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Part III Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-four

“Much as I’d like to kiss you all day, your breakfast is getting cold,”

Christian murmurs against my lips. He gazes down at me, now amused,

except his eyes are darker, sensual. Holy cow, he’s switched again. My Mr.

Mercurial.

“Eat,” he orders, his voice soft. I swallow, a reaction to his smoldering look,

and crawl back into bed, a一voiding snagging my IV

line. He 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 mouthfuls, “Blip might be a girl.”

Christian runs his hand through his hair. “Two women, eh?” Alarm flashes

across his face, and his dark look vanishes. Oh crap.

“Do you ha一ve a preference?”

“Preference?”

“Boy or girl.”

He frowns. “Healthy will do,” he says quietly clearly disconcerted by the

question. “Eat,” he snaps, and I know he’s trying to a一void the subject.

“I’m eating, I’m eating . . . Jeez, keep your hair on, Grey.” I watch him

carefully. 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 me, picking up the Seattle Times.

“You made the papers again, Mrs. Grey.” His is tone bitter.

“Again?”

“The hacks are just rehashing yesterday’s story, but it seems factually

accurate. You want to read it?”

I shake my head. “Read it to me. I’m eating.”

He smirks and proceeds to read the article aloud. It’s a report on Jack and

Elizabeth, depicting them as a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. It briefly

covers Mia’s kidnap, my involvement in Mia’s rescue, and the 447 | P a g e

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fact that both Jack and I are in the same hospital. How does the press get all

this information? I must ask Kate. Christian finishes.

“Please read something else. I like listening to you.”

He obliges and reads me a report about a booming bagel business and the

fact that Boeing has had to cancel the launch of some plane. Christian frowns

as he reads. But listening to his soothing voice as I eat, secure in the

knowledge that I am fine, Mia is safe and my Little Blip is safe, I feel a

precious moment of peace in spite of all that has happened over the last few

days.

I understand that Christian is scared about the baby, but I don’t understand

the depth of his fear. I resolve to talk to him some more about this. See if I

can put his mind at ease. What puzzles me is that he hasn’t lacked for

positive role models as parents. Both Grace and Carrick are exemplary

parents, or so they seem. Maybe it was the Bitch Troll’s interference that

damaged him so badly. I’d like to think so. But in truth I think it goes back to

his birth mom, though I’m sure Mrs. Robinson didn’t help. I halt my thoughts

as I nearly recall a whispered conversation. Damn! It hovers on the edge of

my memory from when I was unconscious. 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

ha一ve to push him. I’m about to ask when there’s a knock on the door.

Detective Clark makes an apologetic entry into the room. He’s right to be

apologetic—my heart sinks when I see him.

“Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey. Am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” snaps Christian.

Clark ignores him. “Glad to see you’re awake, Mrs. Grey. I need to ask you a

few questions about Thursday afternoon. Just routine. Is now a convenient

time?”

“Sure,” I mumble, but I 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 and offers Clark his chair, then sits down beside me on the

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Half an hour later, Clark is done. I’ve learned nothing new, but I ha一ve

recounted the events of Thursday to him in a halting, quiet voice, watching

Christian go pale and grimace at some parts.

“I wish you’d aimed higher,” Christian mutters.

“Might ha一ve done womankind a service if Mrs. Grey had.” Clark agrees.

What?

“Thank you, Mrs. Grey. That’s all for now.”

“You won’t let him out again, will you?”

“I don’t think he’ll make bail this time, ma’am.”

“Do we know who posted his bail?” Christian asks.

“No sir. It was anonymous.”

Christian frowns, but I think he has his suspicions. Clark rises to lea一ve just as

Dr. Singh and two interns enter the room.

After a thorough examination, Dr. Singh declares me fit to go home.

Christian sags with relief.

“Mrs. Grey, you’ll ha一ve to watch for worsening headaches and blurry vision. If

that occurs you must return to the hospital immediately.”

I nod, trying to contain my delight at going home.

As Dr. Singh lea一ves, Christian asks her for a quick word in the corridor. He

keeps the door ajar as he asks her a question. She smiles.

“Yes, Mr. Grey, that’s fine.”

He grins and returns to the room a happier man.

“What was all that about?”

