Cover.html

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

398/551

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?

“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, and 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.” Christian grasps my hand. “Boy, your hand is cold. Have you eaten today?”

I blush.

“Ana,” Christian scolds me, annoyed.

Well, I haven’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 haven’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?”

399/551

“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’m a coward.

Christian interrupts my reverie. “I may have 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 have 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 leave you to sleep.”

“Thanks, Ana honey. I like that you drop by. Saw your mom today, 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 kiss him. My subconscious purses her lips.

That’s provided Christian hasn’t locked you away . . . or worse. My spirits take a nosedive.

“Come.” Christian holds out his hand, frowning at me. I take it and we leave the hospital.

400/551

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?” 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 have 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.”

“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 shit like this doesn’t come along and fuck everything up.”

401/551

No . . . Little Blip. “Christian, please don’t shout at me.” Tears start to slip down my face.