"Mrs. Grey."
"Please."
"Ana," Christian warns. I struggle to sit up once more.
"Let me remove your catheter. Mr. Grey I am sure Mrs. Grey would like some privacy." She looks pointedly at Christian, dismissing him.
"I'm not going anywhere." He glares back at her.
"Christian, please," I whisper, reaching out and grasping his hand. Briefly he squeezes my hand then gives me an exasperated look. "Please," I beg.
"Fine!" he snaps and runs his hand through his hair. "You have two minutes," he hisses at the nurse, and he leans down and kisses my forehead before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
Christian bursts back into the room two minutes later as Nurse Nora is helping me out of bed. I'm dressed in a thin hospital gown. I don't remember being stripped.
"Let me take her," he says and strides toward us.
"Mr. Grey, I can manage." Nurse Nora scolds him.
He gives her a hostile glare. "Dammit, she's my wife. I'll take her." He says through gritted teeth as he moves the IV stand out of his way.
"Mr. Grey!" she protests.
He ignores her, leans down, and gently lifts me off the bed. I wrap my arms around his neck, my body complaining. Jeez, I ache everywhere. He carries me to the en suite bathroom while Nurse Nora follows us, pushing the IV stand.
"Mrs. Grey, you're too light," he mutters disapprovingly as he sets me gently on my feet. I sway. My legs feel like Jell-O. Christian flips the light switch, and I'm momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lamp that pings and flickers to life.
"Sit before you fall," he snaps, still holding me.
Tentatively, I sit down on the toilet.
"Go." I try to wave him out.
"No. Just pee, Ana."
Could this be any more embarrassing? "I can't, not with you here."
"You might fall."
"Mr. Grey!"
We both ignore the nurse.
"Please," I beg.
He raises his hands in defeat. "I'll stand outside, door open." He takes a couple of paces back until he's standing just outside the door with the angry nurse.
"Turn around, please," I ask. Why do I feel so ridiculously shy with this man? He rolls his eyes but complies. And when his back is turned . . . I let go, and savor the relief.
I take stock of my injuries. My head hurts, my chest aches where Jack kicked me, and my side throbs where he pushed me to the ground. Plus I'm thirsty and hungry. Jeez, really hungry. I finish up, thankful that I don't have to get up to wash my hands, as the sink is close. I just don't have the strength to stand.
"I'm done," I call, drying my hands on the towel.
Christian turns and comes back in and before I know it, I'm in his arms again.
I have missed these arms. He pauses and buries his nose in my hair.
"Oh, I've missed you, Mrs. Grey," he whispers, and with Nurse Nora fussing behind him, he lays me back on the bed and releases me—reluctantly, I think.
"If you've quite finished, Mr. Grey, I'd like to check over Mrs. Grey now."
Nurse Nora is mad.
He stands back. "She's all yours," he says in a more measured tone.
She huffs at him then turns her attention back to me.
Exasperating isn't he?
"How do you feel?" she asks me her voice laced with sympathy and a trace of irritation, which I suspect is for Christian's benefit.
"Sore and thirsty. Very thirsty," I whisper.
"I'll fetch you some water once I've checked your vitals and Dr. Bartley has examined you."
She reaches for a blood pressure cuff and wraps it around my upper arm. I glance anxiously up at Christian. He looks dreadful—haunted, even—as if he hasn't slept for days. His hair is a mess, he hasn't shaved for a long time, and his shirt is badly wrinkled. I frown.
"How are you feeling?" Ignoring the nurse, he sits down on the bed out of arm's reach.
"Confused. Achy. Hungry."
"Hungry?" He blinks in surprise.
I nod.
"What do you want to eat?"
"Anything. Soup."
"Mr. Grey, you'll need the doctor's approval before Mrs. Grey can eat."
He gazes at her impassively for a moment then takes his BlackBerry out of his pants pocket and presses a number.
"Ana wants chicken soup . . . Good . . . Thank you." He hangs up.
I glance at Nora whose eyes narrow at Christian.
"Taylor?" I ask quickly.
Christian nods.
"Your blood pressure is normal, Mrs. Grey. I'll fetch the doctor." She removes the cuff and, without so much as another word, stalks out of the room, radiating disapproval.
"I think you made Nurse Nora mad."
"I have that effect on women." He smirks.
I laugh, then stop suddenly as pain radiates through my chest. "Yes, you do."
"Oh, Ana, I love to hear you laugh."
Nora returns with a pitcher of water. We both fall silent, gazing at each other as she pours out a glass and hands it to me.
"Small sips now," she warns.
"Yes, ma'am," I mutter and take a welcome sip of cool water. Oh my. It tastes perfect. I take another, and Christian watches me intently.
"Mia?" I ask.
"She's safe. Thanks to you."
"They did have her?"
"Yes."
All the madness was for a reason. Relief spirals through my body . Thank God, thank God, thank God she's okay. I frown.
"How did they get her?"
"Elizabeth Morgan," he says simply.
"No!"
He nods. "She picked her up at Mia's gym."
I frown, still not understanding.
"Ana, I'll fill you in on the details later. Mia is fine, all things considered.
She was drugged. She's groggy now and shaken up, but by some miracle she wasn't harmed." Christian's jaw clenches. "What you did"—he runs his hand through his hair—"was incredibly brave and incredibly stupid. You could have been killed." His eyes blaze a bleak, chilling gray, and I know he's restraining his anger.
