Unexpectedly he grins and sits down beside me, pulling me into his arms.
"Don't think about that f*cker. Let's go see your dad and try to talk about the move tomorrow."
"He was adamant that he wanted to stay in Portland and not be a bother."
"I'll talk to him."
"I want to travel with him."
Christian gazes at me, and for a moment, I think he's going to say no. "Okay.
I'll come, too. Sawyer and Taylor can take the cars. I'll let Sawyer drive your R8 tonight."
The following day Ray is examining his new surroundings—an airy, light, room in the rehabilitation center of Northwest Hospital in Seattle. It's noon, and he looks sleepy. The journey, via helicopter no less, has exhausted him.
"Tell Christian I appreciate this," he says quietly.
"You can tell him yourself. He'll be along this evening."
"Aren't you going to work?"
"Probably. I just want to make sure you're settled in here."
"You get along. You don't need to worry about me."
"I like worrying about you. My BlackBerry buzzes. I check the number—it's not one I recognize.
"You going to answer that?" Ray asks.
"No. I don't know who it is. The voice mail can take it for me. I brought you something to read." I indicate the pile of sports magazines on his bedside table.
"Thanks, Annie."
"You're tired, aren't you?"
He nods.
"I'll let you get some sleep." I kiss his forehead. "Laters, Daddy," I murmur.
"I'll see you later, honey. And thank you." Ray catches my hand and squeezes it gently. "I like that you call me Daddy. Takes me back."
Oh, Daddy. I return his squeeze.
As I head out the main doors toward the SUV where Sawyer is waiting, I hear my name being called.
"Mrs. Grey! Mrs. Grey!"
Turning, I see Dr. Greene hurrying toward me, looking her usual immaculate self, if a little flustered.
"Mrs. Grey, how are you? Did you get my message? I called earlier."
"No." My scalp prickles.
"Well, I was wondering why you'd cancelled four appointments."
Four appointments? I gape at her. I've missed four appointments! How?
"Perhaps we should talk about this in my office. I was going out for lunch—do you have time right now?"
I nod meekly. "Sure. I . . ." Words fail me. I've missed four appointments?
I'm late for my shot. Shit.
I follow her in a daze back into the hospital and up to her office. How did I miss four appointments? I vaguely remember one being moved—Hannah mentioned it—but four? How could I miss four?
Dr. Greene's office is spacious, minimalistic, and well appointed.
"I'm so grateful you caught me before I left," I mumble, still shell-shocked.
"My father's been in a car accident, and we've just moved him here from Portland."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. How's he doing?"
"He's doing okay, thank you. On the mend."
"That's good. And it explains why you cancelled on Friday."
Dr. Greene wiggles the mouse on her desk, and her computer comes to life.
"Yes . . . it's been over thirteen weeks. You're cutting it a bit close. We'd better do a test before we give you another shot."
"A test?" I whisper, all the blood rushing from my head.
"A pregnancy test."
Oh, no.
She reaches into the drawer of her desk. "You know what to do with this."
She hands me a small container. "The restroom is just outside my office."
I get up as if in a trance, my whole body operating as if on automatic pilot and I stumble to the restroom.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. How could I have let this happen . . . again? I suddenly feel sick and offer a silent prayer . Please no. Please no. It's too soon. It's too soon. It's too soon.
When I reenter Dr. Greene's office, she gives me a tight smile and waves me to the seat in front of her desk. I sit down and wordlessly hand her my sample.
She dips a small white stick into it and watches. She raises her eyebrows as it turns pale blue.
"What does blue mean?" The tension is almost choking me.
She looks up at me, her eyes serious. "Well, Mrs. Grey, it means you're pregnant."
What? No. No. No. F*ck.
I gape at Dr. Greene, my world collapsing around me. A baby. A baby. I don't want a baby . . . not yet. F*ck. And I know deep down that Christian is going to freak.
"Mrs. Grey, you're very pale. Would you like a glass of water?"
"Please." My voice is a barely audible. My mind is racing. Pregnant? When?
"I take it you're surprised."
I nod mutely at the good doctor as she hands me a glass of water from her conveniently placed water cooler. I take a welcome sip. "Shocked," I whisper.
"We could do an ultrasound to see how advanced the pregnancy is. Judging by your reaction, I suspect you're just a couple of weeks or so from concep-tion—four or five weeks pregnant. I take it you haven't been suffering any other symptoms?"
I shake my head mutely. Symptoms? I don't think so. "I thought . . . I thought this was a reliable form of contraceptive."
Dr. Greene arches a brow. "It normally is, when you remember to have the shot," she says coolly.
"I must have lost track of time." Christian is going to freak. I know it.
"Have you been bleeding at all?"
I frown. "No."
"That's normal for the Depo. Let's do an ultrasound shall we? I have time."
I nod, bewildered, and Dr. Greene directs me toward a black leather exam table behind a screen.
"If you'll just slip off your skirt, underwear, and cover yourself with the blanket on the table, we'll go from there," she says briskly.
Underwear? I was expecting an ultrasound scan over my belly. Why do I need to remove my panties? I shrug in consternation then quickly do as she says and lie down beneath the soft white blanket.
"That's good." Dr. Greene appears at the end of the table, pulling the ultrasound machine closer. It's a hi-tech stack of computers. Sitting down, she positions the screen so that we can both see it and jogs the trackball on the keyboard.
The screen pings into life.
"If you could lift and bend your knees, then part them wide," she says matter-of-factly.
I frown warily.
"This is a transvaginal ultrasound. If you're only just pregnant, we should be able to find the baby with this." She holds up a long white probe.
