Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (128 page)

“That bad, huh?”

He nods, his eyes serious, and I sense his bewilderment at her reaction.

“Can you blame her?” My voice is quiet, cajoling.

He hugs me tightly and he seems uncertain, processing his thoughts.

Finally he answers. “No.”

Whoa! Breakthrough
. “Can we sit?” I ask.

“Sure. Here?”

I nod and we both sit at the top of the stairs. “So, how do you feel?” I ask, anxiously clutching his hand and gazing at his sad, serious face.

He sighs.

“I feel liberated.” He shrugs, then beams—a glorious, carefree Christian smile, and the weariness and strain present moments ago have vanished.

“Really?” I beam back. Wow, I’d crawl over broken glass for that smile.

“Our business relationship is over. Done.”

I frown at him. “Will you liquidate the salon business?”

He snorts. “I’m not that vindictive, Anastasia,” he admonishes me. “No. I’ll gift them to her. I’ll talk to my lawyer Monday. I owe her that much.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “No more Mrs. Robinson?” His mouth twists in amusement and he shakes his head.

“Gone.”

I grin.

“I’m sorry you lost a friend.”

He shrugs then smirks. “Are you?”

“No,” I confess, flushing.

“Come.” He stands and offers me his hand. “Let’s join the party in our honor. I might even get drunk.”

“Do you get drunk?” I ask as I take his hand.

“Not since I was a wild teenager.” We walk down the stairs.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

Oh, crap
.

“No.”

“Well you should. From the look and smell of Elena, that was one of my father’s lethal cocktails you threw on her.” He gazes at me, trying and failing to keep the amusement off his face.

“Christian, I—”

He holds up his hand.

“No arguing, Anastasia. If you’re going to drink—and toss alcohol on my exes—you need to eat. It’s rule number one. I believe we’ve already had that discussion after our first night together.”

Oh yes. The Heathman.

Back in the hallway, he pauses to caress my face, his fingers skimming my jaw.

“I lay awake for hours and watched you sleep,” he murmurs. “I might have loved you even then.”

Oh
.

He leans down and kisses me softly, and I melt everywhere, all the tension of the last hour or so seeping languidly from my body.

“Eat,” he whispers.

“Okay,” I acquiesce because right now I’d probably do anything for him. Taking my hand, he leads me toward the kitchen where the party is in full swing.

“GOOD NIGHT, JOHN, RHIAN.”

“Congratulations again, Ana. You two will be just fine.” Dr. Flynn smiles kindly at us, standing arm in arm in the hallway as he and Rhian take their leave.

“Good night.”

Christian closes the door and shakes his head. He gazes down at me, his eyes suddenly bright with excitement.

What’s this?

“Just the family left. I think my mother has had too much to drink.” Grace is singing karaoke on some game console in the family room. Kate and Mia are giving her a run for her money.

“Do you blame her?” I smirk at him, trying to keep the atmosphere between us light. I succeed.

“Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”

“I am.”

“It’s been quite a day.”

“Christian, recently, every day with you has been quite a day.” My voice is sardonic.

He shakes his head. “Fair point well made, Miss Steele. Come—I want to show you something.” Taking my hand, he leads me through the house to the kitchen where Carrick, Ethan, and Elliot are talking Mariners, drinking the last of the cocktails, and eating leftovers.

“Off for a stroll?” Elliot teases suggestively as we make our way through the French doors. Christian ignores him. Carrick frowns at Elliot, shaking his head in a silent rebuke.

As we make our way up the steps to the lawn, I take off my shoes. The half moon shines brightly over the bay. It’s brilliant, casting everything in myriad shades of gray as the lights of Seattle twinkle in the distance. The lights of the boathouse are on, a soft glowing beacon in the cool cast of the moon.

“Christian, I’d like to go to church tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“I prayed you’d come back alive and you did. It’s the least I could do.”

“Okay.”

We wander hand in hand in a relaxed silence for a few moments. Then something occurs to me.

“Where are you going to put the photos José took of me?”

“I thought we might put them in the new house.”

“You bought it?”

He stops to stare at me, and his voice full of concern. “Yes. I thought you liked it.”

“I do. When did you buy it?”

“Yesterday morning. Now we need to decide what to do with it,” he murmurs, relieved.

“Don’t knock it down. Please. It’s such a lovely house. It just needs some tender loving care.”

Christian glances at me and smiles. “Okay. I’ll talk to Elliot. He knows a good architect; she did some work on my place in Aspen. He can do the remodeling.”

I snort, suddenly remembering the last time we crossed the lawn under the moonlight to the boathouse. Oh, perhaps that’s what we’re going to do now. I grin.

“What?”

“I remember the last time you took me to the boathouse.”

