Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 61

I narrow my eyes. “There’s that word again.”

She grins, and I run my fingers down her cheek. Her smile fades.

“What is it?” I ask, and she shifts her gaze downward, away from me. “Ana?”

Her eyes find mine, and fix me with an intense stare. “We’ve not been too hasty, have we?” she asks in

a rush, her voice breathy and quiet.

All my senses are suddenly on high alert.

Where the fuck is she going with this?

“No! Why do you think so?”

“It’s just that I’m so happy right now, I don’t know if I could be any happier. I don’t want to change

anything.”

I close my eyes, savoring my relief. She lays her hand on my cheek. “Are you happy?” she asks. This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

Opening my eyes, I regard her with all the sincerity I can muster from every fiber of my being. “Of

course I’m happy. You have no idea how you’ve changed my life for the better. But I’ll be happier once

we’re married.”

“You’re anxious. I can see it in your eyes.” Her fingers graze my chin.

“I’m anxious to make you mine.”

“I am yours,” she murmurs, and her words force a smile.

Mine.

I continue, “And we have to endure two days of enforced socializing.”

She giggles. “Yes. There’s that.”

“I can’t wait to take you away.”

“I can’t wait, either. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I like surprises.”

“I like you.”

“I like you, too, Christian.” She leans forward and kisses the tip of my nose.

“Are you sleepy?” I ask.

“No.”

Good. “Me neither. I’m not finished with you yet.”

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Elliot takes a swig of Macallan. It’s just after midnight, and he’s sprawled out on my couch, feet up,

taking up about as much space as he can. The man has no sense of decorum.

“Man, this is good scotch.”

“Should be.” It’s expensive.

“What did she get you?” he asks. From my pocket I remove the turquoise Tiffany box that contains my

wedding gift from Ana. Opening it up for the second time, I study the platinum cuff links, engraved with

an elaborate C entwined with an A. She’s never bought me anything like this, and I love them. I’ll wear

them tomorrow when we marry.

I hand them to Elliot and he nods in approval as he examines them. “Nice gift.”

“Yes. They’re perfect.”

“It’s late, bro.” He yawns. “We should turn in. In case it’s slipped your mind, you’re getting hitched in the

morning.”

“We should.” My sip of Armagnac warms the back of my mouth before sliding smoothly down my

throat. “It’ll be weird sleeping on my own.”

Now, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d utter.

“Tonight was cool,” he says, ignoring me. “I dig Ana’s parents. Bob doesn’t say much. Come to think of

it, Ana’s dad doesn’t, either.”

“They’re both taciturn.” I arch an eyebrow. “Carla has a type.”

Elliot laughs. “It’s always the quiet ones. Like you, hotshot.” He raises his glass and grins at me.

Fuck off, Elliot. I scowl at him. “Like me? I have no idea what you’re alluding to, and I don’t even want

to think about it. They’re my in-laws, for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t know. Ana’s mom’s hot. I could get into older women.”

I’m not going there with Elliot!

“Dude! What about Kavanagh?”

He gives me a sheepish grin, and I think he’s kidding. “Bet you’re glad all the parentals hit it off.” He

steers us to safer ground. “And Ray is a Mariners fan, so he can’t be all bad, but the jury is out on the

Sounders. I’m not a fan of soccer.”

I nod. It’s a relief: even Raymond Steele loosened up under Grace’s warm and tireless attention. And

there’s no animosity between him and Ana’s mother, so that’s good news. Ray has retired for the night.

It’s ironic that he’s sleeping in the bedroom I had hoped would be Ana’s, if she’d agreed to be my

submissive.

Perhaps it’s best if I keep that information to myself.

“And your Mrs. Jones did you proud,” Elliot continues.

“She did. Gail is a great cook. I think she likes to stretch her culinary legs on occasion.”

Elliot downs his drink and smacks his lips together in appreciation.

Uncouth, bro, uncouth.

“That’s damn fine whisky, hotshot. I’m going to turn in. You?”

“I have some business to attend to.”

Elliot looks at his watch. “Now? It’s late.”

“I need to deal with an e-mail that came in before dinner. It won’t take long.” I’m not sure I can sleep,

anyway.

“It’s your funeral…well, wedding.” He grins and bounds off the couch with his usual spontaneous

energy. “Good night. Try and sleep, K?” He punches me on the arm and takes his leave.

“Good night,” I call after him. “Don’t forget the rings!”

He responds with the finger. In spite of myself, he makes me chuckle. Rising, I slip the Tiffany box back

in my pocket.

In my study, I open the e-mail that has been preoccupying me since I received it earlier this evening.

It’s from Welch, and it contains the report from the NTSB on Charlie Tango’s accident.

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