Freed
Also by E L James
Fifty Shades of Grey
Fifty Shades Darker
Fifty Shades Freed
Grey
Darker
The Mister
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2012, 2021 by Fifty Shades Ltd
Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Erika Mitchell and Brittany Vibbert/Sourcebooks
Cover photographs © Erika Mitchell
Heart photography by Andrew Melzer/Sourcebooks
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks. Bloom Books is a trademark of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Portions of this book, including significant portions of the dialogue and e-mail exchanges, have previously appeared in the author’s prior works.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Bloom Books, an imprint of Sourcebooks
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the publisher.
This work of fiction includes graphic and sensitive content pertaining to sex, addiction, child abuse, and violence.
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About E L James
Back Cover
For Eva and Sue.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for all that you do.
And for Catherine.
We are a woman down.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
We lie in postcoital bliss beneath pink paper lanterns, meadow flowers, and fairy lights that twinkle in the rafters. As my breathing slows, I hold Anastasia close. She’s sprawled all over me, her cheek against my chest, her hand resting on my racing heart. The darkness is absent, driven out by my dream catcher…my fiancée. My love. My light.
Could I be happier than I am right now?
I commit the scene to memory: the boathouse, the soothing rhythm of the lapping waters, the flora, the lights. Closing my eyes, I memorize the feel of the woman in my arms, her weight on top of me, the slow rise and fall of her back as she breathes, her legs entwined with mine. The scent of her hair fills my nostrils soothing all my corners and jagged edges. This is my happy place. Dr. Flynn would be proud. This beautiful woman has consented to be mine. In every way. Again.
“Can we marry tomorrow?” I whisper near her ear.
“Hmm.” The sound in her throat reverberates with a soft strum across my skin.
“Is that a yes?”
“Hmm.”
“A no?”
“Hmm.”
I grin. She’s spent. “Miss Steele, are you incoherent?” I sense her answering smile and my joy erupts in a laugh, as I tighten my arms around her and kiss her hair. “Vegas, tomorrow, it is then.” She raises her head, eyes half closed in the soft light from the lanterns—she looks sleepy yet sated.
“I don’t think my parents would be very happy with that.” She lowers her head and I skim my fingertips across her naked back, enjoying the warmth of her sleek skin.
“What do you want, Anastasia? Vegas? A big wedding with all the trimmings? Tell me.”
“Not big. Just friends and family.”
“Okay. Where?”
She shrugs, and I’m guessing she hasn’t thought about it.
“Could we do it here?” I ask.
“Your folks’ place? Would they mind?”
I laugh. Grace would leap at the chance. “My mother would be in seventh heaven.”
“Okay, here. I’m sure my mom and dad would prefer that.”
So would I.
For once we’re in agreement. No arguing.
Is this a first?
Gently, I stroke her hair, that’s a little mussed from our spent passion. “So, we’ve established where, now the when.”
“Surely you should ask your mother?”
“Hmm. She can have a month, that’s it. I want you too much to wait any longer.”
“Christian, you have me. You’ve had me for a while. But okay, a month it is.” She plants a tender kiss on my chest and I’m grateful that the darkness remains quiet. Her presence is keeping it at bay.
“We’d better head back. I don’t want Mia interrupting us like she did that time.”
Ana laughs. “Ah, yes. That was close. My first punishment fuck.” She grazes my jaw with her fingertips and I roll over, taking her with me, and pressing her into the deep-pile rug on the floor.
“Don’t remind me. Not one of my finest moments.”
Her lips lift in a coy smile, her eyes sparkling with humor. “As
punishment fucks go, it was okay. And I won back my panties.”
“You did. Fair and square.” Chuckling at the recollection, I kiss her quickly and rise. “Come, put your panties on and let’s get back to what’s left of the party.”
I zip up her emerald dress and drape my jacket over her shoulders. “Ready?” She laces her fingers with mine and we walk to the top of the stairs of the boathouse. Pausing, she looks back at our floral haven as if she’s memorizing the setting. “What about all the lights and these flowers?”
“It’s okay. The florist is returning tomorrow to dismantle this bower. They’ve done a great job. And the flowers will go to a local seniors’ home.”
