Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

hand, frowning at me. I take it and we leave the hospital.
    I pick at my food. It’s Mrs. Jones’s chicken chasseur, but I’m just not hungry. My stomach is knotted in a tight ball of anxiety.
    “Damn it! Ana, will you tell me what’s wrong?” Christian pushes his empty plate away, irritated. I gaze at him. “Please. You’re driving me crazy.”
    I swallow and try to subdue the panic rising in my throat. I take a deep steadying breath. It’s now or never. “I’m pregnant.”
    He stills, and very slowly all the color drains from his face. “What?” he whispers, ashen.
    “I’m pregnant.”
    His brow furrows with incomprehension. “How?”
    How . . . how? What sort of ridiculous question is that? I blush, and give him a quizzical how-do-you-think look.
    His stance changes immediately, his eyes hardening to flint. “Your shot?” he snarls.
    Oh shit.
    “Did you forget your shot?”
    I just gaze at him unable to speak. Jeez, he’s mad—really mad.
    “Christ, Ana!” He bangs his fist on the table, making me jump, and stands so abruptly he almost knocks the dining chair over. “You have one thing, one thing to remember. Shit! I don’t fucking believe it. How could you be so stupid?”
    Stupid! I gasp. Shit. I want to tell him that the shot was ineffective, but words fail me. I gaze down at my fingers. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
    “Sorry? Fuck!” he says again.
    “I know the timing’s not very good.”
    “Not very good!” he shouts. “We’ve known each other five fucking minutes. I wanted to show you the fucking world and now . . . Fuck. Diapers and vomit and shit!” He closes his eyes. I think he’s trying to contain his temper and losing the battle.
    “Did you forget? Tell me. Or did you do this on purpose?” His eyes blaze and anger emanates off him like a force field.
    “No,” I whisper. I can’t tell him about Hannah—he’d fire her. I know.
    “I thought we’d agreed on this!” he shouts.
    “I know. We had. I’m sorry.”
    He ignores me. “This is why. This is why I like control. So shit like this doesn’t come along and fuck everything up.”
    No . . . Little Blip. “Christian, please don’t shout at me.” Tears start to slip down my face.
    “Don’t start with waterworks now,” he snaps. “Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at it as he does. “You think I’m ready to be a father?” His voice catches, and it’s a mixture of rage and panic.
    And it all becomes clear, the fear and loathing writ large in his eyes—his rage is that of a powerless adolescent. Oh, Fifty, I am so sorry. It’s a shock for me, too.
    “I know neither one of us is ready for this, but I think you’ll make a wonderful father,” I choke. “We’ll figure it out.”
    “How the fuck do you know!” he shouts, louder this time. “Tell me how!” His gray eyes burn, and so many emotions cross his face. It’s fear that’s most prominent.
    “Oh fuck this!” Christian bellows dismissively and holds his hands up in a gesture of defeat. He turns on his heel and stalks toward the foyer, grabbing his jacket as he leaves the great room. His footsteps echo off the wooden floor, and he disappears through the double doors into the foyer, slamming the door behind him and making me jump once more.
    I am alone with the silence—the still, silent emptiness of the great room. I shudder involuntarily as I gaze numbly at the closed doors. He’s walked out on me. Shit! His reaction is far worse than I could ever have imagined. I push my plate away and fold my arms on the table, letting my head sink into them while I weep.
    “Ana, dear.” Mrs. Jones is hovering beside me.
    I sit up quickly, dashing the tears from my face.
    “I heard. I’m sorry,” she says gently. “Would you like an herbal tea or something?”
    “I’d like a glass of white wine.”
    Mrs. Jones pauses for a fraction of a second, and I remember Blip. Now I can’t drink alcohol. Can I? I must study the dos and don’ts Dr. Greene gave me.
    “I’ll get you a glass.”
    “Actually, I’ll have a cup of tea, please.” I wipe my nose. She smiles kindly.
    “Cup of tea coming up.” She clears our plates and heads over to the kitchen area. I follow her and perch on a stool, watching her prepare my tea.
    She places a steaming mug in front of me. “Is there anything else I can get for you, Ana?”
    “No, this is fine, thank you.”
    “Are you sure? You didn’t eat much.”
    I gaze up at her. “I’m