Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (48 page)

She grins. “That’ll be the sexing! If that’s going well, then that’s half the battle, Ana. I’ll grab some Chinese takeout. Are you ready to go?”

“I will be. We don’t have to leave for a couple of hours or so.”

“No—I’ll see you in twenty.” She grabs her jacket and leaves,
forgetting to close the door. I shut it behind her and head off to my bedroom, mulling over her words.

Is Christian afraid of his feelings for me? Does he even have feelings for me? He seems very keen, says I’m his—but that’s just part of his I-must-own-and-have-everything-now control freak Dominant self, surely. I realize that while I’m away, I will have to run through all our conversations again and see if I can pick out telltale signs.

I’ll miss you, too … more than you know …

You’ve completely beguiled me …

I shake my head. I don’t want to think about it now. I am charging the BlackBerry, so I haven’t had it with me all afternoon. I approach it with caution, and I’m disappointed that there are no messages. I switch on the mean machine, and there are no messages there, either.
Same e-mail address, Ana
—my subconscious rolls her eyes at me, and for the first time I understand why Christian wants to spank me when I do that.

Okay. Well, I’ll write him an e-mail.

I sit and glare at the screen. Christian’s responses are usually instantaneous. I wait … and wait, and finally I hear the welcome ping from my inbox.

My finger hovers over the “send” button, and I am reassured that I’ll be on the other side of the continent this time tomorrow.

My finger hovers once more over the “send” button, and I press it.

Kate and I pull up outside the drop-off area at Sea-Tac Airport departure terminal. Leaning across, she hugs me.

“Enjoy Barbados, Kate. Have a wonderful vacation.”

“I’ll see you when I get back. Don’t let old moneybags grind you down.”

“I won’t.”

We hug again—and then I’m on my own. I head over to
check-in and stand in line, waiting with my carry-on luggage. I haven’t bothered with a suitcase, just a smart rucksack that Ray gave me for my last birthday.

“Ticket, please?” The bored young man behind the desk holds up his hand without looking at me.

Mirroring his boredom, I hand over my ticket and my driver’s license as ID. I am hoping for a window seat if at all possible.

“Okay, Miss Steele. You’ve been upgraded to first class.”

“What?”

“Ma’am, if you’d like to go through to the first class lounge and wait for your flight there …” He seems to have woken up and is beaming at me like I’m Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny rolled into one.

“Surely there’s some mistake.”

“No, no.” He checks his computer screen again. “Anastasia Steele—upgrade.” He simpers.

Ugh
. I narrow my eyes. He hands me my boarding pass, and I head toward the first class lounge muttering under my breath. Damn Christian Grey, interfering control freak—he just can’t leave well enough alone.

I
am manicured, massaged, and I’ve had two glasses of champagne. The first class lounge has many redeeming features. With each sip of Moet, I feel slightly more inclined to forgive Christian and his intervention. I open up my MacBook, hoping to test the theory that it works anywhere on the planet.

Aha! Payback time. Our flight has been called, so I shall e-mail him from the plane. It will be safer. I almost hug myself with mischievous glee.

THERE IS SO MUCH
room in first class. Champagne cocktail in hand, I settle myself into the sumptuous leather window seat as the cabin slowly fills. I call Ray to tell him where I am—a mercifully brief call, as it’s so late for him. “Love you, Dad,” I murmur.

“You, too, Annie. Say hi to your mom. Good night.”

“Good night.” I hang up.

Ray is in good form. I stare at my Mac, and with the same childish glee building, I open my laptop and open up my e-mail.

Oh, he’s going to flip out—and I shall be airborne and out of reach. Serves him right. If I’d been in the ordinary departure lounge, then Jean-Paul wouldn’t have gotten his hands on me. He was a very nice young man, in a blond, perma-tanned way—honestly, who has a tan in Seattle? It’s just so wrong. I think he was gay—but I’ll just keep that detail to myself. I stare at my e-mail. Kate is right. It is like shooting fish in a barrel with him. My subconscious stares at me with an ugly twist to her mouth;
Do you really want to wind him up?
What he’s done is sweet, you know! He cares about you and wants you to travel in style. Yes, but he could have asked me or told me. Not made me look like a complete klutz at check-in. I press “send” and wait, feeling like a very naughty girl.

“Miss Steele, you’ll need to stow your laptop for takeoff,” the over-made-up flight attendant says politely. She makes me jump. My guilty conscience is at work.

“Oh, sorry.”

Crap
. Now I’ll have to wait to know if he’s replied. She hands me a soft blanket and pillow, showing her perfect teeth. I drape the blanket over my knees. It’s nice to feel pampered sometimes.

First class has filled up, except for the seat beside me, which is still unoccupied.
Oh no
 … a disturbing thought crosses my mind.
Perhaps the seat is Christian’s
. Oh, shit … no … he wouldn’t do that. Would he? I told him I didn’t want him to come with me. I glance anxiously at my watch, and then the disembodied voice from the flight deck announces, “Cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check.”

What does that mean? Are they closing the doors? My scalp prickles as I sit in palpitating anticipation. The seat next to me is the only unoccupied one in the sixteen-seat cabin. The plane jolts as it pulls away from the gate, and I breathe a sigh of relief but feel a faint tingle of disappointment too … no Christian for four days. I take a sneak peek at my BlackBerry.

Holy crap
. That’s the problem with Christian’s humor—I can never be sure if he’s joking or if he’s seriously angry. I suspect on this occasion he’s seriously angry. Surreptitiously, so the flight attendant can’t see, I type a reply under the blanket.