Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

feel . . . numb.
    “You’re still here. I thought you would be out of the door by now,” he whispers.
    “Why? Because I might think you’re a sicko for whipping and fucking women who look like your mother? Whatever would give you that impression?” I hiss at him, lashing out.
    He blanches at my harsh words.
    “Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but yes,” he says, his eyes wide and hurt.
    His expression is sobering and I regret my outburst. I frown, feeling a pang of guilt.  
    Oh, what am I going to do? I gaze at him and he looks contrite, sincere . . . he looks like my Fifty.  
    And unbidden I recall the photograph in his childhood bedroom, and in that moment realize why the woman in it looked so familiar. She looked like him. She must have been his biological mother.  
    His easy dismissal of her comes to mind: No one of consequence  . . . She’s responsible for all this . . . and I look like her . . . Fuck!
    He stares at me, eyes raw, and I know he’s waiting for my next move. He seems genuine. He’s said he loves me, but I’m really confused.  
    This is all so fucked-up. He’s reassured me about Leila, but now I know with more certainty than ever how she was able to give him his kicks. The thought is wearying and unpalatable. I am so tired of all this.
    “Christian, I’m exhausted. Can we discuss this tomorrow? I want to go to bed.”
    He blinks at me in surprise. “You’re not going?”
    “Do you want me to go?”
    “No! I thought you would leave once you knew.”
    All the times he’s alluded to me leaving once I knew his darkest secrets flash through my mind . . . and now I know.   Shit.   Master is dark.  
    Should I leave? I gaze at him, this crazy man that I love, yes love.    
    Can I leave him? I left him once before, and it nearly broke me . . . and him. I love him.   I know that in spite of this revelation.
    “Don’t leave me,” he whispers.
    “Oh, for crying out loud— no ! I am not doing to go!” I shout and it’s cathartic. There, I’ve said it. I am not leaving.
    “Really?” His eyes widen.
    “What can I do to make you understand I will not run? What can I say?”
    He gazes at me, revealing his fear and anguish again. He swallows. “There is one thing you can do.”
    “What?” I snap.
    “Marry me,” he whispers.
    What? Did he really just —
    For the second time in less than half an hour my world stops.  
    Holy fuck. I stare at the deeply fucked-up man I love. I can’t believe what he’s just said.  
    Marriage? He’s proposing marriage? Is he kidding? I can’t help it—a small, nervous, disbelieving giggle erupts from deep inside. I bite my lip to stop it from turning into full-scale hysterical laughter and fail miserably. I lie back flat on the floor and surrender myself to the laughter, laughing as I’ve never laughed before, huge healing cathartic howls of laughter.
    And for a moment I am on my own, looking down at this absurd situation, a giggling, overwhelmed girl beside a beautiful fucked-up boy. I drape my arm across my eyes, as my laughter turns to scalding tears. No, no . . . this is too much .
    As the hysteria subsides, Christian gently lifts my arm off my face. I turn and gaze up at him.
    He’s leaning over me. His mouth is twisted with wry amusement, but his eyes are a burning gray, maybe wounded. Oh no.  
    He gently wipes away a stray tear with the back of his knuckles. “You find my proposal amusing, Miss Steele?”  
    Oh, Fifty!   Reaching up, I caress his cheek tenderly, enjoying the feel of the stubble beneath my fingers. Lord, I love this man.
    “Mr. Grey . . . Christian. Your sense of timing is without doubt . . .” I gaze up at him as words fail me.  
    He smirks at me, but the crinkling around his eyes shows me that he’s hurt. It’s sobering.
    “You’re cutting me to the quick here, Ana. Will you marry me?”
    I sit up and lean over him, placing my hands on his knees. I stare into his lovely face. “Christian, I’ve met your psycho ex with a gun, been thrown out of my apartment, had you go thermonuclear Fifty on me—”
    He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand. He obediently shuts his mouth.
    “You’ve just revealed some, quite frankly, shocking information about yourself, and now you’ve asked me to marry you.”
    He moves his head from side to side as if considering the facts. He’s amused. Thank heavens.
    “Yes, I think that’s a fair and accurate