Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

disgust.
    Oh, Christian! You were a child, and you loved your mom.
    He slides on his pajamas, climbs into bed, and gently pulls me into his arms.
    “It’s coming back to me. I remember the food. Mrs. Collier could cook. And at least we know now why that fucker is so hung up on my family.” He runs his free hand through his hair. “Fuck!” he says suddenly turning to gape at me.
    “What?”
    “It makes sense now!” His eyes are full of recognizance.
    “What?”
    “Baby Bird. Mrs. Collier used to call me Baby Bird.”
    I frown. “That makes sense?”
    “The note,” he says gazing at me. “The ransom note that fucker left. It went something like ‘Do you know who I am? Because I know who you are, Baby Bird.’ ”
    This makes no sense to me at all.
    “It’s from a kid’s book. Christ. The Colliers had it. It was called . . . ‘Are You My Mother?’ Shit.” His eyes widen. “I loved that book.”
    Oh. I know that book. My heart lurches— Fifty!
    “Mrs. Collier used to read it to me.”
    I am at a loss what to say.
    “Christ. He knew . . . that fucker knew.”
    “Will you tell the police?”
    “Yes. I will. Christ knows what Clark will do with that information.” Christian shakes his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Anyway, thank you for this evening.”
    Whoa. Gear change. “For what?”
    “Catering for my family at a moment’s notice.”
    “Don’t thank me, thank Mia and Mrs. Jones. She keeps the pantry well stocked.”
    He shakes his head as if in exasperation. At me? Why?
    “How are you feeling, Mrs. Grey?”
    “Good. How are you feeling?”
    “I’m fine.” He frowns . . . not understanding my concern.
    Oh . . . in that case. I trail my fingers down his stomach to his oh-so-happy trail.
    He laughs and grabs my hand. “Oh no. Don’t get any ideas.”
    I pout, and he sighs. “Ana, Ana, Ana, what am I going to do with you?” He kisses my hair.
    “I have some ideas.” I squirm beside him and wince as pain radiates through my upper body from my bruised ribs.
    “Baby, you’ve been through enough. Besides, I have a bedtime story for you.”
    Oh?
    “You wanted to know . . .” He trails off, closes his eyes and swallows.
    All of the hair on my body stands on end . Shit .
    He begins in a soft voice. “Picture this, an adolescent boy looking to earn some extra money so he can continue his secret drinking habit.” He shifts onto his side so that we’re lying facing each other and he’s gazing into my eyes.
    “So I was in the backyard at the Lincolns’, clearing some rubble and trash from the extension Mr. Lincoln had just added to their place . . .”
    Holy fuck  . . . he’s talking.

I can barely breathe. Do I want to hear this? Christian closes his eyes and swallows. When he opens them again, they are bright but diffident, full of disquieting memories.
    “It was a hot summer day. I was working hard.” He snorts and shakes his head, suddenly amused. “It was backbreaking work shifting that rubble. I was on my own, and Ele—Mrs. Lincoln appeared out of nowhere and brought me some lemonade. We exchanged small talk, and I made some smart-ass remark . . . and she slapped me. She slapped me so hard.” Unconsciously, his hand moves to his face and he caresses his cheek, his eyes clouding at the memory. Holy shit!
    “But then she kissed me. And when she finished, she slapped me again.” He blinks, seemingly still confounded even after all this time.
    “I’d never been kissed before or hit like that.”
    Oh. She pounced. On a kid.
    “Do you want to hear this?” Christians asks.
    Yes . . . No . . .
    “Only if you want to tell me.” My voice is small as I lie facing him, my mind reeling.
    “I’m trying to give you some context.”
    I nod in what I hope is an encouraging manner. But I suspect I may look like a statue, frozen and wide-eyed with shock.
    He frowns, his eyes searching mine, trying to gauge my reaction. Then he turns onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.
    “Well, naturally, I was confused and angry and horny as hell. I mean, a hot older woman comes on to you like that—” He shakes his head as if he still can’t believe it.
    Hot? I feel queasy.
    “She went back into the house, leaving me in the backyard. She acted as if nothing had happened. I was at a total loss. So I went back to work, loading the rubble into the dumpster. When I left that evening, she asked me to come back the next day. She didn’t