I shrug, and Christian moves quickly across the room toward me. I whirl around, stepping back as he reaches out.
"Don't touch me," I hiss and he freezes.
"Where were you?" he demands. His hands fist at his side.
"I wasn't out getting drunk with my ex," I seethe. "Did you sleep with her?"
He gasps. "What? No!" He gapes at me and has the gall to look wounded and angry at the same time. My subconscious breathes a small, welcome sigh of relief.
"You think I'd cheat on you?" His tone is one of moral outrage.
"You did," I snarl. "By taking our very private life and spilling your spineless guts to that woman."
His mouth drops open. "Spineless. That's what you think?" His eyes blaze.
"Christian, I saw the text. That's what I know."
"That text was not meant for you," he growls.
"Well, fact is I saw it when your BlackBerry fell out of your jacket while I was undressing you because you were too drunk to undress yourself. Do you have any idea how much you've hurt me by going to see that woman?"
He pales momentarily, but I'm on a roll, my inner bitch unleashed.
"Do you remember last night when you came home? Remember what you said?"
He stares at me blankly, his face frozen.
"Well, you were right. I do choose this defenseless baby over you. That's what any loving parent does. That's what your mother should have done for you.
And I am sorry that she didn't—because we wouldn't be having this conversation right now if she had. But you're an adult now—you need to grow up and smell the f*cking coffee and stop behaving like a petulant adolescent.
"You may not be happy about this baby. I'm not ecstatic, given the timing and your less-than-lukewarm reception to this new life, this flesh of your flesh.
But you can either do this with me, or I'll do it on my own. The decision is yours.
"While you wallow in your pit of self-pity and self-loathing, I'm going to work. And when I return I'll be moving my belongings to the room upstairs."
He blinks at me, shocked.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to finish getting dressed." I am breathing hard.
Very slowly, Christian retreats one step, his demeanor hardening. "Is that what you want?" he whispers.
"I don't know what I want any more." My tone mirrors his, and it takes a monumental effort to feign disinterest while I casually dip the tips of my fingers into my moisturizer and smooth it gently over my face. I peer at myself in the mirror.
Blue eyes wide, face pale, but cheeks flushed. You're doing great. Don't back down now. Don't back down now.
"You don't want me?" he whispers.
Oh—no . . . oh no you don't, Grey.
"I'm still here aren't I?" I snap. Taking my mascara, I apply some first to my right eye.
"You've thought about leaving?" His words are barely audible.
"When one's husband prefers the company of his ex-mistress, it's usually not a good sign." I pitch the disdain at just the right level, evading his question. Lip gloss now. I pout my shiny lips at the image in the mirror. Stay strong, Steele . . . um—Grey. Holy f*ck, I can't even remember my name. I pick up my boots, stride over to the bed once more, and quickly put them on, tugging them up over my knees. Yep. I look hot just in underwear and boots. I know. Standing, I gaze dis-passionately at him. He blinks at me, and his eyes travel swiftly and greedily down my body.
"I know what you're doing here," he murmurs, and his voice has acquired a warm, seductive edge.
"Do you?" And my voice cracks . No, Ana . . . hold on.
He swallows and takes a step forward. I step back and hold my hands up.
"Don't even think about it, Grey," I whisper menacingly.
"You're my wife," he says softly, threateningly.
"I'm the pregnant woman you abandoned yesterday, and if you touch me I will scream the place down."
His eyebrows rise in disbelief. "You'd scream?"
"Bloody murder." I narrow my eyes.
"No one would hear you," he murmurs, his gaze intense, and briefly I'm reminded of our morning in Aspen. No. No. No.
"Are you trying to frighten me?" I mutter breathless, deliberately trying to derail him.
It works. He stills and swallows. "That wasn't my intention." He frowns.
I can barely breathe. If he touches me, I will succumb. I know the power he wields over me and over my traitorous body. I know. I hang on to my anger.
"I had a drink with someone I used to be close to. We cleared the air. I am not going to see her again."
"You sought her out?"
"Not at first. I tried to see Flynn. But I found myself at the salon."
"And you expect me to believe you're not going to see her again?" I cannot contain my fury as I hiss at him. "What about the next time I step across some imaginary line? This is the same argument we have over and over again. Like we're on some Ixion's wheel. If I f*ck up again, are you going to run back to her?"
"I am not going to see her again," he says with a chilling finality. "She finally understands how I feel."
I blink at him. "What does that mean?"
He straightens and runs a hand through his hair, exasperated and angry and mute. I try a different tack.
"Why can you talk to her and not to me?"
"I was mad at you. Like I am now."
"You don't say!" I snap. "Well I am mad at you right now. Mad at you for being so cold and callous yesterday when I needed you. Mad at you for saying I got 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 f*cked up yesterday," I whisper, my anger boiling over. "I've had a lot to deal with over the last few weeks."
"You really f*cked 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 f*ck'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 inner goddess and my subconscious are both giving me a standing ovation. I did not resort to tears, shouting, or 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 pre-cipice. Is our marriage is at stake here? Why can't he see what a complete and utter ass he's been running to that woman? And what does he mean when he says 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."
"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."
Hannah has my latte waiting for me. I take one sniff of it and my stomach roils.
"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 cannot deal with Kate at the moment. I know I will cry, and right now I am so proud of myself for not 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, Annie." He grins. And his face falls.
"Oh, Daddy . . ." I rush to his side, and in a very uncharacteristic move, he opens his arms wide and hugs me.
"Annie?" he whispers. "What is it?" He holds me tight and kisses my hair. As I'm in his arms, I realize how rare these moments between us have been. Why is 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."