Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

She’s a social climber. No wonder she has her sights set on Christian.”
    “Christian is taken. I told her to leave him alone or I would fire her.”
    Kate gapes at me once more, stunned. I nod proudly, and she lifts her glass to salute me, impressed and beaming.
    “Mrs. Anastasia Grey! Way to go!” We clink.
    “Does Elliot own a gun?”
    “No. He’s very antigun.” Kate stirs her third drink.
    “Christian, too. I think it was Grace and Carrick’s influence,” I mutter. I’m feeling a little tipsy.
    “Carrick’s a good man.” Kate nods.
    “He wanted a prenup,” I mutter sadly.
    “Oh, Ana.” She reaches across and grasps my arm. “He was only looking out for his boy. As we both know, you have gold-digger tattooed on your forehead.” She smiles at me, and I poke my tongue out at her then giggle.
    “Mature, Mrs. Grey,” she says grinning. She sounds like Christian. “You’ll do the same for your son one day.”
    “My son?” I gape at her. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that my kids will be rich. Holy crap. They’ll want for nothing. I mean . . . nothing. This needs further thought—but not right now. I glance at Prescott and Sawyer seated nearby, watching us and the evening crowd from a side table while they each nurse a glass of sparkling mineral water.
    “Do you think we should eat?” I ask.
    “No. We should drink,” Kate says.
    “Why are you in such a drinking mood?”
    “Because I don’t see enough of you anymore. I didn’t know you’d up and marry the first guy who turned your head.” She pouts again. “Honestly, you married so quickly that I thought you were pregnant.”
    I giggle. “Everyone thought I was pregnant,” I mutter. “Let’s not rehash that conversation again. Please! And I have to use the restroom.”
    Prescott accompanies me. She says nothing. She doesn’t have to. Disapproval radiates off her like a lethal isotope.
    “I haven’t been out on my own since I got married,” I mutter wordlessly at the closed toilet door. I make a face, knowing that she’s standing on the other side of the door, waiting while I pee. What precisely is Hyde going to do in a bar anyway? Christian is just overreacting as usual.
    “Kate, it’s late. We should go.”
    It’s ten fifteen, and I have downed my fourth strawberry mojito. I am definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol, warm and fuzzy. Christian will be fine. Eventually.
    “Sure, Ana. It’s been so good to see you. You just seem so much more, I don’t know . . . confident. Marriage obviously agrees with you.”
    My face warms. Coming from Miss Katherine Kavanagh, this is indeed a compliment.
    “It does,” I whisper, and because I’ve probably had too much to drink, tears prick the back of my eyes. Could I be any happier? In spite of all his baggage, his nature, his Fiftyness, I have met and married the man of my dreams. I quickly change the subject to stem my sentimental thoughts, because I know I will cry otherwise.
    “I have really enjoyed this evening.” I grasp Kate’s hand. “Thank you for dragging me out!” We hug. As she releases me, I nod at Sawyer and he hands Prescott the keys to the car.
    “I’m sure Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Prescott has told Christian I’m not at home. He’ll be mad,” I mutter to Kate. And maybe he’ll think of some delicious way to punish me . . . hopefully.
    “Why are you grinning like a loon, Ana? You like making Christian mad?”
    “No. Not really. But it’s easily done. He’s very controlling sometimes.” Most of the time.
    “I’ve noticed,” Kate says wryly.
    We pull up outside Kate’s apartment. She hugs me hard.
    “Don’t be a stranger,” she whispers and kisses my cheek. Then she’s out of the car. I wave, feeling strangely homesick. I have missed girl talk. It’s fun and relaxing, and reminds me that I’m still young. I must make more of an effort to see Kate, but the truth is, I love being in my bubble with Christian. Last night we attended a charity dinner together. There were so many men in suits and well-groomed elegant women talking about real estate prices and the failing economy and the plunging stock markets. I mean, it was dull, really dull. So it’s refreshing to let my hair down with someone my own age.
    My stomach rumbles. Jeez, I still haven’t eaten. Shit—Christian! I scramble through my purse and fish out my BlackBerry. Holy crap—five missed calls! One text . . .
    *WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?*
    And one