your apartment.
Both Taylor and I leapt out of the car. We knew and to
see her there like that with you—and armed. I think I died
a thousand deaths, Ana. Someone threatening you . . . all
my worst fears realized. I was so angry, with her, with
you, with Taylor, with myself.”
He shakes his head revealing his agony. “I didn’t know
how volatile she would be. I didn’t know what to do. I
didn’t know how she’d react.” He stops and frowns. “And
then she ga一ve me a clue; she looked so contrite. And I just
knew what I had to do.” He pauses, gazing at me, trying to
knew what I had to do.” He pauses, gazing at me, trying to
gauge my reaction.
“Go on,” I whisper.
He swallows. “Seeing her in that state, knowing that I
might ha一ve something to do with her mental
breakdown . . .” He closes his eyes once more. “She was
always so mischievous and lively.” He shudders and takes
a rasping breath, almost like a sob. This is torture to listen
to, but I kneel, attentive, lapping up this insight.
“She might ha一ve harmed you. And it would ha一ve been
my fault.” His eyes drift off, filled with uncomprehending
horror, and he’s silent once more.
“But she didn’t,” I whisper. “And you weren’t
responsible for her being in that state, Christian.” I blink up
at him, encouraging him to continue.
Then it dawns on me afresh that everything he did was
to keep me safe, and perhaps Leila, too, because he also
cares for her. But how much does he care for her? The
question lingers in my head, unwelcome. He says he loves
me, but then he was so harsh, throwing me out of my own
me, but then he was so harsh, throwing me out of my own
apartment.
“I just wanted you gone,” he murmurs, with his
uncanny ability to read my thoughts. “I wanted you away
from the danger, and . . . You. Just. Wouldn’t. Go,” he
hisses through clenched teeth and shakes his head. His
exasperation is palpable.
He gazes at me intently. “Anastasia Steele, you are the
most stubborn woman I know.” He closes his eyes and
shakes his head once more
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