. It opens on the texts screen. I can see my
Fuck. My scalp prickles.
*It was good to see you. I understand now.
Don't fret. You'll make a wonderful father.*
It's from her. Mrs. Elena Bitch Troll Robinson.
Shin That's w here he w cm. 1 le's been to see her.
I gape at the text then look up ;il the sleeping form of 111; husband. He's been out
until one thirty in the morning drinking — with her! He snores softly, sleeping the
sleep of a seemingly innocent, oblivious drunk. He looks so serene.
Oh no, no, no. My legs turn to jelly, and I sink slowly to the chair beside the
1 1 It I I 1 I II I I
he? How could he go to her? Scalding, angry tears ooze down my cheeks. His
wrath and fear, his need to lash out at rue I can understand, and forgive — -just. But
this . . . this treachery is too much. I pull my knees up against my chest and wrap
my arms around them, protecting me and protecting my Little Blip. I rock to and
fro, weeping softly.
What did I expect? 1 married this man too quickly. I knew it — I knew it
would come to this. Why. Why. Why? How could he do this to me? He knows
how I feel about that woman. How could he turn to her? How? The knife twists
slowly and painfully i ep in my heart. In ing i ' I i lvvays be this way?
Through my tears, his prostrate figure blurs and shimmers. Oh, Christian. I
married him because I love him, and deep down I know that he loves me. I know
he does. His achin i cell rlhda reseni i to mil
For all our firsts on your first birthday as my beloved wife. I love you. C x
No, no, no — I can't believe that it will always be this way, two steps forw ai d
and three steps back. But that's how it's always been with hint. Alter eaeh set-
back, we move forward, inch by inch. He will come around ... he will. But will
I? Will I recover from this . . . from this treachery? I think about how he's been
this last, horrible w t eel ! ill , c i i . hile my stepdad lay
broken and comatose in the ICU ... my surprise party, bringing my family and
friends together . . . dipping me down low outside the Heathman and kissing mc
in full public view. Oh, Christian, you strain all my trust, all my faith . . . and I
But it's not just me now. I place my hand on my belly. No, I will not lei him
do this to me and our Blip. Dr. Flynn said I should give him the benefit of the
doubt — well, not this lime. I ..lash the (eras from my ey e-; and wipe my nose with
Christian stirs anil roil-, oer. pulling his lee:, up from die side of the bed, and
then grumbles and frowns bin settles bach to sleep, his arm outstretched.
Oh. Fifty. What i lu II uere )OU doing
with the Bitch Troll? I need to know.
J _ i nee more al ih 1 1 1 h ! i ly haleh i In i
deep breath, I forw ard the text to my BlaekBerry. Step one complete. I quickly
check the other recent texts, but can only see messages from Elliot, Andrea,
Taylor, Ros, and me. None from Elena. Good, 1 think. 1 exit the text screen, re-
I lhai he I I bee tin ter. anil m rl lurches inl 1 >
The wallpaper on hi t ill I « I me a patchwork of
tiny Anastasias in various poses our honeymoon, our recent weekend sailing and
soaring, and a few of Jose's photos, too. When did he do this? It must have been
recently.
1 notice his e-mail icon, and an idea slithers enticingly into my mind . . . 1
could read Christian e-mails. Sec if he's, been talking to her Should I? Sheathed
in jade-green silk, my inner goddess nods emphatically, her mouth set in a scowl.
Before I can stop myself, I invade his privacy.
There arc hundreds and hundreds of e-mails. I spin down through them, and
they look dull as ditchwatcr . . . mostly from Ros, Andrea and me, and various ex-
ecutives in his company. None from Bitch Troll. While I'm at it, I'm relieved to
see there are none from Leila either.
One e-mail catches my eye. It's from Barney Sullivan, Christian's IT guy,
and the subject line is: Jack Hyde. I glance guiltily at Christian, but he's still snor-
ing gently. I've never heard him snore. I open the e-mail.
