He smirks at me, but the crinkling around his eyes shows me that he's hurt. It's sober- ing.

"You're cutting me to the quick here, Ana. Will you marry me?"

I sit up and lean over him, placing my hands on his knees. I stare into his lovely face.

"Christian, I've met your psycho ex with a gun, been thrown out of my apartment, had you go thermonuclear Fifty on me-"

He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand. He obediently shuts his mouth.

"You've just revealed some, quite frankly, shocking information about yourself, and now you've asked me to marry you."

He moves his head from side to side as if considering the facts. He's amused. Thank heavens.

"Yes, I think that's a fair and accurate summary of the situation," he says dryly.

I shake my head at him. "Whatever happened to delayed gratifcation?"

"I got over it, and I'm now a frm advocate of instant gratifcation. Carpe diem, Ana,"

he whispers.

"Look Christian, I've known you for about three minutes, and there's so much more I need to know. I've had too much to drink, I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I want to go to bed.

I need to consider your proposal just as I considered that contract you gave me. And"-I press my lips together to show my displeasure but also to lighten the mood between us- "that wasn't the most romantic proposal."

He tilts his head to one side and his lips quirk up in a smile. "Fair point well made, as ever, Miss Steele," he breathes, his voice laced with relief. "So that's not a no?"

I sigh. "No, Mr. Grey, it's not a no, but it's not a yes either. You're only doing this be- cause you're scared, and you don't trust me."

"No, I'm doing this because I've fnally met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Oh. My heart skips a beat and inside I melt. How is it that in the middle of the most f.u.c.ked-up situations he can say the most romantic things? My mouth pops open in shock.

"I never thought that would happen to me," he continues, his expression radiating pure undiluted sincerity.

I gape at him, searching for the right words.

"Can I think about it ... please? And think about everything else that's happened to- day? What you've just told me? You asked for patience and faith. Well, back at you, Grey.

I need those now."

His eyes search mine and after a beat, he leans forward and tucks my hair behind my ear.

"I can live with that." He kisses me quickly on the lips. "Not very romantic, eh?" He raises his eyebrows, and I give him an admonishing shake of my head. "Hearts and fow- ers?" he asks softly.

I nod and he gives me a slight smile.

"You're hungry?"

"Yes."

"You didn't eat." His eyes frost and his jaw hardens.

"No, I didn't eat." I sit back on my heels and regard him pa.s.sively. "Being thrown out of my apartment after witnessing my boyfriend interacting intimately with his ex-submis- sive considerably suppressed my appet.i.te." I glare at him and fst my hands on my hips.

Christian shakes his head and rises gracefully to his feet. Oh, fnally we can get off the foor. He holds his hand out to me.

"Let me fx you something to eat," he says.

"Can't I just go to bed?" I mutter wearily as I place my hand in his.

He pulls me up. I am stiff. He gazes down at me, his expression soft.

"No, you need to eat. Come." Bossy Christian is back, and it's a relief.

He leads me to the kitchen area and ushers me toward a bar stool as he heads to the fridge. I glance at my watch. Jeez, nearly eleven thirty and I have to get up for work in the morning.

"Christian, I'm really not hungry."

He studiously ignores me as he ferrets through the enormous fridge. "Cheese?" he asks.

"Not at this hour."

"Pretzels?"

"In the fridge? No," I snap.

He turns and grins at me. "You don't like pretzels?""Not at eleven thirty. Christian, I'm going to bed. You can rummage around in your refrigerator for the rest of the night if you want. I'm tired, and I've had far too interesting a day. A day I'd like to forget." I slide off the stool and he scowls at me, but right now I don't care. I want to go to bed-I'm exhausted.

"Macaroni and cheese?" He holds up a white bowl lidded with foil. He looks so hope- ful and endearing.

"You like macaroni and cheese?" I ask.

He nods enthusiastically, and my heart melts. He looks so young all of a sudden. Who would have thought? Christian Grey likes nursery food.

"You want some?" he asks, sounding hopeful. I can't resist him and I'm hungry.

I nod and give him a weak smile. His answering grin is breathtaking. He takes the foil off the bowl and pops it into the microwave. I perch back on the stool and watch the beauty that is Mr. Christian Grey-the man who wants to marry me-move gracefully and with ease around his kitchen.

"So you know how to use the microwave then?" I tease softly.

"If it's in a packet, I can usually do something with it. It's real food I have a problem with."

I cannot believe this is the same man who was on his knees in front of me not half an hour before. He's his usual mercurial self. He sets out plates, cutlery, and placemats on the breakfast bar.

"It's very late," I mutter.

"Don't go to work tomorrow."

"I have to go to work tomorrow. My boss is leaving for New York."

Christian frowns. "Do you want to go there this weekend?"