She squeezes my hand. “You’re a good man, Christian Grey.”
I hope I’m good enough for you.
My family is in the den, abusing the karaoke machine. Kate and Mia are up dancing, and singing “We Are Family,” with my parents as their audience. I think they’re all a little tipsy. Elliot is slumped on the couch, sipping his beer and mouthing the lyrics.
Kate spots Ana and beckons her toward the mic. “OMG!” squeals Mia, drowning out the song. “Look at that rock!” She grabs Ana’s hand and whistles. “Christian Grey, you delivered.”
Ana gives her a shy smile while Kate and my mother gather round to inspect her ring, making the appropriate admiring noises. Inside I feel ten feet tall.
Yeah. She likes it. They like it.
You did good, Grey.
“Christian, could I talk to you?” Carrick asks as he stands up, his expression grim.
Now?
His stare is unwavering as he directs me out of the room.
“Um. Sure.” I glance at Grace, but she’s studiously avoiding my gaze.
Has she told him about Elena?
Fuck. I hope not.
I follow him to his study, and he ushers me in, closing the door behind him.
“Your mother told me,” he says with no preamble whatsoever.
I glance at the clock—it’s 12:28. It’s too late in the day for this talk…in every sense. “Dad, I’m tired—”
“No. You are not avoiding this conversation.” His voice is stern and his eyes narrow to pinpricks as he peers at me over his glasses. He’s mad. Really mad.
“Dad—”
“Quiet, son. You need to listen.” He sits on the edge of his desk, removes his glasses, and begins to clean them with the lint cloth he pulls from his pocket. I stand before him, as I often have, feeling like I did when I was fourteen years old and I’d just been expelled from school—again. Resigned, I take a deep breath and, sighing as loudly as I can, place my hands on my hips and wait for the onslaught.
“To say I’m disappointed is an understatement. What Elena did was criminal—”
“Dad—”
“No, Christian. You don’t get to speak right now.” He glares at me. “She deserves to be locked up.”
Dad!
He pauses and slides his glasses back into place. “But I think it’s your deception that disappoints me the most. Every time you left this house with some lie that you were studying with your friends—friends we never got to meet—you were fucking that woman.”
Christ!
“How am I to believe anything you’ve ever said to us?” he continues.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. This is a complete overreaction. “Can I speak now?”
“No. You can’t. Of course, I blame myself. I thought I’d given you some semblance of a moral compass. And now I’m wondering if I’ve taught you anything at all.”
“Are you asking a rhetorical question?”
He ignores me. “She was a married woman and you had no respect for that, and you’re shortly to become a married man—”
“This has nothing to do with Anastasia!”
“Don’t you dare shout at me,” he says, with such quiet venom that I’m silenced immediately. I don’t think I’ve ever seen or heard him this angry. It’s sobering. “It has everything to do with her. You are about to make a huge commitment to a young woman.” His tone softens. “It’s a surprise to all of us. And I’m happy for you. But we are talking about the sanctity of marriage. And if you have no respect for that, then you have no business being married.”
“Dad—”
“And if you’re that cavalier about the sacred vows that you will soon be affirming, you seriously need to consider a prenuptial agreement.”
What? I raise my hands to stop him. He’s gone too far. I’m an adult, for heaven’s sake. “Don’t bring Ana into this. She’s not some grubby gold-digger.”
“This is not about her.” He stands and steps toward me. “It’s about you. You living up to your responsibilities. You being a trustworthy and decent human being. You being husband material!”
“For fuck’s sake, Dad, I was fifteen years old!” I shout, and we’re nose to nose, glowering at each other.
Why is he reacting so badly to this? I know I’ve always been a huge disappointment to him, but he’s never spelled it out so plainly.
He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, and I realize that in my moments of stress I do the same. This habit comes from him, but in my case the apple has fallen far, far from the tree.
“You’re right. You were a vulnerable child. But what you fail to see is that what she did was wrong, and clearly you still can’t see it because you’ve continued to associate with her, not only as a family friend, but in business. Both of you have been lying to us for all these years. And that’s what hurts the most.” His voice drops. “She was your mother’s friend. We thought she was a good friend. She’s the opposite. You will cut all financial ties with her.”