From: Barney Sullivan
Subject: Jack Hyde
Date: September 13, 2011 14:09
To: Christian Grey
CCTV around Seattle tracks the white van from South Irving Street. Before that I
1 1 ti J I 1 tiii 1 i I in that area.
Vs Ich has toll 1 ili nil nil 1 t , 1 1 ith i 1 i ! unknown
1 in li though lothing that ti s it to th Soutl Irving Street area.
Details of known GEH and SIP employees who live in the area are in the attached
file, which I have forwarded to Welch, too.
There was nothing on Hyde's SIP computer about his former PAs.
As a reminder, hen: is a list of what was retrieved from Hyde's SIP computer.
Greys' Home Addresses:
Ti 1 1 1 ii in s ittl
Two properties in Detroit
Detailed Resumes for:
Carriek Grey
Dr. Grace Trevelyan
Carrick Grey
Christian Grey
Carrick Grey
Dr. Grace Trevelyan
Christian Grey
ic mi investigation, see what else I tan find.
This odd e-mail momentarily sidetracks me from my night of woe. I click on
the attachment to 11 i tgh the iiains >n the list, but it oh iously huge, too
big to open on the BlackBcrry.
What am I doing? It's laic. I'e had a liring day. There are no e-mails from
quickly at the alarm clock: it's just alter two in the morning. Today has been a day
enemy. Well, let him stew. I am not sleeping here with him. He can wake up
alone tomorrow. After placing his BlackBerry on the bedside table, I retrieve my
purse from beside the bed and, after one last look at my angelic, sleeping Judas, I
The spare pla room kc is in its usual place in the cabinet in the utility room.
sheet, then unlock the playroom door and enter, switching the lights to dim. Odd
that I find the smell and ambience of litis room so comforting, considering I sale
worded the last time we were in here- I lock die door behind me. leaving the key
in the lock. I know that tomorrow morning Christian w ill be frantic to find me.
and I don't think he'll look in here if the door's locked. Well, it will serve him
I curl up on t he Chesterfield couch, man myself in the duvet and drag my
BlackBcrry from my purse. Checking my texts, 1 find the one from the evil Bitch
Troll that 1 forwarded from Christian's phone. I press FORWARD and type:
*WOULD YOU LIKE MRS. LINCOLN TO JOIN US WHEN WE
EVENTUALLY DISCUSS THIS TEXT SHE SENT TO YOU? IT WILL
SAVE YOU RUNNING TO HER AFTERWARD. YOUR WIFE*
I press Send and s iich die ok. me lo mule. I huddle under my duvet. For all
my bravado, I'm overwhelmed by the enormity of Christian's deceit. This should
be a happy time. Jeez, we're going to be parents. Briefly, I relive telling Christian
that I'm pregnant and fantasize thai lie falls lo his knees ilh joy in front of me,
pulling me into his arms and telling me how much he loves me and our Little
Blip.
Ycl here I 1111 il u i> d ii I 1 I i nl i 1 i > i i ^ ( | I
old, older than m i I i in ing to be a challenge,
but he really has surpassed himself this time. What was he thinking? Well, if he
wants a fight, I'll give him a fight. No way am I going to let him get away with
running off lo >ee dial monstrous woman w henever w e have a problem. He's go-
ing to have to choose — her or me and our Little Blip. 1 sniffle softly, but because
I wake with a start, momentarily disorientated . . . Oh yes I'm in the playroom.
in. I hear muffled voices, bill they men e away. I exhale and check the time on my
BlackBcrry. It's secn [tin . and 1 hae lour missed calls and two voice messages.
The missed calls are mosllv iron; Christian, hnl there's also one from Kate. Oh,
no. I le must have called her. 1 don'! ha e lime to listen lo diem. I don't want to be
late for work.
I wrap the dm el around aie and nick up m purse before making my way to
the door. Unlocking it slowly, I peek outside. No sign of anyone. Oh shit . . . Per-
haps this is a bit melodramatic. I roll my eyes at myself, take a deep breath, and
head downstairs.