"I checked the weather forecast, and it looks like rain," I say, shaking my head.

"Oh, so what do you want to do?"

The microwave's ping announces that our supper is warmed through.

"I just want to get through one day at a time at the moment. All this excitement is ...

tiring." I raise an eyebrow at him, which he judiciously ignores.

Christian places the white bowl in between our place settings and takes his seat beside me. He looks deep in thought, distracted. I dish the macaroni onto our plates. It smells di- vine, and my mouth waters in antic.i.p.ation. I am famished.

"Sorry about Leila," he murmurs.

"Why are you sorry?" Mmm, the macaroni tastes as good as it smells. My stomach grumbles gratefully.

"It must have been a terrible shock for you, fnding her in your apartment. Taylor swept it earlier himself. He's very upset."

"I don't blame Taylor."

"Neither do I. He's been out looking for you."

"Really? Why?"

"I didn't know where you were. You left your purse, your phone. I couldn't even track you. Where did you go?" he asks. His voice is soft, but there's an ominous undercurrent to his words.

"Ethan and I just went to a bar across the street. So I could watch what was happening.""I see." The atmosphere between us has changed subtly. It's no longer light.

Okay, well ... two can play that game. Let's just bring this back to you, Fifty. Trying to sound nonchalant, wanting to a.s.suage my burning curiosity but dreading the answer, I ask, "So what did you do with Leila in the apartment?"

I glance up at him, and he freezes with his forkful of macaroni suspended in midair.

Oh no, that's not good.

"You really want to know?"

A knot tightens in my gut and my appet.i.te vanishes. "Yes," I whisper. Do you? Do you really? My subconscious has thrown her empty bottle of gin on the foor and is sitting up in her armchair, glaring at me in horror.

Christian's mouth fattens into a line, and he hesitates. "We talked, and I gave her a bath." His voice is hoa.r.s.e, and he continues quickly when I make no response. "And I dressed her in some of your clothes. I hope you don't mind. But she was flthy."

Holy f.u.c.k. He bathed her?

What an inappropriate thing to do. I'm reeling, staring down at my uneaten macaroni.

The sight of it now makes me nauseous.

Try to rationalize this, my subconscious coaches. That cool, intellectual part of my brain knows that he just did that because she was dirty, but it's too hard. My fragile jealous self can't bear it.

Suddenly I want to cry-not succ.u.mb to ladylike tears that trickle decorously down my cheeks, but howling at the moon crying. I take a deep breath to suppress the urge, but my throat is arid and uncomfortable from my unshed tears and sobs.

"It was all I could do, Ana," he says softly.

"You still have feelings for her?"

"No!" he says, appalled, and closes his eyes, his expression one of anguish. I turn away, staring once more at my nauseating food. I can't bear to look at him.

"To see her like that-so different, so broken. I care about her, one human being to another." He shrugs as if to shake off an unpleasant memory. Jeez, is he expecting my sympathy?

"Ana, look at me."

I can't. I know that if I do, I will burst into tears. This is just too much to absorb. I'm like an overfowing tank of gasoline-full, beyond capacity. There is no room for any more. I simply cannot cope with any more c.r.a.p. I will combust and explode, and it will be ugly if I try. Jeez!

Christian caring for his ex-sub in such an intimate fashion-the image fashes through my brain. Bathing her, for f.u.c.k's sake-naked. A harsh, painful shudder wracks my body.

"Ana."

"What?"

"Don't. It doesn't mean anything. It was like caring for a child, a broken, shattered child," he mutters.

What the h.e.l.l would he know about caring for a child? This was a woman he had a very full-on, deviant s.e.xual relationship with. Oh, this hurts. I take a deep, steadying breath. Or perhaps he's referring to himself.

He's the broken child. That makes more sense ... or maybe it makes no sense at all. Oh, this is so f.u.c.ked-up, and suddenly I'm bone crushingly tired. I need sleep.

"Ana?"

I stand, take my plate to the sink, and sc.r.a.pe the contents into the trash.

"Ana, please."

I whirl around and face him. "Just stop, Christian! Just stop with the 'Ana, please'!" I shout at him, and my tears start to trickle down my face. "I've had enough of all this s.h.i.t today. I am going to bed. I am tired and emotional. Now let me be."

I turn on my heel and practically run to the bedroom, taking with me the memory of his wide-eyed, shocked stare. Nice to know I can shock him, too. I strip out of my clothes in double-quick time, and after rifing through his chest of drawers, drag on one of his T-shirts and head for the bathroom.

I gaze at myself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the gaunt, pink-eyed, blotchy- cheeked harridan staring back at me, and it's too much. I sink to the foor and surrender to the overwhelming emotion I can no longer contain, sobbing huge chest-wrenching sobs, fnally letting my tears fow unrestrained.

CHAPTER 15.