“Sex,” he says, flashing a wicked grin.

Oh. I blush. “And?”

“You’re good to go.” He smirks.

Oh, Christian!

“I ha一ve a headache.” I smirk right back.

“I know. You’ll be off limits for a while. I was just checking.”

Off limits? I frown at the momentary stab of disappointment I feel. I’m not sure

I want to be off limits.

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Nurse Nora joins us to remove my IV. She glares at Christian. I think she’s

one of the few women I’ve met who is oblivious to his charms. I thank her

when she lea一ves with my IV stand.

“Shall I take you home?” Christian asks.

“I’d like to see Ray first.”

“Sure.”

“Does he know about the baby?”

“I thought you’d want to be the one to tell him. I ha一ven’t told your mom either.”

“Thank you.” I smile, grateful that 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 you.”

What? Christian laughs at my appalled expression. “I told him I’d be only too

willing to oblige.”

“You didn’t!” I gasp, though a memory of a whispered conversation while I

was unconscious tantalizes me. Yes, Ray was here while I was laid out . . .

He winks at me. “Here, Taylor brought you some clean clothes. I’ll help you

dress.”

As Christian predicted, Ray is furious. I don’t ever remember him being this

mad. Christian has wisely decided to lea一ve us alone together. For such a

taciturn man, Ray fills his hospital room with his invective, berating me for my

irresponsible beha一vior. I am twelve years 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 grumbles, wa一ving both of his

hands in exasperation.

“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.

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I lean over and kiss his cheek, and finally he relents from his tirade.

“I’ll call her. I really am sorry. But thank you for teaching me to shoot.”

For a moment, he regards me with ill-concealed paternal pride. “I’m glad you

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.

“I’m okay. I promise I won’t do anything like that again.”

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 lea一ve through the rear exit of the hospital to a一void the paparazzi gathered

at the entrance. Taylor leads us to the waiting in the SUV. Christian is quiet

as Sawyer drives us home. I a一void Sawyer’s gaze in the rearview mirror,

embarrassed that the last time I saw him was at the bank when I ga一ve him

the slip. I call my mom, who sobs down the phone. 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. He’s nervous . . . something’s happened.

“What’s wrong?” I ask when I’m finally free from my mother.

“Welch wants to see me.”

“Welch? Why?”

“He’s found something out about that fucker Hyde.” Christian’s lip curls into a

snarl, and a frisson of fear passes through me. “He didn’t want to tell me on

the phone.”

“Oh.”

“He’s coming here this afternoon from Detroit.”

“You think he’s found a connection?”

Christian nods.

“What do you think it is?”

“I ha一ve no idea.” Christian’s brow furrows, perplexed. 451 | P a g e

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Taylor pulls into the garage at Escala and stops by the elevator to let us out

before he parks. In the garage, we can a一void the attention of the waiting

photographers. Christian ushers me out of the car. Keeping his arm around

my waist, he leads me to the waiting elevator.

“Glad to be home?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper. But as I stand in the familiar surroundings of the elevator, the

enormity of what I’ve been through crashes over me, and I start to shake.

“Hey—” Christian wraps his arms around me and pulls me close.

“You’re home. You’re safe,” he says, kissing my hair.

“Oh, Christian.” A dam I didn’t even know was in place bursts, and I start to

sob.

“Hush now,” Christian whispers, cradling my head against his chest. But it’s

too late. I weep, overwhelmed, into his T-shirt, recalling Jack’s vicious attack

— “That’s for SIP, you fucking bitch!”— telling Christian I was lea一ving—

“You’re lea一ving me?”— and my fear, my gutwrenching fear for Mia, for

myself, and for Blip. When the doors of the elevator slide open, Christian

picks me up like a child and carries me into the foyer. I 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.

I shake my head. No . . . no . . . not like Leila.

I shake my head. No . . . no . . . not like Leila.

“Shower?” His voice is choked with concern.

Through my tears, I nod. I want to wash away the grime of the last few days,

wash away the memory of Jack’s attack. “You gold digging whore.” I sob into

my hands as the sound of the water cascading from the shower echoes off

the walls.

