There are five more chapters remaining after this one.
I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.
Chapter 75—And Here It Is…
I’ve never been to a real trial before. I don’t even watch those reality court shows on television. I have no idea how things go in terms of proceedings or objections or evidence or motions or anything like that. Al did his best to prepare me for what was coming, but it didn’t help. Still not willing to show up in court looking like a victim but attempting to heed Al’s words about my attire, I wear a plain, black Burberry dress today with a wide, double-buckle belt and my signature black Louboutin stilettos. David’s attorney is a lady, and my gut tells me that she knew that she would be facing off against me today. She’s wearing electric blue Prada.
The prosecution calls me to the stand late in the morning and has me walk through every painful detail of my kidnapping—why Christian and I were fighting; being taken from the aquarium; waking up naked in that mildew-filled room; Edward talking to me like we were planning a vacation together; Harris beating me. I even had to outline our relationship—or lack thereof—before the kidnapping. I was allowed to tell the jury how and when we met, why we broke up and why, even though he had pursued me for several years, I didn’t want him back.
He had traumatized me. I couldn’t even open myself up to a normal, healthy relationship with another man. It wasn’t until I was at a club with my friends and everyone was coupled up except me that I even noticed my antisocial behavior. He harassed me for years to give him another chance and I denied him repeatedly. I agreed to have dinner with him so that I could get off the phone that night and get some sleep. It turned out to be one of the worst decisions that I ever made.
He has spent a considerable amount of time in jail now, so he’s not feeling all lovey-dovey towards his “Rosie” anymore. As a matter of fact, I take the chance to glance in his direction and he’s snarling at me. As I’m telling my side of the story, he’s still snarling at me. At one point, the prosecutor Mr. Batiste asks me about how safe I would feel if David were released, considering that I’m licensed to carry a concealed weapon.
“Do you see the way he is snarling at me now?” I point out. “That’s the same way that he looked at me when he was served with that protection order. It didn’t stop him… he kidnapped me. That look tells me that the next time he gets to me, he’s going to kill me. It scares me and it tells me that if I don’t use deadly force, I’ll be the one who dies. If he ever gets free, I feel like he’s going to come at me with intent to kill. I feel very afraid for my life.”
He tries to fix his face, but he wasn’t fast enough. The jury was able to see his contempt and pure hatred for me. Someone in the jury actually gasps, because he looks like he is going to crawl over that table and kill me with his bare hands.
Now, it’s the defense attorney’s turn.
This having been my first trial, I am convinced that the defense is not concerned at all with seeing justice done, only with getting her client off. I am, of course, too close to the situation to make an unbiased analysis and of course, it is her job to defend her client to the best of her ability, but I seriously don’t know what she’s trying to do here. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that not only was I the guilty party, but that I had planned the whole thing and not David; that I got exactly what was coming to me when Harris beat me up; that I was asking for it.
“Mrs. Grey, you say that you didn’t want to open yourself to a relationship with another man until you met Christian Grey, is that correct?” she asks.
“Mm. It didn’t hurt that he was a billionaire, now, did it?” she shoots.
“Objection, Your Honor…”
“Withdrawn.” She knew she shouldn’t have said it before it came out of her mouth, but she wanted it to be heard. “So you had dinner with Edward David on June 29, 2012. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is.” She pauses and raises her eyes to me.
“You remember the date.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“May I ask why?” she asks.
“I remember the date,” I reinforce.
“Let me help you out. Is it because that same night, you went back to your condo with Christian Grey and had sex?”
“I had some wine and didn’t want to drive home. I asked the valet for a taxi…”
“Please, just answer the question Mrs. Grey,” she barks.
“I thought that’s what I was doing!” I hiss.
“Did you go back to your condo and have sex with Mr. Grey immediately after having dinner with Mr. David?” she repeats.
“Mr. Grey assisted me back to my condo to prevent me from driving impaired. What we did when we got there is none of your business.”
“It doesn’t matter. You answered the question for me.”
“Objection!” The prosecutor is on his feet.
“Sustained. Counselor, do not make assumptions about the witness’s answers,” the judge says.
“Can you direct her to answer the question, Your Honor?” she asks.
“Objection, relevance,” Mr. Batiste interjects.
“It speaks to her character, Your Honor.”
“Her character is not in question here,” the judge says.
“It also speaks to Mr. David’s state of mind,” she argues.
“The crime wasn’t committed on June 29th, Your Honor. This question is still irrelevant,” Mr. Batiste presses.
“I have to agree with the prosecutor. Move on, Ms. Ramsey,” the judge says to David’s attorney. She purses her lips and continues her questioning.
“You and Mr. Grey were recently married.” Again, a statement and not a question, so I wait. She looks up at me. “Mrs. Grey?”
“Can you answer the question, please?”
“You didn’t ask one,” I state.
“I asked if you and Mr. Grey were recently married.”
“No, you said Mr. Grey and I were recently married.” She folds her arms.
“Were you and Mr. Grey recently married?” she asks, emphasis on the were. I shrug with my hands out.
“My name is Grey,” I tell her. Isn’t it fucking obvious?
“Yes, we were recently married,” I answer.
“What day was that you were married?” Shit! They do coincide. How do I get out of this one?
“June 29,” I answer truthfully.
“Significant day for you?” she asks. I narrow my eyes.
“Yes, in fact, it was. It was a Saturday in June where we had not yet heard that David had pushed his trial back another three months,” I answer sardonically.
“Your Honor…” she protests.
“You asked, Ms. Ramsey,” the judge says.
“So that date has no other significance for you?”
“Objection. I think she answered the question.”
“Sustained. Counselor…?” the judge warns. No, you’re not getting it out of me, although from the looks on the faces of the jury, I’m already sunk. I sigh and fold my hands in my lap.
“Mrs. Grey, please take us back to the incident on June 30, 2012 when you assaulted Mr. David in the Public Marketplace.” I frown.
“I’m sorry. What incident is this?” I ask. She turns around.
“Are you saying that you never assaulted Mr. David in the Marketplace?” she asks.
“That is exactly what I’m saying!” I say, firmly still frowning.
“Mrs. Grey, do you know the penalty for perjury?” she asks leaning in to me. I lean right back.
“No, I don’t, and I really don’t care. I would, however, be concerned if I were lying right now.” My voice is a little more forceful than I would like. “While you’re accusing me of perjury, do you have any kind of proof to back up what you’re saying?”
“Why so angry, Mrs. Grey?” she asks smugly.
“Oh, I don’t know. Could it be because I have a smart ass attorney in my face trying to accuse me of lying?” I respond impassively.
“Mrs. Grey, watch your language,” the judge says. I throw a glance at her and back at Ramsey, who is now smirking at me.
“Mrs. Grey, are you saying that you did not grab Mr. David by his penis and testicles and squeeze, causing him immense pain in the middle of the Marketplace?”
“No, I said I never assaulted Mr. David. I did, however, subdue him after he grabbed me in the Marketplace while I was trying to get away.” A flash of shock runs across her face. She didn’t know that part. She can’t hide the small amount of horror that shows on her face, but she presses on.
“In your parking garage on July 2nd, you pulled a gun on Mr. David, did you not?” she says, a little less confident, but slightly perturbed.
“Oh, no more about the Marketplace?” I say, innocently. “Okay, the parking garage… there’s video on that. Have you seen it?” She looks over at David. I don’t dare even look in his direction. Once again, it appears he left something out. “When I got back to my apartment on July 2nd, the windshield of my car had been busted. While I and my security were trying to assess the damage. David shows up behind me dressed in black like he’s on some covert operation. He had already threatened me in writing, and I used the texts to secure a restraining order on him…”
“Just answer the question, Mrs. Grey,” she barks again.
“Once again, I’m answering your question and you won’t let me.” I respond impassively. “I won’t let you make me out to be a gun-wielding crazy woman without knowing what happened in that garage. Since what happened in that garage is a matter of police record—the county sheriff was there—either you’re trying to cover up everything your client did that day or you haven’t done your due diligence and you have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“Your Honor, conclusions…” Ramsey says.
“Sustained. Mrs. Grey, you may answer the question, but please don’t draw conclusions about what the counselor may or may not know.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I say before turning back to Ramsey. “David taunted me about busting out my window after following me home on Friday night, sitting outside my apartment the entire night, threatening me in writing, following me to the Marketplace the next day, and attempting to restrain me in public. His behavior was irrational and frightening and I didn’t know what he was going to do next and yes, my gun was now in an unsecured car and had to be removed. So, I pulled it out of my glove box and yes, I did aim it at him at tell him to stay away from me.”
“Ah, so there’s two things that you have pointed out. First, his behavior was irrational and frightening, correct?”
“Yes, it was.”
“A little crazy, maybe?” she adds.
“Objection!” Baptist is on his feet again.
“Sustained,” the judge says. I answer anyway.
“He wasn’t crazed,” I say. “He was jealous. I was the first woman who ever said ‘no’ and he couldn’t take it. He had alienated himself from every free piece of pussy in Seattle, so he came back to ‘Old Faithful,’ and I wasn’t having it!” I hiss.
“I’m sorry. I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t!” the judge says. She’s getting perturbed with me and I just shake my head. Even she’s starting to see me as the bad guy. Ramsey smirks at me again. Smug bitch.
“Second, you seem to be attacking and aiming firearms at Mr. David, yet you obtained the restraining order. Doesn’t that seem a bit backwards to you?” she asks. I glare at her.
“Considering the fact that he injected me with a very dangerous drug then took me to an island, chained me naked to a bed, and allowed me to be beaten beyond recognition, I would say not!” My voice is pretty horrified when I answer the question. She’s running out of ammo. So she goes right to the scene.
“Your Honor, I would like to go back to State’s exhibit K,” she says. With permission from the judge, a picture pops up on the monitor next to the witness stand that I remember describing to the prosecution. It’s that room… that same ugly, faded, yellow wallpaper with those same ugly flowers. That mildew-scented bed and those faded gray curtains. I’m there again, chained to that bed. My stomach churns and I feel sick. She starts to tear apart my testimony about the room, making me look at the picture and pick apart everything I said before. I’m starting to feel very nauseous the more she makes me examine at this picture.
“Your Honor,” I interject, during Lady Smug’s cross-examination. “I really need a minute, can I please have a moment?”
”Why?” she asks.
”I’m not feeling very well.”
”We have to keep this case moving, we can’t just stop the trial because you’re not feeling very well,” she says, without pausing. What the…? I just asked for a minute. I just want to take a breath and get out of this room and away from this damn picture!
“Mrs. Grey, I’ve asked you what did Robert Harris say to you about…” and she’s badgering me again. She’s still bringing my attention to that picture and trying to get me to admit that Harris was the one running things and not David. It’s working. I’m getting confused… sicker and sicker by the moment. I don’t know who was in charge. Was it David? Could it have been Harris? I ask for a moment again as my stomach is clearly affecting my thinking, and this bitch denies me again. She’s starting to act like I’m pestering her. I finally ask for a glass of water, adding, “if it’s not too much trouble.” That didn’t sit well with Her Honor and Ramsey is loving every minute of it. I now have to pause before every answer and take a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm my stomach, vain being the operative word here.
“Your Honor, please,” I’m begging. “I just need a minute.” I emphasize every word. I just need one minute, you inconsiderate, insensitive bat! This woman is actually acting like she’s losing her patience with me!
“Just because you’re Christian Grey’s wife doesn’t mean that you get special treatment in this courtroom,” she states emphatically. Huh? Where the hell did that come from? Christian sits up in his seat and I can see that he’s ready to protest, but Al catches him before he can speak.
“Your Honor, with all due respect, I’m not asking for special treatment. I’m just letting you know that am really physically ill here,” I protest.
“Duly noted. Proceed.” Why is this woman being such a bitch? I’m sick, I’m not trying to get any special treatment. I take a deep breath and try to settle my stomach after sipping some more of the water. Ramsey smirks again, chalking another one up for herself. You trifling twat! God, I wish there was something I could do to wipe that smirk off your smug face!
She continues to badger me, talking about how it was Harris who beat me and not David, conveniently foregoing the part where David drugged me, cuffed me, tried to rape me, although she did mention that he put wrist bands under my cuffs. How kind of my kidnapper!
I swear that my stomach is rumbling violently and I’m surprised that Lady Smug in front of me can’t hear it. I feel an uncomfortable sweat coming over me and this bitch seems to think that she has me over a barrel and I’m nervous, so she intensifies her cross-examination, still bringing my attention to the picture of the room that felt like an eternity of hell. For the fourth time, I beseech the judge to please allow me to take a quick break. Now, she’s pissed at me!
“Counselor, how much longer is your cross going to be?” She asks Lady Smug, perturbed.
“It will only be a few more moments, Your Honor.” She throws a look over at me that lets me know that is a bold-faced lie. We are just getting started and she’s about to tear into me—hopefully make me the villain instead of the victim.
