Chapter Twenty
I gape at Dr. Greene, my world collapsing around me. A baby. A baby. I don’t
want a baby . . . not yet. Fuck. And I know deep down that Christian is going
to freak.
“Mrs. Grey, you’re very pale. Would you like a glass of water?”
“Please.” My voice is a barely audible. My mind is racing. Pregnant? When?
“I take it you’re surprised.”
I nod mutely at the good doctor as she hands me a glass of water from her
conveniently placed water cooler. I take a welcome sip.
“Shocked,” I whisper.
“We could do an ultrasound to see how advanced the pregnancy is. Judging
by your reaction, I suspect you’re just a couple of weeks or so from
conception––four or five weeks pregnant. I take it you ha一ven’t been suffering
any other symptoms?”
I shake my head mutely. Symptoms? I don’t think so. “I thought . . . I thought
this was a reliable form of contraceptive.”
Dr. Greene arches a brow. “It normally is, when you remember to ha一ve the
shot,” she says coolly.
“I must ha一ve lost track of time.” Christian is going to freak. I know it.
“Ha一ve you been bleeding at all?”
I frown. “No.”
“That’s normal for the Depo. Shall we ha一ve a look at you? I ha一ve time.”
I nod, bewildered, and Dr. Greene directs me toward a black leather table
behind a screen.
“If you’ll just slip off your skirt and underwear, we’ll go from there,” she says
briskly.
Underwear? I was expecting an ultrasound scan over my belly. Why do I need
to remove my panties? I shrug in consternation then quickly do as she says
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“That’s good.” Dr. Greene appears at the end of the table, pulling the
ultrasound machine closer. It’s a hi-tech stack of computers. Sitting down,
she positions the screen so that we can both see it and jogs the trackball on
the keyboard. The screen pings into life.
“If you could lift and bend your knees, then part them wide,” she says matterof-
factly.
What?
“This is a transvaginal ultrasound. If you’re only just pregnant, we should be
able to find the baby with this.” She holds up a long white probe.
Oh—you ha一ve got to be kidding!
“Okay,” I mutter, mortified, and do as she says. Greene pulls a condom over
the wand and lubricates it with clear gel.
“Right, Mrs. Grey, if you could relax.”
Relax? I’m pregnant, damn it! How do you expect me to relax? I blush, and
endea一vor to find my happy place . . . which has relocated somewhere near
the lost Island of Atlantis. Slowly and gently she inserts the probe. Holy fuck.
All I can see on the screen is the visual equivalent of white noise—
although it’s more sepia in color. Slowly, Dr. Greene moves the probe about,
and it’s very disconcerting.
“There,” she murmurs. She presses a button, freezing the picture on the
screen, and points to a tiny blip in the sepia storm. It’s a little blip. There’s a
tiny little blip in my belly. Tiny. Wow. I forget my discomfort as I stare shellshocked
at the blip.
“It’s too early to see the heartbeat, but yes, you’re definitely pregnant. Four or
five weeks, I would say.” She frowns. “Looks like the shot ran out early. Oh
well, that happens.”
What! I am too stunned to say anything. The little blip is a baby. A real honest
to goodness baby. Christian’s baby. My baby. Holy cow . A baby!
“Would you like me to print out a picture for you?”
I nod, still unable to speak, and Dr. Greene presses a button. Then she gently
removes the wand and hands me a paper towel to clean myself.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Grey,” she says as I sit up. “We’ll need to make
another appointment. I suggest in four weeks’ time. Then we can 381 | P a g
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ascertain the exact age of your baby and set a likely due date. You can get
dressed now.”
“Okay.” I’m reeling and I dress hurriedly. I ha一ve a blip, a little blip. When I
emerge from behind the screen, Dr. Greene is back at her desk.
“In the meantime, I’d like you to start this course of folic acid and
multivitamins. Here’s a leaflet of dos and don’ts.” As she hands me a
package of pills and a leaflet, she continues to talk at me, but I’m not
listening. I’m in shock. Overwhelmed. Surely I should be happy. Surely I
should be thirty . . . at least. This is too soon—far too soon. I try to quell my
rising sense of panic.
