ine. He’s said he loves me, but I’m really confused.

This is all so fucked-up. He’s reassured me about Leila, but now I know with more

certainty than ever how she was able to give him his kicks. The thought is wearying and

unpalatable. I am so tired of all this.

“Christian, I’m exhausted. Can we discuss this tomorrow? I want to go to bed.”

He blinks at me in surprise. “You’re not going?”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No! I thought you would leave once you knew.”

All the times he’s alluded to me leaving once I knew his darkest secrets flash through

my mind . . . and now I know. Shit. Master isdark.

Should I leave? I gaze at him, this crazy man that I love, yes love.

Can I leave him? I left him once before, and it nearly broke me . . . and him. I love him.

I know that in spite of this revelation.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers.

“Oh, for crying out loud— no!I am not going to go!” I shout and it’s cathartic. There,

I’ve said it. I am not leaving.

“Really?” His eyes widen.

“What can I do to make you understand I will not run? What can I say?”

He gazes at me, revealing his fear and anguish again. He swallows. “There is one thing

you can do.”

“What?” I snap.

“Marry me,” he whispers.

What? Did he really just—

For the second time in less than half an hour my world stops.

Holy fuck.I stare at the deeply fucked-up man I love. I can’t believe what he’s just said.

Marriage?He’s proposing marriage? Is he kidding? I can’t help it—a small, nervous,

disbelieving giggle erupts from deep inside. I bite my lip to stop it from turning into full-

scale hysterical laughter and fail miserably. I lie back flat on the floor and surrender myself

to the laughter, laughing as I’ve never laughed before, huge healing cathartic howls of

laughter.

And for a moment I am on my own, looking down at this absurd situation, a giggling,

overwhelmed girl beside a beautiful fucked-up boy. I drape my arm across my eyes, as my

laughter turns to scalding tears. No, no . . . this is too much.

As the hysteria subsides, Christian gently lifts my arm off my face. I turn and gaze up

at him.

He’s leaning over me. His mouth is twisted with wry amusement, but his eyes are a

burning gray, maybe wounded. Oh no.

He gently wipes away a stray tear with the back of his knuckles. “You find my proposal

amusing, Miss Steele?”

Oh, Fifty!Reaching up, I caress his cheek tenderly, enjoying the feel of the stubble

beneath my fingers. Lord, I love this man.

“Mr. Grey . . . Christian. Your sense of timing is without doubt . . .” I gaze up at him

as words fail me.

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 gratification?”

“I got over it, and I’m now a firm advocate of instant gratification. 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 finally 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

fucked-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 flow-

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 passively. “Being thrown out

of my apartment after witnessing my boyfriend interacting intimately with his ex-submis-

sive considerably suppressed my appetite.” I glare at him and fist my hands on my hips.

Christian shakes his head and rises gracefully to his feet . Oh, finally we can get off the

floor.He holds his hand out to me.

“Let me fix 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.