“Mrs. Grey, can you wait just a few more moments until the cross is over?” She asks, trying to maintain professionalism but still noticeably irritated with me. I’m not going to win this one, so I’m not going to ask anymore. Christian is ready to dash out of his seat and carry me out of the courtroom if necessary. I sigh and accept my fate.
“Yes, Your Honor. I’ll try.” I say, contritely. Lady Smug chalks another one up as a victory and tears into me again. She still zeroing in on that room. She wants to have me focus more on Harris rather than on David, and it has the desired effect. I keep seeing Harris beating me and me being chained to the bed. I’m feeling all of those feelings of fear and hopelessness. I’m remembering the agony of thinking that Christian wouldn’t find me and feeling like I would never see him again, and here’s Lady Smug not inches from my face trying to get me to convince the jury that it was Harris that masterminded this whole thing and not David—that Harris was the real villain and that David was an unwilling participant.
She’s not yelling at me, but she is right in my face. Her voice is loud and I can feel her breath on my skin. I can hear Batiste saying something about badgering and intimidation, but it’s too late. I tried to hold on to it… I knew it was coming. Before I know it, I open my mouth and lose my breakfast—fantastically—all over Counselor Lady Smug and all over State’s Exhibit K. She jumps back, utterly horrified, as I am certain that some of my stomach contents made it inside of her mouth. I immediately cover my mouth and yell a muttered “Fuck!” Christian is out of his seat now, but Al holds his arm to keep him from proceeding.
“National television,” I say lowly, shaking my head and still covering my mouth, my other hand going to my forehead. “I just blew chunks on national fucking television. Can we get a recess now so the defense can change her clothes?” I add sarcastically.
“Mrs. Grey!” Her Honor says in a scolding voice. Oh no, the fuck you don’t, Bitch!
“I tried to tell you!” I all but yell at her, still trying to cover my mouth as the jury looks on in stunned silence.
“You didn’t tell me that you were going to vomit!” she says, grimacing as she watches Lady Smug trying to rid her mouth of the flavor of my breakfast mixed with water and my bile.
“I didn’t know!” Now, I’m yelling! “I told you several times that I was sick! If I had known that I was going to vomit, I would have said ‘Your Honor, I’m going to vomit!’ I tried to tell you that I wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t know what was going on, I just needed to take a moment. If you had given me that one little moment… maybe five little minutes, Lady Smug over there wouldn’t be wearing my breakfast, and the latest national news headline would not be ‘Mrs. Grey regurgitates all over counsel!’ Thanks a lot!” I bark, and drop my head in my hands.
The adrenaline is at its highest level and I know the tears will follow any moment. I fight them with all that I have. The hell if this bastard is going to cause me any more tears, much less see me shed them. He’s probably sitting over there at the table, smiling the entire time. I won’t give him the satisfaction of even throwing a glance in his direction. Clearly defeated on this topic, Her Honor announces, “One hour recess for lunch.”
“Ya think?” I say, bitter and sarcastic.
“Careful, Mrs. Grey. I could hold you in contempt of court,” she warns.
“You do that.” I say to her. “You hold me in contempt of court for vomiting all over counsel after I told you that I was sick four times. What’s another lawsuit after the mental distress that watching this play repeatedly on television and YouTube will undoubtedly play upon me in the coming weeks… months… maybe even years? Be my guest! Extend my humiliation and distress by holding me in contempt of court!” I glare at her and just wait for the judgment. She pales a bit and places her gavel back on the podium. I angrily rise out of the seat at the witness stand and watch the room turn. I see Christian and Al… and even David… looking at me and quickly rising out of their seats simultaneously as the room continues to tilt, blur, then go black.
I open my eyes and I am lying on a beautiful oxblood leather sofa, a cold compress on my forehead, and Christian leaning over me with a concerned look in his eye, tenderly stroking my hair. I can feel the clammy sweat on my skin under my clothes and I can still taste the remnants of my courtroom mishap on my tongue and in my throat.
“Welcome back,” he says softly, his voice betraying his fear and concern. Now it dawns on me.
“Oh, God, I didn’t. Please tell me that I didn’t,” I beseech him.
“I can’t tell you that, Baby,” he says. “You took a header the moment you stood up. The fucking bailiff almost let David get to you before I did. I was almost arrested.” What the hell?
“David? Are you kidding me?” Why the hell was he trying to get to me?
“I truly think he forgot where he was. That fucker is psychotic and dangerous. One minute, he’s snarling at you like he wants to kill you. The next minute, he’s crawling over counsel, cops, and me to get to you because you’re fainting! He’s a loose cannon and too damn unpredictable,” Christian adds. Tell me about it. This is just great! This is just so absolutely perfect—my life and humiliation is just laid out there for the entire world to see!
“This is so humiliating. I told her! I told her that I was sick! Oh my God. This is all over the news already. It’s everywhere. I know it is… I’m a walking sound bite!” I put my hands over my eyes and start to cry. “How many times did I tell that woman I was sick? How many times? I’m mortified!” I wail. Christian cradles me in his arms.
“Four, Baby,” he responds.
“Four times, I told her I was sick and she didn’t believe me until I ruined that smug bitch’s Prada!” I’m nearly screaming now. Lo and behold, Her Honor comes out of another room off of her quarters and now she’s looking all concerned.
“Are you feeling any better, Mrs. Grey?” she asks. I can’t place her tone, but at this moment, I don’t care.
“Why didn’t you believe me?” I cry, blubbering full-on, unladylike snot and tears. “Why didn’t you listen when I told you that I was sick?” Christian is reaching for his handkerchief to clean my face. Her Honor is a bit taken aback, but she comes back to herself.
“Mrs. Grey, I’m not allowed to show any bias…” she begins.
“I’m not talking about as a witness! I’m not even talking about as Mrs. Grey! I’m talking about as a person! A person… in your courtroom… told you several times that she was sick and asked you for just a moment to compose herself, and you ignored me because I’m Mrs. Christian Grey! How could you do that? How could you treat another person that way?” I scream. Christian is trying to wipe my face, but I mindlessly slap his hand away several times. Snot or not, I want an answer from this bitch.
The bailiff comes into the quarters and approaches us. Christian throws him a look of death and Her Honor holds her hand up to him to halt his approach. “Mrs. Grey, I was only trying to keep the proceedings going, nothing else.” She says, calmly. Nothing else my ass.
