Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

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. Jeez—it’s big . . . Big, but oh-so-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. Kiss this beautiful man, who loves me as I love him; and as 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, blond 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 toke of his Marlboro red. His chance will come. His chance will come soon.

    End of Part Two . . .: