"Don't be mad at me. Please," I whisper.
"I am so mad at you. What you did was monumentally stupid. Bordering on insane."
"I told you, I didn't know what else to do."
"You don't seem to have any regard for your personal safety. And it's not just you now," he adds angrily.
My lip trembles. He's thinking about our Little Blip. The door opens, startling us both, and a young African-American woman in a white coat over gray scrubs strides in.
"Good evening, Mrs. Grey. I'm Dr. Bartley."
She starts to examine me thoroughly, shining a light in my eyes, making me touch her fingers, then my nose while closing first one eye and then the other, and checking all my reflexes. But her voice is soft and her touch gentle; she has a warm bedside manner. Nurse Nora joins her, and Christian wanders to the corner of the room and makes some calls while the two of them tend to me. It's hard to concentrate on Dr. Bartley, Nurse Nora, and Christian at the same time, but I hear him call his father, my mother, and Kate to say I'm awake. Finally, he leaves a message for Ray.
Ray. Oh shit . . . A vague memory of his voice comes back to me. He was here - yes, while I was still unconscious.
Dr. Bartley checks my ribs, her fingers probing gently but firmly. I wince.
"These are bruised, not cracked or broken. You were very lucky, Mrs. Grey."
I scowl. Lucky? Not the word I would have chosen. Christian glowers at her, too. He mouths something at me. I think it's foolhardy, but I'm not sure.
"I'll prescribe some painkillers. You'll need them for this and for the headache you must have. But all's looking as it should, Mrs. Grey. I suggest you get some sleep. Depending on how you feel in the morning, we may let you go home. My colleague Dr. Singh will be attending you then."
"Thank you."
There's a knock on the door, and Taylor enters bearing a black cardboard box with Fairmont Olympic emblazoned in cream on the side.
Holy cow!
"Food?" Dr. Bartley says surprised.
"Mrs. Grey is hungry," Christian says. "This is chicken soup."
Dr. Bartley smiles. "Soup will be fine, just the broth. Nothing heavy." She looks pointedly at both of us then exits the room with Nurse Nora.
Christian pulls the wheeled tray over to me, and Taylor places the box on it.
"Welcome back, Mrs. Grey."
"Hello, Taylor. Thank you."
"You're most welcome, ma'am." I think he wants to say more, but he holds off.
Christian is unpacking the box, producing a thermos, soup bowl, side plate, linen napkin, soupspoon, a small basket of bread rolls, silver salt and pepper shakers . . . The Olympic has gone all-out.
"This is great, Taylor." My stomach is rumbling. I am famished.
"Will that be all?" he asks.
"Yes, thanks," Christian says, dismissing him.
Taylor nods.
"Taylor, thank you."
"Anything else I can get you, Mrs. Grey?"
I glance at Christian. "Just some clean clothes for Christian."
Taylor smiles. "Yes, ma'am."
Christian glances down at his shirt, bemused.
"How long have you been wearing that shirt?" I ask.
"Since Thursday morning." He gives me a crooked smile. Taylor exits.
"Taylor's real pissed at you, too," Christian adds grumpily, unscrewing the lid of the thermos and pouring creamy chicken soup into the bowl.
Taylor, too! But I don't dwell on that as my chicken soup distracts me. It smells delicious, and steam curls invitingly from its surface. I take a taste and it's everything it promised to be.
"Good?" Christian asks, perching on the bed again.
I nod enthusiastically and don't stop. My hunger is primal. I pause only to wipe my mouth on the linen napkin.
"Tell me what happened - after you realized what was going on."
Christian runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head. "Oh, Ana, it's good to see you eat."
"I'm hungry. Tell me."
He frowns. "Well, after the bank called and I thought my world had completely fallen apart - " He can't hide the pain in his voice. I stop eating . Oh shit.
"Don't stop eating, or I'll stop talking," he whispers, his tone adamant as he glares at me. I continue with my soup. Okay, okay . . . Damn, it tastes good. Christian's gaze softens and after a beat, he resumes.
"Anyway, shortly after you and I had finished our conversation, Taylor informed me that Hyde had been granted bail. How, I don't know, I thought we'd managed to thwart any attempts at bail. But that gave me a moment to think about what you'd said . . . and I knew something was seriously wrong."
"It was never about the money," I snap suddenly, an unexpected surge of anger flaring in my belly. My voice rises. "How could you even think that? It's never been about your f**king money!" My head starts to pound and I wince. Christian gapes at me for a split second, surprised by my vehemence. He narrows his eyes.
"Mind your language," he growls. "Calm down and eat."
I glare mutinously at him.
"Ana," he warns.
"That hurt me more than anything, Christian," I whisper. "Almost as much as you seeing that woman."
He inhales sharply as if I've slapped him and all of a sudden, he looks exhausted. Closing his eyes briefly, he shakes his head, resigned.
"I know." He sighs. "And I'm sorry. More than you know." His eyes are luminous with contrition. "Please, eat. While your soup is still hot." His voice is soft and compelling, and I do as he asks. He breathes a sigh of relief.
"Go on," I whisper, between bites of the illicit fresh white bread roll.