“Then why the comment about special treatment?” I accuse. “Why the comment about my being Mrs. Grey? If that had been a child on the stand telling you they were getting sick, would you have done that to them? If that had been anyone else but Mrs. Grey, would you have made them stay there on the stand after they told you repeatedly that they were sick? Now I’m all over the national news, vomiting and fainting like…” At that moment, thoughts are running through my head at 50 miles an hour and I gasp long, hard, and loud as the thousands of theories, facts, and observations swirl through my head and come out of the three-second funnel with one lone conclusion…
Everyone in the room freezes at the sound of my gasp. Christian goes into an immediate panic. “Baby! Baby! Are you okay?” He’s holding my arms in his hands.
“Haa…” I can’t even form words right now. I’m pregnant… I must be. My mind quickly runs down the date the IUD was removed and my last normal period and… with the trial coming up and the wedding, I wasn’t even keeping track. When the hell was it? Last month? Month before last? The wedding. I remember bleeding before the wedding, but was that a normal period? I can’t remember…
“Ana! Baby! What’s wrong?” Christian sounds absolutely frantic. I better put him out of his misery.
“I’m… okay,” I manage to squeak, and he finally gets the opportunity to wipe my face.
“Mrs. Grey,” Her Honor chimes in, “we can recess until tomorrow if you need…” Oh, hell no! I’m not spending another sleepless night worrying about being on the stand.
“No. No. Nonono. We have to do this today. I’ll be fine. I can’t spend another night thinking about this. Just give me a minute, please… and some water… and some salt,” I say. Her Honor nods to the bailiff who no doubt goes in search of some water and salt for me.
“Baby, are you sure?” Christian takes my face in his hands, his eyes full of concern.
“I’m positive. I just ask that if I say that I feel sick again, will you please believe me this time?” I turn my glare to Her Honor.
“Yes, Mrs. Grey, of course.” She says in the soft, measured tone she has kept this entire time. “Please accept my sincerest apologies, Mrs. Grey. I try to temper fairness with common sense and people have pulled some crazy stunts on the stand. And yes, more than once, I have had some rich aristocrat or VIP try to bully me—but I should have never assumed that’s what you were doing. It was a bad judgment call on my part and I am very sorry.” Bad judgment call? She’s going to chalk this up to a bad judgment call? Now, I wish I had vomited on her. My one comfort is that if I’m going to be known as the Vomit Witness, Lady Smug is going to be known as the Vomit Attorney.
I don’t even acknowledge her apology. Let’s just get this shit done.
“I really need to just get this over, please. How quickly can we get back in session?” The bailiff comes back in with a bottle of water and some salt packets. I quickly take a mouthful and rinse my mouth. Christian grabs a nearby garbage can and I spit, rinse again, then spit again. I take healthy swallows of the water before pouring a bit of the salt on my tongue to counteract the taste of vomit in my mouth.
“Do you have a nervous stomach, Mrs. Grey?” Her Honor asks. I try not to glare at her when I look up.
“Lately, yes,” I say, trying to hide my ire.
“We really can recess until tomorrow,” she says, and I now hear the sympathy in her voice. I sigh heavily.
“No,” I say, feeling the uselessness of continued anger at this woman. Hell, I don’t even know her name. “Let’s just get this done… please.” She nods.
“Do you need something to eat?” she asks. “It’s not a trick question. A nervous empty stomach is worse than a nervous, filled one.”
“Crackers,” I say, resigned. “Saltines if you can find them.” When she leaves, I cuddle into Christian’s chest, stretching my legs over the oxblood sofa.
“Crackers? Are you sure that’s all you want?” he asks. I won’t tell him my suspicions yet, not at least until I take a home test. I don’t want to get his hopes up and it turns out to be a false alarm.
“The salt will help with the taste in the back of my throat and the cracker will help with my stomach. Anything more might end up all over Lady Smug again.”
“Lady Smug?” he chuckles.
“Ramsey,” I tell her. “David’s lawyer.” He pulls me close to him and I sigh. “I’m going to be all over every television station and social media vomiting on the defense.” I turn my head into his chest and lament what new nicknames are going to be given to me after this incident:
Regurgitating Mrs. Grey
The Blowing-Chunks Billionairess
The Vomiting Vixen
Oh, here’s one… Hurl Grey! Get it, Hurl Grey?
“Where’s your mind?” Christian asks while stroking my back.
“Thinking of all of the cruel nicknames and captions the media are going to have for my unfortunate experience,” I say, burrowing into him and hoping I can make this all go away. “I don’t want to come back after this,” I tell him. “I won’t come back until they read the verdict. I don’t care what happens anymore. I don’t even care if I win the lawsuit. I don’t want anything to do with this anymore.”
“What if they need you to testify again?” he asks.
“If they need me to testify, I’ll come back. I’ll do my duty to put him away. After that, I don’t want to deal with it anymore. Allen can handle the lawsuit and I won’t show up unless they utterly, utterly need me. Other than that, I’m done. Did you see those pictures? Did you see how I looked?” I shiver in his lap. “Those pictures look worse than I remember my face looking, Christian.”
“That’s because those pictures were taken at the hospital just after you arrived,” he informs me. “By the time you awoke, a bit of the swelling on your face had gone down though your lips got worse. You were unconscious on those photos, you looked dead…” His voice cracked on the last word. This is the first time I’ve seen how much pain my bruises brought to him. He was always so strong, always telling me how beautiful I was—kissing me and holding me and making love to me. I crush his body to me, kissing his neck and ears.
“You took such good care of me,” I say, leaning my head on his shoulder. “I was an ogre and you made me feel like a princess.”
“You were a princess,” he says, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Now, you’re a queen.” His arms tighten around me and he sighs heavily. “I love you, Butterfly.”
“I know,” I whisper, “and I love you, my hero.” As if he could hold me any tighter, he does, and we stay there drawing comfort and energy from each other.
They’re playing the 911 tapes again. I don’t even recognize my own voice. They conveniently have the tapes cued up to where I’m negotiating with David, telling him that I knew Harris lied to him to get him to go along with the plan; that he wasn’t the one who hurt me and I would make sure that the authorities knew. Then the recording stops.
“Are you going to answer the question, Mrs. Grey?” she hisses. Before playing the recording, she asked me if that was my voice on the tape.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought there was more,” I say innocently.
“Why would you think there was more?”
“Because there is. You want me to respond to one sentence when there is an entire conversation that I had with this man on that recording. You want my plea for my life to exonerate him from kidnapping me because you’re taking one sentence out of context.”
“Answer the question, Mrs. Grey,” she barks.
