50 shades darker

Chapter 22

Everything in it is entirely imaginary and intended only for entertainment; I created it for fun. I did not write 50 Shades darker or any of its characters, and I do not own them.

Chapter 22

All the colour drains from my face as my blood turns to ice and fear lances through my body.

Instinctively I step between him and Harry.

"What is it?" Harry murmurs, his tone wary.

I ignore him. I cannot believe Zayn is doing this.

"Zayn! This is nothing to do with you." I glare venomously at him, anger replacing my fear. How dare he do this? Not now, not today. Not on Harry's birthday. Surprised by my response, he blinks at me, brown eyes wide.

"Lou, what is it?" Harry says again, his tone more menacing.

"Harry, would you just go, please?" I ask him.

"No. Show me." He holds out his hand, and I know he's not to be argued with—his voice is cold and hard. Reluctantly I give him the e-mail.

"What's he done to you?" Zayn asks, ignoring Harry. He looks so apprehensive. I flush as a myriad of erotic images flit quickly across my mind.

"That's none of your business, Zayn." I can't keep the exasperation out of my voice.

"Where did you get this?" Harry asks, his head cocked to one side, his face expressionless, but his voice . . . so menacingly soft. Zayn flushes.

"That's irrelevant." At his stony glare, he hastily continues. "It was in the pocket of a jacket—which I assume is yours—that I found on the back of Lou's bedroom door." Faced with Harry's burning green gaze, Zayn's steeliness slips a little, but he seems to recover and scowls at him.

He's a beacon of hostility in a slinky, bright red suit. He looks magnificent. But what the hell is he going through my clothes for? It's usually the other way round.

"Have you told anyone?" Harry's voice is like a silk glove.

"No! Of course not," Zayn snaps, affronted. Harry nods and appears to relax. He turns and heads toward the fireplace. Wordlessly Zayn and I watch as he picks up a lighter from the mantelpiece, sets fire to the e-mail, and releases it, letting it float afire slowly into the grate until it is no more. The silence in the room is oppressive.

"Not even Liam?" I ask, turning my attention back to Zayn.

"No one," Zayn says emphatically, and for the first time he looks puzzled and hurt. "I just want to know you're okay, Lou," he whispers.

"I'm fine, Zayn. More than fine. Please, Harry and I are good, really good—this is old news. Please ignore it."

"Ignore it?" he says. "How can I ignore that? What's he done to you?" And his brown eyes are so full of heartfelt concern.

"He hasn't done anything to me, Zayn. Honestly—I'm good." He blinks at me.

"Really?" he asks.

Harry wraps an arm around me and draws me close, not taking his eyes off Zayn.

"Louis has consented to be my husband, Zayn," he says quietly.

"Husband!" Zayn squeaks, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"We're getting married. We're going to announce our engagement this evening," he says. 

"Oh!" Zayn gapes at me. He's stunned. "I leave you alone for sixteen days, and this happens? It's very sudden. So yesterday, when I said—" He gazes at me, lost. "Where does that e-mail fit into all this?"