Happy Thursday, all! It’s time for yet another chapter in the rollicking drama that is Fifty Shades Freed. We’re currently on Chapter Twenty of this train wreck and are almost done with the complete series. In the last cliffhanger chapter, Ana found out that she was *GASP* preggers! Well, with the amount of sex she and Christian have and the total absence of contraception of any type, it was bound to happen sooner or later, right?
“We could do an ultrasound to see how advanced the pregnancy is. Judging by your reaction, I suspect you’re just a couple of weeks or so from conception — four or five weeks pregnant. I take it you haven’t been suffering any other symptoms?”
I shake my head mutely. Symptoms? I don’t think so. “I thought . . . I thought this was a reliable form of contraceptive.”
Dr. Greene arches a brow. “It normally is, when you remember to have the shot,” she says coolly.
“There,” she murmurs. She presses a button, freezing the picture on the screen, and points to a tiny blip in the sepia storm.
It’s a little blip. There’s a tiny little blip in my belly. Tiny. Wow. I forget my discomfort as I stare shell-shocked at the blip.
“It’s too early to see the heartbeat, but yes, you’re definitely pregnant. Four or five weeks, I would say.” She frowns. “Looks like the shot ran out early. Oh well, that happens sometimes.”
I am too stunned to say anything. The little blip is a baby. A real honest to goodness baby. Christian’s baby. My baby. Holy cow. A baby!
I’m gripped suddenly by a creeping cold and deep sense of foreboding. Christian is going to freak, I know, but how much and how far, I have no idea. His words haunt me. “I’m not ready to share you yet.” I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to shake off the cold.
I cannot with this. If you see a baby as a potential rival and it’s not your new sibling, then you have serious problems. But then this has already been established and is kind of the point of the whole book series, isn’t it?
My vision morphs into Christian turning away from me in disgust. I’m fat and awkward, heavy with child. He paces the long hall of mirrors, away from me, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the silvered glass, walls, and floor. Christian . . .
If he leaves, then get a good divorce lawyer and clean him out. Jeesh, it’s not the end of the world if he leaves you, Ana. As a matter of fact, it may be the best thing for you.
When Sawyer pulls up outside SIP, I leap out and head into the building.
“Ana, great to see you. How’s your dad?” Hannah asks as soon as I reach my office. I regard her coolly.
“He’s better, thank you. Can I see you in my office?”
“Sure.” She looks surprised as she follows me in. “Is everything okay?”
“I need to know if you’ve moved or cancelled any appointments with Dr. Greene.”“Dr. Greene? Yes, I have. About two or three of them. Mostly because you were in other meetings or running late. Why?”
Because now I’m fucking pregnant! I scream at her in my head. I take a deep, steadying breath. “If you move any appointments, will you make sure I know? I don’t always check my calendar.”
“Sure,” Hannah says quietly. “I’m sorry. Have I done something wrong?”
Well, here’s the world’s most incompetent administrative assistant. If she had cancelled Ana’s doctor’s appointments, shouldn’t she have told Ana? Just remember, when you feel like you’re not doing so well at your job, there’s always worse!
I swallow and try to subdue the panic rising in my throat. I take a deep steadying breath. It’s now or never. “I’m pregnant.”
He stills, and very slowly all the color drains from his face. “What?” he whispers, ashen.
His brow furrows with incomprehension. “How?”
How . . . how? What sort of ridiculous question is that? I blush, and give him a quizzical how-do-you-think look.
His stance changes immediately, his eyes hardening to flint. “Your shot?” he snarls.
“Did you forget your shot?”
I just gaze at him unable to speak. Jeez, he’s mad — really mad.
“Christ, Ana!” He bangs his fist on the table, making me jump, and stands so abruptly he almost knocks the dining chair over. “You have one thing, one thing to remember. Shit! I don’t fucking believe it. How could you be so stupid?”
“Not very good!” he shouts. “We’ve known each other five fucking minutes. I wanted to show you the fucking world and now . . . Fuck. Diapers and vomit and shit!” He closes his eyes. I think he’s trying to contain his temper and losing the battle.
“Did you forget? Tell me. Or did you do this on purpose?” His eyes blaze and anger emanates off him like a force field.
I think this passage pretty much speaks for itself.
Ever since I met him, my life has been complicated. Is it him? Is it the two of us together? Suppose he doesn’t get past this? Suppose he wants a divorce? Bile rises in my throat. No. I mustn’t think this way. He’ll be back. He will. I know he will. I know regardless of the shouting and his harsh words he loves me . . . yes. And he’ll love you, too, Little Blip.
Little Blip. Yup. LITTLE BLIP.
“And so it begins. I’ve heard about this.”
I frown. “Heard about what?”
“Babies mean no sex.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. Otherwise we’d all come from one-child families.”
He gazes down at me. “You’re funny.”
Well, someone is a selfish prick, isn’t he? He’s just concerned about HIS NEEDS.
I sit up and gaze at him again. Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty . . . what am I going to do with you? I brush my fingers through his hair. It’s so soft and kiss his temple.
“I love you, Christian. Even when you’re drunk and you’ve been out God knows where, I love you. I’ll always love you.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs. I kiss his temple once more, then get off the bed, and cover him up with the spare duvet. I can sleep beside him, sideways across the bed . . . Yes, I’ll do that.
First I’ll sort out his clothes, though. I shake my head and pick up his socks and tie, and fold his jacket over my arm. As I do, his BlackBerry falls to the floor. I pick it up and inadvertently unlock it. It opens on the texts screen. I can see my text, and above it, another.
Fuck. My scalp prickles.
*It was good to see you. I understand now.
Don’t fret. You’ll make a wonderful father.*
It’s from her. Mrs. Elena Bitch Troll Robinson.
Shit. That’s where he went. He’s been to see her.
And that’s it for this week. Thank God. This book is just the worst.