Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

Christian, romantic Christian, shy Christian . . . the list is endless.”
    “That’s a whole lot of Christians.”
    “I’d say at least fifty.”
    He laughs. “Fifty Shades,” he murmurs into my hair.
    “My Fifty Shades.”
    He shifts, tipping my head back, and kisses me. “Well, Mrs. Shades, let’s see how your dad is doing.”
    “Okay.”
    “Can we go for a drive?”
    Christian and I are back in the R8, and I’m feeling giddily buoyant. Ray’s brain is back to normal—all swelling gone. Dr. Sluder has decided to wake him from his coma tomorrow. She says she’s pleased with his progress.
    “Sure.” Christian grins at me. “It’s your birthday—we can do anything you want.”
    Oh! His tone makes me turn and gaze at him. His eyes are dark.
    “Anything?”
    “Anything.”
    How much promise can he load into one word? “Well, I want to drive.”
    “Then drive, baby.” He grins, and I grin back.
    My car handles like a dream, and as we hit the I-5, I subtly put my foot down, forcing us both back in our seats.
    “Steady, baby,” Christian warns.
    As we drive back into Portland, an idea occurs to me.
    “Have you planned lunch?” I ask Christian tentatively.
    “No. You’re hungry?” He sounds hopeful.
    “Yes.”
    “Where do you want to go? It’s your day, Ana.”
    “I know just the place.”
    I pull up near the gallery where José exhibited his work and park right outside the Le Picotin restaurant where we went after José’s show.
    Christian grins. “For one minute I thought you were going to take me to that dreadful bar you drunk dialed me from.”
    “Why would I do that?”
    “To check the azaleas are still alive.” He arches a sardonic brow.
    I blush. “Don’t remind me! Besides . . . you still took me to your hotel room.” I smirk.
    “Best decision I ever made,” he says, his eyes soft and warm.
    “Yes. It was.” I lean over and kiss him.
    “Do you think that supercilious fucker is still waiting tables?” Christian asks.
    “Supercilious? I thought he was fine.”
    “He was trying to impress you.”
    “Well, he succeeded.”
    Christian’s mouth twists in amused disgust.
    “Shall we go see?” I offer.
    “Lead on, Mrs. Grey.”
    After lunch and a quick detour to the Heathman to pick up Christian’s laptop, we return to the hospital. I spend the afternoon with Ray, reading aloud from one of the manuscripts I’ve been sent. My only accompaniment is the sound of the machinery keeping him alive, keeping him with me. Now that I know he’s making progress, I can breathe a little easier and relax. I’m hopeful. He just needs time to get well. I’ve got time—I can give him that. I wonder idly if I should try calling Mom again, but decide to do it later. I hold Ray’s hand loosely as I read to him, squeezing it occasionally, willing him to be well. His fingers feel soft and warm beneath my touch. He still has the indentation on his finger where he wore his wedding ring—even after all this time.
    An hour or two later, I don’t know how long, I glance up to see Christian, laptop in hand, standing at the end of Ray’s bed with Nurse Kellie.
    “It’s time to go, Ana.”
    Oh. I clasp Ray’s hand tightly. I don’t want to leave him.
    “I want to feed you. Come. It’s late.” Christian sounds insistent.
    “I’m about to give Mr. Steele a sponge bath,” Nurse Kellie says.
    “Okay.” I concede. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
    I kiss Ray on his cheek, feeling his unfamiliar stubble beneath my lips. I don’t like it . Keep getting better, Daddy. I love you.

    “I thought we’d dine downstairs. In a private room,” Christian says, a gleam in his eye as he opens the door to our suite.
    “Really? Finish what you started a few months ago?”
    He smirks. “If you’re very lucky, Mrs. Grey.”
    I laugh. “Christian, I don’t have anything dressy to wear.”
    He smiles, holds out his hand, and leads me into the bedroom. He opens the wardrobe to reveal a large white dress bag hanging inside.
    “Taylor?” I ask.
    “Christian,” he replies, forceful and wounded at once. His tone makes me laugh. Unzipping the bag, I find a navy satin dress and ease it out. It’s gorgeous—fitted with thin straps. It looks small.
    “It’s lovely. Thank you. I hope it fits.”
    “It will,” he says confidently. “And here”—he picks up a shoebox—“shoes to match.” He gives me a wolfish smile.
    “You think of everything. Thank you.” I stretch up