“Hey,” Christian croons. Kneeling in front of me, he pulls my hands away from

my tear-stained cheeks and cups my face in his hands. I gaze 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. I can’t bear it when you cry.” His voice is hoarse. His thumbs

wipe my cheeks, but my tears still flow.

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worry, for risking everything—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 penitent. “Let’s get you undressed.” His voice is

soft. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, and he kisses my forehead

once more.

Briskly he strips me, taking particular care as he pulls my T-shirt over my

head. But my head is not too sore. Leading me to the shower, he peels off

his own clothing in record time before stepping into the welcome hot water

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 me cry into his chest. Occasionally he kisses my hair, but he doesn’t

let go, he just rocks me gently beneath the warm water. To feel his skin

against mine, his chest hair against my cheek . . . this man I love, this selfdoub一ting,

beautiful man, the man I could ha一ve lost through my own

recklessness. I feel empty and aching at 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 ha一ve to come from him. I can’t force him—he’s

got to want to tell me. I 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 for now,

that’s enough. The realization is liberating. I stop crying 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 bruises 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 fills my nostrils.

“Turn around.” Gently, he proceeds to wash my injured arm, then 453 | P a g

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my neck, my shoulders, my back, and my other arm. He turns me sideways,

and traces his long fingers down my side. I wince as they skate over the

large bruise at my hip. Christian’s eyes harden and his lips thin. His anger is

palpable as he whistles through his teeth.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I murmur to reassure him.

Blazing gray eyes meet mine. “I want to kill him,” he whispers. “I nearly did,”

he adds cryptically. I frown then shiver at his bleak expression. He squirts

more shower gel on the washcloth and with tender, aching gentleness, he

washes my side and my behind, then, kneeling, moves down my legs. He

pauses to examine my bruised knee. He lips brush over the bruise before he

returns to washing my legs and my feet. Reaching down, I caress his head,

running my fingers through his wet hair. He stands, and his fingers trace the

outline of the bruise on my ribs where Jack kicked me.

“Oh, baby,” he groans, his voice filled with anguish, his eyes 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 his, his body stirs against me.

“No,” he whispers against my lips, and he pulls back. “Let’s get you clean.”

His face is serious. Damn . . . He means it. I pout, and the atmosphere

between us lightens in an instant. He 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

before I 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 crying, or my decision to stop hassling Christian about

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 manageable. I ha一ve some painkillers from Dr. Singh, but she’s

asked me not to use them unless I ha一ve to.

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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.

This is news. I frown up at him, but I’m distracted. He’s drying his hair with a

towel, his chest and shoulders still wet with beads of water that glint beneath

the halogens. He pauses and smirks.

“Enjoying the view?”

“How do you know?” I ask, trying to ignore that I’ve been caught staring at my

own husband.

“That you’re enjoying the view?” he teases.

“No,” I scold. “About Elizabeth.”

“Detective Clark hinted at it.”

I give him my tell-me-more expression, and another nagging memory from

when I was unconscious resurfaces. Clark was in my room. I wish I could

remember 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.

“Videos of him fucking her. Fucking all his PAs.”

Oh!

“Exactly. Blackmail material. He likes it rough.” Christian frowns, and I watch

confusion followed by disgust cross his face. He pales as his disgust turns to

self-loathing. Of course—Christian 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.

“Don’t think you’re anything like him.”

Christian’s eyes harden, but he says nothing, confirming that’s exactly what

he was thinking.

“You’re not.” My voice is adamant.

“We’re cut from the same cloth.”

“No, you’re not,” I snap, though I understand why he might think so. “His dad

died in a brawl in a bar. His mother drank herself into oblivion. He was in

and out of foster homes as a kid, in and out of trouble, too—mainly

boosting cars. Spent time in juvie.” I recall the information Christian revealed

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“You both ha一ve troubled pasts, and you were both born in Detroit. That’s it,

Christian.” I fist my hands on my hips.

“Ana, your faith in me is touching, in spite of the last few days. We’ll know

more when Welch is here.” He’s dismissing the subject.

“Christian—”

He stops me 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.” I know the subject is

closed

After dressing in sweatpants and a T-shirt, I sit between Christian’s legs as

he dries my hair.

“So did Clark tell you anything else while I was unconscious?”

“Not that I recall.”

