Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,232

a memory, lost in a mist of red wine and bourbon, stirs.

“You did,” Ana continues. “By taking our very private life and spilling your spineless guts to that woman.”

“Spineless. That’s what you think?” Jesus, I thought I’d fucked up, but this is so much worse than I’d feared.

“Christian, I saw the text. That’s what I know.”

“That text was not meant for you!”

“Well, fact is I saw it when your BlackBerry fell out of your jacket, while I was undressing you because you were too drunk to undress yourself. Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt me by going to see that woman?” She doesn’t pause for breath. “Do you remember last night when you came home? Remember what you said?”

Hell. No. What did I say last night? I was just mad at you, Ana. Shocked by your revelation. I want to say it, but I can’t find the words.

“Well, you were right. I do choose this defenseless baby over you.”

My world grinds to an abrupt halt.

What does that mean?

“That’s what any loving parent does. That’s what your mother should have done for you. And I’m sorry that she didn’t—because we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if she had. But you’re an adult now. You need to grow up and smell the fucking coffee, and stop behaving like a petulant adolescent.” She’s on a roll.

I frown, and gape at her in all her glory. She’s naked except for sensational underwear, her hair a mahogany cloud spilling down to her breasts, dark eyes wide and desolate. The anger and hurt roll off her in waves, and in spite of all that, she’s stunning, and I am utterly lost. “You may not be happy about this baby,” she exclaims. “I’m not ecstatic, given the timing and your less-than-lukewarm reception to this new life, this flesh of your flesh. But you can either do this with me, or I’ll do it on my own. The decision is yours. While you wallow in your pit of self-pity and self-loathing I’m going to work. And when I return, I’ll be moving my belongings to the room upstairs.”

She’s moving out. She’s leaving.

She is choosing the baby over me.

Panic overwhelms me. It’s like a knife in my guts.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish getting dressed.”

My scalp prickles as I edge toward the abyss. She’s leaving. I step back. “Is that what you want?” My voice is a shocked whisper.

Her wounded eyes are impossibly wide as she scrutinizes me. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” she says quietly, and turning back to the mirror she smooths some face cream over her cheeks.

“You don’t want me?” There’s no oxygen in the room.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” she says, as she opens and applies her mascara.

How can she be so cold?

“You’ve thought about leaving.” The abyss opens and yawns in front of me.

“When one’s husband prefers the company of his ex-mistress, it’s usually not a good sign.” Her disdain drips from every word and pushes me closer to the abyss. Pursing her lips, she dabs on some lip gloss oh-so-fucking casually while I’m poised on the edge of this awful precipice.

She reaches for her boots, strides to the bed, and sits down. I watch her, completely at a loss. She pulls them on and stands to face me, her hands on her hips, her expression aloof.

Fuck.

In her boots and lingerie, her hair wild, she’s a woman to tame.

A Dom’s wet dream.

My wet dream.

My only dream.

I want her. I want her to tell me that she loves me. The way I love her.

Seduce her, Grey.

It’s my only weapon.

“I know what you’re doing here,” I murmur, pitching my voice lower.

“Do you?” Her voice cracks. Is that a chink in her armor? Hope flares briefly in my gut.

She feels.

I can do this. I step forward, but she steps back and holds up her hands, palms toward me. “Don’t even think about it, Grey.” Her words are bullets aimed at my heart.

“You’re my wife,” I murmur.

“I’m the pregnant woman you abandoned yesterday, and if you touch me I will scream the place down.”

What the fuck? No!

“You’d scream?”

“Bloody murder.”

This is too much! Or—does she want to play? Maybe that’s it—that’s what she wants. “No one would hear you,” I murmur.

“Are you trying to frighten me?”

What? No. Never. I back away. “That wasn’t my intention.”

I’m in free-fall.

Tell her. Just come clean, Grey.

And tell her what—that Elena reached for me, her intention clear?

I don’t think so.

“I had a drink with