Chapter 151


    I raise my arm and gaze at her, realizing that she doesn’t know. “Ana, I was born in Detroit.”


    “I thought you were born here in Seattle.”


    No. Reaching behind me, I grab one of the pillows and ce it under my head. With my other hand, I


    continue to run my fingers through her hair. “No. Elliot and I were both adopted in Detroit. We moved


    here shortly after my adoption. Grace wanted to be on the West Coast, away from the urban sprawl,


    and she got a job at Northwest Hospital. I have very little memory of that time. Mia was adopted here.”


    “So, Jack is from Detroit?”


    “Yes.”


    “How do you know?”


    “I ran a background check when you went to work for him.”


    She gives me a sideways look. “Do you have a man file on him, too?” She smirks.


    I hide my smile. “I think it’s pale blue.”


    “What does it say in his file?”


    I stroke her cheek. “You really want to know?”


    “Is it that bad?”


    I shrug. “I’ve known worse.” My sad and sorry start in life springs to mind.


    Ana cuddles into me, pulling the red satin sheet over the two of us beforeying her cheek on my


    chest. She looks thoughtful.


    “What?” I ask. Something’s on her mind.


    “Nothing,” she murmurs.


    “No, no. This works both ways, Ana. What is it?”


    She nces at me, her eyebrows drawn together. She rests her cheek on my chest once more.


    “Sometimes I picture you as a child before you came to live with the Greys.”


    I tense beneath her. I do not want to talk about this. “I wasn’t talking about me. I don’t want your pity,


    Anastasia. That part of my life is done. Gone.”


    “It’s not pity. It’s sympathy and sorrow, sorrow that anyone could do that to a child.” She stops and


    swallows, then continues, her voice soft and low. “That part of your life is not done, Christian. How can


    you say that? You live every day with your past. You told me yourself—fifty shades, remember?”


    I sigh and run my hand through my hair. Drop it, Ana.


    “I know it’s why you feel the need to control me. Keep me safe.”


    “And yet you choose to defy me.” I’m bewildered. This is what I find most confusing about her. She


    knows that I have issues, yet she still challenges me.


    “Dr. Flynn said I should give you the benefit of the doubt. I think I do, I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s my way


    of bringing you into the here and now—away from your past,” she mutters. “I don’t know. I just can’t


    seem to get a handle on how far you’ll overreact.”


    “Fucking Flynn,” I mumble.


    “He said I should continue to behave the way I’ve always behaved with you.”


    “Did he, now?” I observe wryly.


    I have him to me.


    She takes a deep breath. “Christian, I know you loved your mom, and you couldn’t save her. It wasn’t


    your job to do that. But I’m not her.”


    Fuck. What? Stop. Now.


    Iy paralyzed beneath her. “Don’t,” I whisper.


    I don’t want to discuss the fucking crack whore.


    I’m floating above a deep well of harrowing, painful feelings that I don’t want to acknowledge, and I


    certainly don’t want to feel.


    “No, listen. Please.” Ana lifts her head, her bright blue eyes prating my shield, and I realize I’m


    holding my breath. “I’m not her,” Ana says. “I’m much stronger than she was. I have you, and you’re so


    much stronger now, and I know you love me. I love you, too.”


    “Do you still love me?” I whisper.


    “Of course I do. Christian, I will always love you. No matter what you do to me.”


    Ana, you’re crazy.


    I close my eyes and ce my arm over my eyes again, holding her closer to me.


    “Don’t hide from me,” she says, and she pries my arm off my face. “You’ve spent your life hiding.


    Please don’t, not from me.”


    Me?


    I stare at her, bewildered. “Hiding?”


    “Yes.”


    I roll onto my side, smooth her hair off her face, and tuck it behind her ear. “You asked me earlier today


    if I hated you. I didn’t understand why, and now—”


    “You still think I hate you?” she asks.


    “No.” I shake my head. “Not now. But I need to know, why did you safe-word, Ana?”


    She swallows, and I watch the y of emotions that cross her face. “Because…because you were so


    angry and distant and cold. I didn’t know how far you’d go.”


    I realize that she asked me and asked me and asked me to let here. And I didn’t.


    I betrayed her trust.


    Thank heaven for safe words.


    “Were you going to let mee?” Her gaze is unwavering, in spite of her blush.


    Yes. No. I don’t know.


    “No,” I answer. But the truth is, I don’t know.


    “That’s harsh.”


    I caress her cheek with my knuckle, the one with the burn. “But effective,” I whisper.


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    And you stopped me.


    We will always have safe words. If I go too far.


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