Taylor, Sawyer. Ryan. Mrs. Jones, and C hrislian are all standing in the en-
hance lo ihc grcal i n nd C I tian i sun ' ( i i i instructions. As one
they all turn and gape ai me. ( hrislian is slill wearing die clothes he slept in last
night. He looks disheveled, pale, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. His large gray
eyes are wide, and I don't know if he's fearful or angry. It's difficult to tell.
the duvet tighter around mc for protection.
I le nods, and all eves turn lo ('hrislian. w ho is slill slaring inlensely a! me.
"Would you like some breakfast, Mrs. Grey?" Mrs. Jones asks. I shake my
"I'm not hungry, thank you." She purses her lips but says nothing.
"Where were you?" Christian asks, his voice low and husky. Suddenly Saw-
yer, Taylor, Ryan and Mrs. Jones scatter, scurrying into Taylor's office, into the
"Ana," he calls after me, "answer me." I hear his footsteps behind mc as I
walk into the bedroom and eonlinuc into our baihroom. Quickly. ! lock the door.
"Ana!" Christian pounds on the door. 1 turn on the shower. The door rattles.
"Go away!"
I i i i i i It
"Suit yourself."
"Ana, please."
I climb into the shower, effectively blocking him out. Oh, it's warm. The
heali II II 1
Oh my. This feels so good. For a moment, for one short moment, I can pretend all
is well. I wash my hair and b> ihc lime I've finished. I feci better, stronger, ready
io lace the freight train thai is Chrisiian Grey. ! wrap my hair iii a iowcl. briskly
dry myself with another towel, and wrap it around me.
I unlock the door and open it and find Christian is leaning against the wall
opposite, his hands behind his hack. His expression is w an . 1 hat of a hunted pred-
ator. I stride past him and into our walk-in closet.
"Are you ignoring me'.'" Chrisiian asks tit disbelief as he stands on the
threshold of the closet.
"Perceptive, aren't yon? ' I murmur absenlmindedh, as i search for something
to wear. Ah, yes — my plum dress. I slide it off the hanger, choose my high black
stiletto boots, and head for the bedroom. I pause for Christian to step out of my
way, which he does, eventually — his intrinsic good manners taking over. I sense
his eyes boring into me as I walk over to my chest of drawers, and I peek at him
in the mirror, standi 1 1 molii s in the do* ' i i me In an act worthy
ok an Oscar w inner. 1 let my tow el hill to the Hoot" and pretend that i am oblivious
to my naked body . ! hear Ins restrained gasp and ignore it.
"Why arc you doing this?" he asks. His voice is low.
"Why do you think?" My voice is velvet soft as I pull out a pretty pair of
"Ana — " He stops as I shimmy into them.
mutter as I search for the matching bra.
"Ana, I've told you before, she's not my — "
for talking was yesterday, but instead you decided io rani and get drunk with the
willing to listen to you now." I find the matching bra and slowly pull it on and
fasten it. Christian walks further into the bedroom and places his hands on his
"Why were you snooping on me?" he says.
In spite of my rcsoh e 1 Hush. "Thai's not the point. < hrislian," I snap at him.
"Fact is, going gets tough and you run to her."
[lis mouth settles into a grin: line. "It wasii'i life that."
"I'm not interested." Picking a pair of black thigh-highs w ith lacey lops. I re-
treat to the bed. I sit, point my toe, and gently ease the gossamer material up to
"Where were you?" he asks- his ces following m> hands up my legs, but I
continue to ignore him as I slowly roll on the other stocking. Standing, I bend to
towel-dry my hair. 1 i i li led ll I i refect and I sense
his intense gaze. When I've finished, I stand and step back to the chest of drawers
where 1 grab my hairdryer.
"Answer me." Christian's oicc is low and husky.