Fuck off, Carrick.
I want to tell him that Elena was a force for good, and that I wouldn’t have continued my association with her if I thought anything else. But I know this will fall on deaf ears. He didn’t want to listen when I was fourteen and struggling in school, and it appears he doesn’t want to listen now.
“Have you quite finished?” The words hiss with bitterness through my gritted teeth.
“Think about what I’ve said.”
I turn to go. I’ve heard enough.
“Think about the prenup. It will save you a great deal of grief in the future.”
Ignoring him, I stalk out of his office and slam the door.
Fuck him!
Grace is standing in the hallway.
“Why did you tell him?” I spit at her, but Carrick has followed me out of the study so she doesn’t answer. Her frosty glare is directed at him.
I’m going to fetch Ana. We’re going home.
My mood savage, I follow the sound of caterwauling into the den and find Elliot and Ana at the mic strangling “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” If I wasn’t so angry I’d laugh. Elliot’s tuneless rumbling can’t really be classed as singing, and he’s drowning out Ana’s sweet voice. Fortunately, the song is nearly over so I’m spared the worst of it.
“I think Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell are spinning in their graves,” I observe dryly when they finish.
“I thought that was a pretty good rendition.” Elliot bows theatrically to Mia and Kate, who are laughing and applauding with exaggerated gusto. They’re definitely all inebriated. Ana giggles, looking flushed and lovely.
“We’re going home,” I tell her.
Her face falls. “I told your mother we’d stay.”
“You did? Just now?”
“Yes. She brought down a change of clothes for us. I was looking forward to sleeping in your bedroom.”
“Darling, I was really hoping you’d stay.” It’s a plea from my mother, who stands in the doorway, Carrick behind her. “Kate and Elliot are, too. I like having all my chicks under one roof.” She reaches out and clasps my hand. “And we thought we’d lost you this week.
”
Muttering an expletive beneath my breath, I keep my temper in check. My siblings seem to be completely oblivious to the drama that is unfolding in front of them. I expect this cluelessness from Elliot but not from Mia.
“Stay, son. Please.” My father’s eyes bore into me, but he appears genial enough. It’s not like he’s just told me that I’m a complete and utter disappointment.
Again.
I ignore him and respond to my mother. “Okay.” But it’s only because Ana’s giving me such an imploring look, and I know that if I leave in my present mood it will be a blight on what has been a wonderful day.
Ana wraps her arms around me. “Thank you,” she whispers. I smile down at her and the dark cloud that hangs over me begins to dissipate.
“Come on, Dad.” Mia thrusts the mic into his hand and drags him in front of the screen. “Last song!” she says.
“Bed.” It’s not a request to Ana. I’ve had enough of my family for one night. She nods in agreement and I knit her fingers with mine. “Good night, all. Thanks for the party, Mother.”
Grace hugs me. “You know we love you. We only want the best for you. I am so happy with your news. And so happy that you’re here.”
“Yeah, Mom. Thanks.” I give her a swift peck on the cheek. “We’re tired. We’re going to bed. Good night.”
“Good night, Ana. Thank you,” she says and gives her a swift hug. I tug Ana’s hand to leave as Mia puts on “Wild Thing” for Carrick to sing.
That I do not want to see.
Switching on the light, I close my bedroom door and pull Ana into my arms, seeking her warmth and trying to put Carrick’s blistering rebuke out of my mind.
“Hey, are you okay?” she murmurs. “You’re brooding.”
“I’m just mad at my dad. But that’s nothing new. He still treats me like I’m an adolescent.”
Ana hugs me tighter. “Your father loves you.”
“Well, tonight he’s very disappointed in me. Again. But I don’t want to discuss that right now.” I kiss the top of her head and she tilts her face up, focusing on me, compassion and understanding shining in her eyes, and I know neither of us wants to raise the specter of Elena…Mrs. Robinson.
I’m reminded of earlier this evening, when Grace, in all her avenging glory, threw Elena out of the house. I wonder what my mother would have said, back in the day, if she’d caught me with a girl in my room. Suddenly I’m energized by the same teenage thrill I had when Ana and I snuck up here last weekend during the masquerade ball.