I wish Dr. Greene a polite goodbye and head in a daze back down to the exit
and out into the cool fall afternoon. I’m gripped suddenly by a creeping cold
and deep sense of foreboding. Christian is going to freak, I know, but how
much and how far, I ha一ve no idea. His words haunt me. “I’m not ready to
share you yet.” I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to shake off the cold.
share you yet.” I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to shake off the cold.
Sawyer leaps out of the SUV and holds open the door. He frowns when he
sees my face, but I ignore his concerned expression.
“Where to, Mrs. Grey?” he asks gently.
“SIP.” I nestle into the back of the car, closing my eyes and resting my head
on the back seat. I should be happy. I know I should be happy. But I’m not.
This is too early. Far too early. What about my job? What about SIP? What
about Christian and me? No. No. No. We’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He loved
baby Mia—I remember Carrick telling me—he dotes on her now. Perhaps I
should warn Flynn . . . Perhaps I shouldn’t tell Christian. Perhaps I . . .
perhaps I should end this. I halt my thoughts on that dark path, alarmed at the
direction they’re taking. Instinctively my hand sweeps down to rest
protectively over my belly. No. My little Blip. Tears spring to my eyes. What
am I going to do?
A vision of a little boy with copper-colored hair and bright gray eyes, running
through the meadow at the new house invades my thoughts, teasing and
tantalizing me with possibilities. He’s giggling and squealing with delight as
Christian and I chase him. Christian swings him high in his arms and carries
him on his hip as we walk hand in hand back to the house.
My vision morphs into Christian turning away from me in disgust. I’m fat and
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mirrors, away from me, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the silvered
glass, walls, and floor. Christian . . . I jerk awake. No. He’s going to freak out.
When Sawyer pulls up outside SIP, I leap out and head into the building.
“Ana, great to see you. How’s your dad?” Hannah asks as soon as I reach
my office. I regard her coolly.
“He’s better, thank you. Can I see you in my office?”
“Sure.” She looks surprised as she follows me in. “Is everything okay?”
“I need to know if you’ve moved or cancelled any appointments with Dr.
Greene.”
“Dr. Greene? Yes, I ha一ve. About two or three of them. Mostly because you
were in other meetings or overrunning. Why?”
Because now I’m fucking pregnant! I scream at her in my head. I take a
deep, steadying breath. “If you move any appointments, will you make sure I
know? I don’t always check my calendar.”
“Sure,” Hannah says quietly. “I’m sorry. Ha一ve I done something wrong?”
I shake my head and sigh loudly. “Can you make me some tea?
Then let’s discuss what’s been happening while I’ve been away.”
“Sure. I’ll jump to it.” Brightening, she heads out of the office. I gaze after her
departing figure. “You see that woman?” I talk quietly to the Blip. “She’s the
reason you’re here.” I pat my belly then feel like a complete idiot, because I
am talking to the blip. My tiny little Blip. I shake my head, exasperated at
myself and at Hannah . . . though deep down I know I can’t really blame
Hannah. Despondently I switch on my computer. There’s an e-mail from
Christian.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing you
Date: September 13, 2011 13:58
To: Anastasia Grey
Mrs. Grey
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I’ve been back in the office for only three hours, and I’m missing you already.
Hope Ray has settled in okay at the Northwest. Mom is going to see him this
afternoon and check up on him.
I’l col ect you around six this evening, and we can go and see him before
heading home.
Sound good?
Your loving husband
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
I type a quick response.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Missing you
Date: September 13, 2011 14:10
To: Christian Grey
Sure.
x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing you
Date: September 13, 2011 14:14
To: Anastasia Grey
Are you okay?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
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No, Christian, I’m not. I’m freaking out about you freaking out. I don’t know
what to do. But I am not going to tell you via e-mail.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Missing you
Date: September 13, 2011 14:17
To: Christian Grey
Fine. Just busy.
See you at six.
x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
When will I tell him? Tonight? Maybe after sex? Maybe during sex. No, that
might be dangerous for both of us. When he’s asleep? I put my head in my
hands. What the hell am I going to do?