I switch on the hairdryer so ] can no longer heat him and watch him through
my lashes in the mirror as I finger dry my hair. He glares at me, eyes narrow and
cool, chilling even. I look away, focusing on the task at hand and trying to sup-
press the shiver that runs through me. I swallow hard and concentrate on drying
my hair. He's still mad. He goes out with thai damned woman, and he's mad at
me? How dare he! When my hair looks wild and untamed, I stop. Yes ... I like it.
I switch offthc hairdryer.
"Where were on?" he w hispers. his tone arctic.
" 'hat do you care'.'"
I shrug, and Christian moves quickly across the room toward me. I whirl
"Don't touch me," I hiss and he freezes.
"Where were you?" he demands. His hands fist at his side.
He gasps. "What? No!" He gapes at me and has the gall to look wounded and
angry at the same time. My subconscious breathes a small, welcome sigh of relief.
"You think I'd cheat on you?" His tone is one of moral outrage.
"You did," 1 snail. "B_ taking our er pri ate life and spilling your spineless
guts to that woman."
His mouth drops open. "Spineless. That's what you think?" His eyes blaze.
"Christian, I saw the text. That's what I know."
"That text was not meant for you," he growls.
"Well, fact is I saw it when your BlackBerrv fell out of your jacket while I
w as undressing you because you were too drunk to undress yourself. Do you have
any idea how much you"c hurl me b_ going to see that woman?"
He pales momenlarily. but I'm on a roll, my ante!" bitch unleashed.
"Do you rcmem i i i came lion 1 member what you
said?"
lie stares al me blankly, his face frozen.
"Well, you were right. I do choose this defenseless baby over you. That's
what any loving parent does. That's what your mother should have done for you.
And I am sonv th it lidn ildi n_ this conversation
right now if she had. But you're an adult now — you need to grow up and smell the
I I I III I 11
"You may not be happy about this baby. I'm not ecstatic, given the timing
and your less-than-lukewarm reception to this new life, this flesh of your flesh.
But you can either do this with me, or I'll do it on my own. The decision is yours.
"While you wallow in your pit of self-pity and self-loathing, I'm going to
work. And when I return I'll be moving my belongings to the room upstairs."
He blinks at me, shocked.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to finish getting dressed." 1 am breathing
Very slowly, Christian retreats one step, his demeanor hardening. "Is that
what you want?" he whispers.
"I don't know what I want any more." My tone mirrors his, and it takes a mo-
numental effort to lei it i I I the I is ol my fingers into
my moisturizer and smooth it gently over my face. I peer at myself in the mirror.
Blue eyes wide, face pale, bin cheeks Hashed. You're iloing great. Don't back
down now: Don 7 hack clow 11 now .
"You don't want me?" he whispers.
Oh-no ...oh no you don % Grey.
"I'm still here aren't I?" I snap, raking ni> mascara, i apply some first to my
"You've thought about lea ing?" His n orIs are barely audible.
""When one s husband | in | n i 1 ess it s usually not
a good sign." I pitch the disdain al just the right level, evading his question. Lip
gloss now. I pout my shiny lips at the image in the mirror. Stay strong. Steele . . .
um — Grey. Holy fuck, I can't even remember my name. I pick up my boots, stride
over to the bed once more, and quickly put them on, tugging them up over my
knees. Yep. I look hot just in underwear and boots. I know. Standing. I gaze dis-
passionately at him. He blinks at me, and his eyes travel swiftly and greedily
down my body.
"I know what you're doing here," he murmurs, and his voice has acquired a
warm, seductive edge.
"Do you?" And my oice cracks. Ac. Ana . . . hold on.
He swallows and lake a sicp forward. I step back and hold my hands up.
"Don't even think about it, Grey," I whisper menacingly.
"You're my wife," he says softly, threateningly.
"I'm the pre nai i i id I i il ou touch me I
will scream the place dow n."
His eyebrows rise in disbelief. "You'd scream?"
