Chapter 132 (1/2)
”Hey, Annie.” He grins. And his face falls.
”Oh, Daddy . . .” I rush to his side, and in a very uncharacteristic move, he opens his arms wide and hugs me.
”Annie?” he whispers. ”What is it?” He holds me tight and kisses my hair. As I'm in his arms, I realize how rare these moments between us have been. Why is that? Is that why I like to crawl into Christian's lap? After a moment, I pull away from him and sit down in the chair beside the bed. Ray's brow is furrowed with concern.
”Tell your old man.”
I shake my head. He doesn't need my problems right now.
”It's nothing, Dad. You look well.” I reach over and clasp his hand.
”Feeling more like myself, though this leg in a cast is bitchin'.”
”Bitchin'?” His word prompts my smile.
He smiles back. ”Bitchin' sounds better than itchin'.”
”Oh, Dad, I am so glad you're okay.”
”Me, too, Annie. I'd like to bounce some grandchildren on this bitchin' knee one day. Wouldn't want to miss that for the world.”
I blink at him. Shit. Does he know? And I fight the tears that prick the corners of my eyes.
”You and Christian getting along?”
”We had a fight,” I whisper, trying to speak past the knot in my throat. ”We'll work it out.”
He nods. ”He's a fine man, your husband,” Ray says reassuringly.
”He has his moments. What did the doctors say?” I don't want to talk about my husband right now; he's a painful topic of conversation.
Back at Escala, Christian is not home.
”Christian called and said that he'd be working late,” Mrs. Jones informs me apologetically.
”Oh. Thanks for letting me know.” Why couldn't he tell me? Jeez, he really is taking his sulk to a whole new level. I am briefly reminded of the fight over our wedding vows and the major tantrum he had then. But I'm the aggrieved one here.
”What would you like to eat?” Mrs. Jones has a determined, steely glint in her eye.
”Pasta.”
She smiles. ”Spaghetti, penne, fusilli?”
”Spaghetti, your Bolognese.”
”Coming up. And Ana . . . you should know Mr. Grey was frantic this morning when he thought you'd left. He was beside himself.” She smiles fondly.
Oh . . .
He's still not home by nine. I am sitting at my desk in the library, wondering where he is. I call him.
”Ana,” he says, his voice cool.
”Hi.”
He inhales softly. ”Hi,” he says, his voice lower.
”Are you coming home?”
”Later.”