? Is he back?
Stiffly I ease out of the armchair and go in search of my husband. Five
minutes later, I realize he’s not home. I hope nothing’s happened to him.
Memories of the long wait when Charlie Tango went missing flood back.
No, no, no. Stop thinking like this. He’s probably gone to . . . where? Who
would he go and see? Elliot? Or maybe he’s with Flynn. I hope so. I find my
BlackBerry back in the library, and I text him.
*Where are you?*
I head into the bathroom and run myself a bath. I am so cold.
He still hasn’t returned when I climb out of the bath. I change into one of my
1930s-style satin nightdresses and my robe and head to the great room. On
the way, I pop into the spare bedroom. Perhaps this could be 390 | P a g e
E L JAMES
Little Blip’s room. I am startled by the thought and stand in the doorway,
contemplating this reality. Will we paint it blue or pink? The sweet thought is
soured by the fact that my husband is so pissed at the idea and is absent.
Grabbing the duvet from the spare bed, I head into the great room to keep
vigil.
Something wakes me. A sound.
“Shit!”
It’s Christian in the foyer. I hear the table scrape across the floor again.
“Shit!” he repeats, more muffled this time.
I scramble up in time to see him stagger through the double doors. He’s
drunk. My scalp prickles. Shit, Christian drunk? I know how much he hates
drunks. I leap up and run toward him.
“Christian, are you okay?”
He leans against the jamb of the foyer doors. “Mrs. Grey,” he slurs. Crap.
He’s very drunk. I don’t know what to do.
“Oh . . . you look mighty fine, Anastasia.”
“Where ha一ve you been?”
He puts his fingers to his lips and smiles crookedly at me. “Shh!”
“I think you’d better come to bed.”
“With you . . .” He snickers.
Snickering! Frowning, I gently put my arm around his waist because he can
hardly stand, let alone walk. Where has he been? How did he get home?
“Let me help you to bed. Lean on me.”
“You are very beautiful, Ana.” He leans onto me and sniffs my hair, almos
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