"Bloody murder." I narrow my eyes.
"No one would hear you," he murmurs, his gaze intense, and briefly I'm re-
minded of our morning in Aspen. Xo. Xo Xa.
"Are you trying lo frighten me ' 1 nun si 'realhl s lelibcrately trying to
derail him.
It works. He stilf. am! sw allow s. Thai w asn't ni> intention." Ho frowns.
I can barely breathe. 1 1' he louche-, me. i nil! succumb. 1 know the power he
wields over me and oci m traitorous body, i know 1 hang on to my anger.
"I had a drink with someone I used to be close to. We cleared the air. I am
not going lo sec her again."
"You sought her out?"
"Not at first. I tried to sec Flynn. But I found myself at the salon."
"And you expect me to believe you're not going to see her again .'" I cannot
imaginary line? This is the same argument we have over and over again. Like
we're on some Ixion's wheel. If I fuck up again, are you going to run back to
her?"
"I am not going to see her again," he says with a chilling finality. "She finally
understands how I feel."
I blink at him. "What does 'dial mean?"
He straightens and runs a hand through his hair, exasperated and angry and
mule. 1 try a different lack.
"Why can you talk to her and not to me?"
"I was mad at you. Like I am now."
"You don't say!" I snap. "Well / am mad at you right now. Mad at you for
being so cold and callous yesterday when I needed you. Mad at you for saying I
got knocked up deliberately, when I didn't. Mad tit you for betraying me." 1 man-
age to suppress a sob. His mouth drops open in shock, and he closes his eyes
briefly as if I'd slapped him. 1 swallow . Calm Jomi, Anastasia.
"I should have kept better track of my shots. But I didn't do it on purpose.
This pregnancy is a shock to inc. too." 1 mutter. In ing ['or a modicum of civility.
"It could be that the shot failed."
He glares at me, silent.
"You really fucked up yesterday." 1 whisper. m anger boiling over. "I've
had a lot to deal w ith o er the last lew w ceks."
"You really fucked up three or lour w eeks ago. ( )r w henc er you forgot your
"Well, God forbid I should be perfect like you!"
Oh stop, stop, stop. We stand glow ering at each other.
"This is quite a performance, Mrs. Grey," he w hispers.
"Well, I'm glad that ecn knocked up I'm entertaining."
He stares at me blankly. "1 need a shower." he murmurs.
"Andl'veprovi led enough ol I a sho
"It's a mighty fine floor show," he whispers. He steps forward, and I step
back again.
"Don't."
"I hate that you won't let me touch you."
"I'd say not. Except that I'm moving out of this bedroom."
His eyes flare and ' I 1 nean anything to me."
"Except when you need her."
"I don't need her. I need you."
"You didn't yesterday. That woman is a hard limit forme. Christian."
"She's out of my life."
"I wish I could believe you."
"For fuck's sake, Ana."
"Please let me get dressed."
lie sighs and runs a hand through his hair onee more, "i'll see you litis even-
ing," he says, his voice bleak and devoid of feeling. And for a brief moment I
want to take him in my arms and soothe him ... but I resist because I'm just too
mad. He turns and heads for (lie balhroom. 1 stand frozen unlil I hear the door
I stagger lo die bed and Hop don n on 10 it My inner goddess and my subcon-
scious are both giving me a standing ovation. I did not resort to tears, shouting, or
murder, nor did 1 succumb in his scxpcrlisc. 1 desene a ( ongrcssional Medal of
Honor, but I feel so low. Shit. We resolved nothing. We're on the edge of a pre-
cipice. Is our marriage is at stake here? Why can't he see what a complete and ut-
ter ass he's been running to that woman? And what does he mean when he says
he'll never sec her again'.' How on earth an; I supposed to believe that? I glance at
the radio alarm — eight thirty. Shit! I'll don't want to be late. I take a deep breath.
"Round Two was a stalemate. Little Blip." I whisper, patting my belly.
