Fifty Shades Freed (Fifty Shades #3)(96)
Author: E.L. James

Nurse Nora’s mouth is pursed and her arms folded in hostility. I hold my finger up to my lips.

"Please let him sleep," I whisper, squinting in the early morning light.

"This is your bed. Not his," she hisses sternly.

"I slept better because he was here." I insist, rushing to my husband’s defense. Besides, it’s true. Christian stirs, and Nurse Nora and I freeze.

He mumbles in his sleep, "Don’t touch me. No more. Only Ana."

I frown. I have rarely heard Christian talk in his sleep. Admittedly, that might be because he sleeps less than I do. I’ve only ever heard his nightmares. His arms tighten around me, squeezing me, and I wince.

"Mrs. Grey – " Nurse Nora glowers.

"Please," I beg.

She shakes her head, turns on her heel and leaves, and I snuggle up against Christian again.

When I wake, Christian is nowhere to be seen. The sun is blazing through the windows, and I can now really appreciate the room. I have flowers! I didn’t notice them the night before. Several bouquets. I wonder idly who they’re from.

A soft knock distracts me, and Carrick peeks around the door. He beams when he sees that I’m awake.

"May I come in?" he asks.

"Of course."

He strides into the room and over to me, his soft, gentle blue eyes assessing me shrewdly. He’s wearing a dark suit – he must be working. He surprises me by leaning down and kissing my forehead.

"May I sit?"

I nod, and he perches on the edge of the bed and takes my hand.

"I don’t know how to thank you for my daughter, you crazy, brave, darling girl. What you did probably saved her life. I will be forever in your debt." His voice wavers, filled with gratitude and compassion. Oh . . . I don’t know what to say. I squeeze his hand but remain mute.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better. Sore." I add, for honesty’s sake.

"Have they given you meds for the pain?"

"Lor . . . something."

"Good. Where’s Christian?"

"I don’t know. When I woke up, he was gone."

"He won’t be far away, I’m sure. He wouldn’t leave you while you were unconscious."

"I know."

"He’s a little mad at you, as he should be." Carrick smirks. Ah, this is where Christian gets it from.

"Christian is always mad at me."

"Is he?" Carrick smiles, pleased – as if this is a good thing. His smile is infectious.

"How’s Mia?"

His eyes cloud and his smile vanishes. "She’s better. Mad as hell. I think anger is a healthy reaction to what happened to her."

"Is she here?"

"No, she’s back at home. I don’t think Grace will let her out of her sight."

"I know how that feels."

"You need watching, too," he admonishes. "I don’t want you taking anymore silly risks with your life or the life of my grandchild."

I flush. He knows!

"Grace read your chart. She told me. Congratulations."

"Um . . . thank you."

He gazes down at me, and his eyes soften, though he frowns at my expression.

"Christian will come around," he says gently. "This will be the best thing for him. Just . . . give him some time."

I nod . Oh . . . They’ve spoken.

"I’d better go. I’m due in court." He smiles and rises. "I’ll check in on you later. Grace speaks highly of Dr. Singh and Dr. Bartley. They know what they’re doing."

He leans down and kisses me once more.

"I mean it, Ana. I can never repay what you’ve done for us. Thank you."

I look up at him, blinking back tears, suddenly overwhelmed, and he strokes my cheek affectionately. Then he turns on his heels and leaves. Oh my. I’m reeling from his gratitude. Perhaps now I can let the prenup debacle go. My subconscious nods sagely, in agreement with me yet again. I shake my head and gingerly get out of bed. I’m relieved to find that I am much steadier on my feet than yesterday. In spite of Christian sharing the bed, I have slept well and feel refreshed. My head still aches, but it’s a dull nagging pain, nothing like the pounding yesterday. I’m stiff and sore, but I just need a bath. I feel grimy. I head into the en suite.

"Ana! " Christian shouts.

"I’m in the bathroom," I call as I finish brushing my teeth. That feels better. I ignore my reflection in the mirror. Jeez, I look a mess. When I open the door, Christian is by the bed, holding a tray of food. He’s transformed. Dressed entirely in black, he’s shaved, showered, and looks well rested.

"Good morning, Mrs. Grey," he says brightly. "I have your breakfast." He looks so boyish and much happier.

Wow. I smile broadly at him as I climb back into bed. He pulls over the tray on wheels and lifts the cover to reveal my breakfast: oatmeal with dried fruits, pancakes with bacon and maple syrup, orange juice and Twinings breakfast tea. My mouth waters; I’m so hungry. I down the orange juice in a few gulps and dig into the oatmeal. Christian sits down on the edge of the bed to watch. He smirks at me.

"What?" I ask with my mouth full.

"I like to watch you eat," he says. But I don’t think that’s what he’s smirking about. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I mutter between mouthfuls.

"I’ve never seen you eat like this."

I glance up at him, and my heart sinks. We have to address the very tiny elephant in the room.

"It’s because I’m pregnant, Christian."

He snorts, and his mouth twists into an ironic smile. "If I knew getting you knocked up was going to make you eat, I might have done it earlier."

"Christian Grey!" I gasp and set the oatmeal down.

"Don’t stop eating," he warns.

"Christian, we need to talk about this."

He stills. "What’s there to say? We’re going to be parents." He shrugs, desperately trying to look nonchalant, but all I can see is his fear. Pushing the tray aside, I crawl down the bed to him and take his hands in mine.

"You’re scared," I whisper. "I get it."

He gazes at me, impassive, his eyes wide and all his earlier boyishness stripped away.

"I am, too. That’s normal," I whisper.

"What kind of father could I possibly be?" His voice is hoarse, barely audible.

"Oh, Christian." I stifle a sob. "One that tries his best. That’s all any of us can do."

"Ana – I don’t know if I can . . ."

"Of course you can. You’re loving, you’re fun, you’re strong, you’ll set boundaries. Our child will want for nothing."

He’s frozen, staring at me, doubt etched on his beautiful face. I continue. "Yes, it would have been ideal to have waited. To have longer, just the two of us. But we’ll be three of us, and we’ll all grow up together. We’ll be a family. Our own family. And your child will love you unconditionally, like I do." Tears spring to my eyes.

"Oh, Ana," Christian whispers, his voice anguished and pained. "I thought I’d lost you. Then I thought I’d lost you again. Seeing you lying on the ground, pale and cold and unconscious – it was all my worst fears realized. And now here you are – brave and strong . . . giving me hope. Loving me after all that I’ve done."

"Yes, I do love you, Christian, desperately. I always will."

Gently taking my head between his hands, he wipes my tears away with his thumbs. He gazes into my eyes, gray to blue, and all I see is his fear and wonder and love.

"I love you, too," he breathes. And he bends and kisses me sweetly, tenderly like a man who adores his wife.

"I’ll try to be a good father," he whispers against my lips.

"You’ll try, and you’ll succeed. And let’s face it; you don’t have much choice in the matter, because Blip and I are not going anywhere."

"Blip?"

"Blip."

He raises his eyebrows. "I had the name Junior in my head."

"Junior it is, then."

"But I like Blip." He smiles his shy smile and kisses me once more.

Chapter Twenty-four

"Much as I’d like to kiss you all day, your breakfast is getting cold,"

Christian murmurs against my lips. He gazes down at me, now amused, except his eyes are darker, sensual. Holy cow, he’s switched again. My Mr. Mercurial.

"Eat," he orders, his voice soft. I swallow, a reaction to his smoldering look, and crawl back into bed, avoiding snagging my IV

line. He pushes the tray in front of me. The oatmeal is cold, but the pancakes under the cover are fine – in fact, they’re mouthwatering.