~o0o~
“Hi,” Christian says warily as I climb into the SUV.
“Hi,” I murmur.
“What’s wrong?” He frowns. I shake my head as Taylor sets off toward the
hospital.
“Nothing.” Maybe now? I could tell him now when we’re in a contained space
and Taylor is with us.
“Is work all right?” Christian continues to probe.
“Yes. Fine. Thanks.”
“Ana, what’s wrong?” His tone is a little more forceful. I chicken out.
“I’ve just missed you, that’s all. And I’ve been worried about Ray.”
Christian visibly relaxes. “Ray’s good. I spoke to Mom this afternoon and
she’s impressed with his progress.” Reaching across, 385 | P a g e
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Christian grasps my hand. “Boy, your hand is cold. Ha一ve you eaten today?”
I blush.
“Ana,” Christian scolds me, annoyed.
Well, I ha一ven’t eaten because I know you’re going to go bat-shit crazy when
I tell you I’m pregnant.
“I’ll eat this evening. I ha一ven’t really had time.”
He shakes his head in frustration. “Do you want me to add ‘feed my wife’ to
the security detail’s list of duties?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll eat. It’s just been a weird day. You know, moving Dad and all.”
His lips press into a hard line, but he says nothing. I gaze out the window.
Tell him! My subconscious hisses. No. I am a coward. Christian interrupts
my reverie. “I may ha一ve to go to Taiwan.”
“Oh. When?”
“Later this week. Maybe next week.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to come with me.”
I swallow. “Christian, please. I ha一ve my job. Let’s not rehash this argument
again.”
He sighs and pouts like a sulky teenager. “Thought I’d ask,” he mutters
petulantly.
“How long will you go for?”
“Not more than a couple of days. I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you.”
How can he tell? “Well, now that my beloved husband is going away . . .”
Christian kisses my knuckles. “I won’t be away for long.”
“Good.” I smile weakly at him.
Ray is much brighter and a lot less grumpy when we see him. I’m touched by
his quiet gratitude to Christian, and for a moment I forget about my
impending news as I sit and listen to them talk fishing and the Mariners. But
he tires easily.
“Daddy, we’ll lea一ve you to sleep.”
“Thanks, Ana honey. I like that you drop by. Saw your mom today, 386 | P a g
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too, Christian. She was very reassuring. And she’s a Mariners fan.”
“She’s not crazy about fishing, though,” Christian says wryly as he rises.
“Don’t know many women who are, eh?” Ray grins.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” I lean over and kiss him. My subconscious
purses her lips. That’s provided Christian hasn’t locked you away . . . or
worse. My spirits take a nosepe.
“Come.” Christian holds out his hand, frowning at me. I take it and we lea一ve
the hospital.
I pick at my food. It’s Mrs. Jones’s chicken chasseur, but I’m just not hungry.
My stomach is knotted in a tight ball of anxiety.
“Damn it! Ana, will you tell me what’s wrong?” Christian pushes his empty
plate away, irritated. I gaze at him. “Please. You’re driving me crazy.”
I swallow and try to subdue the panic rising in my throat. I take a deep
steadying breath. It’s now or never. “I’m pregnant.”
He stills, and very slowly all the color drains from his face. “What?”
he whispers, ashen.
“I’m pregnant.”
His brow furrows with incomprehension. “How?”
I blink at him. How . . . how? What sort of ridiculous question is that? I blush,
and give him a quizzical how-do-you-think look. His stance changes
immediately, his eyes hardening to flint.
“Your shot?” he snarls.
Oh shit.
“Did you forget your shot?”
I just gaze at him unable to speak. Jeez, he’s mad—really mad.
“Christ, Ana!” He bangs his fist on the table, making me jump, and stands so
abruptly he almost knocks the dining chair over. “You ha一ve one thing, one
thing to remember. Shit! I don’t fucking believe it. How could you be so
stupid?”
Stupid! I gasp. Shit. I want to tell him that the shot was ineffective, but words
fail me. I gaze down at my fingers. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Sorry? Fuck!” he says again.