“Why don’t you play the entire tape again for the court so that they can hear in what context I said that to him?”
“Your Honor, will you direct the witness to answer the question, please?”
“Mrs. Grey, answer the question,” the judge says gently.
“Yes, that is my voice on the tape.”
“Thank you,” she says victoriously.
“That’s it? You want to know if that’s my voice begging for my life? Yes, that’s my voice.”
“That will be all!”
“And I’m saying you’re not going to bully me! You asked me a question, she directed me to answer it, and I’m going to finish answering it, that is, unless you’re not interested in seeing justice served.” I fold my arms and wait.
“You’ve answered the question. You’ve told me that’s your voice telling Mr. David that you knew that Robert Harris was behind the kidnapping. That’s all I need,” she responds snarkily.
“That’s not what I said on that tape! You can’t twist my words to make them mean what you want!” I’m nearly crying again.
“You said ‘I don’t know what lies Robert Harris has been feeding you and how he convinced you to get in cahoots with him, but this can only end badly for both of you. Please, you haven’t hurt me—Harris did. I’ll make sure that they know you haven’t hurt me. But if you don’t end this soon, your life will never be the same.’” She reads from the transcript. I remember every word like it was yesterday. I close my eyes as fight back the tears that burn behind my eyelids, quickly wiping away the one that escapes.
“Before I said any of that,” I begin softly, “I said ‘Please, let me go, Edward.’” The room falls silent. Even Lady Smug swallows hard at the sound of my voice. “If you listen to the entire tape, you will hear that during that moment, I was begging for my life. I told him that I would tell them that he didn’t hurt me because I was negotiating. I would have told him that he was the freaking Queen of England if it meant he would have let me go! If you listen to the rest of the tape, you will hear me begging for my life in any way possible until I realized that he wasn’t going to let me go. Are you telling me that you are so heartless and cruel that you listened to those tapes and you didn’t hear that?”
Her stance changes and the momentary flash of sympathy I saw moments before is gone. My eyes start to burn again as I realize that I must be dealing with the coldest bitch in the world—even colder than those Green Valley fuckers—if she listened to that entire tape and can’t hear the fear and the hopelessness in my voice. The expression on her face tells the whole story. She listened to the tapes, but she pushed my cries for help out of her mind so that she could defend this psychotic, brutal asshole. The slightest bit of conviction shows in her eyes and then her voice when she says, “This is not about me, Mrs. Grey.”
“You’re right, it’s not,” I reply, my voice cracking. “I hope that you never find yourself in a position where you need someone to believe you more than anything in the world, because if you do, you’re going to remember this moment.” I stare at her for a moment, my heart filled with anguish and disbelief that another human being—much less another woman—could hear the terror in my voice on those tapes and dismiss it so that they can help a criminal go free. She is struck dumb again and I drop my head. “That’s my answer, Your Honor,” I say, my voice shaking so uncontrollably that I barely heard my own words.
“Do you need to take a break, Mrs. Grey?” the judge asks. Oh, she is so accommodating since I vomited all over the defense.
“No,” I squeak, “if he’s going to get away with kidnapping me, then I want to get this done as quickly as possible.”
“Mrs. Grey…” I hear the scolding tone in her voice and I cut her off.
“I’m sorry if I said or did anything wrong can we please just get this done?” I say all in one breath. She wanted to wear me down. She got her wish. I’m exhausted and pregnant and I want me and my baby out of here. I’ll tell them whatever they want to hear. Yeah, Harris did it. He was the mastermind. He planned the whole thing. Can I go now?
Her words swirl at me in a garbled mess and I answer in monosyllabic words, saying as little as possible and never lifting my head. I’ve been on the stand for hours and I’ve answered the same questions over and over again. She keeps trying to get me to change my answers, but I won’t. I won’t give the explanations that I gave before, but I won’t change my answers.
“You assaulted Mr. David in the Marketplace, correct?”
“You said you subdued him.”
“So you put your hands on him.”
“If you put his hands on him, that’s assault!”
“You assaulted him, Mrs. Grey!”
“You threatened him with your gun.”
“You pulled your gun on him and threatened him.”
“Yes and no.”
“Which answer is it?”
“Ms. Ramsey,” I guess Her Honor has finally had enough. “Your line of questioning is repetitive and the witness has answered them repeatedly. Unless you have more evidence to present, I suggest you wrap this up.”
“Just one more question, Your Honor,” and here comes her swan song. “Mrs. Grey, do you wish Edward David harm?” An objection comes swirling from the prosecution, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. Batiste and Ramsey are now arguing the validity of the question, and my soul can’t help it when it mutters, “Yes.”
The word goes booming out over the courtroom and silences every voice in the room. I didn’t know I had spoken my soul’s feelings, but hell, I’m standing on the cliff now. I might as well jump. I raise my head and look at Ramsey.
“I have nightmares to this day about what happened to me. Before this happened, I had no problem walking the streets of Seattle. Now, I can’t go anywhere alone. I never knew Vashon Island even existed. Now, if I see it in the news or on a map, I start to shake. The aquarium was my favorite place. Now, I can’t even go there without suffering an anxiety attack. He handcuffed me naked to a bed. I was beaten and I couldn’t even run away or defend myself or even cover my face. I close my eyes and he’s taunting me, laughing at me.
“He never takes responsibility for anything. He makes it everyone else’s fault. He cheated on me with half of Seattle and surrounding areas, and somehow, that’s my fault. He attacked me from behind… he drugged me. I could have died. Don’t we all remember that someone famous died from that same drug? I don’t do anything–I don’t even smoke and I can barely tolerate too much wine. How did he know that my system wouldn’t go into shock from that? And the best he can do is whine because I grabbed his balls in the Marketplace?
“I loved him once and he ripped my heart out, and now he’s trying to rip away everything else. I want him to stay away from me forever. A restraining order didn’t do it. My husband’s security couldn’t do it. Waving a glock at him couldn’t do it. I don’t know what will, but whatever it takes, just make. Him stay. Away from me.”
My voice shakes so badly that I don’t know if all of the words came out. I see the blur in my eyes, which means that they are full of tears. The room is shaking, but I know that it’s me.
“You want him dead, Mrs. Grey?” she presses without objection. “You want him found guilty. You want him to suffer.”
“I don’t care,” I say, my voice squeaking and beseeching. “Just make him stay away from me,” I beg her, my voice rising at the end like a question. I look at her with pleading eyes, forgetting completely that she’s on the other team.
