Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

ahead.
    “You know this isn’t me, Kate. I’m kind of uncomfortable about all this. But I’m reliably informed it’s part of the package.” I purse my lips at her, and she puts her arm around me.
    “You’ll get used to it, Ana,” she says sympathetically. “You’ll look great.”
    “Kate, how are you and Elliot getting along?” I ask.
    Her wide blue eyes dart to mine.
    Oh no.
    She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it now.” She nods toward Mia. “But things are—” She doesn’t finish her sentence.
    This is unlike my tenacious Kate. Shit. I knew something was up. Do I tell her what I saw? What did I see? Elliot and Miss Well-Groomed-Sexual-Predator talking, hugging, and that kiss on the cheek. Surely they are just old friends? No, I won’t tell her. Not right now. I give her my I-completely-understand-and-will-respect-your-privacy nod. She reaches for my hand and gives it a grateful squeeze, and there it is—a swift glimpse of pain and hurt in her eyes that she quickly stifles with a blink. I feel a sudden surge of protectiveness for my dear friend. What the hell is Elliot Manwhore Grey playing at?
    Once back at the house, Kate decides we deserve cocktails after our shopping extravaganza and whips up some strawberry daiquiris for us. We curl up on the sitting room couches in front of the blazing log fire.
    “Elliot has just been a little distant lately,” Kate murmurs, gazing into the flames. Kate and I finally have a moment to ourselves as Mia puts away her purchases.“Oh?”
    “And I think I’m in trouble for getting you into trouble.”
    “You heard about that?”
    “Yes. Christian called Elliot; Elliot called me.”
    I roll my eyes. Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty.
    “I’m sorry. Christian is . . . protective. You haven’t seen Elliot since cocktailgate?”
    “No.”
    “Oh.”
    “I really like him, Ana,” she whispers. And for one dreadful minute I think she’s going to cry. This is not like Kate. Does this mean the return of the pink pajamas? She turns to me.
    “I’ve fallen in love with him. At first I thought it was just the great sex. But he’s charming and kind and warm and funny. I could see us growing old together—you know . . . kids, grandkids—the works.”
    “Your happily ever after,” I whisper.
    She nods sadly.
    “Maybe you should talk to him. Try to find some alone time here. Find out what’s eating him.”
    Who’s eating him, my subconscious snarls. I slap her down, shocked at the waywardness of my own thoughts.
    “Perhaps you guys could go for a walk tomorrow morning?”
    “We’ll see.”
    “Kate, I hate seeing you like this.”
    She smiles weakly, and I lean over to hug her. I resolve not to mention Gia, though I might mention it to the manwhore himself. How can he mess with my friend’s affections like this?
    Mia returns, and we move on to safer territory.
    The fire hisses and spits sparks on to the hearth as I feed it the last log. We’re almost out of wood. Even though it’s summer, the fire is very welcome on this wet day.
    “Mia, do you know where the wood for the fire is kept?” I ask as she sips her daiquiri.
    “I think it’s in the garage.”
    “I’ll go find some. It’ll give me an opportunity to explore.”
    The rain has eased off when I venture outside and head to the three-car garage adjoining the house. The side door is unlocked and I enter, switching on the light to fight the gloom. The fluorescent strips ping noisily to life.
    There’s a car in the garage, and I realize it’s the Audi I saw Elliot in this afternoon. There are also two snowmobiles. But what really grabs my attention are the two trail bikes, both 125cc. Memories of Ethan bravely endeavoring to teach me how to ride last summer flash through my mind. Unconsciously, I rub my arm where I badly bruised it in a fall.
    “You ride?” Elliot asks from behind me.
    I whirl around. “You’re back.”
    “It would appear so.” He grins, and I realize that Christian might say the same thing to me—but without the huge, heart-melting grin. “Well?” he asks.
    Manwhore! “Sort of.”
    “Do you want a go?”
    I snort. “Um, no . . . I don’t think Christian would be very happy if I did.”
    “Christian’s not here.” Elliot smirks— oh, it’s a family trait —and waves his arm to indicate we’re alone. He strolls toward the nearest bike and swings a long denim-clad leg over the saddle, sitting astride and grabbing the