“I know the timing’s not very good.”
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“Not very good!” he shouts. “We’ve known each other five fucking minutes. I
wanted to show you the fucking world and now . . . Fuck. Diapers and vomit
and shit!” He closes his eyes. I 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 whisper. I can’t tell him about Hannah—he’d fire her. I know.
“I thought we’d agreed on this!” he shouts.
“I know. We had. I’m sorry.”
He ignores me. “This is why. This is why I like control. So things like this don’t
come along and fuck everything up.”
Thing . . . little Blip is not a thing. “Christian, please don’t shout at 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 at it as he does. “You think I’m ready to be a father?” His
voice catches, and it’s a mixture of rage and panic. And it all becomes clear,
the fear and loathing writ 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 for this, but I think you’ll make a wonderful
father,” I choke. “We’ll figure it out.”
“How the fuck do you know!” he shouts, louder this time. “Tell me how!” His
gray eyes burn, and so many emotions cross his face. It’s fear that’s most
prominent.
“Oh fuck this!” Christian bellows dismissively and holds his hands up in a
gesture of defeat. He turns on his heel and stalks toward the foyer, grabbing
his jacket as he lea一ves the great room. His footsteps echo off the wooden
floor, and he disappears through the double doors into the foyer, slamming
the door behind him and making me jump once more.
All I am left with is the silence—the still, silent emptiness of the great room. I
shudder involuntarily as I gaze numbly at the closed doors. He’s walked out
on me. Shit! His reaction is far worse than I could ever ha一ve imagined. I push
my plate away and fold my arms on the table, letting my head sink into them
while I weep. 388 | P a g e
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“Ana, dear.” Mrs. Jones is hovering beside me.
Oh. I sit up quickly, dashing the tears from my face.
“I heard. I’m sorry,” she says gently. “Would you like an herbal tea or
something?”
“I’d like a glass of white wine.”
Mrs. Jones pauses for a fraction of a second, and I remember the Blip. Now I
can’t drink alcohol. Can I? I must study the dos and don’ts Dr. Greene ga一ve
me.
“I’ll get you a glass.”
“Actually, I’ll ha一ve 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 front of me. “Is there anything else I can get for
you, Ana?”
“No, this is fine, thank you.”
“Are you sure? You didn’t eat much.”
I gaze 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 Hyde the nutcase trying to
make out that I sexually harassed him. I suddenly ha一ve 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 five weeks, the doctor isn’t sure.”
“If you won’t eat, then at least you should rest.”
I nod, and taking my tea, I head into the library. It’s my refuge. I dig my
BlackBerry out of my purse and contemplate calling Christian. I know it’s a
shock for him—but he really did overreact. When does he not overreact? My
subconscious arches a finely plucked brow at me. I sigh. Fifty Shades of
fucked up.
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“Yes, that’s your daddy, Little Blip. Hopefully he’ll cool off and come back . . .
soon.”
I pull out the leaflet of dos and don’ts and sit down to read. I can’t
concentrate. 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 control, yet he managed fine. But this news was too much.
Ever since I met him, my life has been complicated. Is it him? Is it the two of
us together? Suppose he doesn’t get past this? Suppose he wants a
porce? Bile rises in my throat. No. I mustn’t think this way. He’ll be back. He
will. I know he will. I know in spite of all 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. Shivering I check my watch; eleven in the
evening. Oh yes . . . You. I pat my belly. Where’s Christian? Is he back?
Stiffly I ease out of 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 long wait when Charlie Tango went missing flood back.
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
BlackBerry back in the library, and I text him.
*Where are you?*
I 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. I change into one of my
1930s-style satin nightdresses and my robe and head to the great room. On
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Little Blip’s room. I am startled by the thought and stand in the doorway,
contemplating this reality. Will we paint it blue or pink? The sweet thought is
soured by the fact that my husband is so pissed at the idea and is absent.
Grabbing the duvet from the spare bed, I head into the great room to keep
vigil.
Something wakes me. A sound.
“Shit!”
It’s Christian in the foyer. I hear the table scrape across the floor again.
