Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (198 page)

“Mr. Grey, you’ll need to change into scrubs.”

“What?”

“Now, Mr. Grey.”

He squeezes my hand and releases me.

“Christian,” I call, panic setting in.

We are through another set of doors, and in no time a nurse is setting up a screen across my chest. The door opens and closes, and there’s so many people in the room. It’s so loud … I want to go home.

“Christian?” I search the faces in the room for my husband.

“He’ll be with you in a moment, Mrs. Grey.”

A moment later, he’s beside me, in blue scrubs, and I reach for his hand.

“I’m frightened,” I whisper.

“No, baby, no. I’m here. Don’t be frightened. Not my strong Ana.” He kisses my forehead, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that something’s wrong.

“What is it?”

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. Baby, you’re just exhausted.” His eyes burn with fear.

“Mrs. Grey, the anesthesiologist is here. He’s going to adjust your epidural, and then we can proceed.”

“She’s having another contraction.”

Everything tightens like a steel band around my belly. Shit! I crush Christian’s hand as I ride it out. This is what’s tiring—enduring this pain. I am so tired. I can feel the numbing liquid
spread … spread down. I concentrate on Christian’s face. On the furrow between his brows. He’s tense. He’s worried.
Why is he worried?

“Can you feel this, Mrs. Grey?” Dr. Greene’s disembodied voice is coming from behind the curtain.

“Feel what?”

“You can’t feel it.”

“No.”

“Good. Dr. Miller, let’s go.”

“You’re doing well, Ana.”

Christian is pale. There is sweat on his brow. He’s scared.
Don’t be scared, Christian. Don’t be scared
.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“Oh, Ana,” he sobs. “I love you, too, so much.”

I feel a strange pulling deep inside. Like nothing I’ve felt before. Christian looks over the screen and blanches, but stares, fascinated.

“What’s happening?”

“Suction! Good …”

Suddenly, there’s a piercing angry cry.

“You have a boy, Mrs. Grey. Check his Apgar.”

“Apgar is nine.”

“Can I see him?” I gasp.

Christian disappears from view for a second and reappears a moment later, holding my son, swathed in blue. His face is pink and covered in white mush and blood. My baby. My Blip … Theodore Raymond Grey.

When I glance at Christian, he has tears in his eyes.

“Here’s your son, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers, his voice strained and hoarse.

“Our son,” I breathe. “He’s beautiful.”

“He is,” Christian says and plants a kiss on our beautiful boy’s forehead beneath a shock of dark hair. Theodore Raymond Grey is oblivious. Eyes closed, his earlier crying forgotten, he’s asleep. He is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. So beautiful, I begin to weep.

“Thank you, Ana,” Christian whispers, and there are tears in his eyes, too.

“What is it?” Christian tilts my chin back.

“I was just remembering Ted’s birth.”

Christian blanches and cups my belly.

“I am not going through that again. Elective caesarian this time.”

“Christian, I—”

“No, Ana. You nearly fucking died last time. No.”

“I did not nearly die.”

“No.” He’s emphatic and not to be argued with, but as he gazes down at me, his eyes soften. “I like the name Phoebe,” he whispers, and runs his nose down mine.

“Phoebe Grey? Phoebe … Yes. I like that, too.” I grin up at him.

“Good. I want to set up Ted’s present.” He takes my hand, and we head downstairs. His excitement radiates off him; Christian has been waiting for this moment all day.

“DO YOU THINK HE’LL
like it?” His apprehensive gaze meets mine.

“He’ll love it. For about two minutes. Christian, he’s only two.”

Christian has finished setting up the wooden train set he bought Teddy for his birthday. He’s had Barney at the office convert two of the little engines to run on solar power like the helicopter I gave Christian a few years ago. Christian seems anxious for the sun to rise. I suspect that’s because he wants to play with the train set himself. The layout covers most of the stone floor of our outdoor room.

Tomorrow we will have a family party for Ted. Ray and José will be coming and all the Greys, including Ted’s new cousin Ava, Kate and Elliot’s two-month-old daughter. I look forward to
catching up with Kate and seeing how motherhood is agreeing with her.