“I heard a few of your conversations.”

The hairbrush stills in my hair.

“Did you?” he asks, his tone nonchalant.

“Yes. My dad, your dad, Detective Clark . . . your mom.”

“And Kate?”

“Kate was there?”

“Briefly, yes. She’s mad at you, too.”

I turn in his lap. “Stop with the everyone is mad at Ana crap, okay?”

“Just telling you the truth,” Christian 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 me. “But no more recklessness. Because

next time, I will spank the living shit out of you.”

I gasp.

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would.” He’s serious. Holy cow. Deadly serious. “I ha一ve your stepfather’s

permission.” He smirks. He’s teasing me! Or is he? I launch myself at him,

and he twists so that I fall onto the bed and into his arms. As I land, pain from

my ribs shoots through me and I wince. Christian pales. “Beha一ve!” he

admonishes, and for a moment he’s angry.

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“Sorry,” I mumble, reaching up to caress his cheek. He nuzzles my hand and

kisses it gently.

“Honestly, Ana, you really ha一ve no regard for your own safety.” He tugs up the

hem of my T-shirt then rests his fingers on my belly. I stop breathing. “It’s not

just you anymore,” he whispers, trailing his fingertips along the waistband of

my sweats, caressing my skin. Desire explodes unexpected, hot, and hea一vy

in my blood. I gasp and Christian tenses, halting his fingers and gazing down

at me. He moves his hand up to tuck a stray lock 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.

I squirm. “Christian,” I whine.

“No. Get into bed.” He sits up.

“Bed?”

“You need rest.”

“I need you.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head as if it’s a great effort of will. When

he opens them again, his eyes are bright with his resolve.

“Just do as you’re told, Ana.”

I’m tempted to take off all my clothes, but then I remember the bruises and

know I won’t win that way. Reluctantly, I nod.

“Okay.” I deliberately give him an exaggerated pout. He grins, amused. “I’ll

bring you some lunch.”

“You’re going to cook?” I nearly expire.

He has the grace to laugh. “I’m going to heat something up. Mrs. Jones has

been busy.”

“Christian, I’ll do it. I’m fine. Jeez, I want sex—I can certainly cook.” I sit up

awkwardly, trying to hide my flinch from my smarting ribs.

“Bed!” Christian’s eyes flash and he points to the pillow.

“Join me,” I murmur, wishing I were wearing something a little more alluring

than sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“Ana, get into bed. Now.”

I scowl, stand up, and let my pants drop unceremoniously to the floor, glaring

at him the whole time. His mouth twitches with humor as 457 | P a g e

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he pulls the duvet back.

“You heard Dr. Singh. She said rest.” His voice is gentler. I slip into bed and

fold my arms in frustration. “Stay,” he says clearly enjoying himself.

My scowl deepens.

Mrs. Jones’s chicken stew is, without doub一t, one of my fa一vorite dishes.

Christian 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. Was

this his plan?

“You look tired.” He picks up my tray.

“I am.”

“Good. Sleep.” He leans down and kisses me. “I ha一ve 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.

It’s dusk when I wake. Pale pink light floods the room. Christian is sitting in

the armchair, watching me, gray eyes luminous in the ambient light. 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. He 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 stunned. What’s this?

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and gazing down at him. Christian closes his eyes and furrows his brow as if

he’s straining 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 can’t

remember anything about that time.”

My mind reels. A foster home? This is news to both of us.

“For how long?” I whisper.

“Two months or so. I ha一ve no recollection.”

“Ha一ve 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

them in detail. The first photo is of a shabby house with a yellow front door

and a large gabled window in the roof. It has a porch and a small front yard.

It’s an unremarkable house. The second photo is of a family—at first glance,

an ordinary bluecollar family—a man and his wife, I think, and their children.

The adults are both dressed in dowdy, overwashed blue T-shirts. They must

be in their 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 man

has his hand draped over the shoulders 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 at the camera; there’s another boy, who’s

smaller, blonder, scowling; and hiding behind him, a copper-haired grayeyed

little boy. Wide-eyed and scared, dressed in mismatched clothes, and

clutching a child’s dirty blanket.

