Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (102 page)

“Do you want to leave your bag with Taylor?” I ask Ethan.

“No, I’ll keep it with me, thanks.”

Ethan nods at Taylor, then ushers me out the front door. Too late, I remember that I’ve left my purse in the back of Audi. I have nothing.

“My purse—”

“Don’t worry,” Ethan murmurs, his face full of concern. “It’s cool, it’s on me.”

WE CHOOSE A BAR
across the street, settling onto wooden barstools by the window. I want to see what’s going on—who’s coming, and more important, who’s going. Ethan hands me a bottle of beer.

“Trouble with an ex?” he says gently.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I mutter, abruptly guarded. I can’t talk about this—I have signed an NDA. And for
the first time, I really resent that fact, plus that Christian’s said nothing about rescinding it.

“I’ve got time,” Ethan says kindly and takes a long slug of his beer.

“She’s an ex, from years back. She left her husband for some guy. Then a couple of weeks or so ago he was killed in a car crash, and now she’s come after Christian.” I shrug. There, that didn’t give too much away.

“Come after him?”

“She had a gun.”

“What the fuck!”

“She didn’t actually threaten anyone with it. I think she meant to harm herself. But that’s why I was so worried about you. I didn’t know if you were in the apartment.”

“I see. She sounds unstable.”

“Yes, she is.”

“And what’s Christian doing with her now?”

The blood drains from my face and bile rises in my throat. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

Ethan’s eyes widen—at last he’s got it.

This is the crux of my problem. What the fuck are they doing? Talking, I hope. Just talking. Yet all I can see in my mind’s eye is his hand, tenderly stroking her hair.

She’s disturbed and Christian cares about her; that’s all this is
, I rationalize. But in the back of my mind, my subconscious is shaking her head sadly.

It’s more than that. Leila was able to fulfill his needs in a way I cannot. The thought is depressing.

I try to focus on all we’ve done in the last few days—his declaration of love, his flirty humor, his playfulness. But Elena’s words keep coming back to taunt me. It’s true what they say about eavesdroppers.

Don’t you miss it … your playroom?

I finish my beer in record time, and Ethan lines up another. I am not much of a companion, but to his credit he stays with me,
chatting, trying to lift my spirits, talking about Barbados, about Kate and Elliot’s antics, which is wonderfully distracting. But it’s just that—a distraction.

My mind, my heart, my soul are all still in that apartment with my Fifty Shades and the woman who used to be his submissive. A woman who thinks she still loves him. A woman who looks like me.

During our third beer, a large cruiser with heavily-tinted windows pulls up next to the Audi in front of the apartment. I recognize Dr. Flynn as he climbs out, accompanied by a woman dressed in what look like pale blue scrubs. I glimpse Taylor as he lets them in through the front door.

“Who’s that?” Ethan asks.

“His name’s Dr. Flynn. Christian knows him.”

“What kind of doctor?”

“A shrink.”

“Oh.”

We both watch, and a few minutes later they are back. Christian is carrying Leila, who is wrapped in a blanket.
What?
I watch horrified as they all climb into the cruiser, and it speeds away.

Ethan glances at me sympathetically, and I feel desolate, completely desolate.

“Can I have something a bit stronger?” I ask Ethan, my voice small.

“Sure. What would you like?”

“A brandy. Please.”

Ethan nods and retreats to the bar. I gaze through the window at the front door. Moments later Taylor emerges, climbs into the Audi, and heads off toward Escala … after Christian? I don’t know.

Ethan places a large brandy in front of me.

“Come on, Steele. Let’s get drunk.”

Sounds like the best offer I’ve had in a while. We clink glasses, and I take a gulp of the burning amber liquid, the fiery heat a welcome distraction from the hideous blossoming pain in my heart.

IT’S LATE AND I
feel fuzzy. Ethan and I are locked out of the apartment. He insists on walking me back to Escala, but he won’t stay. He’s called the friend he met earlier for a drink and arranged to crash with him.

“So, this is where the mogul lives.” Ethan whistles through his teeth, impressed.

I nod.

“Sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” he asks.

“No, I need to face this—or just go to bed.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yes. Thanks, Ethan.” I hug him.

“You’ll work it out, Steele,” he murmurs against my ear. He releases me and watches while I head into the building.

“Laters,” he calls. I offer him a weak smile and a wave, and then press the button to call the elevator.

I step out of the elevator and into Christian’s apartment. Taylor is not waiting, which is unusual. Opening the double doors, I head toward the great room. Christian is on the phone, pacing the room near the piano.

“She’s here,” he snaps. He turns to glare at me as he switches off his phone. “Where the fuck have you been?” he growls but doesn’t make a move toward me.

He’s angry with me? He’s the one that just spent God knows how long with his loony ex-girlfriend, and he’s angry with me?

“Have you been drinking?” he asks, appalled.

“A bit.” I didn’t think it was that obvious.

He gasps and runs his hand through his hair. “I told you to come back here.” His voice is menacingly quiet. “It’s now fifteen after ten. I’ve been worried about you.”

“I went for a drink or three with Ethan while you attended to your ex,” I hiss at him. “I didn’t know how long you were going to be … with her.”

He narrows his eyes and takes a few paces toward me but stops.

“Why do you say it like that?”

I shrug and stare down at my fingers.

“Ana, what’s wrong?” And for the first time, I hear something other than anger in his voice. What? Fear?

I swallow, trying to work out what I want to say. “Where’s Leila?” I ask looking up at him.