"Daddy may be a lost cause, bul ! hope not Why. oil w hy. did you come so eariy.
Little Blip? Things were just getting good." My lip trembles, but I take a deep
cleansing breath and bring my rolling emotions under control.
"Come on. Let's go kick ass at work."
I don't say good-bye lo Christian. He's slill in lite shower when Sawyer and I
leave. As I gaze out of the darkened w indow s of the SI V. my composure slips
and my eyes water. My mood is reflected in the gray, dreary sky, and I feel a
strange sense of foreboding. We didn't actually discuss the baby. I have had less
even less time. "He doesn't even know your name." I caress my belly and wipe
"Mrs. Grey." Sawyer interrupts my reverie. "We're here."
"Oil. Thanks, Sawyer."
"I'm going to make a run in lite deli, ma'am. Can 1 get you anything?"
"No. Thank you, no. I'm not hungry."
Hannah has my latte waiting for me. 1 take one sniff of it and my stomach roils,
reason I never really liked coffee. Jeez, it smells foul.
"You okay, Ana?"
I nod and scurry into the safety of my office. My BlackBerry buzzes. It's
Kate.
"Whyurst i i i u I
"Good morning, Kate. How are you?"
"Cut the crap. Steele. What gives?" The Kathcrine Kavanagh Inquisition
"Christian and I had a fight, that's all."
"Did he hurt you?"
1 roll my eyes. "Yes, but not the way you're thinking." I cannot deal with
Kate at the moment. I know I will cry, and right now I am so proud of myself for
not breaking down this morning. "Kale, i hac a meeting. I'll call you back."
"Good. You're all right?"
"Yes." No. "I'll call you later, okay?"
"Okay, Ana, have it your own way. I'm here for you."
"I know," I In It
^Rayokay?"
"Yes," I whisper the -,• ord.
"Oh, Ana." she w Itispers.
"Don't."
"Okay. Talk later."
word from Christian. But there's nothing. As the day wears on, I realize that he's
throw myself into my work, pausing only at lunchtime for a cream cheese and sal-
mon bagel. It's exlraordinan hov much heller 1 feci once l'c eaten something.
At five o'clock Sawet and 1 set off for the hospital to see Ray. Sawyer is ex-
tra vigilant, and even o ersolieitous. it's irritating. As we approach Ray's room,
he hovers over me.
"Shall I get you s met. I , v it ill our father?" he asks.
"No thanks, Sawyer. I'll be fine."
"I'll wait outside." He opens the door for me, and I'm grateful to get away
111 I I zinc He's shaved,
wearing a pajama top — he looks like his old self.
"Hey, Annie." lie grins. And his face falls.
"Oh, Daddy ..." I rash to his side, and in a very uncharacteristic move, he
opens his arms w ide and hugs me.
"Annie'?" he whispers. "What is if.'" lie holds me light 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
"Tell your old man."
I shake my head. He doesn't need my problems right now .
"It's nothing, Dad. You look well." I clasp his hand.
r ing nun 1 isc thoug his leg ill ist is bilchin'."
"Bitchin"?" His word prompts my smile.
"Oh, Dad, I am so glad you're okay."
"Me. loo. 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' 1 And 1 llghl die tears dial prick the corners
of my eyes.
"You and Christian getting along?"
"We'll work it out."
He nods. "He's a line man. your husband." Ray .a s reassuringly.
"He has his moments. hat did die doctors say?" 1 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 us that he'd be akin 1 t i, loncs informs me
apologetically.
"Oh. Thanks for lolling mc know." Why conldn'l lie loll mc? Jeez, he really
is inking his sulk to a whole new level. I am briefly reminded of the light o cr our
wedding vows and the major tantrum he had then. Bui I'm the aggrieved one here.
"What would you like to eat?" Mrs. Jones has a determined, steely glint in
her eye.
She smiles. "Spaghetti, pennc, fusilli?"
