Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (125 page)

“I found your photos,” I whisper.

His eyes widen in shock. “You’ve been in the safe?” he asks, incredulous.

“Safe? No. I didn’t know you had a safe.”

He frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“In your closet. The box. I was looking for your tie, and the box was under your jeans … the ones you normally wear in the playroom. Except today.” I flush.

He gapes at me, appalled, and nervously runs his hand through his hair as he processes this information. He rubs his chin, lost in thought, but he can’t mask the perplexed annoyance
etched on his face. Abruptly he shakes his head, exasperated—but amused, too—and a faint smile of admiration kisses the corner of his mouth. He steeples his hands in front of him and focuses on me once more.

“It’s not what you think. I’d forgotten all about them. That box had been moved. Those photographs belong in my safe.”

“Who moved them?” I whisper.

He swallows. “There’s only one person who could have done that.”

“Oh. Who? And what do you mean, ‘It’s not what I think’?”

He sighs and tilts his head to one side, and I think he’s embarrassed.
So he should be!
my subconscious snarls.

“This is going to sound cold, but—they’re an insurance policy,” he whispers, steeling himself for my response.

“Insurance policy?”

“Against exposure.”

The penny drops and rattles uncomfortably around and around in my empty head.

“Oh,” I murmur, because I can’t think of what else to say. I close my eyes. This is it. This is fifty shades of fucked-up, right here, right now. “Yes. You’re right,” I mutter. “That does sound cold.” I stand to clear our dishes. I don’t want to know any more.

“Ana.”

“Do they know? The girls … the subs?”

He frowns. “Of course they know.”

Oh, well, that’s something. He reaches out, grabbing me and pulling me to him.

“Those photos are supposed to be in the safe. They’re not for recreational use.” He stops. “Maybe they were when they were taken originally. But—” He stops, imploring me. “They don’t mean anything.”

“Who put them in your closet?”

“It could only have been Leila.”

“She knows your safe combination?”

He shrugs. “It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s a very long combination,
and I use it so rarely. It’s the one number I have written down and haven’t changed.” He shakes his head. “I wonder what else she knows and if she’s taken anything else out of there.” He frowns, then turns his attention back to me. “Look, I’ll destroy the photos. Now if you like.”

“They’re your photos, Christian. Do with them as you wish,” I mutter.

“Don’t be like that,” he says, taking my head in his hands and holding my gaze to his. “I don’t want that life. I want our life, together.”

Holy cow
. How does he know that beneath my horror about these photos is my paranoia?

“Ana, I thought we exorcised all those ghosts this morning. I feel that way. Don’t you?”

I blink at him, recalling our very, very pleasurable and romantic and downright dirty morning in his playroom.

“Yes.” I smile. “Yes, I feel like that, too.”

“Good.” He leans forward and kisses me, folding me in his arms. “I’ll shred them,” he murmurs. “And then I have to go to work. I’m sorry, baby, but I have a mountain of business to get through this afternoon.”

“It’s cool. I have to call my mother.” I grimace. “Then I want to do some shopping and bake you a cake.”

He grins and his eyes light up like a small boy’s.

“A cake?”

I nod.

“A chocolate cake?”

“You want a chocolate cake?” His grin is infectious.

He nods.

“I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Grey.”

He kisses me once more.

CARLA IS STUNNED INTO
silence.

“Mom, say something.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you, Ana?” she whispers in horror.

“No no no, nothing like that.” Disappointment slices through my heart, and I’m saddened that she would think that of me. But then I remember with an ever-sinking feeling that she was pregnant with me when she married my father.

“I’m sorry, darling. This is just so sudden. I mean, Christian is quite a catch, but you’re so young, and you should see a little of the world.”

“Mom, can’t you just be happy for me? I love him.”

“Darling, I just need to get used to the idea. It’s a shock. I could tell in Georgia that there was something very special between you two, but marriage …?”

In Georgia he wanted me to be his submissive, but I won’t tell her that.

“Have you set a date?”

“No.”

“I wish your father was alive,” she whispers. Oh no … not this. Not this, now.

“I know, Mom. I would have liked to know him, too.”

