Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

baby, too. He hasn’t gone out and bought a crib yet, but I have high hopes.
    I gaze at him, drinking him in as he drives. He looks casual, cool . . . sexy with his tousled hair, Ray-Bans, pinstripe jacket, white linen shirt, and jeans.
    He glances at me and clasps my leg above the knee, his fingers stroking gently. “I’m glad you didn’t change.”
    I did slip on a denim jacket and change to flats, but I’m still wearing the short skirt. His hand lingers above my knee. I put my hand on his.
    “Are you going to continue to tease me?”
    “Maybe.” Christian smiles.
    “Why?”
    “Because I can.” He grins, boyish as ever.
    “Two can play at that game,” I whisper.
    His fingers move tantalizingly up my thigh. “Bring it on, Mrs. Grey.” His grin broadens.
    I pick up his hand and put it back on his knee. “Well, you can keep your hands to yourself.”
    He smirks. “As you wish, Mrs. Grey.”
    Dammit. This game is going to backfire on me.
    Christian turns into the driveway of our new house. He stops at the keypad and punches in a number, and the ornate white metal gates swing open. We roar up the tree-lined lane under leaves that are a blend of green, yellow, and burnished copper. The tall grass in the meadow is turning gold, but there are still a few yellow wildflowers dotted among the grass. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, and the salty tang of the Sound is in the air mixed with the scent of the coming fall. This is such a tranquil and beautiful place. And to think we’re going to make our home here.
    The lane curves around, and our house comes into view. Several large trucks, sides emblazoned with Grey Construction , are parked out front. The house is decked in scaffolding, and several workmen in hard hats are busy on the roof.
    Christian pulls up outside the portico and switches off the engine. I can sense his excitement.
    “Let’s go find Elliot.”
    “Is he here?”
    “I hope so. I’m paying him enough.”
    I snort, and Christian grins as we get out of the car.
    “Yo, Bro!” Elliot shouts from somewhere. We both glance around.
    “Up here!” He’s up on the roof, waving down at us and beaming from ear to ear. “About time we saw you here. Stay where you are. I’ll be right down.”
    I glance at Christian, who shrugs. A few minutes later, Elliot appears at the front door.
    “Hey, bro.” He shakes Christian’s hand. “And how are you, little lady?” He picks me up and swings me around.
    “Better, thanks,” I giggle breathlessly, my ribs protesting. Christian frowns at him, but Elliot ignores him.
    “Let’s head over to the site office. You’ll need one of these.” He taps his hard hat.

    The house is a shell. The floors are covered in a hard fibrous material that looks like burlap; some of the original walls have disappeared and new ones have taken their place. Elliot leads us through, explaining what’s happening, while men—and a few women—work everywhere around us. I’m relieved to see the stone staircase with its intricate iron balustrade is still in place and draped completely in white dustsheets.
    In the main living area, the back wall has been removed to make way for Gia’s glass wall, and work is beginning on the terrace. In spite of the mess, the view is still stunning. The new work is sympathetic and in keeping with the old-world charm of the house . . . Gia’s done well. Elliot patiently explains the processes and gives us a rough timeframe for each. He’s hoping we can be in by Christmas, although Christian thinks this is optimistic.
    Holy cow—Christmas overlooking the Sound. I can’t wait. A bubble of excitement blooms inside me. I have visions of us trimming an enormous tree while a copper-haired little boy looks on in wonder.
    Elliot finishes our tour in the kitchen. “I’ll leave you two to roam. Be careful. This is a building site.”
    “Sure. Thanks, Elliot,” Christian murmurs, taking my hand. “Happy?” he asks once Elliot has left us alone. I am gazing at this empty shell of a room and wondering where I will hang the pepper pictures that we bought in France.
    “Very. I love it. You?”
    “Ditto.” He grins.
    “Good. I was thinking of the pepper pictures in here.”
    Christian nods. “I want to put up José’s portraits of you in this house. You need to decide where they should go.”
    I blush. “Somewhere I won’t see them often.”
    “Don’t be like that.” He scolds me, brushing his thumb across my bottom