"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?"
"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 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 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 nosedive.
"Come." Christian holds out his hand, frowning at me. I take it and we leave 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 have one thing, one thing to remember. Shit! I don't f**king 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 f**king minutes. I wanted to show you the f**king 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 f**k 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 f**k 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 f**k 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 leaves 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 have imagined. I push my plate away and fold my arms on the table, letting my head sink into them while I weep.
"Ana, dear." Mrs. Jones is hovering beside me.
Oh. I sit up quickly, dashing the tears from my face.