“Shit!” he repeats, more muffled this time.
I scramble up in time to see him stagger through the double doors. He’s
drunk. My scalp prickles. Shit, Christian drunk? I know how much he hates
drunks. I leap up and run toward him.
“Christian, are you okay?”
He leans against the jamb of the foyer doors. “Mrs. Grey,” he slurs. Crap.
He’s very drunk. I don’t know what to do.
“Oh . . . you look mighty fine, Anastasia.”
“Where ha一ve you been?”
He puts his fingers to his lips and smiles crookedly at me. “Shh!”
“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, let alone walk. Where has he been? How did he get home?
“Let me help you to bed. Lean on me.”
“You are very beautiful, Ana.” He leans onto me and sniffs my hair, almost
knocking both of us over.
“Christian, walk. I am going to put you to bed.”
“Okay,” he says as if he’s trying to concentrate.
We stumble down the corridor and finally make it into the bedroom.
“Bed,” he says, grinning.
“Yes, bed.” I maneuver him to the edge, but he holds me.
“Join me,” he says.
“Christian, I think you need some sleep.”
“And so it begins. I’ve heard about this.”
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I frown. “Heard about what?”
“Babies mean no sex.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. Otherwise we’d all come from one-child families.”
He gazes down at me. “You’re funny.”
“You’re drunk.”
“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,” I say gently. I hate his expression. It speaks of horrid,
ugly memories that no child should see. “Let’s get you into bed.” I push him
gently and he flops down onto the mattress, sprawling in all directions and
grinning up at me, his haunted expression gone.
“Join me,” he slurs.
“Let’s get you undressed first.”
He grins widely, drunkenly. “Now you’re talking.”
Holy cow. Drunk Christian is cute and playful. I’ll take 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 then sits up in a most unChristian-like,
gawky fashion. Before he can flop down again, I grab his tie and wrestle him
out 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
ha一ve to stifle a giggle. Discarding his jacket on the floor beside me, I make a
start on his tie. He rests his hands on my hips.
“I like the feel of this fabric on you, Anastasia,” 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 ha一ve an invader in here.”
I stop breathing. Holy cow. He’s talking to Little Blip.
“You’re going to keep me awake, aren’t you?” he says to my belly. 392 | P a
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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 covers
his eyes with his arm. I ha一ve managed to loosen his tie. I bend, undo one
shoelace, and yank off his shoe and sock. I make a start on the other and
succeed in no time. When I stand, I see why I’ve met no resistance—
Christian has passed out completely. He’s sound asleep and snoring softly.
I stare at him. He’s so goddamned beautiful, even drunk and snoring. His
sculptured lips parted, one arm above his head, ruffling his messy hair, his
face relaxed. He looks young—but then he is young; my young, stressed out,
drunk, unhappy husband. The thought lies hea一vy in my heart. Well, at least
he’s home. I wonder where he went. I’m not sure I ha一ve the energy 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 still fast asleep, still wearing his tie and his belt. I climb onto the bed
beside him, loosen his tie further then remove it and gently undo the top
button of his shirt. He mumbles something incoherent 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 his pants,
revealing a hint of his happy trail. I can’t resist. I bend and kiss it. He shifts,
flexing his hips forward, but stays asleep.
I sit up and gaze at him again. Oh Fifty, Fifty, Fifty . . . what am I going to do
with you? I brush my fingers through his hair. It’s so soft. I lean down and kiss
his temple.
“I love you, Christian. Even when you’re drunk and you’ve been out God
knows where, I love you. I’ll always love you.”
“Hmmm,” he murmurs. I kiss his temple once more, then get off the bed, and
cover him up with the spare duvet. I can sleep beside him, sideways across
the bed . . . yes, I’ll do that.
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First I’ll sort out his clothes, though. I shake my head and pick up his socks
and tie, and fold his jacket over my arm. As I do, his BlackBerry falls to the
floor. I pick it up and inadvertently unlock it. It opens on the texts screen. I can
see my text, and above it, another. 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. Shit. That’s where he went.
He’s been to see her.
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