"I didn't know what else to do," I whisper.
"You could have told me!" he says vehemently, fisting his hands in his lap.
"He said he'd kill her if I told anyone. I couldn't take that risk."
Christian closes his eyes, dread etched in his face.
"I have died a thousand deaths since Thursday."
Thursday?
"What day is it?"
"It's almost Saturday," he says, checking his watch. "You've been unconscious for over twenty-four hours."
Oh.
"And Jack and Elizabeth?"
"In police custody. Although Hyde is here under guard. They had to remove the bullet you left in him," Christian says bitterly. "I don't know where in this hospital he is, fortunately, or I'd probably kill him myself." His face darkens.
Oh shit. Jack is here?
"That's for SIP you f*cking bitch!" I pale. My empty stomach convulses, tears prick my eyes, and a deep shudder runs through me.
"Hey." Christian scoots forward, his voice filled with concern. Taking the glass from my hand, he tenderly folds me into his arms. "You're safe now," he murmurs against my hair, his voice hoarse.
"Christian, I'm so sorry." My tears start to fall.
"Hush." He strokes my hair, and I weep into his neck.
"What I said. I was never going to leave you."
"Hush, baby, I know."
"You do?" His admission halts my tears.
"I worked it out. Eventually. Honestly, Ana, what were you thinking?" His tone is strained.
"You took me by surprise," I mutter into his shirt collar. "When we spoke at the bank. Thinking I was leaving you. I thought you knew me better. I've said to you over and over I would never leave."
"But after the appalling way I've behaved—" His voice is barely audible, and his arms tighten around me. "I thought for a short time that I'd lost you."
"No, Christian. Never. I didn't want you to interfere, and put Mia's life in danger."
He sighs, and I don't know if it's from anger, exasperation, or hurt.
"How did you work it out?" I ask quickly to distract him from his line of thought.
He tucks my hair behind my ear. "I'd just touched down in Seattle when the bank called. Last I'd heard, you were ill and going home."
"So you were in Portland when Sawyer called you from the car?"
"We were just about to take off. I was worried about you," he says softly.
"You were?"
He frowns. "Of course I was." He skirts his thumb over my bottom lip. "I spend my life worrying about you. You know that."
Oh, Christian!
"Jack called me at the office," I murmur. "He gave me two hours to get the money." I shrug. "I had to leave, and it just seemed the best excuse."
Christian's mouth presses into a hard line. "And you gave Sawyer the slip.
He's mad at you, as well."
"As well?"
"As well as me."
I tentatively touch his face, running my fingers over his stubble. He closes his eyes, leaning into my fingers.
"Don't be mad at me. Please," I whisper.
"I am so mad at you. What you did was monumentally stupid. Bordering on insane."
"I told you, I didn't know what else to do."
"You don't seem to have any regard for your personal safety. And it's not just you now," he adds angrily.
My lip trembles. He's thinking about our Little Blip.
The door opens, startling us both, and a young African-American woman in a white coat over gray scrubs strides in.
"Good evening, Mrs. Grey. I'm Dr. Bartley."
She starts to examine me thoroughly, shining a light in my eyes, making me touch her fingers, then my nose while closing first one eye and then the other, and checking all my reflexes. But her voice is soft and her touch gentle; she has a warm bedside manner. Nurse Nora joins her, and Christian wanders to the corner of the room and makes some calls while the two of them tend to me. It's hard to concentrate on Dr. Bartley, Nurse Nora, and Christian at the same time, but I hear him call his father, my mother, and Kate to say I'm awake. Finally, he leaves a message for Ray.
Ray. Oh shit . . . A vague memory of his voice comes back to me. He was here—yes, while I was still unconscious.
Dr. Bartley checks my ribs, her fingers probing gently but firmly.
I wince.
"These are bruised, not cracked or broken. You were very lucky, Mrs. Grey."
I scowl. Lucky? Not the word I would have chosen. Christian glowers at her, too. He mouths something at me. I think it's foolhardy, but I'm not sure.
"I'll prescribe some painkillers. You'll need them for this and for the headache you must have. But all's looking as it should, Mrs. Grey. I suggest you get some sleep. Depending on how you feel in the morning, we may let you go home.
My colleague Dr. Singh will be attending you then."
"Thank you."
There's a knock on the door, and Taylor enters bearing a black cardboard box with Fairmont Olympic emblazoned in cream on the side.
Holy cow!
"Food?" Dr. Bartley says surprised.
"Mrs. Grey is hungry," Christian says. "This is chicken soup."
Dr. Bartley smiles. "Soup will be fine, just the broth. Nothing heavy." She looks pointedly at both of us then exits the room with Nurse Nora.
Christian pulls the wheeled tray over to me, and Taylor places the box on it.
"Welcome back, Mrs. Grey."
"Hello, Taylor. Thank you."
"You're most welcome, ma'am." I think he wants to say more, but he holds off.
Christian is unpacking the box, producing a thermos, soup bowl, side plate, linen napkin, soupspoon, a small basket of bread rolls, silver salt and pepper shakers . . . The Olympic has gone all-out.
"This is great, Taylor." My stomach is rumbling. I am famished.
"Will that be all?" he asks.
"Yes, thanks," Christian says, dismissing him.
Taylor nods.