But would I want her any other way?
Of course not. I want her happy and I want to protect her. But how can I do that if she’s not willing to obey me?
Deal with it, Grey.
Sighing, I lean over and brush her hair with my lips; it’s the gentlest of touches, as I don’t want to wake her. But I silently implore her to change her mind.
Please, Ana. Grant me this.
Switching off the light, I stare, unflinching, into the dark, and suddenly the silence in the room is deafening and oppressive. My heart rate doubles and I’m dragged down into a swamp of despair. It’s overwhelming. Maybe this is a huge mistake. Our marriage is never going to work if she can’t do this.
What was I thinking?
Maybe I want—no, need—someone more submissive.
I need to be in control.
Always.
Without control, there is chaos. And anger. And hurt, and fear…and pain.
Shit. What am I going to do?
This is an impossible hurdle to overcome.
Isn’t it?
But living without Ana would be unbearable. I know what it’s like to bathe in her light. She is warmth and life and home. She is everything. I want her by my side. I love her.
How can I get her to reconsider?
I rub my face, trying
Get a grip, Grey. She’ll
I close my eyes and try to utilize Dr. Flynn’s mindfulness exercises and find my happy place. Maybe a flowery bower in a boathouse…
I wing over and marvel at the quilt of browns and blues and greens crisscrossed by roads and irrigation canals. Catching a thermal I rise above a ridge on the Beezley Hills. The sky is unencumbered, a dazzling, shimmering blue, and I’m at peace. The wind my companion. Constant. Rushing. The only sound. I am alone. Alone. Alone. I wing over again. My world turned upside down. And Ana is in front of the cockpit, her hands stretched out to the canopy, squealing with joy. And wonder. My heart is brimming. This is happiness. This is love. This is what it feels like. I bank, and suddenly I’m in a tailspin. Ana’s disappeared. I stamp my feet, but the rudder’s gone. I fight the control stick, but the ailerons don’t respond. I have no
I wake with a start.
Fuck.
fingers through my hair. Her scent is soothing and it’s filling the desperate emptiness that’s deep in my soul. “Good morning,” she says, and immediately I’m calmer. Back
morning,” I
“You were having a bad dream.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s just
“Shit. I’m late.” I give her a brief, chaste kiss and bound out of bed.
“Christian,” she calls.
“I can’t stop. I’m late,” I mutter as I disappear into the bathroom, recalling her defiance from last night.
And I’m still pissed.
At my desk, I eye the model glider that Anastasia gave me when she left. It took me a whole day to make. Unease circles my gut; maybe it’s the echo of that dream or a reminder of the desolation I felt when she was
Ever.
I shake off the feeling and take a sip of the espresso that Andrea has prepared, followed by a bite of fresh croissant. I
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Eat!
Date: July 6 2011 9:22
To: Christian Grey
My dearest husband-to-be
It is not like you
hope you’re not hungry. I know how disagreeable that is for you.
I hope your day is a good one.
Axxx
end of her message, but I glance at her portrait