I gaze up at the view as the sun sinks behind the Olympic Peninsula. It’s everything Christian promised it would be, and I get the same joyful thrill seeing it now as I did the first time. It’s simply stunning: twilight over the Sound. Christian pulls me into his arms.

“It’s quite a view.”

“It is,” Christian answers, and when I turn to look at him, he’s gazing at me. He plants a soft kiss on my lips. “It’s a beautiful view,” he murmurs. “My favorite.”

“It’s home.”

He grins and kisses me again. “I love you, Mrs. Grey.”

“I love you, too, Christian. Always.”

M
y sweater is scratchy and smells of new. Everything is new. I have a new mommy. She is a doctor. She has a tetscope that I can stick in my ears and hear my heart. She is kind and smiles. She smiles all the time. Her teeth are small and white.

“Do you want to help me decorate the tree, Christian?”

There is a big tree in the room with the big couches. A big tree. I have seen these before. But in stores. Not inside where the couches are. My new house has lots of couches. Not one couch. Not one brown sticky couch. “Here, look.”

My new mommy shows me a box, and it’s full of balls. Lots of pretty shiny balls.

“These are ornaments for the tree.”

Orn-a-ments. Orn-a-ments. My head says the word. Orn-a-ments.

“And these—” she stops and pulls out a string with little flowers on them. “These are the lights. Lights first, and then we can trim the tree.” She reaches down and puts her fingers in my hair. I go very still. But I like her fingers in my hair. I like to be near New Mommy. She smells good. Clean. And she only touches my hair.

“Mom!”

He’s calling. Lelliot. He’s big and loud. Very loud. He talks. All the time. I don’t talk at all. I have no words. I have words in my head.

“Elliot, darling, we’re in the sitting room.” He runs in.

He has been to school. He has a picture. A picture he has drawn for my new mommy. She is Lelliot’s mommy, too.
She kneels down and hugs him and looks at the picture. It is a house with a mommy and a daddy and a Lelliot and a Christian. Christian is very small in Lelliot’s picture. Lelliot is big. He has a big smile and Christian has a sad face.

Daddy is here, too. He walks toward Mommy. I hold my blankie tight. He kisses New Mommy and New Mommy isn’t frightened. She smiles. She kisses him back. I squeeze my blankie.

“Hello, Christian.” Daddy has a deep soft voice. I like his voice. He is never loud. He does not shout. He does not shout like … He reads books to me when I go to bed. He reads about a cat and a hat and green eggs and ham. I have never seen green eggs. Daddy bends down so he is small.

“What did you do today?”

I show him the tree.

“You bought a tree? A Christmas tree?”

I say yes with my head.

“It’s a beautiful tree. You and Mommy chose very well. It’s an important job choosing the right tree.”

He pats my hair, too, and I go very still and hold my blankie tightly. Daddy doesn’t hurt me.

“Daddy, look at my picture.” Lelliot is mad when Daddy talks to me. Lelliot is mad at me. I smack Lelliot when he is mad at me. New Mommy is mad at me if I do. Lelliot does not smack me. Lelliot is scared of me.

THE LIGHTS ON THE
tree are pretty.

“Here, let me show you. The hook goes through the little eye, and then you can hang it on the tree.” Mommy puts the red orn-a … orn-a-ment on the tree.

“You try with this little bell.”

The little bell rings. I shake it. The sound is a happy sound. I shake it again. Mommy smiles. A big smile. A special smile for me.

“You like the bell, Christian?”

I say yes with my head and shake the bell once more, and it tinkles happily.

“You have a lovely smile, darling boy.” Mommy blinks and wipes her hand on her eyes. She strokes my hair. “I love to see your smile.” Her hand moves to my shoulder. No. I step back and squeeze my blankie. Mommy looks sad and then happy. She strokes my hair.

“Shall we put the bell on the tree?”

My head says yes.