Please, my soul cries to her. Please, make him stay away from me.
For the first time, I see a real chink in her armor and she shivers as she looks into my eyes. She sees it! I know she does! She doesn’t want to, but she sees it!
“No more questions, Your Honor,” she says. Her Honor asks if “this witness” can be dismissed and when both sides agree, I rise from my seat. I didn’t know that I had already kicked off my shoes and I leave them on the witness stand. I try to run out of the courtroom in my stocking feet, sobs burning in my chest. Two hands catch me and I look up into Christian’s questioning eyes. I can’t take anymore. I collapse in uncontrollable sobs.
“Get me out of here,” I beg through my hysterical tears. “Please, get me out of here. Get me out! Get me out! Get me out!” He rushes me through the doors and out of the courtroom. It’s not far enough. I turn to Christian and I’m shaking. I can’t think. I have to get out of here! I feel like I’m going to faint again. He drags me to the door. Jason is talking into his sleeve. I feel it. I’m going down. I know I am… any second now…
A few moments later, I’m in Christian’s arms and he is taking the courthouse stairs like he’s a sprinter and I’m nothing more than a briefcase. I can hear voices around us, asking for details of the trial and if I’m alright. I hold on as tight as I can. Did someone get my purse? My shoes? I’m so tired…
Christian climbs into a vehicle with me still in his arms. Someone shuts the door behinds us and bangs twice on the car. I feel us lurch ahead and I know that we’re riding down the street, away from the courthouse and away from Edward David.
She’s resting now. She fell apart completely after that testimony. I know she won’t go back to watch any more of the trial until it’s time for the verdict. It was just too much on her. Her whole demeanor changed after she heard the 911 tapes. It’s like someone flipped a switch inside of her and she just shut down. Allen is here in the great room with Elliot and Valerie. Escala and my security team has set up a perimeter around the building enabling us to get in and out. Unfortunately, no one without clearance will be able to enter or exit, either. This doesn’t please some of the other tenants in the building, that their guests have to be cleared to enter. Fuck if I care. I only care about Butterfly’s safety and peace of mind right now.
Marilyn enters the great room and I have to remember that she’s not just Ana’s receptionist anymore. She’s part of Ana’s “Jason.” After clearing it with Butterfly, I allow Marilyn to go back to the bedroom with a small bag from the drug store. Part of me is curious about what it is, probably something for her nausea. The other part of me is more concerned about how she’s feeling; if she’s going to have nightmares tonight; what I can do to make this easier on her.
“So, they’re talking about the whole vomiting thing, but nobody seems to have any video of it,” Elliot says.
“Do you really want to see that?” Valerie asks, twisting her face.
“Actually, yes,” he says and I glare at him. “I’d love to see the bitch who grilled Ana covered in her puke, so sue me.” He takes a sip of his soft drink.
“Elliot, have you sworn off alcohol completely?” I ask. He shakes his head.
“I just don’t have the taste for it like I use to, that’s all. Not a teetotaler, yet, Bro,” he says. Marilyn comes out of the bedroom.
“Goodnight, guys,” she says with a wave, her voice chipper.
“You leaving so soon?” Valerie asks.
“I’ve got a date,” she says with a wide smile.
“Who with?” Elliot says. She twists her lips and cocks her head at him. “Oops, sorry. Brain fart moment.” Marilyn shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“You got big plans, Mare?” Valerie asks.
“No, just a standard date tonight. We’re trying to plan something for the weekend. Our year anniversary is next week.”
“A year.” She looks at Elliot. “Has it been a year already?”
“It depends,” he says. “If you’re counting when we sealed the deal, then yes, that was yesterday. If you’re looking at when we said, ‘I love you,’ we’ve got a few more weeks.” Valerie turns in her seat.
“Elliot, you remember that?” Her voice is all wispy and longing. My brother smiles and turns on the Elliot charm.
“August 10th, Angel,” he says matter-of-factly. She touches his cheek.
“I can’t believe you remember that,” she says softly and they share a gentle peck.
“Stop making out on my sofa,” I say after Marilyn has made her getaway to get to Garrett.
“Don’t hate, Bro. What did you do for Ana on your one year anniversary?” he asks. Is he serious?
“Sealing the deal or saying ‘I love you?’” I ask.
“Both,” he says haughtily.
“Elliot, have you been living under a rock or something?”
“No, I want to outdo you.” I shake my head.
“Fine. For sealing the deal, I married her. For saying ‘I love you,’ I took her to Greece. Good luck outdoing me.” I fold my arms and wait for his response. Allen laughs heartily at the revelation and Valerie just shakes her head.
“Pay him no attention, El,” Valerie says, sweetly. “Being your girl is enough for me.” She kisses him gently on the cheek.
“Yeah, El,” I tease, “stop trying to outdo your little brother. You’ve got a great girl there.” I laugh myself until I see Butterfly standing somberly in our bedroom doorway.
“Butterfly?” I say, waiting for her to respond.
“Christian, can I see you for a second?” she asks softly.
“Sure,” I say, making my way to the bedroom and forgetting completely that there’s actually a room full of people there. When I get to the doorway, she walks to the bathroom without a word. Just as I get to the door of the en suite, she comes out and hands me what looks like an electronic thermometer. Does she have a fever? I look at the front of it and there is a window with two pink lines. I examine the device closer. It’s a pregnancy test. Two pink lines mean positive. It says so right on the front of the thermom—uh, test. I look up at Butterfly. Stay calm, Grey. Stay calm.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Could this be wrong? They normally tell you to take more than one, don’t they?” She reaches into the en suite and hands me two more tests, both different brands. One brand just reads “pregnant” in the little window. The other reads “pregnant 3+,” which I take to mean three plus weeks. Suddenly, I feel a little light-headed…
I open my eyes and Jason is in my face.
“Boss? Can you hear me?” He’s looking down at me and I’m looking straight ahead at the ceiling. What the fuck happened? The last thing I remember was…
“Did she tell you?” I ask him and he frowns.
“Tell me what, Boss?”
“I’m gonna be a daddy,” I say just above a whisper. “We’re pregnant. She’s having my baby.”
“No shit!” Jason says, then looks across at Butterfly, who is on her knees on the floor next to me, weeping. I scramble to sit up and cup her tear-drenched cheeks.
“Baby! What’s wrong?” Oh my God, what happened?
“You scared me!” she weeps loudly. I gather her in my arms and her shoulders shake.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a sing-songy voice. “I was overwhelmed.” I let her cry for a bit, then pull her back and wipe her eyes with my handkerchief. “I always pictured how I was going to react when you told me I was going to be a father. This wasn’t it.” She laughs through her tears, but they keep falling.
