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“Goodnight, Mrs. Grey,” she says, and with one last censorious glance at Christian, she leaves.

He raises an eyebrow as she closes the door.

“I don’t think Nurse Nora approves of me.”

He stands by the bed, looking tired, and despite the fact that I want him to stay, I know I should try to persuade him to go home.

“You need rest, too, Christian. Go home. You look exhausted.”

“I’m not leaving you. I’ll doze in this armchair.” I scowl at him then shift onto my side.

“Sleep with me.”

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He frowns. “No. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me. Please, Christian.”

“You have an IV.”

“Christian. Please.”

He gazes at me, and I can tell he’s tempted.

“Please.” I lift up the blankets, inviting him into the bed.

“Fuck it.” He slips off his shoes and socks, and gingerly climbs in beside me.

Gently, he wraps his arm around me, and I lay my head on his chest. He kisses my hair.

“I don’t think Nurse Nora will be very happy with this arrangement,” he whispers conspiratorially.

I giggle, then stop as pain lances through my chest. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

“Oh, but I love that sound,” he says a little sadly, his voice low. “I’m sorry, baby, so, so sorry.” He kisses my hair again and inhales deeply, and I don’t know what he’s apologizing for . . . making me laugh? Or the mess we’re in? I rest my hand over his heart, and he gently places his hand on mine. We are both silent for a moment.

“Why did you go see that woman?”

“Oh, Ana.” He groans. “You want to discuss that now? Can’t we drop this? I regret it, okay?”

“I need to know.”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he mutters, irritated. “Oh, and Detective Clark wants to talk to you. Just routine. Now go to sleep.” He kisses my hair. I sigh heavily. I need to know why. At least he says he regrets it. That’s something, my subconscious agrees. She’s in an agreeable mood today, it seems. Ugh, Detective Clark. I shudder at the thought of reliving Thursday’s events for him.

“Do we know why Jack was doing all this?”

“Hmm,” Christian murmurs. I’m soothed by the slow rise and fall of his chest, gently rocking my head, lulling me to sleep as his breathing slows. And while I drift I try to make sense of the fragments of conversations I heard while I was on the edge of consciousness, but they slither through my mind, remaining 454/551

steadfastly elusive, taunting me from the edges of my memory. Oh, it’s frustrating and exhausting . . . and . . .

Nurse Nora’s mouth is pursed and her arms folded in hostility. I hold my finger up to my lips.

“Please let him sleep,” I whisper, squinting in the early morning light.

“This is your bed. Not his,” she hisses sternly.

“I slept better because he was here.” I insist, rushing to my husband’s defense. Besides, it’s true. Christian stirs, and Nurse Nora and I freeze.

He mumbles in his sleep, “Don’t touch me. No more. Only Ana.” I frown. I have rarely heard Christian talk in his sleep. Admittedly, that might be because he sleeps less than I do. I’ve only ever heard his nightmares. His arms tighten around me, squeezing me, and I wince.

“Mrs. Grey—” Nurse Nora glowers.

“Please,” I beg.

She shakes her head, turns on her heel and leaves, and I snuggle up against Christian again.

When I wake, Christian is nowhere to be seen. The sun is blazing through the windows, and I can now really appreciate the room. I have flowers! I didn’t notice them the night before. Several bouquets. I wonder idly who they’re from.

A soft knock distracts me, and Carrick peeks around the door. He beams when he sees that I’m awake.

“May I come in?” he asks.

“Of course.”

He strides into the room and over to me, his soft, gentle blue eyes assessing me shrewdly. He’s wearing a dark suit—he must be working. He surprises me by leaning down and kissing my forehead.

“May I sit?”

I nod, and he perches on the edge of the bed and takes my hand.

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“I don’t know how to thank you for my daughter, you crazy, brave, darling girl. What you did probably saved her life. I will be forever in your debt.” His voice wavers, filled with gratitude and compassion.

Oh . . . I don’t know what to say. I squeeze his hand but remain mute.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Sore.” I say, for honesty’s sake.

“Have they given you meds for the pain?”

“Lor . . . something.”

“Good. Where’s Christian?”

“I don’t know. When I woke up, he was gone.”

“He won’t be far away, I’m sure. He wouldn’t leave you while you were unconscious.”

“I know.”

“He’s a little mad at you, as he should be.” Carrick smirks. Ah, this is where Christian gets it from.

“Christian is always mad at me.”

“Is he?” Carrick smiles, pleased—as if this is a good thing. His smile is infectious.

“How’s Mia?”

His eyes cloud and his smile vanishes. “She’s better. Mad as hell. I think anger is a healthy reaction to what happened to her.”

“Is she here?”

“No, she’s back at home. I don’t think Grace will let her out of her sight.”

“I know how that feels.”

“You need watching, too,” he admonishes. “I don’t want you taking anymore silly risks with your life or the life of my grandchild.” I flush. He knows!

“Grace read your chart. She told me. Congratulations.”

“Um . . . thank you.”

He gazes down at me, and his eyes soften, though he frowns at my expression.

“Christian will come around,” he says gently. “This will be the best thing for him. Just . . . give him some time.” I nod . Oh . . . They’ve spoken.

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“I’d better go. I’m due in court.” He smiles and rises. “I’ll check in on you later. Grace speaks highly of Dr. Singh and Dr. Bartley. They know what they’re doing.”

He leans down and kisses me once more. “I mean it, Ana. I can never repay what you’ve done for us. Thank you.”

I look up at him, blinking back tears, suddenly overwhelmed, and he strokes my cheek affectionately. Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

Oh my. I’m reeling from his gratitude. Perhaps now I can let the prenup de-bacle go. My subconscious nods sagely in agreement with me yet again. I shake my head and gingerly get out of bed. I’m relieved to find that I am much steadier on my feet than yesterday. In spite of Christian sharing the bed, I have slept well and feel refreshed. My head still aches, but it’s a dull nagging pain, nothing like the pounding yesterday. I’m stiff and sore, but I just need a bath. I feel grimy. I head into the en suite.

“Ana!” Christian shouts.

“I’m in the bathroom,” I call as I finish brushing my teeth. That feels better. I ignore my reflection in the mirror. Jeez, I look a mess . When I open the door, Christian is by the bed, holding a tray of food. He’s transformed. Dressed entirely in black, he’s shaved, showered, and looks well rested.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grey,” he says brightly. “I have your breakfast.” He looks so boyish and much happier.

Wow. I smile broadly as I climb back into bed. He pulls over the tray on wheels and lifts the cover to reveal my breakfast: oatmeal with dried fruits, pancakes with maple syrup, bacon, orange juice, and Twinings English breakfast tea.

My mouth waters; I’m so hungry. I down the orange juice in a few gulps and dig into the oatmeal. Christian sits down on the edge of the bed to watch. He smirks.