“In a psychiatric hospital in Fremont,” he says, and his face is scrutinizing mine. “Ana, what is it?” He moves toward me until he’s standing right in front of me. “What’s wrong?” he breathes.

I shake my head. “I’m no good for you.”

“What?” he breathes, his eyes widening in alarm. “Why do you think that? How can you possibly think that?”

“I can’t be everything you need.”

“You are everything I need.”

“Just seeing you with her …” My voice trails off.

“Why do you do this to me? This is not about you, Ana. It’s about her.” He takes a sharp breath, running his hand through his hair again. “Right now she’s a very sick girl.”

“But I felt it … what you had together.”

“What? No.” He reaches for me, and I step back instinctively. He drops his hand, blinking at me. He looks as though he’s seized with panic.

“You’re running?” he whispers as his eyes widen with fear.

I say nothing as I try to collect my scattered thoughts.

“You can’t,” he pleads.

“Christian … I …” I struggle to collect my thoughts. What am I trying to say? I need time, time to process this. Give me time.

“No. No!” he says.

“I …”

He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know.

“You can’t go. Ana, I love you!”

“I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—”

“No … no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head.

“Christian …”

“No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, his hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move.

What?
“Christian, what are you doing?”

He continues to stare down, not looking at me.

“Christian! What are you doing?” I repeat in a high-pitched voice. He doesn’t move. “Christian, look at me!” I command in panic.

His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost serene … expectant.

Holy Fuck …
Christian. The submissive.

C
hristian on his knees at my feet, holding me with his steady gray gaze, is the most chilling and sobering sight I have ever seen—more so than Leila and her gun. The vague alcoholic fuzziness I’m suffering from evaporates in an instant, and is replaced by a prickling scalp and a creeping sense of doom as the blood drains from my face.

I inhale sharply with shock.
No. No, this is wrong, so wrong and so disturbing
.

“Christian, please, don’t do this. I don’t want this.”

He continues to regard me passively, not moving, saying nothing.

Oh, fuck. My poor Fifty
. My heart squeezes and twists. What the hell have I done to him? Tears prick my eyes.

“Why are you doing this? Talk to me,” I whisper.

He blinks once.

“What would you like me to say?” he says softly, blandly, and for a moment I’m relieved that he’s talking, but not like this—no. No.

Tears begin to ooze down my cheeks, and suddenly it is too much to see him in the same prostrate position as the pathetic creature that was Leila. The image of a powerful man who’s really still a little boy, who was horrifically abused and neglected, who feels unworthy of love from his perfect family and his much-less-than-perfect girlfriend … my lost boy … it’s heartbreaking.

Compassion, loss, and despair all swell in my heart, and I feel a choking sense of desperation. I am going to have to fight to bring him back, to bring back
my
Fifty.

The thought of me dominating anyone is appalling. The
thought of dominating Christian is nauseating. It would make me like her—the woman who did this to him.

I shudder at that thought, fighting the bile in my throat. No way can I do that. No way do I want that.

As my thoughts clear, I can see only one way. Not taking my eyes off his, I sink to my knees in front of him.

The wooden floor is hard against my shins, and I dash my tears away roughly with the back of my hand.

Like this, we are equals. We’re on a level. This is the only way I’m going to retrieve him.

His eyes widen fractionally as I stare up at him, but beyond that his expression and stance don’t change.

“Christian, you don’t have to do this,” I plead. “I’m not going to run. I’ve told you and told you and told you, I won’t run. All that’s happened … it’s overwhelming. I just need some time to think … some time to myself. Why do you always assume the worst?” My heart clenches again because I know; it’s because he’s so doubting, so full of self-loathing.

Elena’s words come back to haunt me.
“Does she know how negative you are about yourself? About all your issues?”

Oh, Christian
. Fear grips my heart once more and I start babbling, “I was going to suggest going back to my apartment this evening. You never give me any time … time to just think things through,” I sob, and a ghost of a frown crosses his face. “Just time to think. We barely know each other, and all this baggage that comes with you … I need … I need time to think it through. And now that Leila is … well, whatever she is … she’s off the streets and not a threat … I thought … I thought …” My voice trails off and I stare at him. He regards me intently and I think he’s listening

“Seeing you with Leila …” I close my eyes as the painful memory of his interaction with his ex-sub gnaws at me anew. “It was such a shock. I had a glimpse into how your life has been … and …” I gaze down at my knotted fingers, tears still trickling down my cheeks. “This is about me not being good enough for
you. It was an insight into your life, and I am so scared you’ll get bored with me, and then you’ll go … and I’ll end up like Leila … a shadow. Because I love you, Christian, and if you leave me, it will be like a world without light. I’ll be in darkness. I don’t want to run. I’m just so frightened you’ll leave me …”

I realize as I say these words to him—in the hope that he’s listening—what my real problem is. I just don’t get why he likes me. I have
never
understood why he likes me.

“I don’t understand why you find me attractive,” I murmur. “You’re, well, you’re you … and I’m …” I shrug and gaze up at him. “I just don’t see it. You’re beautiful and sexy and successful and good and kind and caring—all those things—and I’m not. And I can’t do the things you like to do. I can’t give you what you need. How could you be happy with me? How can I possibly hold you?” My voice is a whisper as I express my darkest fears. “I have never understood what you see in me. And seeing you with her, it brought all that home.” I sniff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand, gazing at his impassive expression.

Oh, he’s so exasperating.
Talk to me, damn it!

“Are you going to kneel here all night? Because I’ll do it, too,” I snap at him.

I think his expression softens—maybe he looks vaguely amused. But it’s so hard to tell.