. But my heart aches;
Christian, why so sad? Is it because of me? Did I do this? When he finishes,
only to start a third time, I can bear it no longer. He doesn’t look up as I near
the piano, but shifts to one side so I can sit beside him on the piano stool. He
continues to play, and I put my head on his shoulder. He kisses my hair but
doesn’t stop playing until he’s finished the piece. I peek up at him and he’s
staring down at me, warily.
“Did I wake you?” he asks.
“Only because you were gone. What’s that piece called?”
“It’s Chopin. It’s one of his preludes in E minor.” Christian pauses.
“It’s called Suffocation . . .”
Reaching over I take his hand. “You’re really shaken by all this, aren’t you?”
He snorts. “A deranged asshole gets into my apartment to kidnap my wife.
She won’t do as she’s told. She drives me crazy. She safe words on me.” He
closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them again, they are stark and
raw. “Yeah, I’m pretty shaken up.”
I squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”
He bends and presses his forehead against mine. “I dreamed you were
dead,” he whispers.
What?
“Lying on the floor—so cold—and you wouldn’t wake up.”
Oh, Fifty.
“Hey—it was just a bad dream.” Reaching up, I clasp his head in my hands.
His eyes burn into mine and the anguish in them is sobering.
“I’m here and I’m cold without you in the bed. Come back to bed, please.” I
take his hand and stand, waiting to see if he’ll follow me. Finally he stands,
too. He’s wearing his pajama bottoms, and they hang in that way he has, and
I want to run my fingers along the inside of his waistband, but I resist and lead
him back to the bedroom.
246 | P a g e
E L JAMES
When I wake he’s curled around me, sleeping peacefully. I relax and enjoy his
enveloping heat, his skin on my skin. I lie very still, not wanting to disturb him.
Boy, what an evening. I feel like I’ve been run over by a train—the freight train
that is my husband. Hard to believe that the man lying beside me, looking so
serene and young in his s
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