Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

lip. “They’re my favorite pictures. I love the one in my office.”
    “I have no idea why,” I murmur and kiss the pad of his thumb.
    “Worse things to do than look at your beautiful smiling face all day. Hungry?” he asks.
    “Hungry for what?” I whisper.
    He smirks, his eyes darkening. Hope and desire unfurl in my veins.
    “Food, Mrs. Grey.” And he plants a swift kiss on my lips.
    I give him my faux pout and sigh. “Yes. These days I’m always hungry.”
    “The three of us can have a picnic.”
    “Three of us? Is someone joining us?”
    Christian cocks his head to one side. “In about seven or eight months.”
    Oh . . . Blip. I grin goofily at him.
    “I thought you might like to eat al fresco.”
    “In the meadow?” I ask.
    He nods.
    “Sure.” I grin.
    “This will be a great place to raise a family,” he murmurs, gazing down at me.
    Family! More than one? Dare I mention this now?
    He spreads his fingers over my belly. Holy shit. I hold my breath and place my hand over his.
    “It’s hard to believe,” he whispers, and for the first time I hear wonder in his voice.
    “I know. Oh—here, I have evidence. A picture.”
    “You do? Baby’s first smile?”
    I pull out the ultrasound of Blip from my wallet.
    “See?”
    Christian examines it closely, staring for several seconds. “Oh . . . Blip. Yeah, I see.” He sounds distracted, awed.
    “Your child,” I whisper.
    “Our child.” He counters.
    “First of many.”
    “Many?” Christian’s eyes widen with alarm.
    “At least two.”
    “Two?” He tests the word. “Can we just take this one child at a time?”
    I grin. “Sure.”
    We head back outside into the warm fall afternoon.
    “When are you going to tell your folks?” Christian asks.
    “Soon,” I murmur. “I thought about telling Ray this morning, but Mr. Rodriguez was there.” I shrug.
    Christian nods and opens the hood of the R8. Inside are a wicker picnic basket and the tartan blanket we bought in London.
    “Come,” he says, taking the basket and blanket in one hand and holding the other out to me. Together we walk into the meadow.
    “Sure, Ros, go for it.” Christian hangs up. That’s the third call he’s taken during our picnic. He’s kicked off his shoes and socks, and is watching me, arms on his raised knees. His jacket lies discarded on top of mine, as we’re warm in the sun. I lie beside him, stretched out on the picnic blanket, both of us surrounded by tall golden and green grass far from the noise at the house and hidden from the prying eyes of the construction workers. We are in our own bucolic haven. He feeds me another strawberry, and I chew and suck it gratefully, gazing at his darkening eyes.
    “Tasty?” he whispers.
    “Very.”
    “Had enough?”
    “Of strawberries, yes.”
    His eyes glitter dangerously, and he grins. “Mrs. Jones packs a mighty fine picnic,” he says.
    “That she does,” I whisper.
    Shifting suddenly, he lies down so his head is resting on my belly. He closes his eyes and seems content. I tangle my fingers in his hair.
    He sighs heavily, then scowls and checks the number on the screen of his buzzing BlackBerry. He rolls his eyes and takes the call.
    “Welch,” he snaps. He tenses, listens for a second or two, then suddenly bolts upright.
    “24-7 . . . Thanks,” he says through gritted teeth and hangs up. The change in his mood is instant. Gone is my teasing, flirtatious husband, replaced by a cold, calculating master of the universe. He narrows his eyes for a moment then gives me a cool, chilling smile. A shiver runs down my back. He picks up his BlackBerry and presses a speed dial.
    “Ros, how much stock do we own in Lincoln Timber?” He kneels up.
    My scalp prickles. Oh no, what’s this?
    “So, consolidate the shares into GEH, then fire the board . . . except the CEO . . . I don’t give a fuck . . . I hear you, just do it . . . thank you . . . keep me informed.” He hangs up, and gazes at me impassively for a moment.
    Holy shit! Christian is mad.
    “What’s happened?”
    “Linc,” he murmurs.
    “Linc? Elena’s ex?”
    “The same. He’s the one who posted Hyde’s bail.”
    I gape at Christian in shock. His mouth is pressed in a hard line.
    “Well—he’ll look like an idiot,” I murmur, dismayed. “I mean, Hyde committed another crime while out on bail.”
    Christian’s eyes narrow and he smirks. “Fair point well made, Mrs. Grey.”
    “What did you just do?” I kneel,