“You’re… okay… with this?” she asks with shuddering breaths.
“Okay? I’m ecstatic!” I answer honestly. “You’re having my baby… you beautiful, beautiful girl…” I kiss her face over and over until she stops crying.
I hold her close to me all night, unable to sleep and thinking about the little piece of me that she has growing inside of her. How magnificent! She’s having my baby. I can’t believe she’s having my baby. I stay awake the whole night watching her sleep and waiting for the sun to rise. She’s calling the doctor today to get an appointment. Thoughts of Edward David and the trial are the farthest thing from our minds as we shower and get dressed. I’m almost jumping out of my skin when, after breakfast, she puts her OB/GYN on the speakerphone.
“Dr. Culley, it’s Ana Ste… Grey.”
“Ana! Hi!” I can hear the sympathy in her voice already and I’m sure that Butterfly can hear it, too. She must have heard what happened in court yesterday.
“Hi. I, um, think I’m pregnant.” The line falls silent.
“Have you had a positive home test?” she asks.
“I’ve had three.” I confirm.
“Date of your last normal period?” Butterfly’s eyes squint. She’s thinking.
“That’s hard to tell. My last normal period would have been May 19th. I had a short period on June 24th. Three days…” she says.
“Why don’t you come in? I can get you in this afternoon. I usually can’t on short notice, but this is your lucky day.” Sure it is, I think to myself. It doesn’t matter though. I just want Butterfly to be okay.
“Sure. What time?”
“I have 2:00 and 3:00 available.” The sooner the better, I think to myself.
“Two o’clock,” Butterfly says as if she’s reading my mind. There’s a short pause.
“Will Mr. Grey be joining you?” she asks.
“Yes,” I answer for myself.
“Oh! Mr. Grey! I didn’t know you were on the line. Excellent, so I’ll see you both at two, then.”
“See you at two, Dr. Culley,” Butterfly says before ending the call. She sighs heavily.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Ugh!” she sighs again. “I’ve got a few things on my mind.” I pull her into my lap.
“Just a few?” I say, kissing her temple. She leans into my kiss and relaxes in my arms.
“You make everything better, Christian,” she says, softly. Damn straight. Anything for you, Butterfly.
“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” I ask her.
“It’s certainly too early to tell,” she says, “and I don’t want to jinx it.” She sounds really nervous. I gently rub her back.
“Butterfly,” I say into her hair, “nothing is going to happen to our baby. I don’t want you to think that way at all. I know what everyone says—wait until three months—but I believe that you and that gorgeous bundle of love that you are carrying are going to be just fine. I need you to believe it, too. I’m too happy to think anything else.” She looks up at me with deep ocean blue eyes.
“You are?” she asks softly.
“Yes, I am,” I say with conviction. “I’m going to take care of you and my baby. He’s going to grow up big and strong just like his dad.”
“You said, ‘he,’” she says softly. I think about my words and smile.
“No, you said ‘he,’” I say softly. “When we were in Napa, you said that our boy would be born first.” I can see her running the memory through her head.
“So I did,” she says, with a delicate smile. “He will also be generous and loving just like his father.”
“And smart just like his mother.” I rub my nose against hers and her eyes close.
“And handsome, like his father,” she breathes.
“And kind, like his mother…” I close my lips over hers.
“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Grey,” Dr. Culley says. “Your urine test confirmed your home results. You are definitely pregnant.” Christian squeezes my hand and smiles widely, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. I don’t know why he was worried, but I can tell that he was. “I want to do an ultrasound to see what I can see. According to your last period, you’re about two to four weeks pregnant, but your pregnancy test indicates higher levels of hCG than a woman pregnant two to four weeks. With your permission, I’d like to perform a transvaginal ultrasound…”
“Okay, slow down. You’re going a bit too fast for me,” Christian halts the conversation. “First off, what is hCG and will the high levels hurt Ana or the baby?” Dr. Culley smiles and I have to hide my smirk as well.
“Please, let me,” I tell her and she nods. “In laymen’s terms, hCG is the hormone that tells us that I’m pregnant. It multiplies exponentially in the first stages of pregnancy, so they expect it to be at a certain level at certain times. It eventually stops multiplying and levels out. It’s also the hormone that’s going to make me snap at you for no reason and literally cry over spilled milk.” I smile at him and Dr. Culley chuckles.
“In laymen’s terms, yes, that’s exactly what it is,” she confirms.
“Okay, but the higher levels…” Christian presses, not seeing the humor in my description.
“That could mean a few things. I’d like to do the ultrasound first before I make any observations.”
“Is anything wrong?” I ask her.
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Grey, but I won’t know until I get in there.”
“Get in there?” Christian asks.
“Yes, sir. A transvaginal ultrasound is usually done early in pregnancy if there is any cause for concern. In my case, I’m just being thorough. It involves inserting a transducer—a probe—into the vagina that will send sound waves though her uterus and give us a clearer picture of the baby’s size and location. It’s painless and completely harmless for Ana and the baby.”
Christian looks at me, then back at the doctor, then back at me.
“What do you want to do, Butterfly?” He is so out of his comfort zone right now.
“Better safe than sorry,” I tell him. He nods. “Okay, Doc. Let’s do it.”
Christian’s face is priceless as the doctor puts a condom and gel on the probe. She asks my permission to proceed, then inserts the probe into my vagina. I barely feel it, but I do feel a little pressure the further that thing travels. I can only describe the look on Christian’s face as morbid curiosity.
“Are you okay?” he asks. I beckon him down to me with my finger. When he leans down to me, I whisper, “I can’t feel it. You’re bigger than the probe.” We both giggle a bit at our private joke.
“Whoa.” Dr. Culley’s voice brings us out our momentary revelry.
“Whoa?” Christian and I both ask at the same time. You’ve got a probe in my pussy and you’re saying “Whoa?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says with a slight smile. “I just… really didn’t need this thing.” What the hell does that mean? I know I’m looking at her like she has lost her mind and I can only imagine how Christian must be looking at her. “Give me just a moment, and don’t worry,” she says. She moves the thing around a bit takes a few pictures of black and white clouds and globs and I have no idea what I’m looking at.
“Well, I was correct in my assumptions, Mrs. Grey, and I found a little surprise as well.”
“Okay, how about letting us in on it?” Christian says, his voice oozing impatience.
