Monday morning dawns and I feel sick to my stomach. When I open my eyes, I'm unsurprised to find Christian watching me as though he's been doing it all night, as though he hasn't slept at all. There is undisguised fear in his expression, one I can't help but mirror.
"Good morning," he rasps, reaching over to trace my jawline.
I shiver at the touch. "Good morning," I manage to respond. Part of me wants to roll out of bed and get this day over with while the other part objects to doing anything aside from pulling the blankets over our heads and losing myself in my husband. I settle for something in the middle and scoot across the bed, closing the gap between us and placing my hand on his hip. His eyes widen as though he's unaware of what it is I'm doing. I ignore that look as I kiss him, trying to tell him without words that regardless of what might happen in the next few days, I'm not going anywhere. I have no idea whether he gets the message, but he rolls me onto my back, looming over me, and deepens the kiss. With my hands fisted in his hair and his hands sliding in opposite directions on my body—one to my breasts, the other rather lower—there is no doubt of where this is going.
His lips leave mine, tracing a fiery path down the side of my face to my ear where he takes a moment to nibble on the lobe until I let out a low groan. "I want you," he whispers into my ear, his fingers finding my entrance and pushing inside. My grip on his back grows tighter and he hisses as my fingernails dig into his skin. I start to pull away, not wanting to hurt him, but the hand not busy with the lower half of my body reaches back to keep my hand in place. "Don't stop. I love knowing you want me, too."
With that, his lips attack mine again with fervor, his fingers working in tandem with his tongue against mine, and I know it's only a matter of a few more movements before this ends. "Christian," I whimper, struggling to hold back.
"I know, baby," he breathes, resting his forehead against mine as the movements of his fingers still inside me. I gasp as his touch disappears, but my disappointment is short-lived as he pulls himself over me, positioning himself, then sinking inside me, his jaw dropping open as our bodies mold into one. Once he's all in, he keeps still for several moments, just looking at me. I know he wants to say something, so, impatient as I am for him to begin moving, I reach up to cup his cheek, which he leans into. After briefly closing his eyes, they open again, and I see some of the fear from before returning. "Ana, whatever happens, please remember this right here, right now, and remember that this is where I want to be, with you for the rest of my life."
I nod. "I know, Christian," I tell him. "I'm not going anywhere and I'll be damned if anybody chases me away from you again."
A look of relief appears on his face along with a small smile. There is no more need for words as he slowly begins to move his hips against mine. My legs pull up slightly to give us a better angle and he moans against my left nipple that he's just taken into his mouth. His body never loses contact with mine as he rocks, bringing us closer to the edge. Christian never increases his pace, but the build-up begins just the same. This isn't just a morning fuck; this is lovemaking at its finest, and it's beyond incredible. We come together, silently, holding each other close and not wanting to face what we both know is ahead of us. With a look of utter reluctance, Christian kisses me once more and pulls away, lying on his side beside me. For several minutes, we just stare at one another, and it's not until we hear the buzzing of Christian's Blackberry that we know our morning of intimacy is at an end.
Sighing heavily, Christian rolls away to answer the call while I wrap the sheet around my body and slide out of bed, heading for the bathroom. I hear the low murmur of my husband's voice as I go about my morning routine. Stepping out of the shower, I nearly lose my balance when I find Christian leaning against the bathroom counter watching me. For a moment, I think he's going to start round two, but when he lets me dress without him stopping me, I know that's not the issue.
"The car will be here in an hour," he says quietly, crossing the room towards me. "And my mother wants to have breakfast with us."
"Only your mother?" I ask curiously as I dry my hair.
"Dad is with Flynn and the prosecuting attorneys going over all the information," he says, already sounding exhausted. "The good news is that they're not letting anything slip past them. Every detail is being scrutinized for the maximum penalty."
"That is good news," I agree quietly. "Do we know what we should expect?"