Fuck. “This is you,” I whisper, my heart lurching into my throat. I know

Christian was four when his mother died. But this child looks much younger.

He must ha一ve been severely malnourished. I stifle a sob as tears spring to

my eyes. Oh, my sweet Fifty. Christian nods. “That’s me.”

“Welch brought these photos?”

“Yes. I don’t remember any of this.” His voice is flat and lifeless.

“Remember being with foster parents? Why should you? Christian, it was a

long time ago. Is this what’s worrying you?”

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“I remember other things, from before and after. When I met my mom and

dad. But this . . . It’s like there’s a huge chasm.”

My heart twists and understanding dawns. My darling control freak likes

everything in its place, and now he’s learned he’s missing part of the jigsaw.

“Is Jack in this picture?”

“Yes, he’s the older kid.” Christian’s eyes are still screwed shut, and he’s

clinging to me as if I’m a life raft. I run my fingers through his hair while I gaze

at the older boy who is glaring, defiant and arrogant, at the camera. I can see

it’s Jack. But he’s just a kid, a sad eight or nine-yearold, hiding his fear

behind his hostility. A thought occurs to me.

“When Jack called to tell me he had Mia, he said if things had been different,

it could ha一ve been him.”

Christian closes his eyes and shudders. “That fucker!”

“You think he did all this because the Greys adopted you instead of him?”

“Who knows?” Christian’s tone is bitter. “I don’t give a fuck about him.”

“Perhaps he knew we were seeing each other when I went for that job

interview. Perhaps he planned to seduce me all along.” Bile rises in my

throat.

“I don’t think so,” Christian mutters, his eyes now open. “The searches he did

on my family didn’t start until a week or so after you began your job at SIP.

Barney knows the exact dates. And, Ana, he fucked all his assistants and

taped them.” Christian closes his eyes and tightens his grip on me once

more.

Suppressing the tremor that runs through me, I try to recall my various

conversations with Jack when I first started at SIP. I knew deep down he was

bad news, yet I ignored all my instincts. Christian’s right—I ha一ve no regard for

my own safety. I remember the fight we had about me going to New York with

Jack. Jeez—I could ha一ve ended up on some sordid sex tape. The thought is

nauseating. And in that moment I recall the photographs Christian kept of his

submissives. Oh shit. “We’re cut from the same cloth.” No, Christian, you’re

not, you’re nothing like him. He’s still curled around me, like a small boy.

“Christian, I think you should talk to your mom and dad.” I am reluctant to

move him, so I shift and slide back into the bed until we are 460 | P a g e

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eye to eye.

A bewildered gray gaze meets mine, reminding me of the child in the

photograph.

“Let me call them,” I whisper. He shakes his head. “Please.” I beg. Christian

stares at me, pain and self-doub一t reflected in his eyes as he considers my

request. Oh, Christian, please!

“I’ll call them,” he whispers.

“Good. We can go and see them together, or you can go. Whichever you

prefer.”

“No. They can come here.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you going anywhere.”

“Christian, I’m up for a car journey.”

“No.” His voice is firm, but he gives me an ironic smile. “Anyway, it’s

Saturday night, they’re probably at some function.”

“Call them. This news has obviously upset you. They might be able to shed

some light.” I glance at the radio alarm. It’s almost seven in the evening. He

regards me impassively for a moment.

“Okay,” he says as if I’ve issued him with a challenge. Sitting up, he reaches

for the bedside phone.

I wrap my arm around him and rest my head on his chest as he makes the

call.

“Dad?” I register his surprise that Carrick has answered the phone.

“Ana’s good. We’re home. Welch has just left. He found out the connection . .

. the foster home in Detroit . . . I don’t remember any of that.” Christian’s

voice is almost inaudible as he mutters the last sentence. My heart constricts

once more. I hug him, and he squeezes my shoulder.

“Yeah . . . You will? . . . Great.” He hangs up. “They’re on their way.” He

sounds surprised, and I realize that he’s probably never asked them for help.

“Good. I should get dressed.”

Christian’s arm tightens around me. “Don’t go.”

“Okay.” I snuggle into his side again, stunned by the fact that he’s just told me

a great deal about himself—entirely voluntarily.

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As we stand at the threshold to the great room, Grace wraps me gently in her

arms.

