Fifty Shades Freed (67 page)

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.

“I must have lost track of time.” Christian is going to freak. I know it.

“Have you been bleeding at all?”

I frown. “No.”

“That’s normal for the Depo. Let’s do an ultrasound shall we? I have time.”

I nod, bewildered, and Dr. Greene directs me toward a black leather exam table behind a screen.

“If you’ll just slip off your skirt, underwear, and cover yourself with the blanket on the table, we’ll go from there,” she says briskly.

Underwear? I was expecting an ultrasound scan over my belly. Why do I need to remove my panties? I shrug in consternation then quickly do as she says and lie down beneath the soft white blanket.

“That’s good.” Dr. Greene appears at the end of the table, pulling the ultrasound machine closer. It’s a hi-tech stack of computers. Sitting down, she positions the screen so that we can both see it and jogs the trackball on the keyboard. The screen pings into life.

“If you could lift and bend your knees, then part them wide,” she says matter-of-factly.

I frown warily.

“This is a transvaginal ultrasound. If you’re only just pregnant, we should be able to find the baby with this.” She holds up a long white probe.

Oh, you have got to be kidding!

“Okay,” I mutter, mortified, and do as she says. Greene pulls a condom over the wand and lubricates it with clear gel.

“Mrs. Grey, if you could relax.”

Relax? I’m pregnant, damn it! How do you expect me to relax? I blush, and endeavor to find my happy place . . . which has relocated somewhere near the lost Island of Atlantis.

Slowly and gently she inserts the probe.

Holy fuck!

All I can see on the screen is the visual equivalent of white noise—although it’s more sepia in color. Slowly, Dr. Greene moves the probe about, and it’s very disconcerting.

“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!

“Would you like me to print out a picture for you?”

I nod, still unable to speak, and Dr. Greene presses a button. Then she gently removes the wand and hands me a paper towel to clean myself.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Grey,” she says as I sit up. “We’ll need to make another appointment. I suggest in four weeks’ time. Then we can ascertain the exact age of your baby and set a likely due date. You can get dressed now.”

“Okay.” I’m reeling and I dress hurriedly. I have a blip, a little blip. When I emerge from behind the screen, Dr. Greene is back at her desk.

“In the meantime, I’d like you to start this course of folic acid and prenatal vitamins. Here’s a leaflet of dos and don’ts.”

As she hands me a package of pills and a leaflet, she continues to talk at me, but I’m not listening. I’m in shock. Overwhelmed. Surely I should be happy. Surely I should be thirty . . . at least. This is too soon—far too soon. I try to quell my rising sense of panic.

I wish Dr. Greene a polite good-bye and head in a daze back down to the exit and out into the cool fall afternoon. 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.

Sawyer leaps out of the SUV and holds open the door. He frowns when he sees my face, but I ignore his concerned expression.

“Where to, Mrs. Grey?” he asks gently.

“SIP.” I nestle into the backseat of the car, closing my eyes and leaning my head on the headrest. I should be happy. I know I should be happy. But I’m not. This is too early. Far too early. What about my job? What about SIP? What about Christian and me? No. No. No. We’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He loved baby Mia—I remember Carrick telling me—he dotes on her now. Perhaps I should warn Flynn . . . Perhaps I shouldn’t tell Christian. Perhaps I . . . perhaps I should end this. I halt my thoughts on that dark path, alarmed at the direction they’re taking. Instinctively my hand sweeps down to rest protectively over my belly. No. My little Blip. Tears spring to my eyes. What am I going to do?

A vision of a little boy with copper-colored hair and bright gray eyes, running through the meadow at the new house invades my thoughts, teasing and tantalizing me with possibilities. He’s giggling and squealing with delight as Christian and I chase him. Christian swings him high in his arms and carries him on his hip as we walk hand in hand back to the house.

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 . . .

I jerk awake. No. He’s going to freak out.

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?”

I shake my head and sigh loudly. “Can you make me some tea? Then let’s discuss what’s been happening while I’ve been away.”

“Sure. I’ll jump to it.” Brightening, she heads out of the office.

I gaze after her departing figure. “You see that woman?” I talk quietly to the Blip. “She might be the reason you’re here.” I pat my belly then feel like a complete idiot, because I am talking to the blip. My tiny little Blip. I shake my head, exasperated at myself and at Hannah . . . though deep down I know I can’t really blame Hannah. Despondently I switch on my computer. There’s an e-mail from Christian.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Missing You

Date:
September 13, 2011 13:58

To:
Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey
I’ve been back in the office for only three hours, and I’m missing you already.
Hope Ray has settled into his new room okay. Mom is going to see him this afternoon and check up on him.
I’ll collect you around six this evening, and we can go and see him before heading home.
Sound good?
Your loving husband

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I type a quick response.

From:
Anastasia Grey

Subject:
Missing You

Date:
September 13, 2011 14:10

To:
Christian Grey

Sure.
x

Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Missing You

Date:
September 13, 2011 14:14

To:
Anastasia Grey

Are you okay?

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

No, Christian, I’m not. I’m freaking out about you freaking out. I don’t know what to do. But I am not going to tell you via e-mail.

From:
Anastasia Grey

Subject:
Missing You

Date:
September 13, 2011 14:17

To:
Christian Grey

Fine. Just busy.
See you at six.
x