I’m sorry, baby.
“What?” Ana asks.
I swallow, trying to fight the awkwardness. “She made a pass at me.”
Ana’s face transforms. She’s appalled. And mad. Again.
Fuck.
“It was a moment, suspended in time,” I continue hastily. “She saw my expression, and she realized how far she’d crossed the line. I said no, I haven’t thought of her like that for years, and besides”—I swallow again, my voice soft—“I love you. I told her I love my wife.”
Ana stares at me. Silent.
Oh, my love, what are you thinking? I stumble on. “She backed right off. Apologized again, made it seem like a joke. I mean, she said she’s happy with Isaac and with the business and she doesn’t bear either of us any ill will. She said she missed my friendship, but she could see that my life was with you now. And how awkward that was, given what happened the last time we were all in the same room. I couldn’t have agreed with her more. We said our good-byes—our final good-byes. I said I wouldn’t see her again, and she went on her way.”
“Did you kiss?”
“No!” Good God no. “I couldn’t bear to be that close to her. I was miserable. I wanted to come home to you. But I knew I’d behaved badly. I stayed and finished the bottle, then started on the bourbon. While I was drinking, I remembered your saying to me some time ago, ‘If that was my son…’ And I got to thinking about Junior, and about how Elena and I started. And it made me feel…uncomfortable. I’d never thought of it like that before.”
“That’s it?” Ana breathes.
“Pretty much.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“It’s over?”
“Yes. It’s been over since I laid eyes on you. I finally realized it that night, and so did she.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“What for?”
“Being so angry the next day.”
“Baby, I understand angry.”
Angry is my middle name.
I sigh. “You see, Ana, I want you to myself. I don’t want to share you. What we have, I’ve never had before. I want to be the center of your universe, for a while at least.”
“You are,” she objects. “That’s not going to change.”
“Ana,” I whisper gently, with a resigned smile. “That’s just not true. How can it be?”
Tears well in her eyes.
“Shit—don’t cry, Ana. Please, don’t cry.” I lay my hand on her cheek.
“I’m sorry.” Her lip trembles, and I brush my thumb over it as my heart swells.
“No, Ana, no. Don’t be sorry. You’ll have someone else to love as well. And you’re right. That’s how it should be.”
“Blip will love you, too. You’ll be the center of Blip’s—Junior’s world. Children love their parents unconditionally, Christian.”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
“That’s how they come into the world,” Ana continues, her passion clear. “Programmed to love. All babies, even you. Think about that children’s book you liked when you were small. You still wanted your mom. You loved her.”
Ella.
Hey, Maggot. Let’s find your cars.
I’m on the edge of a dark maelstrom.
Teetering over it.
I fist my hand beneath my chin as I gaze at my beautiful wife, floundering for something to say as I fight the current to swim away from the pain. “No,” I whisper.
Ana’s tears spill down her cheeks. “Yes. You did. Of course you did. It wasn’t an option. That’s why you’re so hurt.”
All the air has left the room and my body.
I’m being sucked down.
“That’s why you’re able to love me,” she says. “Forgive her. She had her own world of pain to deal with. She was a shitty mother, and you loved her.”
I’m lost in the vortex. It’s choking me.
Hey, Maggot. Shall we bake a cake?
Mommy smiles and ruffles my hair.
Here you go. Mommy gives me a brush.
She smiles down at me. Mommy is pretty.
She has long hair. She’s singing. Happy.
There you go, Grey.
There were happy times…“I used to brush her hair. She was pretty.”
“One look at you and no one would doubt that.”
“She was a shitty mother.”
Ana nods, her tearful eyes brimming with compassion.
I close my eyes and confess. “I’m scared I’ll be a shitty father.”
Ana’s fingers skim over my face, reassuring me. “Christian, do you think for one minute I’d let you be a shitty father?”
I open my eyes and stare at her.
And there it is…the Anastasia Steele glint.
So aptly named.
My warrior, fighting for me, with me, against me…for our child.
She takes my breath away.
I grin. In awe. “No, I don’t think you would.” I stroke her face. “God, you’re strong, Mrs. Grey. I love you so much.” I kiss her forehead. “I didn’t know I could.”
“Oh, Christian,” she whispers.
“Now, that’s the end of your bedtime story.”
“That’s some story.”
“How’s your head?”
“My head?”
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Good. I think you should sleep now.”
Ana is not convinced.
“Sleep,” I exclaim. “You need it.”
“I have one question,” Ana says.
“Oh? What?”
“Why have you suddenly become all…forthcoming, for want of a better word? You’re telling me all this, when getting information out of you is normally a pretty harrowing and trying experience.”