Sighing and running his hands through his hair, Christian nods. "Mostly," he says. "It's going to be a private hearing, so the press won't have access. It'll be us, the prosecuting team, the defense team, a judge, and Lucy. No jury, so we won't have to sway an entire group of people. That's a plus. The judge will have all the say on punishment and while I doubt any judge will let kidnapping a four-year-old slide, we don't know how strict the sentence will be. Lucy's already given a full confession; the trial will decide whether she's justifiably insane or whether she's putting on a show and everything was premeditated. Which, of course, it was. Clearly she's not the sanest person ever, but she knew fucking well what she was doing and why. She demonstrated that when I spoke to her at the police station. Of course, we're hoping for a real prison sentence as opposed to sending her to an asylum; if she went there, she'd spend a few years under a doctor's care, then there is every possibility she'll be released."
I stare at him in horror. "So she could effectively try coming after us again?"
"No!" Christian says so emphatically that I step back away from him. His gaze softens with apology. "No, Ana. Whatever happens to her, she will never come near us again. I'll do whatever it takes to ensure that." I nod silently. "This is going to end here, Ana, and it will never follow us again."
I keep my thoughts to myself, the ones which question how he can be so certain that we'll never be troubled by this again. Christian's exes seem to come out of the woodwork at the worst possible times...
It's not long before Christian and I are dressed. I'm not surprised to see him in one of his obscenely expensive suits, but my eyes are drawn to what's hanging around his neck: it's The Tie again. And I know damn well why he's doing it: While nobody else is privy to the symbolism of That Tie, the two of us are, and he's trying to show me he's still mine; he's using it as a comforting gesture for me. Surprisingly, it's working. Our fingers laced together, Christian leads me to the lobby of the hotel, then into the restaurant where we can see Grace is already seated, waiting for us. She greets both of us warmly and I pretend I don't see her nervous expression or the one full of sympathy directed solely towards me.
Breakfast is a lovely distraction from the day to come. None of us brings up the trial, instead discussing Teddy and Ava, and other members of the family. Grace brings up my birthday which is approaching quickly. At this, Christian gives me a rather shifty grin at which I narrow my eyes. He's got something planned. Of course he does...
Glancing at his watch as he pays the bill, Christian announces it's time to leave and I suddenly want to run back up to our room and hide. It's not an option and I know it, so instead, I grab Christian's had as he leads me and Grace out to the car where Taylor is waiting. The ride to the courthouse is long and silent, and I can feel the tension building up between all of us. The fingers of one of Christian's hands are pressed into his lips as he stares broodingly out the window while his other hand is wrapped tightly around mine. We pull up outside a large building with stairs leading up from the street to the front doors. On the top of the building is a dome on top of which is a bronze statue of a woman with her arms stretched wide, a sword in one hand and scales in the other. Christian and I passed this building several times during our honeymoon, but we never got the chance to go inside, having always been on our way to somewhere else. I hate that my first visit to this beautiful building in marred with such horrible circumstances, and I know because of those circumstances, I'll never be able to enjoy the history behind it.
As expected there's a crowd of reporters standing at the bottom of the stairs. Taylor puts the car in park, and both he and Sawyer jump out, meeting at Christian's door.
"Don't say anything," Christian warns me. "Don't even react to their questions. These people will take any response and turn it into a full article that will twist everything around."
I nod, glancing at Grace who has a look of defiance and determination on her face as she glares through the tinted windows of the car. I think what I'm seeing is a mother preparing to defend her child. When the door opens, the crowd moves in. Christian grabs my hand and pulls me out of the car, then helps his mother. One of his arms is wrapped protectively around my shoulders; the other around Grace's. Taylor and Sawyer and three other security team members lead us briskly towards the building, pushing through the reporters.
I hear voices shouting questions ("Mrs. Grey, is it true your husband had an affair with your child's kidnapper?" "Are you and your husband swingers?") and clicking of cameras. I'm fighting to keep my gaze straight ahead, despite how badly I want to turn to see how Christian is handling the questions being thrown at us. His fingers are digging into my shoulder almost painfully, but I don't dare say anything about it out here. Finally we arrive inside the building and I have only a moment to look around appreciatively before I'm being directed through hallways. Christian has released his mother from his protective hold, though he still keeps me close. It's not until we turn a corner and see Carrick and John Flynn speaking quietly against the wall that he seems to relax finally.
