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knocked up deliberately, when I didn’t. Mad at you for betraying me.” I manage to suppress a sob. His mouth drops open in shock, and he closes his eyes briefly as
if I’d slapped him. I swallow. Calm down, Anastasia.
“I should have kept better track of my shots. But I didn’t do it on purpose. This pregnancy is a shock to me, too.” I mutter, trying for a modicum of civility. “It
could be that the shot failed.”
He glares at me, silent.
“You really fucked up yesterday,” I whisper, my anger boiling over. “I’ve had a lot to deal with over the last few weeks.”
“You really fucked up three or four weeks ago. Or whenever you forgot your shot.”
“Well, God forbid I should be perfect like you!”
Oh stop, stop, stop. We stand glowering at each other.
“This is quite a performance, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers.
“Well, I’m glad that even knocked up I’m entertaining.”
He stares at me blankly. “I need a shower,” he murmurs.
“And I’ve provided enough of a floor show.”
“It’s a mighty fine floor show,” he whispers. He steps forward, and I step back again.
“Don’t.”
“I hate that you won’t let me touch you.”
“Ironic, huh?”
His eyes narrow once more. “We haven’t resolved much, have we?”
“I’d say not. Except that I’m moving out of this bedroom.”
His eyes flare and widen briefly. “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Except when you need her.”
“I don’t need her. I need you.”
“You didn’t yesterday. That woman is a hard limit for me, Christian.”
“She’s out of my life.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ana.”
“Please let me get dressed.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair once more. “I’ll see you this evening,” he says, his voice bleak and devoid of feeling. And for a brief moment I want to
take him in my arms and soothe him . . . but I resist because I’m just too mad. He turns and heads for the bathroom. I stand frozen until I hear the door close.
I stagger to the bed and flop down on to it. My i
murder, nor did I succumb to his sexpertise. I deserve a Congressional Medal of Honor, but I feel so low. Shit. We resolved nothing. We’re on the edge of a
precipice. Is our marriage is at stake here? Why can’t he see what a complete and utter ass he’s been ru
he’ll never see her again? How on earth am I supposed to believe that? I glance at the radio alarm—eight thirty. Shit! I’ll don’t want to be late. I take a deep breath.
“Round Two was a stalemate, Little Blip,” I whisper, patting my belly. “Daddy may be a lost cause, but I hope not. Why, oh why, did you come so early, Little
Blip? Things were just getting good.” My lip trembles, but I take a deep cleansing breath and bring my rolling emotions under control.
“Come on. Let’s go kick ass at work.”
I don’t say good-bye to Christian. He’s still in the shower when Sawyer and I leave. As I gaze out of the darkened windows of the SUV, my composure slips and
my eyes water. My mood is reflected in the gray, dreary sky, and I feel a strange sense of foreboding. We didn’t actually discuss the baby. I have had less than
twenty-four hours to assimilate the news of Little Blip. Christian has had even less time. “He doesn’t even know your name.” I caress my belly and wipe tears from
my face.
“Mrs. Grey.” Sawyer interrupts my reverie. “We’re here.”
“Mrs. Grey.” Sawyer interrupts my reverie. “We’re here.”
“Oh. Thanks, Sawyer.”
“I’m going to make a run to the deli, ma’am. Can I get you anything?”
“No. Thank you, no. I’m not hungry.”
Ha
“Um . . .can I have tea, please?” I mutter, embarrassed. I knew there was a reason I never really liked coffee. Jeez, it smells foul.
“You okay, Ana?”
I nod and scurry into the safety of my office. My BlackBerry buzzes. It’s Kate.
“Why was Christian looking for you?” she asks with no preamble at all.
“Good morning, Kate. How are you?”
“Cut the crap, Steele. What gives?” The Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition begins.
“Christian and I had a fight, that’s all.”
“Did he hurt you?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, but not the way you’re thinking.” I ca
breaking down this morning. “Kate, I have a meeting. I’ll call you back.”
“Good. You’re all right?”
“Yes.” No. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay, Ana, have it your own way. I’m here for you.”
“I know,” I whisper and fight the backlash of emotion at her kind words. I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry.
“Ray okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper the word.
“Oh, Ana,” she whispers.
“Don’t.”
“Okay. Talk later.”
“Yes.”
During the course of the morning, I sporadically check my e-mails, hoping for word from Christian. But there’s nothing. As the day wears on, I realize that he’s not
going to contact me at all and that he’s still mad. Well, I’m still mad, too. I throw myself into my work, pausing only at lunchtime for a cream cheese and salmon
bagel. It’s extraordinary how much better I feel once I’ve eaten something.
At five o’clock Sawyer and I set off for the hospital to see Ray. Sawyer is extra vigilant, and even oversolicitous. It’s irritating. As we approach Ray’s room, he
hovers over me.
“Shall I get you some tea while you visit with your father?” he asks.
“No thanks, Sawyer. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll wait outside.” He opens the door for me, and I’m grateful to get away from him for a moment. Ray is sitting up in bed reading a magazine. He’s shaved,
wearing a pajama top—he looks like his old self.
“Hey, A
“Oh, Daddy . . .” I rush to his side, and in a very uncharacteristic move, he opens his arms wide and hugs me.
“A
that? Is that why I like to crawl into Christian’s lap? After a moment, I pull away from him and sit down in the chair beside the bed. Ray’s brow is furrowed with
concern.
“Tell your old man.”
I shake my head. He doesn’t need my problems right now.
“It’s nothing, Dad. You look well.” I clasp his hand.
“Feeling more like myself, though this leg in a cast is bitchin’.”
“Bitchin’?” His word prompts my smile.
He smiles back. “Bitchin’ sounds better than itchin’.”
“Oh, Dad, I am so glad you’re okay.”
“Me, too, A
I blink at him. Shit. Does he know? And I fight the tears that prick the corners of my eyes.
“You and Christian getting along?”
“We had a fight,” I whisper, trying to speak past the knot in my throat. “We’ll work it out.”
He nods. “He’s a fine man, your husband,” Ray says reassuringly.
“He has his moments. What did the doctors say?” I don’t want to talk about my husband right now; he’s a painful topic of conversation.
Back at Escala, Christian is not home.
“Christian called and said that he’d be working late,” Mrs. Jones informs me apologetically.
“Oh. Thanks for letting me know.” Why couldn’t he tell me? Jeez, he really is taking his sulk to a whole new level. I am briefly reminded of the fight over our
wedding vows and the major tantrum he had then. But I’m the aggrieved one here.
“What would you like to eat?” Mrs. Jones has a determined, steely glint in her eye.