Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

a warm, seductive edge.
    “Do you?” And my voice cracks . No, Ana . . . hold on.
    He swallows and takes a step forward. I step back and hold my hands up.
    “Don’t even think about it, Grey,” I whisper menacingly.
    “You’re my wife,” he says softly, threateningly.
    “I’m the pregnant woman you abandoned yesterday, and if you touch me I will scream the place down.”
    His eyebrows rise in disbelief. “You’d scream?”
    “Bloody murder.” I narrow my eyes.
    “No one would hear you,” he murmurs, his gaze intense, and briefly I’m reminded of our morning in Aspen. No. No. No.
    “Are you trying to frighten me?” I mutter breathless, deliberately trying to derail him.
    It works. He stills and swallows. “That wasn’t my intention.” He frowns.
    I can barely breathe. If he touches me, I will succumb. I know the power he wields over me and over my traitorous body. I know. I hang on to my anger.
    “I had a drink with someone I used to be close to. We cleared the air. I am not going to see her again.”
    “You sought her out?”
    “Not at first. I tried to see Flynn. But I found myself at the salon.”
    “And you expect me to believe you’re not going to see her again?” I cannot contain my fury as I hiss at him. “What about the next time I step across some imaginary line? This is the same argument we have over and over again. Like we’re on some Ixion’s wheel. If I fuck up again, are you going to run back to her?”
    “I am not going to see her again,” he says with a chilling finality. “She finally understands how I feel.”
    I blink at him. “What does that mean?”
    He straightens and runs a hand through his hair, exasperated and angry and mute. I try a different tack.
    “Why can you talk to her and not to me?”
    “I was mad at you. Like I am now.”
    “You don’t say!” I snap. “Well I am mad at you right now. Mad at you for being so cold and callous yesterday when I needed you. Mad at you for saying I got knocked up deliberately, when I didn’t. Mad at you for betraying me.” I manage to suppress a sob. His mouth drops open in shock, and he closes his eyes briefly as if I’d slapped him. I swallow. Calm down, Anastasia .
    “I should have kept better track of my shots. But I didn’t do it on purpose. This pregnancy is a shock to me, too.” I mutter, trying for a modicum of civility. “It could be that the shot failed.”
    He glares at me, silent.
    “You really fucked up yesterday,” I whisper, my anger boiling over. “I’ve had a lot to deal with over the last few weeks.”
    “You really fucked up three or four weeks ago. Or whenever you forgot your shot.”
    “Well, God forbid I should be perfect like you!”
    Oh stop, stop, stop. We stand glowering at each other.
    “This is quite a performance, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers.
    “Well, I’m glad that even knocked up I’m entertaining.”
    He stares at me blankly. “I need a shower,” he murmurs.
    “And I’ve provided enough of a floor show.”
    “It’s a mighty fine floor show,” he whispers. He steps forward, and I step back again.
    “Don’t.”
    “I hate that you won’t let me touch you.”
    “Ironic, huh?”
    His eyes narrow once more. “We haven’t resolved much, have we?”
    “I’d say not. Except that I’m moving out of this bedroom.”
    His eyes flare and widen briefly. “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”
    “Except when you need her.”
    “I don’t need her. I need you.”
    “You didn’t yesterday. That woman is a hard limit for me, Christian.”
    “She’s out of my life.”
    “I wish I could believe you.”
    “For fuck’s sake, Ana.”
    “Please let me get dressed.”
    He sighs and runs a hand through his hair once more. “I’ll see you this evening,” he says, his voice bleak and devoid of feeling. And for a brief moment I want to take him in my arms and soothe him . . . but I resist because I’m just too mad. He turns and heads for the bathroom. I stand frozen until I hear the door close.
    I stagger to the bed and flop down on to it. My inner goddess and my subconscious are both giving me a standing ovation. I did not resort to tears, shouting, or murder, nor did I succumb to his sexpertise. I deserve a Congressional Medal of Honor, but I feel so low. Shit. We resolved nothing. We’re on the edge of a precipice. Is our marriage is at stake here? Why can’t he see what a complete and utter ass he’s been running to that woman? And what does he mean when