"Ah, here they are now," Carrick says, smiling at the three of us. Smiling. That has to be a good sign. He greets Grace with a hug and kiss, Christian with a handshake, me with a kiss on the cheek. "Made it through the horde, I see."
"Barely," Christian spats. "I'm just relieved they're not allowed in the courtroom."
Carrick gives him a sympathetic glance as John joins us. "Christian, Ana, good to see you," he says genially. "I wish it were under better circumstances."
"So do we," Christian says grimly, shaking the doctor's hand. "Thank you for coming out for this."
John waves him off. "Any excuse to come home is fine with me," he says dismissively.
After a bit of chitchat, Carrick leads us into a small, private room that holds only a table and a few chairs. He gestures for us to sit. "John has completed his examination of Lucy Hastings," he says without hesitation. "He'll present his findings later this morning, but suffice it to say, it comes out in our favor."
Christian relaxes visibly. I'm not sure if this is a reaction of relief that something is going our way or that he is relieved about not having actually broken Lucy to the point of insanity.
"Having said that," Carrick goes on, "the defense has their own psychiatrist who will undoubtedly try to refute John's testimony. That's expected. What we don't know is what they'll use as the catalyst for this supposed mental breakdown. We've got a few ideas, of course, but at this point, she could say anything. I just want you to be prepared." He looks between me and Christian. "Also, while we would prefer not to, there may be a chance Christian will be called to the stand. I want to keep the two of you out of it as much as is possible, so we'll be holding off on that as long as we can. Any questions?"
Christian looks at me and we shake our heads at the same time.
A few minutes later, we're entering another room, this one with four rows of wooden bench seating separating it from the judge's stand and defense and prosecuting tables. We sit in the first row on the left side, and it's not long before people start filing in—lawyers mostly, a couple of witnesses I've never seen before in my life, all of whom Christian is watching. "Do you know them?" I ask him in a whisper.
"No," he says shortly, turning back to face the front. "I think the blonde woman is a friend of Lucy's, though I never met her myself. The others should be store clerks or people Lucy came into contact with the day she took Teddy."
I nod silently, holding onto his hand. A door on the right side of the room opens and I feel my blood freezing in my veins. There is absolutely no way that is the woman I confronted at the police station only a few weeks back. Then she had looked drawn, exhausted, and slightly mental. Now she looks as though she could serve as my twin. I suck in a sharp breath at this thought, eyeing her long brown hair carefully styled, big blue eyes that I suspect to be the product of contact lenses, and a simple blue dress. Clearly someone took the time to make her seem more appealing for the trial.
As Lucy enters alongside her lawyer, I glance at Christian, finding his jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed on the woman. She looks around briefly and I see a small smile appear on her lips, a triumphant glint in her eyes. That is until she sees me holding my husband's hand. Because I can, I reach up slowly with my left ear, tucking a strand of hair back and making certain she has a clear view of the ring on my finger. It doesn't matter that she doesn't know exactly what the ring symbolizes; she sneers at me briefly and sits behind a table on the right side of the room.
"What are you smirking about?" Christian asks in my ear.
"Pissing contest," I whisper back. He smothers a laugh and for the next several minutes, his attention is focused solely on me. I can feel Lucy glaring at us, but I manage to block her out, as does Christian. I know he's doing this to set me at ease—as much as I can be set at ease right now—and remind me I'm the one he wants and she doesn't even deserve a glance in her direction.
Minutes later, the entire room is standing as the judge enters. Despite the seriousness of everything around me, I'm stifling a laugh. The judge is older, mid-sixties, I'd guess, and thin with white hair. His beard covers his jawline, and he's got a goatee. I'm immediately reminded of the goats Christian and I saw on that little island during our weekend on The Grace. Christian is looking at me oddly as we sit, and I shake my head at him. The judge reads the charges against Lucy—kidnapping, plotting to take an underage child out of the country, etcetera. He then explains that the defense team is seeking a lighter sentence due to mental instability at the time of the crime.