Oh, you have got to be kidding!
"Okay," I mutter, mortified, and do as she says. Greene pulls a condom over the wand and lubricates it with clear gel.
"Mrs. Grey, if you could relax."
Relax? I'm pregnant, damn it! How do you expect me to relax? I blush, and endeavor to find my happy place . . . which has relocated somewhere near the lost Island of Atlantis.
Slowly and gently she inserts the probe.
Holy f*ck!
All I can see on the screen is the visual equivalent of white noise—although it's more sepia in color. Slowly, Dr. Greene moves the probe about, and it's very disconcerting.
"There," she murmurs. She presses a button, freezing the picture on the screen, and points to a tiny blip in the sepia storm.
It's a little blip. There's a tiny little blip in my belly. Tiny. Wow. I forget my discomfort as I stare shell-shocked at the blip.
"It's too early to see the heartbeat, but yes, you're definitely pregnant. Four or five weeks, I would say." She frowns. "Looks like the shot ran out early. Oh well, that happens sometimes."
I am too stunned to say anything. The little blip is a baby. A real honest to goodness baby. Christian's baby. My baby. Holy cow. A baby!
"Would you like me to print out a picture for you?"
I nod, still unable to speak, and Dr. Greene presses a button. Then she gently removes the wand and hands me a paper towel to clean myself.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Grey," she says as I sit up. "We'll need to make another appointment. I suggest in four weeks' time. Then we can ascertain the exact age of your baby and set a likely due date. You can get dressed now."
"Okay." I'm reeling and I dress hurriedly. I have a blip, a little blip. When I emerge from behind the screen, Dr. Greene is back at her desk.
"In the meantime, I'd like you to start this course of folic acid and prenatal vitamins. Here's a leaflet of dos and don'ts."
As she hands me a package of pills and a leaflet, she continues to talk at me, but I'm not listening. I'm in shock. Overwhelmed. Surely I should be happy.
Surely I should be thirty . . . at least. This is too soon—far too soon. I try to quell my rising sense of panic.
I wish Dr. Greene a polite good-bye and head in a daze back down to the exit and out into the cool fall afternoon. I'm gripped suddenly by a creeping cold and deep sense of foreboding. Christian is going to freak, I know, but how much and how far, I have no idea. His words haunt me. "I'm not ready to share you yet." I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to shake off the cold.
Sawyer leaps out of the SUV and holds open the door. He frowns when he sees my face, but I ignore his concerned expression.
"Where to, Mrs. Grey?" he asks gently.
"SIP." I nestle into the backseat of the car, closing my eyes and leaning my head on the headrest. I should be happy. I know I should be happy. But I'm not.
This is too early. Far too early. What about my job? What about SIP? What about Christian and me? No. No. No. We'll be fine. He'll be fine. He loved baby Mia—I remember Carrick telling me—he dotes on her now. Perhaps I should warn Flynn . . . Perhaps I shouldn't tell Christian. Perhaps I . . . perhaps I should end this. I halt my thoughts on that dark path, alarmed at the direction they're taking. Instinctively my hand sweeps down to rest protectively over my belly. No.
My little Blip. Tears spring to my eyes. What am I going to do?
A vision of a little boy with copper-colored hair and bright gray eyes, running through the meadow at the new house invades my thoughts, teasing and tantalizing me with possibilities. He's giggling and squealing with delight as Christian and I chase him. Christian swings him high in his arms and carries him on his hip as we walk hand in hand back to the house.
My vision morphs into Christian turning away from me in disgust. I'm fat and awkward, heavy with child. He paces the long hall of mirrors, away from me, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the silvered glass, walls, and floor.
Christian . . .
I jerk awake. No. He's going to freak out.
When Sawyer pulls up outside SIP, I leap out and head into the building.
"Ana, great to see you. How's your dad?" Hannah asks as soon as I reach my office. I regard her coolly.
"He's better, thank you. Can I see you in my office?"
"Sure." She looks surprised as she follows me in. "Is everything okay?"
"I need to know if you've moved or cancelled any appointments with Dr.
Greene."
"Dr. Greene? Yes, I have. About two or three of them. Mostly because you were in other meetings or running late. Why?"
Because now I'm f*cking pregnant! I scream at her in my head. I take a deep, steadying breath. "If you move any appointments, will you make sure I know? I don't always check my calendar."
"Sure," Hannah says quietly. "I'm sorry. Have I done something wrong?"
I shake my head and sigh loudly. "Can you make me some tea? Then let's discuss what's been happening while I've been away."
"Sure. I'll jump to it." Brightening, she heads out of the office.
I gaze after her departing figure. "You see that woman?" I talk quietly to the Blip. "She might be the reason you're here." I pat my belly then feel like a complete idiot, because I am talking to the blip. My tiny little Blip. I shake my head, exasperated at myself and at Hannah . . . though deep down I know I can't really blame Hannah. Despondently I switch on my computer. There's an e-mail from Christian.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 13:58
To: Anastasia Grey
Mrs. Grey
I've been back in the office for only three hours, and I'm missing you already.
Hope Ray has settled into his new room okay. Mom is going to see him this afternoon and check up on him.
I'll collect you around six this evening, and we can go and see him before heading home.
Sound good?
Your loving husband
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
I type a quick response.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 14:10
To: Christian Grey
Sure.
x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 14:14
To: Anastasia Grey
Are you okay?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
No, Christian, I'm not. I'm freaking out about you freaking out. I don't know what to do. But I am not going to tell you via e-mail.
From: Anastasia Grey
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
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?"
"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.
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?"