Fifty Shades Freed

I flush. He knows!

“Grace read your chart. She told me. Congratulations.”

“Um . . . thank you.”

He gazes down at me, and his eyes soften, though he frowns at my expression.

“Christian will come around,” he says gently. “This will be the best thing for him. Just . . . give him some time.”

I nod. Oh . . . They’ve spoken.

“I’d better go. I’m due in court.” He smiles and rises. “I’ll check in on you later. Grace speaks highly of Dr. Singh and Dr. Bartley. They know what they’re

doing.”

He leans down and kisses me once more. “I mean it, Ana. I can never repay what you’ve done for us. Thank you.”

I look up at him, blinking back tears, suddenly overwhelmed, and he strokes my cheek affectionately. Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

Oh my. I’m reeling from his gratitude. Perhaps now I can let the prenup debacle go. My subconscious nods sagely in agreement with me yet again. I shake my

head and gingerly get out of bed. I’m relieved to find that I am much steadier on my feet than yesterday. In spite of Christian sharing the bed, I have slept well and

feel refreshed. My head still aches, but it’s a dull nagging pain, nothing like the pounding yesterday. I’m stiff and sore, but I just need a bath. I feel grimy. I head

into the en suite.

“Ana!” Christian shouts.

“I’m in the bathroom,” I call as I finish brushing my teeth. That feels better. I ignore my reflection in the mirror. Jeez, I look a mess. When I open the door,

Christian is by the bed, holding a tray of food. He’s transformed. Dressed entirely in black, he’s shaved, showered, and looks well rested.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grey,” he says brightly. “I have your breakfast.” He looks so boyish and much happier.

Wow. I smile broadly as I climb back into bed. He pulls over the tray on wheels and lifts the cover to reveal my breakfast: oatmeal with dried fruits, pancakes

with maple syrup, bacon, orange juice, and Twinings English breakfast tea. My mouth waters; I’m so hungry. I down the orange juice in a few gulps and dig into

the oatmeal. Christian sits down on the edge of the bed to watch. He smirks.

“What?” I ask with my mouth full.

“I like to watch you eat,” he says. But I don’t think that’s what he’s smirking about. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I mutter between mouthfuls.

“I’ve never seen you eat like this.”

I glance up at him, and my heart sinks. We have to address the very tiny elephant in the room. “It’s because I’m pregnant, Christian.”

He snorts, and his mouth twists into an ironic smile. “If I knew getting you knocked up was going to make you eat, I might have done it earlier.”

“Christian Grey!” I gasp and set the oatmeal down.

“Don’t stop eating,” he warns.

“Christian, we need to talk about this.”

He stills. “What’s there to say? We’re going to be parents.” He shrugs, desperately trying to look nonchalant, but all I can see is his fear. Pushing the tray aside, I

crawl down the bed to him and take his hands in mine.

“You’re scared,” I whisper. “I get it.”

He gazes at me, impassive, his eyes wide and all his earlier boyishness stripped away.

“I am, too. That’s normal,” I whisper.

“What kind of father could I possibly be?” His voice is hoarse, barely audible.

“Oh, Christian.” I stifle a sob. “One that tries his best. That’s all any of us can do.”

“Ana—I don’t know if I can . . .”

“Of course you can. You’re loving, you’re fun, you’re strong, you’ll set boundaries. Our child will want for nothing.”

“Of course you can. You’re loving, you’re fun, you’re strong, you’ll set boundaries. Our child will want for nothing.”

He’s frozen, staring at me, doubt etched on his beautiful face.

“Yes, it would have been ideal to have waited. To have longer, just the two of us. But we’ll be three of us, and we’ll all grow up together. We’ll be a family. Our

own family. And your child will love you unconditionally, like I do.” Tears spring to my eyes.

“Oh, Ana,” Christian whispers, his voice anguished and pained. “I thought I’d lost you. Then I thought I’d lost you again. Seeing you lying on the ground, pale

and cold and unconscious—it was all my worst fears realized. And now here you are—brave and strong . . . giving me hope. Loving me after all that I’ve done.”

“Yes, I do love you, Christian, desperately. I always will.”

Gently taking my head between his hands, he wipes my tears away with his thumbs. He gazes into my eyes, gray to blue, and all I see is his fear and wonder and

love.

“I love you, too,” he breathes. And he kisses me sweetly, tenderly like a man who adores his wife. “I’ll try to be a good father,” he whispers against my lips.

“You’ll try, and you’ll succeed. And let’s face it; you don’t have much choice in the matter, because Blip and I are not going anywhere.”

“Blip?”

“Blip.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I had the name Junior in my head.”

“Junior it is, then.”

“But I like Blip.” He smiles his shy smile and kisses me once more.

“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, avoiding 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 have 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 avoid 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 Bo

kidnapping, my involvement in Mia’s rescue, and the fact that both Jack and I are in the same hospital. How does the press get all this information? I must ask Kate.

When Christian finishes, I say, “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

despite 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