The prosecution makes their opening statements first. "The evidence shows the crime has been premeditated for quite some time," says the lawyer. "Airplane tickets were purchased using cash two days prior to the kidnapping. Arrangements were made to transport the child in question without raising suspicion. The most telling piece of information, however, is that when the defendant arrived at the school to retrieve the child, she signed him out of the school using another woman's name. While this could seem the actions of an instable mind, we will prove that the defendant was in her right mind with no history of mental illness. The prosecution seeks the maximum, strictest possible sentence for the defendant."
They run through all the evidence they have available to them. Proof of purchase of two airplane tickets—one child; one adult—for the day of the kidnapping, purchased days in advance. Just as when she'd signed Teddy out of his school, the adult's name on the ticket was Elena Lincoln. The child's was Theodore Lincoln. The grip Christian has on my hand becomes painfully tight, but I can't utter anything that might get him to let me go, especially when he's growling curses under his breath as though he's about to launch himself across the courtroom and start beating the shit out of somebody. And I'm sure his intended target is the same as mine. It only helps our case that someone has managed to dig up several emails from Elena to Lucy in the weeks leading up to the kidnapping. At first they seemed innocent enough (I roll my eyes at the phrasing, but really, there's no better way to phrase it) as Elena is seemingly comforting Lucy on the loss of her lover. My stomach turns as the letters are read aloud to the court. A few letters in, they're discussing me. About how I've gotten my claws back into Christian and will stop at nothing to bring him down until he's nothing. I can feel Christian shaking in fury and try my best to silently calm him, even though I don't know that I've ever been so angry and sickened in my life. One of the letters suggests the only reason Christian is willing to take me back is for the sake of our son, so perhaps if our son was "taken out of the picture," Christian would realize I have nothing to offer him. Next, there is a series of letters detailing how to best remove Teddy from my care, while causing me the greatest pain imaginable. Lucy is the one to suggest using Elena's name as an alias; Elena thinks it's the best idea ever, knowing she can torture me with only her name. I hate that she knows me that well.
Next, the prosecution calls its first witness: Dr. John Flynn. John is sworn in and takes the stand, gives his name and credentials, and then the questioning begins. "Dr. Flynn, have you been afforded the opportunity to interview the defendant?"
"I have," Flynn answers.
"And what were your findings?"
Flynn sits straight in his chair. "While the defendant exhibits certain signs of mental instability, I do not believe this was the root cause of the crime."
"And what are these signs you speak of?"
"Depression. Obsession. A strong sense of entitlement. The defendant has clearly suffered from heartbreak. But overall, she is intelligent, very responsive and understanding to things around her, and was capable of understanding kidnapping the child in question was wrong and would result in severe punishment." John pauses, his eyes darting towards Christian and me so briefly that if I'd blinked, I'd have missed it. "Furthermore, the defendant possesses a strong skill of manipulation and uses that skill to her benefit."
"In your opinion, Dr. Flynn, do you believe the defendant was capable of differentiating right and wrong on the day in question?"
"Yes. As I previously stated, the defendant was fully aware of her actions and the repercussions of those actions."
"And do you believe the defendant capable and deserving of being sent to a detention center for the entirety of her sentence, whatever that might be?"
"Yes."
The prosecutor nods. "Thank you, Dr. Flynn. That will be all for now."
Flynn nods and steps off the stand, retaking his seat a row or so behind us. He sends us a wink as he passes us by.
"That's it?" I whisper in Christian's direction. "That's all they're going to ask him?"
"That's all he needed to say," whispers Christian grimly.
With a sigh, I turn back to the proceedings where the prosecutor is now explaining the apparent agenda Lucy had when she took my son. If she hadn't been caught when she was, her plan was to fly back to Seattle as she stated at the police station. Then she was going to contact Christian to tell him where Teddy was and that he was safe and that "his family" was waiting for him. If anything would have me running from this room that would undoubtedly be it. Christian's hand around mine is like an anchor, however, and I know he's reading my mind. I turn towards him slightly to shoot him a small smile, to which he can only manage a concerned twist of his lips in return.
