Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 172

Don’t dwell on your happiness, Grey.

It will only lead to pain.

Flynn’s recent advice echoes in my mind. Nurture and treasure it.

Shit. How?

Hell.

Elliot wakes and teases Ana while First Officer Beighley announces our final approach. I take Ana’s

hand.

“Christian, Ana. Thank you for a fantastic weekend,” Kate says, threading her fingers through Elliot’s.

“You’re welcome,” I answer. And there it is again, that contentment.

“How was your weekend, Mrs. Grey?” I ask once we’re en route to Escala.

Ryan is driving, with Taylor in the passenger seat. Even he looks relaxed.

“Good, thank you.”

“We can go anytime. Take anyone you wish to take.”

“We should take Ray. He’d like the fishing.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“How was it for you?” she asks.

I glance at her.

Fantastic. Scarily so…

“Good,” I say, eventually. “Real good.”

“You seemed to relax.”

“I knew you were safe.”

She frowns. “Christian, I’m safe most of the time. I’ve told you before, you’ll keel over at forty if you

keep up this level of anxiety. And I want to grow old and gray with you.” Ana reaches out taking my

hand. I raise it to my lips and kiss her fingers.

I will always worry about you, baby.

You are my life.

“How’s your hand?” I ask, to change the subject.

“It’s better, thank you.”

“Very good, Mrs. Grey. You ready to face Gia again?”

Ana rolls her eyes. “I might want to keep you out of the way, keep you safe.”

“Protecting me?” Well, how the tables have turned. I want to laugh.

“As ever, Mr. Grey. From all sexual predators,” she teases, keeping her voice low, so Ryan and Taylor

don’t overhear her.

I brush my teeth, glad that we’ve approved Gia’s plans. Elliot’s team will start on the build Monday. I tick

through a mental checklist. I have much to do over the coming week, but chiefly I want to make sure

we nail Hyde’s ass to the wall and keep him incarcerated. Welch will need to keep digging to see if the

asshole’s been working with anyone.

I hope not. NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

I hope this is over.

“Everything okay?” Ana asks, when I join her in the bedroom. She’s wearing one of her satin

nightdresses and looks every inch a goddess.

I nod as I climb into bed beside her, putting aside my thoughts about next week.

“I’m not looking forward to going back to reality,” she says.

“No?”

She shakes her head and caresses my face. “I had a wonderful weekend. Thank you.”

“You’re my reality, Ana.” I kiss her.

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“You know. The caning, and stuff,” she whispers.

Why is she asking me this? I rack my brain. The bamboo cane. This morning?

“No, Anastasia, I don’t.” I stroke her cheek with the back of my knuckles. “Dr. Flynn said something to

me when you left, something that’s stayed with me. He said I couldn’t be that way if you weren’t so

inclined. It was a revelation.” John encouraged me to try our relationship her way.

And look where we are…

“I didn’t know any other way, Ana. Now I do. It’s been educational.”

“Me, educate you?” she scoffs.

I smile. “Do you miss it?”

“I don’t want you to hurt me, but I like to play, Christian. You know that. If you wanted to do

something…” She lifts her left shoulder in a coy shrug.

“Something?”

“You know, with a flogger or your crop—” She stops as her face colors.

Crops and floggers, eh?

“Well, we’ll see. Right now, I’d like some good old-fashioned vanilla.” My thumb skims her bottom lip,

and I kiss her once more.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Bastille is kicking my ass. “Marriage is making you soft, Grey,” he taunts, flicking his dreads to the side

as I struggle to my feet once more. That is the third time he has knocked me on my butt. “Maybe this is

what happiness looks like.” His face brightens with a benign grin and he comes at me again with a

roundhouse kick. But I block him and feint right, then bring him down with my left leg.

“Yeah,” I respond, adrenaline flying through my veins. “Maybe it does.” I bounce on my feet, fists

raised, ready to take him down once more, as he leaps to his feet.

“That’s more like it, man.”

As I sip my coffee at my desk, I contemplate the last few days and Bastille’s words. Maybe this is what

happiness looks like.

Happiness.

It’s a strange and unsettling emotion, one that I’ve felt often enough since I met Ana. But I’ve always

thought of those as fleeting moments, sometimes euphoric, sometimes just pure joy. It’s never been my

constant companion. It’s crept up on me, and now it’s with me, always—but it’s an uneasy feeling, a

tightness in my chest. And I know it’s because it could be snatched from me at any moment, and I’d be

left devastated.

“I don’t want you to sabotage your happiness, Christian. I know you feel you don’t deserve it.” Flynn’s

words echo once more through my thoughts.

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