ing
us both, and a young African-American woman in a white coat over gray
scrubs strides in.
“Good evening, Mrs. Grey. I’m Dr. Bartley.”
She starts to examine me thoroughly, shining a light in my eyes, making me
touch her fingers, then my nose while closing first one eye and then the other,
and checking all my reflexes. But her voice is soft and her touch gentle; she
has a warm bedside manner. Nurse Nora joins her, and Christian wanders to
the corner of the room and makes some calls while the two of them tend to
me. It’s hard to concentrate on Dr. Bartley, Nurse Nora, and Christian at the
same time, but I hear him call his father, my mother, and Kate to say I’m
awake. Finally, he lea一ves a message for Ray.
Ray. Oh shit . . . A vague memory of his voice comes back to me. He was
here—yes, while I was still unconscious.
Dr. Bartley checks my ribs, her fingers probing gently but firmly. I wince.
“These are bruised, not cracked or broken. You were very lucky, 437 | P a g
e
Fifty Shades Freed
Mrs. Grey.”
I scowl. Lucky? Not the word I would ha一ve chosen. Christian glowers at her,
too. He mouths something at me. I think it’s foolhardy, but I’m not sure.
“I’ll prescribe some painkillers. You’ll need them for this and for the headache
you must ha一ve. But all’s looking as it should, Mrs. Grey. I suggest you get
some sleep. Depending on how you feel in the morning, we may let you go
home. My colleague Dr. Singh will be attending you then.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Taylor enters bearing a black cardboard
box with Fairmont Olympic emblazoned in cream on the side.
Holy cow!
“Food?” Dr. Bartley says surprised.
“Mrs. Grey is hungry,” Christian says. “This is chicken soup.”
Dr. Bartley smiles. “Soup will be fine, just the broth. Nothing hea一vy.” She
looks pointedly at both of us then exits the room with Nurse Nora.
Christian pulls the wheeled tray over to me, and Taylor places the box on it.
“Welcome back, Mrs. Grey.”
“Hello, Taylor. Thank you.”
“You’re most wel
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