The next couple hours drag. Apparently court trials, even one so severe, are painfully boring. The lawyers spend quite a bit of time speaking to one another and the judge, leaving the rest of the courtroom to talk amongst themselves. Unfortunately, since neither Christian nor I can manage speaking at all right now, my eyes continually dart towards Lucy. A couple times, under the guise of flicking lint of her shoulder or glancing around the room, her eyes have met ours. Every time, she's looked at me, she's smirked, like she's in on some joke I'm not privy to. I'm doing everything possible not to divert my eyes from hers whenever they meet mine; I refuse to give the bitch any sort of satisfaction at this point. In fact, I make it a point anytime her gaze drifts in our direction to give Christian some sort of physical affection—a kiss on the cheek, resting my head on his shoulder, playing with his hair. It seems to be having the desired effect: instead of succeeding in getting Christian's attention, which I have no doubt is what she's trying to do, she's watching him give me all of his small, sweet smiles or put his arm around me to pull me closer. And she's getting pissed. There is no doubt in my mind that if we weren't surrounded by people, she'd come after me.
Around three o'clock, the trial is dismissed for the day. Tomorrow morning will be the defense's turn to present their case, as well as the day that we get to hear Lucy's justification for her crime. Lucy is led out of the room by her attorney, but manages to send Christian a glance of what seems to be longing before she disappears behind the door. For his part, Christian's eyes never leave mine as she does so. Once she has, he stands almost immediately, tugging me with him
"Hotel or out for dinner?" he asks quietly, holding me tightly against him as we leave the room just behind his parents.
How he's able to think about eating after what we just experienced is beyond me, but I do know I'm not in the mood to be in the public eye more than I already am. The ride back to the hotel is almost as quiet as the ride there, even though Carrick is joining us as well. I wait for somebody to bring up what just happened; apparently no one is willing. I'm no different. It's a relief to leave Carrick and Grace outside their room as Christian leads me to ours.
When we enter and the door is closed, I'm immediately pulled into my husband's arms, his face buried in my neck. I know today has taken a toll on him and I also know tomorrow is going to be worse. We stand like this for so long that I've lost track of time and only after pressing a brief kiss in the junction between my neck and shoulder does Christian release me. "I'm going to shower," he says quietly, searching my eyes for something. "Would you care to join me?"
Tempting though that is, I decline. "I think I'm just going to have a drink and watch some mindless television to unwind a little," I tell him with a smile, pressing my lips against his briefly. "Go take your shower, baby."
It's more than clear that he's reluctant to leave me alone right now, but eventually he does, allowing me to follow through on my plan. I turn on the television, choose a channel at random, and lie back on the couch, closing my eyes.
Much to my surprise, today went better than I ever thought it would. Having Flynn give his testimony was a plus on our side, though Lucy's attorneys might consider it a conflict of interest since he has both a personal and professional relationship with Christian and me. I'm confident that this will all go in our favor. Or maybe I'm just hopeful. The biggest downside of the day was seeing the way Lucy looked at Christian, how desperately she sought his gaze. I can honestly say that I hate the woman with every fiber of my being, but at the same time, I believe she's truly in love with Christian. It sickens me to just think it, but I need to get used to the idea before tomorrow. And if—
"—CEO Christian Grey's former mistress is on trial here in London."
I sit straight up, my eyes wide open as I look at the television. Somehow I chose some sort of gossip show.
"We've managed to acquire some very intimate photographs of the pair, some of which cannot be shown due to their graphic nature. Others, however, show the pair quite clearly smitten with one another."
I'm now looking at a series of photographs of my husband with his arms around Lucy, his lips pressed to her forehead. One is of them sitting in some restaurant, holding hands across the table and staring deeply into one another's eyes. Yet another depicts them in a heated embrace.
My breathing is shallow as I look at picture after picture, watching Christian interact with Lucy in ways I believed he only ever interacted with me. Of course, I should have known better. Logically, I've come to terms with the affair. But logic has no place in my mind right now; after today, these pictures strike a chord in me that resonates far more than it would have done only a couple days ago. I feel stifled. I have to get out of here. Without further thought, I struggle to my feet, grab my purse, and nearly knock Christian over as I stumble past him for the door. He's grasping for me, calling my name, begging, but I shake him off and make my retreat.