"I should have kept better track of my shots. But I didn't do it on purpose. It looks like the shot failed. I don't know yet. This pregnancy is a shock to me, too." I mutter, trying for a modicum of civility. He glares at me, silent.
"You really f**ked up yesterday," I whisper. "I've had a lot to deal with over the last few weeks."
"You really f**ked up three or four weeks ago. Or whenever you forgot your shot."
"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 f**k'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 he says he'll never see her again? How on earth am I supposed to believe that? I glance at the radio alarm - it's eight thirty. Shit! I'll don't want to be late. I take a deep breath.
"Round Two was a stalemate, Little Blip," I whisper, patting my belly. "Daddy may be a lost cause, but I hope not. Why, oh why, did you come so early, Little Blip? Things were just getting good." My lip trembles, but I take a deep cleansing breath and bring my rolling emotions under control.
"Come on. Let's go kick ass at work."
I don't say goodbye to Christian. He's still in the shower when Sawyer and I leave. As I gaze out of the darkened windows of the SUV, my composure slips and my eyes water. My mood is reflected in the gray, dreary sky, and I feel a strange sense of foreboding. We didn't actually discuss the baby. I have had less than twenty-four hours to assimilate the news of Little Blip - Christian has had even less time. "He doesn't even know your name." I caress my belly and wipe tears from my face.
"Mrs. Grey." Sawyer interrupts my reverie. "We're here."
"Oh. Thanks, Sawyer."
"I'm going to make a run to the deli, ma'am. Can I get you anything?"
"No. Thank you, no. I'm not hungry."
Hannah has my latte waiting for me. I take one sniff of it and my stomach roils.
"Um - can I have tea, please?" I mutter, embarrassed. I knew there was a reason I never really liked coffee. Jeez, it smells foul.
"You okay, Ana?"
I nod and scurry into the safety of my office. My BlackBerry buzzes. It's Kate.
"Why was Christian looking for you?" she asks with no preamble at all.
"Good morning, Kate. How are you?"
"Cut the crap, Steele. What gives?" The Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition begins.
"Christian and I had a fight, that's all."
"Did he hurt you?"
I roll my eyes. "Yes, but not the way you're thinking." I cannot deal with Kate at the moment. I know I will cry - and right now I am so proud of myself for not breaking down this morning. "Kate, I have a meeting. I'll call you back."
"Good. You're all right?"
"Yes." No. "I'll call you later, okay?"
"Okay, Ana, have it your own way. I'm here for you."
Oh no . . ."I know," I whisper and fight the backlash of emotion at her kind words. I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry.
"Ray okay?"
"Yes," I whisper the word.
"Oh, Ana," she whispers.
"Don't."
"Okay. Talk later."
"Yes."
During the course of the morning, I sporadically check my e-mails, hoping for word from Christian. But there's nothing. As the day wears on, I realize he's not going to contact me at all, and that he's still mad. Well, I'm still mad, too. I throw myself into my work, pausing only at lunchtime for a cream cheese and salmon bagel. It's extraordinary how much better I feel once I've eaten something.
At five o'clock Sawyer and I set off for the hospital to see Ray. Sawyer is extra vigilant, and even oversolicitous. It's irritating. As we approach Ray's room, he hovers over me.
"Shall I get you some tea while you visit with your father?" he asks.
"No thanks, Sawyer. I'll be fine."
"I'll wait outside." He opens the door for me, and I'm grateful to get away from him for a moment. Ray is sitting up in bed reading a magazine. He's shaved, wearing a pajama top - he looks like his old self.