s reassuringly.
“He has his moments. What did the doctors say?” I don’t want to talk about
my husband right now; he’s a painful topic of conversation.
Back at Escala, Christian is not home.
“Christian called and said that he’d be working late,” Mrs. Jones informs me
apologetically.
“Oh. Thanks for letting me know.” Why couldn’t he tell me? Jeez, 408 | P a g
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E L JAMES
he really is taking his sulk to a whole new level. I am briefly reminded of the
fight over our wedding vows and the major tantrum he had then. But I’m the
aggrieved one here.
“What would you like to eat?” Mrs. Jones has a determined, steely glint in her
eye.
“Pasta.”
She smiles. “Spaghetti, penne, fusilli?”
“Spaghetti, your Bolognese.”
“Coming up. And Ana . . . you should know Mr. Grey was frantic this morning
when he thought you’d left. He was beside himself.” She smiles fondly.
Oh . . .
He’s still not home by nine. I am sitting at my desk in the library, wondering
where he is. I call him.
“Ana,” he says, his voice cool.
“Hi.”
He inhales softly. “Hi,” he says, his voice lower.
“Are you coming home?”
“Later.”
“Are you in the office?”
“Yes. Where did you expect me to be?”
With her. “I’ll let you go.”
We both hang on the line, the silence stretching and tightening between us.
“Goodnight, Ana,” he says eventually.
“Goodnight, Christian.”
He hangs up.
Oh shit. I gaze at my BlackBerry. I don’t know what he expects me to do. I’m
not going to let him walk all over me. Yes, he’s mad, fair enough. I’m mad.
But we are where we are. I ha一ven’t run off looselipped to my ex-paedo lover. I
want him to acknowledge that that is not an acceptable way to beha一ve.
I sit back in my chair, gazing at the billiard table in the library, and recall fun
times playing snooker. I place my hand on my belly. Maybe it’s just too early.
Maybe this is not meant to be . . . And even as I think 409 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
that, my subconscious is screaming no! If I terminate this pregnancy, I will
never forgive myself—or Christian
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