“Ana, Ana, darling Ana,” she whispers. “Sa一ving two of my children. How can I

ever thank you?”

I blush, touched and embarrassed in equal measure by her words. Carrick

hugs me, too, kissing my forehead.

Then Mia grabs me, squashing my ribs. I wince and gasp, but she doesn’t

notice. “Thank you for sa一ving me from those assholes.”

Christian scowls at her. “Mia! Careful! She’s in pain.”

“Oh! Sorry.”

“I’m good,” I mutter, relieved when she releases me. She looks fine.

Impeccably dressed in tight black jeans and a pale pink frilly blouse. I’m glad

I’m wearing my comfortable wrap dress and flats. At least I look reasonably

presentable.

Racing over to Christian, Mia curls her arm around his waist. Wordlessly, he

hands Grace the photo. She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth to contain

her emotion as she instantly recognizes Christian. Carrick wraps his arm

around her shoulder as he, too, examines it.

“Oh, darling.” Grace caresses Christian’s cheek.

Taylor appears. “Mr. Grey? Miss Ka一vanagh, her brother, and your brother are

coming up, sir.”

Christian frowns. “Thank you, Taylor,” he mutters, bemused.

“I called Elliot and told him we were coming over.” Mia grins. “It’s a welcomehome

party.”

I sneak a sympathetic glance at my poor husband as both Grace and Carrick

glare at Mia in exasperation.

“We’d better get some food together,” I declare. “Mia, will you give me a

hand?”

“Oh, I’d love to.”

I usher her toward the kitchen area as Christian leads his parents into his

study.

Kate is apoplectic with righteous indignation that’s aimed at me, Christian,

but most of all Jack and Elizabeth.

“What were you thinking, Ana?” she shouts as she confronts me in the

kitchen, causing all eyes in the room to turn and stare. 462 | P a g e

E L JAMES

“Kate, please. I’ve had the same lecture from everyone!” I snap back. She

glares at me, and for one minute I think I’m going to be subjected to a

Katherine Ka一vanagh how-not-to-succumb-to-kidnappers lecture, but instead

she folds me into her arms.

“Jeez—sometimes you don’t ha一ve the brains you were born with, Steele,”

she whispers. As she kisses my cheek, there are tears in her eyes . Kate!

“I’ve been so worried about you.”

“Don’t cry. You’ll set me off.”

She stands back and wipes her eyes, embarrassed, then takes a deep

breath and composes herself. “On a more positive note, we’ve set a date for

our wedding. We thought next May? And of course I want you to be my

matron of honor.”

“Oh . . . Kate . . . Wow. Congratulations!” Crap—Li’l Blip . . . Junior!

“What is it?” she asks, misinterpreting my alarm.

“Um . . . I’m just so happy for you. Some good news for a change.”

I wrap my arms around her and pull her into a hug. Shit, shit, shit. When is

Blip due? Mentally I calculate my due date. Dr. Greene said I was four or five

weeks. So—sometime in May? Shit. Elliot hands me a glass of champagne.

Oh. Shit.

Christian emerges from his study, looking ashen, and follows his parents into

the great room. His eyes widen when he sees the glass in my hand.

“Kate,” he greets her coolly.

“Christian.” She is equally cool. I sigh.

“Your meds, Mrs. Grey.” He eyes the glass in my hand. I narrow my eyes.

Dammit. I want a drink. Grace smiles as she joins me in the kitchen,

collecting a glass from Elliot on the way.

“A sip will be fine,” she whispers with a conspiratorial wink at me, and lifts

her glass to clink mine. Christian scowls at both of us, until Elliot distracts him

with news of the Mariners’ latest match against the Rangers.

Carrick joins us, putting his arms around us both, and Grace kisses his

cheek before joining Mia on the sofa.

“How is he?” I whisper to Carrick as he and I stand in the kitchen watching

the family lounge on the sofa. I note with surprise that Mia 463 | P a g e

Fifty Shades Freed

and Ethan are holding hands.

“Shaken,” Carrick murmurs to me, his brow furrowing, his face serious. “He

remembers so much of his life with his birth mother; many things I wish he

didn’t. But this—” He stops. “I hope we’ve helped. I’m glad he called us. He

said you told him to.” Carrick’s gaze softens. I shrug and take a hasty sip of

champagne.