Christian chuckles quietly. “Oh, that was fun. In fact …” He suddenly stops and scoops me over his shoulder, and I squeal, though we don’t have far to go.

“You were really angry, if I remember correctly,” I gasp.

“Anastasia, I’m always really angry.”

“No, you’re not.”

He swats my behind as he stops outside the wooden door. He slides me down his body back to the ground and takes my head in his hands.

“No, not anymore.” Leaning down, he kisses me, hard. When he pulls away, I’m breathless and desire is racing around my body.

He gazes down at me, and in the glow of the strip of light coming from inside the boathouse, I can see he’s anxious. My anxious man, not a white knight or a dark knight, but a man—a beautiful, not-quite-so-fucked-up man—whom I love. I reach up and caress his face, running my fingers through his sideburns and along his jaw to his chin, then let my index finger touch his lips. He relaxes.

“I’ve something to show you in here,” he murmurs and opens the door.

The harsh light of the fluorescents illuminates the impressive motor launch in the dock, bobbing gently on the dark water. There’s a rowboat beside it.

“Come.” Christian takes my hand and leads me up the wooden stairs. Opening the door at the top, he steps aside to let me in.

My mouth drops to the floor. The attic is unrecognizable. The room is filled with flowers … there are flowers everywhere. Someone has created a magical bower of beautiful wild meadow flowers mixed with glowing Christmas lights and miniature lanterns that glow soft and pale all around the room.

My face whips around to meet his, and he’s gazing at me, his expression unreadable. He shrugs.

“You wanted hearts and flowers,” he murmurs.

I blink at him, not quite believing what I’m seeing.

“You have my heart.” And he waves toward the room.

“And here are the flowers,” I whisper, completing his sentence. “Christian, it’s lovely.” I can’t think of what else to say. My heart is in my mouth as tears prick my eyes.

Tugging my hand, he pulls me into the room, and before I know it, he’s sinking to one knee in front of me.
Holy hell … I did not expect this!
I stop breathing.

From his inside jacket pocket he produces a ring and gazes up at me, his eyes bright gray and raw, full of emotion.

“Anastasia Steele. I love you. I want to love, cherish, and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always. Share my life with me. Marry me.”

I blink down at him as my tears fall. My Fifty, my man. I love him so, and all I can say as the tidal wave of emotion hits me is, “Yes.”

He grins, relieved, and slowly slides the ring on my finger. It’s beautiful, an oval diamond in a platinum ring.
Whoa—it’s big …
Big, yet simple and stunning in its simplicity.

“Oh, Christian,” I sob, suddenly overwhelmed with joy, and I
join him on my knees, my fingers fisting in his hair as I kiss him, kiss him with all my heart and soul. I kiss this beautiful man, who loves me as I love him; and he wraps his arms around me, his hands moving to my hair, his mouth on mine. I know deep down I will always be his, and he will always be mine. We’ve come so far together, we have so far to go, but we are made for each other. We are meant to be.

The cigarette end glows brightly in the darkness as he takes a deep pull. He blows the smoke out in a long exhale, finishing with two smoke rings that dissolve in front of him, pale and ghostly in the moonlight. He shifts in his seat, bored, and takes a quick shot of cheap bourbon from a bottle wrapped in shabby brown paper before resting it back between his thighs.

He can’t believe he’s still on the trail. His mouth twists in a sardonic sneer. The helicopter had been a rash and bold move. One of the most exhilarating things he’d ever done in his life. But to no avail. He rolls his eyes ironically.
Who would have thought the son of a bitch could actually fly the fucker?

He snorts.

They have underestimated him. If Grey thought for one minute he’d go whimpering quietly into the dusk, that prick didn’t know jack shit.

It had been the same all his life. People constantly underestimating him—just a man who reads books. Fuck that! A man with a photographic memory who reads books. Oh, the things he’s learned, the things he knows. He snorts again.
Yeah, about you, Grey. The things I know about you
.

Not bad for a kid from the gutter end of Detroit.

Not bad for the kid who won a scholarship to Princeton.

Not bad for the kid who worked his ass off through college and got into publishing.

And now all of that’s fucked, fucked because of Grey and his
little bitch. He scowls at the house as if it represents everything he despises. But there’s nothing doing. The only drama had been the stacked, blonde broad in black, teetering down the driveway in tears before she climbed into the white CLK and fucked off.

He chuckles mirthlessly, then winces. Fuck, his ribs. Still sore from the swift kicking Grey’s henchman delivered.

He replays the scene in his mind.
“You fucking touch Miss Steele again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

That motherfucker will get it good, too. Yeah—get what’s coming to him.

He settles back in his seat.
Looks like it’s going to be a long night
. He’ll stay, watch, and wait. He takes another drag off his Marlboro Red. His chance will come. His chance will come soon.