“He only held you once, and he was so proud. He thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.” Her voice is a deathly hush as the familiar tale is retold … again. She will be in tears next.

“I know, Mom.”

“And then he died.” She sniffs, and I know this has set her off as it does every time.

“Mom,” I whisper, wanting to reach down the phone and hold her.

“I’m a silly old woman,” she murmurs and she sniffs again. “Of course I am happy for you, darling. Does Ray know?” she adds, and she seems to have recovered her equilibrium.

“Christian’s just asked him.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. Good.” She sounds melancholic, but she’s making an effort.

“Yes, it was,” I murmur.

“Ana, darling, I love you so much. I
am
happy for you. And you must both visit.”

“Yes, Mom. I love you, too.”

“Bob is calling me, I have to go. Let me have a date. We need to plan … are you having a big wedding?”

Big wedding, crap. I haven’t even thought about that. Big wedding? No. I don’t want a big wedding.

“I don’t know yet. As soon as I do, I’ll call.”

“Good. You take care now and be safe. You two need to have some fun … plenty of time for kids later.”

Kids!
Hmm …
and there it is again—a not-so-veiled reference to the fact that she had me so early.

“Mom, I didn’t really ruin your life, did I?”

She gasps. “Oh no, Ana, never think that. You were the best thing that ever happened to your father and me. I just wish he was here to see you so grown-up and getting married.” She’s wistful and maudlin again.

“I wish that, too.” I shake my head, thinking about my mythical father. “Mom, I’ll let you go. I’ll call soon.”

“Love you, darling.”

“Me, too, Mom. Good-bye.”

CHRISTIAN’S KITCHEN IS A
dream to work in. For a man who knows nothing about cooking, he seems to have everything. I suspect Mrs. Jones loves to cook, too. The only thing I need is some high-quality chocolate for the frosting. I leave the two halves of the cake on a cooling rack, grab my purse, and pop my head around Christian’s study door. He’s concentrating on his computer screen. He looks up and smiles at me.

“I’m just heading to the store to pick up some ingredients.”

“Okay.” He frowns at me.

“What?”

“You going to put some jeans on or something?”

Oh, come on. “Christian, they’re just legs.”

He gazes at me, not amused. This is going to be a fight. And it’s his birthday. I roll my eyes at him, feeling like an errant teenager.

“What if we were at the beach?” I take a different tack.

“We’re not at the beach.”

“Would you object if we were at the beach?”

He considers this for a moment. “No,” he says simply.

I roll my eyes again and smirk at him. “Well, just imagine we are. Laters.” I turn and bolt for the foyer. I make it to the elevator before he catches up with me. As the doors close, I wave at him, grinning sweetly as he watches, helpless—but fortunately amused—with narrowed eyes. He shakes his head in exasperation, then I can see him no more.

Oh, that was exciting. Adrenaline is pounding through my veins, and my heart feels like it wants to exit my chest. But as the elevator descends, so do my spirits. Shit, what have I done?

I have a tiger by the tail. He’s going to be mad when I get back. My subconscious is glaring at me over her half-moon glasses, a willow switch in her hand. Shit. I think about what little experience I have with men. I’ve never lived with a man before—well, except Ray—and for some reason he doesn’t count. He’s my dad … well, the man I consider my dad.

And now I have Christian. He’s never really lived with anyone, I think. I’ll have to ask him—if he’s still talking to me.

But I feel strongly that I should wear what I like. I remember his rules. Yes, this must be hard for him, but he sure as hell paid for this dress. He should have given Neimans better instructions: nothing too short!

This skirt isn’t that short, is it? I check in the large mirror in the lobby. Damn. Yes, it is quite short, but I’ve made a stand now. And no doubt I’ll have to face the consequences. I wonder idly what he’ll do, but first I need cash.

I STARE AT MY
receipt from the ATM: $51,689.16. That’s $50,000 too much!
Anastasia, you’re going to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes
. And so it begins. I take my paltry fifty dollars and make my way to the store

I HEAD STRAIGHT TO
the kitchen when I arrive back, and I can’t help feeling a frisson of alarm. Christian is still in his study. Jeez,
that’s most of the afternoon. I decide my best option is to face him and see how much damage I’ve done. I peek cautiously around his study door. He’s on the phone, staring out the window.

