“Shit—don’t cry, Ana. Please, don’t cry.” He caresses my face.
“I’m sorry.” My lower lip trembles, and he brushes his thumb over it, soothing me.
“No, Ana, no. Don’t be sorry. You’ll have someone else to love as well. And you’re right. That’s how it should be.”
“Blip will love you, too. You’ll be the center of Blip’s—Junior’s world,” I whisper. “Children love their parents unconditionally, Christian. That’s how they come into the world. Programmed to love. All babies . . . even you. Think about that children’s book you liked when you were small. You still wanted your mom.
You loved her.”
He furrows his brow and withdraws his hand, fisting it against his chin.
“No,” he whispers.
“Yes. You did.” My tears flow freely now. “Of course you did. It wasn’t an option. That’s why you’re so hurt.”
He stares at me, his expression raw.
“That’s why you’re able to love me,” I murmur. “Forgive her. She had her own world of pain to deal with. She was a shitty mother, and you loved her.” He gazes at me, saying nothing, eyes haunted—by memories I can’t begin to fathom.
Oh, please don’t stop talking.
Eventually he says, “I used to brush her hair. She was pretty.”
“One look at you and no one would doubt that.”
“She was a shitty mother.” His voice is barely audible.
I nod and he closes his eyes. “I’m scared I’ll be a shitty father.” I stroke his dear face. Oh, my Fifty, Fifty, Fifty. “Christian, do you think for one minute I’d let you be a shitty father?”
He opens his eyes and gazes at me for what feels like an eternity. He smiles as relief slowly illuminates his face. “No, I don’t think you would.” He caresses my face with the back of his knuckles, gazing at me in wonder. “God, you’re strong, Mrs. Grey. I love you so much.” He kisses my forehead. “I didn’t know I could.”
“Oh, Christian,” I whisper, trying to contain my emotions.
488/551
“Now, that’s the end of your bedtime story.”
“That’s some bedside story . . . ”
He smiles wistfully, but I think he’s relieved. “How’s your head?”
“My head?” Actually, it’s about to explode with all you’ve told me!
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Good. I think you should sleep now.”
Sleep! How can I sleep after all that?
“Sleep,” he says sternly. “You need it.”
I pout. “I have one question.”
“Oh? What?” He eyes me warily.
“Why have you suddenly become all . . . forthcoming, for want of a better word?”
He frowns.
“You’re telling me all this, when getting information out of you is normally a pretty harrowing and trying experience.”
“It is?
“You know it is.”
“Why am I being forthcoming? I can’t say. Seeing you practically dead on the cold concrete, maybe. The fact I’m going to be a father. I don’t know. You said you wanted to know, and I don’t want Elena to come between us. She can’t.
She’s the past, and I’ve said that to you so many times.”
“If she hadn’t made a pass at you . . . would you still be friends?”
“That’s more than one question.”
“Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.” I flush. “You’ve already volunteered more than I ever thought you would.”
His gaze softens. “No, I don’t think so, but she’s felt like unfinished business since my birthday. She stepped over the line, and I’m done. Please, believe me.
I’m not going to see her again. You said she’s a hard limit for you. That’s a term I understand,” he says with quiet sincerity.
Okay. I’m going to let this go now. My subconscious sags into her armchair.
Finally!
“Goodnight, Christian. Thank you for the enlightening bedtime story.” I lean over to kiss him, and our lips touch briefly, but he pulls back when I try to deepen the kiss.
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“Don’t,” he whispers. “I am desperate to make love to you.”
“Then do.”
“No, you need to rest, and it’s late. Go to sleep.” He switches off the bedside light, plunging us into darkness.