"Spaghetti, your Bologncse."
"Coming up. And Ana . . . you should know Mr. Grey was frantic this morn-
ing when he thought you'd loll, i le v. as 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?"
With her. "I'll let you go."
1 he line, the sil retching ai toning between
"Goodnight, Christian."
He hangs up.
Oh shit. I gaze al m BlaekBern . i don'l know w hat lie 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 loose-lipped to my ex-paedo lover. I want
him to acknowledge that that is not an acceptable way to behave.
1 i i u ng al the billiard table in the li i ill 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 Kale. I
can'l face talking io anyone 1 lexl 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 hoaxing unladylike sob', of grief. - .
My head is heavy when I w ake. Crisp fall light shines through the great windows
of my room. Glaneing at my alarm 1 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. 1 ptel t i| in tare lit no ng the ilk material between my
thumbs and toielni-i ts 1 en i i u i n leek, llewa here watching me
sleep. And a glimmci lit i pit n
Mrs. Jones is busy in lite kitchen w hen 1 arrive downstairs.
"Good morning," she says brightly.
"Morning. Christian?" I ask.
Her face falls. "He's already left."
"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 1 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
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. 1 sink to the floor of the cubicle and put my head in my hands.
Could I be any more miserable? After a w liile. there's a gentle knock on the door.
"Ana?" It's Hannah.
Fuck. "Yes?"
"Are you okay?"
"I'll be out in a moment."
"Boyce Fox is here to see you."
"Do you want some tea?"
"Please."
My BlackBerry buzzes, making me jump. I glance at the screen — it's Mia.
Joe/, that's all I need, her gushing and enthusiasm, i hesitate, wondering if I could
just ignore it. but courtesy wins out.
"Mia," I answer brightly.
"Well, hello there. Ami long lime no speak-" The male voice is familiar.
Fuck!
My scalp prickles and all the hair on my body stands to attention as adren-
aline Hoods though sir. s stem and my world Mops spinning.
It's Jack Hyde.
"Jack." My voice has disappeared, choked by fear. How is he out of jail? Why
does he have Mia's plume? The blood drains from im lace, and I feel dizzy.
"You do remember me," he says, his tone soft. I sense his bitter smile.
"Yes. Of course." My answer is automatic as my mind races.
"Yes."
Hangup.
Don Ini up l' c been ha ii i ehal wil our link isK i
What? Mia! No! "What have you done?" I whisper, trying to quell my fear.
"Listen here, you prick-teasing, gold-digging whore. You fucked up my life.
Grey fucked up my life. You owe me. I hae ihe litile bilch will) me now. And
you, that cock-sucker you married, and his whole fucking family are going to
pay."
Hyde's contempt and bile shock me. His family? What the hell?
"What do you want?"
"I want his money. I really want his fucking money. If things had been differ-
ent, it could have beer; me So row re going to gel it for me. I want five million
dollars, today."
"Jack, Idon't hae access to thai kind of money."'
He snorts his derision. "You have two hours to get it. That's it — two hours.
Tell no one or this little bitch gets it. Not the cops. Not your prick of a husband.
Not his security team. I will know if you do. Understand?" He pauses and I try to
respond, but panic and fear seal my throat.
"You understand!" he shouts.
"Or I will kill her."
I gasp.
"Keep your phone with you. Tell no one or I'll luck her up before 1 kill her.
"Jack, I need longer. Three hours. How do I know that you have her?"
The line goes dead. I gape in horror ai ihe phone, my moulh parched w ith
fear, leaving the nasty metallic taste of terror. Mia, he has Mia. Or does he? My
mind whirrs at the obscene possibility ami my stomach roils again. I think I'm
passes. My mind rockets through the possibilities. Tell Christian? Tell Taylor?
Call the police? How will Jack know? Does he actually have Mia? I need time,
time lo think but I can only accomplish that by follow ing his instructions. I grab
my purse and head lor the door.