“And the Eurocopter specialist is due Monday afternoon? … Good. Just keep me informed. Tell them that I’ll need their initial findings either Monday evening or Tuesday morning.” He hangs up and swivels his chair around, but stills when he sees me, his expression impassive.

“Hi,” I whisper. He says nothing, and my heart free-falls into my stomach. Gingerly I walk into his study and around his desk to where he’s sitting. He still says nothing, his eyes never leaving mine. I stand in front of him, feeling fifty shades of foolish.

“I’m back. Are you mad at me?”

He sighs, reaches out for my hand, and pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me. He buries his nose in my hair. “Yes,” he says.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” I curl up in his lap, inhaling his heavenly Christian smell, feeling safe regardless of the fact that he’s mad.

“Me, neither. Wear what you like,” he murmurs. He runs his hand up my bare leg to my thigh. “Besides, this dress has its advantages.” He bends to kiss me, and as our lips touch, passion or lust or a deep-seated need to make amends lances through me and desire flares in my blood. I seize his head in my hands, thrusting my fingers in his hair. He groans as his body responds, and he hungrily nips at my lower lip—my throat, my ear, his tongue invading my mouth, and before I’m even aware of it he’s unzipping his pants, pulling me astride his lap, and sinking into me. I grasp the back of the chair, my feet just touching the ground … and we start to move.

“I LIKE YOUR VERSION
of sorry,” he breathes into my hair.

“And I like yours.” I giggle, snuggling against his chest. “Have you finished?”

“Christ, Ana, you want more?”

“No! Your work.”

“I’ll be done in about half an hour. I heard your message on my voice mail.”

“From yesterday.”

“You sounded worried.”

I hug him tightly.

“I was. It’s not like you not to respond.”

He kisses my hair.

“Your cake should be ready in half an hour.” I smile at him and climb off his lap.

“Looking forward to it. It smelled delicious, evocative even, while it was baking.”

I smile shyly down at him, feeling a little self-conscious, and he mirrors my expression. Jeez, are we really so different? Perhaps it’s his early memories of baking. Leaning down, I plant a swift kiss on the corner of his mouth and make my way back to the kitchen.

I AM ALL PREPARED
when I hear him come out of his study, and I light the solitary gold candle on his cake. He gives me an earsplitting grin as he saunters toward me, and I softly sing “Happy Birthday” to him. Then he leans over and blows it out, closing his eyes.

“I’ve made my wish,” he says as he opens them again, and for some reason his look makes me flush.

“The frosting is still soft. I hope you like it.”

“I can’t wait to taste it, Anastasia,” he murmurs, and he makes that sound so sexy. I cut us each a slice, and we dig in with small pastry forks.

“Mmm,” he groans in appreciation. “This is why I want to marry you.”

And I laugh with relief … he likes it.

“READY TO FACE MY
family?” Christian switches the R8 ignition off. We’re parked in his parents’ driveway.

“Yes. Are you going to tell them?”

“Of course. I’m looking forward to seeing their reactions.” He smiles wickedly at me and climbs out of the car.

It is seven thirty, and though it’s been a warm day, there’s a cool evening breeze blowing off the bay. I pull my wrap around me as I step out of the car. I’m wearing an emerald green cocktail dress I found this morning while I was rummaging through the closet. It has a wide matching belt. Christian takes my hand, and we head to the front door. Carrick opens it wide before he can knock.

“Christian, hello. Happy birthday, son.” He takes Christian’s proffered hand but pulls him into a brief hug, surprising him.

“Er … thanks, Dad.”

“Ana, how lovely to see you again.” He hugs me, too, and we follow him into the house.

Before we can set foot in the living room, Kate comes barreling down the hallway toward the two of us. She looks furious.

Oh no!

“You two! I want to talk to you,” she snarls in her you-better-not-fucking-mess-with-me voice. I glance nervously at Christian, who shrugs and decides to humor her as we follow her into the dining room, leaving Carrick bemused on the threshold of the living room. She shuts the door and turns on me.