“CHRISTIAN, YOU MUST TELL
me when you’re hungry. You can do that. You can take Mommy’s hand and lead Mommy to the kitchen and point.” She points her long finger at me. Her nail is shiny and pink. It is pretty. But I don’t know if my new mommy is mad or not. I have finished all my dinner. Macaroni and cheese. It tastes good.

“I don’t want you to be hungry, darling. Okay? Now would you like some ice cream?”

My head says
yes!
Mommy smiles at me. I like her smiles. They are better than macaroni and cheese.

THE TREE IS PRETTY
.
I stand and look at it and hug my blankie. The lights twinkle and are all different colors, and the orn-a-ments are all different colors. I like the blue ones. And on the top of the tree is a big star. Daddy held Lelliot up, and Lelliot put the star on the tree. Lelliot likes putting the star on the tree. I want to put the star on the tree … but I don’t want Daddy to hold me up high. I don’t want him to hold me. The star is sparkly and bright.

Beside the tree is the piano. My new mommy lets me touch the black and the white on the piano. Black and white. I like the white sounds. The black sound is wrong. But I like the black sound, too. I go white to black. White to black. Black to white. White, white, white, white. Black, black, black, black. I like the sound. I like the sound a lot.

“Do you want me to play for you, Christian?”

My new mommy sits down. She touches the white and the black, and the songs come. She presses the pedals underneath. Sometimes it’s loud and sometimes it’s quiet. The song is happy.
Lelliot likes Mommy to sing, too. Mommy sings about an ugly duckling. Mommy makes a funny quacking noise. Lelliot makes the funny quacking noise, and he makes his arms like wings and flaps them up and down like a bird. Lelliot is funny.

Mommy laughs. Lelliot laughs. I laugh.

“You like this song, Christian?” And Mommy has her sad-happy face.

I HAVE A STOCK-ING
.
It is red and it has a picture of a man with a red hat and a big white beard. He is Santa. Santa brings presents. I have seen pictures of Santa. But Santa never brought me presents before. I was bad. Santa doesn’t bring presents to boys who are bad. Now I am good. My new mommy says I am good, very good. New Mommy doesn’t know. I must never tell New Mommy … but I am bad. I don’t want New Mommy to know that.

DADDY HANGS THE STOCK-ING
over the fireplace. Lelliot has a stock-ing, too. Lelliot can read the word on his stock-ing. It says Lelliot. There is a word on my stock-ing. Christian. New Mommy spells it out. C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N.

DADDY SITS ON MY
bed. He reads to me. I hold my blankie. I have a big room. Sometimes the room is dark and I have bad dreams. Bad dreams about before. My new mommy comes to bed with me when I have the bad dreams. She lies down and she sings soft songs and I go to sleep. She smells of soft and new and lovely. My new mommy is not cold. Not like … not like … And my bad dreams go when she is there asleep with me.

SANTA HAS BEEN HERE
.
Santa does not know I have been bad. I am glad Santa does not know. I have a train and a helicopter and a plane and a helicopter and a car and a helicopter. My helicopter can fly. My helicopter is blue. It flies around the Christmas tree. It flies over the piano and lands in the middle of the white. It flies over Mommy and flies over Daddy and flies over Lelliot as
he plays with the Legos. The helicopter flies through the house, through the dining room, through the kitchen. He flies past the door to Daddy’s study and upstairs in my bedroom, in Lelliot’s bedroom, Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom. He flies through the house, because it’s my house. My house where I live.

Monday, May 9, 2011

T
omorrow,” I mutter, dismissing Claude Bastille as he stands on the threshold of my office.

“Golf, this week, Grey.” Bastille grins with easy arrogance, knowing that his victory on the golf course is assured.

I scowl after him as he turns and leaves. His parting words rub salt into my wounds because despite my heroic attempts in the gym this morning, my personal trainer has kicked my ass. Bastille is the only one who can beat me, and now he wants another pound of flesh on the golf course. I detest golf, but so much business is done on the fairways I have to endure his lessons there, too … and though I hate to admit it, Bastille does go some way to improving my game.