"Hannah, 1 have to go out. I am not sure how long I'll be. Cancel my appoint-
ments this afternoon. Let lilizabelh know i have to deal w ith an emergency."
"Sure, Ana. Everything okas ?" 1 Iannah I'row ns. concern etched on her face as
she w aiehes me flee.
"Vis." I call back distractedly . hum ing toward reception where Sawyer is
"Sawyer." He leaps up from the armchair at the sound of my voice, and
frowns when he sees my face.
"I'm not feeling well. Please take me home."
"Sure, ma'am. Do you want to wait here while I get the car?"
"No, I'll come with you. I'm in a hurry to get home."
I gaze out the window in stark terror as I go over my plan. Get home. Change.
I ik 1 ch kboo 1 i | from Ryan and Sa . 1 teho ' io > ml II II h
much room docs five million dollars lake up? Whal will n weigh? Will I need a
suitcase? Should I telephone the bank in advance? Mia. Mia. What if he doesn't
have Mia? How can i cheek? II* I call Grace it will raise her suspicions, and pos-
sibly endanger Mia. lie said he would know. 1 glance oui the back window of the
SUV. Am I being followed? My heart races as I examine die cars following us.
They look innocuous enough. Oh. Sawyer, drive faster. Please. My eyes flicker to
Sawy er presses a button on his Bluetooth headset to answer a call. "T . . . I
wanted to let you know Mrs. Grey is with me." Sawyer's eyes meet mine once
more before he looks back at the road and continues. "She's unwell. I'm taking
her back to Escala . . . I see . . . Sir." Sawyer's eyes flick from the road to mine in
irror again. "Yes." he agrees and hangs up.
's look softens it; s> mpalln .
rub it consciously. And you, Little Blip. Keep you both safe.
"Can we hum please'.' I'm not feeling well."
"Yes, ma'am." Sawyer presses the accelerator and our a
to my belly, and I
glides through the
Mrs. Jones is nowhere to be seen when Sawyci am! i arrive al (he aparlmenl.
Since her car is missing from hie garage. I assume she's running errands with Ry-
an. Sawyer heads for Taylor's office while I bolt to Christian's study. Stumbling
in panic around his desk, I wrench open the drawer to find the checkbooks.
Leila's gun slides forward into view. I led . I w mgc of annoyance
thai Christian lias not secured this weapon. 1 Ic know s nothing about guns. Jeez, he
After a moment's hesitation. 1 grab the pistol, check to ensure it's loaded, and
tuck it into the waistband of my black slacks. I may need it. I swallow hard. I've
only ever practiced on targets. I've never tires.: a gun at anyone; I hope Ray will
forgive me 1 turn m attention to tracking down ike right checkbook. There are
five, and only one is in the names of C. Grey and Mrs. A. Grey. 1 have about fifty-
four thousand dollars in my own account. 1 have no idea, how much money is in
this one. But Christian must be good for five million dollars, surely. Perhaps
there's money in the safe? Crap. I have no idea of the number. Didn't he mention
I'll have to stick to plan A.
I take a deep breath and. in a more composed but determined manner, stride
to our bedroom. The bed has been made, and for a moment. I feel a pang. Perhaps
I should have slept here last night. What is the point of arguing with someone
who, by their own admission, is Fifty Shades? He's not even talking to mc now.
Quickly, I change out of my slacks, pulling on jeans, a hooded sw ealshirl.
and a pair of sneakers and put the gun in the w aislband ok my jeans, at my back.
this? Christian's gym bag is lying there on the floor. I open it, expecting to find it
full of dirty laundry, but no — his gym kit is clean and fresh. Mrs. Jones does in-
deed gel everywhere, i dump the contents onto the (loot and stuff his gym bag in-
to my duffle. There, that should do it. I check that I have my driver's license as
identification for the bank and check the lime, it's been thirty-one minutes since
Jack called. Now 1 just hac to get out of hscala without Sawyer seeing me.