“You’re definitely more than four weeks pregnant. On first guess, I would say that you are closer to 8 -10 weeks.” My eyes go large.
“What?” I ask. That can’t be right. Can it?
“Yes, ma’am. The period that you had last month—was there anything unusual about it? You said that is was short…” Unusual? I’ll say.
“Yes. It was short and light,” I tell her. She nods.
“It could be completely normal. It wasn’t a period, though. You were definitely pregnant at the time. We’ll keep an eye on you, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about. It could have been breakthrough bleeding or harmless spotting. With bleeding, we normally worry about miscarriages, but that was a month ago and you haven’t had anymore bleeding since then, correct?”
“Correct.” She shifts the probe a bit and pushes a button on the monitor. I hear what sounds like rushing water—a lot of rushing water—trying to get through a small hole.
“What is that?” Christian asks.
“That, my friends, would be heartbeats.” Okay, that didn’t get past me.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Wait! What?” I look at her. “Heartbeats? Did you say heartbeats… with an s?”
“That I did,” she says, turning the monitor further around so that we could get a better view of it and points to two very distinct blobs that almost look like babies. “That is baby number one, and that is baby number two. Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Grey, you’re having twins.”
“Ana, you don’t look pleased,” Dr. Culley says. Christian looks down at me.
“Are you okay, Baby?” I realize that I better say something.
“Oh! Yes! I’m fine. I’m just… shocked and…” I look up at Christian.
“Talk to me, Baby,” he says, pulling a seat over next to the table and getting at eye level with me.
“I…” There are lumps in my stomach and not from the babies, so I just spit it out. “Eight to 10 weeks,” I squeak. “The drinking… at the hen party… the toast at the wedding… the wine tasting in Paris… the hot tub in Greece…” I’m freaking out. I was drinking and I was pregnant. My babies….
“Okay, don’t panic, Mrs. Grey,” Dr. Culley tries to calm me as she removes the probe. “During those times, did you ever get drunk?” I think hard.
“No… not in the last two months, but I did have cocktails at my bachelorette party… June 28th.”
“Lots of cocktails?” she asks. I shake my head.
“No, I didn’t want to be a wasted bride.”
“Okay, so I’ve heard three incidents of drinking. Any more?”
“Um, casually, maybe… with dinner, I think…” I’m wracking my brain to try to remember how much alcohol I’ve had. “Mostly red wine. I only had cocktails at the hen party. I don’t really like hard liquor.” She nods.
“Okay.” She prints out pictures of the babies and covers me before standing. “Clean up, get dressed, and come to my office so we can talk. I won’t mince words—I’ll give you the good, the bad and the ugly. You deserve to know. Okay?” I nod and she leaves. I lay there for a moment, completely forgetting that Christian is in the room with me as he has fallen completely silent. I leap off the table and go to the bathroom with my clothes in my hand. Luckily, I didn’t have the vomiting attack that I was expecting, but I quickly freshen up and put my clothes back on. When I open the door, Christian is standing there looking at me.
“Whatever happens, we’ll be okay,” he says, his expression unreadable. “We’ll do whatever she tells us to do. I’ll be whatever you need. We’ll be okay.” I stand there stunned for a moment, then I leap into his arms trying not to cry.
“I love you so much, Christian,” I squeak, trying to control my emotions.
“I love you, too, Butterfly,” he says into my hair.
“I’m scared. I hope I didn’t hurt our babies.” I can hear my voice trembling.
“Sssshh, don’t think that way. The babies will be fine and so will we.” He kisses my cheek. “Let’s go hear what the doctor has to say.”
A few minutes later, we are sitting across from Dr. Culley, holding hands and I’m preparing myself for the worst.
“There are several schools of thought on this, Mr. and Mrs. Grey…”
“Please call me Ana as usual,” I tell her. “We’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other in the coming months… I hope.” She nods.
“We will, Ana,” she says with a smile. “As I was saying, some doctors tell you to abstain from drinking completely. Other doctors may tell you that an occasional drink won’t hurt the babies. I will tell you this—heavy drinking is definitely not good for the baby as alcohol has been associated with certain birth defects. However, it hasn’t been determined what effects light drinking could have on the babies. There is no amount of alcohol that has been proven to be safe, and there are other factors involved, such as how quickly your body processes and breaks down alcohol.”
“I’m a lightweight, Doctor,” I tell her, meaning that I can’t hold my liquor.
“Okay. Bearing that in mind, you said that you didn’t drink to inebriation, correct?” I nod. “That would mean that you most likely drank moderate amounts of wine and alcohol. If your alcohol tolerance is already low and you didn’t go beyond your tolerance, then you couldn’t have drank that much—certainly not enough to cause significant harm to the babies. Although I wouldn’t recommend drinking any more now that you know you are pregnant, I would say that you shouldn’t have anything to worry about, Ana.”
“What about the hot tub?” I ask. “I was told that pregnant women shouldn’t take hot baths and I got into the hot tub twice during our honeymoon.” She nods.
“We’ll keep an eye on you and the babies and I’ll have more information and a more accurate due date for you at your next visit after I have taken a look at your tests and the sonograms. However, if I were to bet the ranch on it, I would say that you and the babies are going to be just fine.”
A rush of relief runs through me so powerfully that I feel light-headed and almost fall out of my seat. Christian catches me and ends up on his knees next to my seat. He’s looking in my eyes and saying something, but I can’t hear him. I don’t know how much time passes, but I know that after some time, we are alone in the room.
The babies are fine.
The babies will be fine.
We’re going to be okay.
I look up at Christian’s questioning, concerned eyes, then collapse on his shoulder, crying tears of fear, anguish, joy, and relief.
A/N: Okay, so there you have it–the pregnancy announcement. Now people can stop hounding me about it. Once again, any posts that say “Well, it’s about time” or ANYTHING ALONG THAT LINE will be DELETED. I don’t care who posts them or what else you say in them. I have asked people repeatedly to stop harassing me about announcing the pregnancy and people still didn’t stop, so I really hope you all read this author’s note and don’t be surprised if your comment comes up missing.
If I sound a little miffed, it’s because as I was proofreading the chapter, all of the thrill of announcing her pregnancy was gone because of the people who continuously battered me about the announcement. So here it is. Hopefully, it wasn’t as anti-climactic for you as it was for me.
If you are not one of those people who continued to badger me AFTER I asked people to stop, please don’t get all sensitive and take this personally.
Once again, pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc. can be found at http://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/mending-dr-steele/
You can join my mailing list on the “Contact Me” page. Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.
Love and Handcuffs!