“You’re very good for him. He doesn’t listen to anyone else.”

I blink up at Carrick, frowning. I don’t think that’s true. The unwelcome specter

of the Bitch Troll looms large in my mind. I know Christian talks to Grace, too.

I heard him. Again I feel a moment’s frustration as I try to fathom their

conversation in the hospital, but it still eludes me.

“Come and sit down, Ana. You look tired. I’m sure you weren’t expecting all

of us here this evening.”

“It’s great to see everyone.” I smile. Because it’s true, it is great. I’m an only

child who has married into a large and gregarious family, and I love it. I

snuggle up next to Christian.

“One sip,” he hisses at me and takes my glass from my hand.

“Yes, Sir.” I bat my lashes, disarming him completely. He puts his arm around

my shoulders and returns to his baseball conversation with Elliot and Ethan.

“My parents think you walk on water,” Christian mutters as he drags off his Tshirt.

I’m curled up in bed watching the floorshow.

“Good thing you know differently.” I snort.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He slips out of his jeans.

“Did they fill in the gaps for you?”

“Some. I lived with the Colliers for two months while Mom and Dad waited for

the paperwork. They were already approved for adoption because of Elliot,

but the wait’s required by law to see if I had any living relatives who wanted to

claim me.”

Oh.

“How do you feel about that?” I whisper.

He frowns. “About ha一ving no living relatives? Fuck that. If they were anything

like the crack whore . . .” He shakes his head in disgust. Oh, Christian! You

were a child, and you loved your mom. 464 | P a g e

E L JAMES

He slides on his pajamas, climbs into bed, and gently pulls me into his arms.

“It’s coming back to me. I remember the food. I think Mrs. Collier could cook.

And at least we know now why that fucker is so hung up on my family.” He

runs his free hand through his hair. “Fuck!” he says suddenly turning to gape

at me.

“What?”

“It makes sense now!” His eyes are full of recognizance.

“What?”

“Baby Bird. Mrs. Collier used to call me Baby Bird.”

I frown. “What makes sense?”

“The note,” he says gazing at me. “The ransom note that fucker left. It went

something like ‘Do you know who I am? Because I know who you are, Baby

Bird.’ ”

This is not makes no sense to me at all.

“It’s from a kids book. Shit. I’ve just remembered. The Colliers had it. It was

called . . . ‘Are You My Mother?’ Shit.” His eyes widen. “I loved that book.”

Oh. I know that book. My heart lurches— Fifty!

“Mrs. Collier used to read it to me.”

I am at a loss what to say.

“Christ. He knew . . . that fucker knew.”

“Will you tell the police?”

“Yes. I will. Christ knows what Clark will do with that information.” Christian

shakes his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Anyway, thank you for this

evening.”

Whoa. Gear change.

“For what?”

“Catering for my family at a moment’s notice.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Mia and Mrs. Jones. She keeps the pantry well

stocked.”

He shakes his head as if in exasperation. At me? Why?

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Grey?”

“Good. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” He frowns . . . not understanding my concern. Oh . . . in that case. I

trail my fingers down his stomach to his oh-sohappy trail. 465 | P a g e

Fifty Shades Freed

He laughs and grabs my hand. “Oh no. Don’t get any ideas.”

I pout, and he sighs. “Ana, Ana, Ana, what am I going to do with you?” He

kisses my hair.

“I ha一ve some ideas.” I squirm beside him, and wince as pain radiates

through my upper body from my bruised ribs.

“Baby, you’ve been through enough. Besides, I ha一ve a bedtime story for you.”

Oh?

“You wanted to know . . .” He trails off, closes his eyes and swallows. All of

the hair on my body stands on end . Shit. He begins in a soft voice. “Picture

this, an adolescent boy looking to earn some extra money so he can

continue his secret drinking habit.”

He shifts onto his side so that we’re lying facing each other and he’s gazing

into my eyes.

“So I was in the backyard at the Lincolns’, clearing some rubble and trash

from the extension Mr. Lincoln had just added to their place . . .”

Holy fuck . . . he’s talking.

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E L JAMES