Freed Read online

  “Sure,” she acquiesces, and I know I’ve avoided a fight.

  I nuzzle her ear as she gasps for breath, fresh from her orgasm. Sweat beads on her forehead and her fingers still grip my hair.

  “How was that, Anastasia?”

  She garbles my name and I think she says “fantastic.”

  I grin. “Please move in with me.”

  “Yes. But not this weekend. Please. Christian.” She’s breathless. Her eyes flutter open and she implores me. “Please,” she mouths.

  Damn.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “My turn.” I nip her earlobe and flip her onto her front.

  Tuesday, June 28, 2011

  Leila wants to talk to you,” Flynn says, and I know from the narrowing of his eyes that he’s focusing on my reaction. I think this is a test, but I’m not sure.

  “About what?” I ask, cautiously.

  “I would guess that she wants to thank you.”

  “Should I?”

  John leans back in his chair. “Talk to her? I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “What harm could it do?”

  “Christian, she has strong feelings for you. She’s displaced all that she felt for her deceased lover onto you. She thinks she’s in love with you.”

  My scalp tingles and anxiety grips my heart.

  No! How can she love me?

  The thought is intolerable.

  It will only ever be Ana. The sun, the moon, the stars—they rise and set with her.

  “I think for Leila’s sake you’ll need to establish clear boundaries if you’re going to engage with her,” Flynn says.

  Probably for my sake, too. “Can we keep all communication between Leila and me through you? She has my e-mail address, but she hasn’t been in touch.”

  “I suspect that’s because she’s afraid you won’t answer.”

  “She’s right. I’ll never forgive her for holding Ana at gunpoint.”

  “If it’s any consolation, she’s full of remorse.”

  I blow out a breath in exasperation; I’m not interested in her remorse. I want her healed and gone. “But doing well?” I ask.

  “Yes. Very much so. The art therapy is working wonders; I think she wants to return to her hometown and pursue a fine-arts program.”

  “Has she found a school?”

  “She has.”

  “If she stays away from Ana—and me, for that matter—I’ll fund her studies.”

  “That’s very generous of you.” Flynn frowns, and I suspect he might be about to object.

  “I can afford to be generous. I’m just glad she’s recovering,” I add quickly.

  “She’ll be discharged this week. She’s going back to her folks.”

  “In Connecticut?”

  He nods.

  “Good.” She’ll be on the other side of the country.

  “I’ve recommended a psychiatrist for her in New Haven, so she doesn’t have to travel too far. She’ll be well looked after.” He pauses, then changes the subject. “Have the nightmares ceased?”

  “For now.”

  “And Elena?”

  “I’ve avoided all contact, but I signed the contracts yesterday. It’s done. The Esclava group is hers now.” The name Elena chose for her salons and the group has always made me smile. Even now.

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it.” My mind is cluttered with other concerns. “I’m just relieved it’s over.”

  Flynn eyes me for a moment, and I think he’s going to continue this line of inquiry, but he shifts. “And how are you feeling in general?”

  I pause to consider his question, and the truth is, apart from the sabotage of my beloved Charlie Tango, and that someone wants me dead, I feel…good. I’m anxious, of course, and I’m pissed Ana won’t move in to Escala yet, but I understand that she wants another night with me in her apartment, and that could happen this weekend. The panic rooms are going into the penthouse and we need to be out of there. It’s a hotel, The Grace, or Ana’s.

  “I’m good.”

  “I can see that. I’m surprised.” Flynn looks thoughtful.

  “Why? What is it?” I ask.

  “It’s good to see you externalizing your anxiety, rather than turning it in on yourself.”

  I frown. “I think the threat to my life is external.”

  He nods. “Yes. It is. But it distracts you from giving yourself a hard time.”

  “I’ve not thought of it that way.”

  “Have you spoken to your father?”

  “No.”

  Flynn remains impassive, his lips tightening slightly.

  I sigh. “I’ll get around to it.”

  He glances at the clock. “Time’s up.”

  Friday, July 1, 2011

  There’s a knock on my office door, and as Andrea enters, I look up from the selection of wedding stationery that Ana has sent me. “Yes?” I ask, surprised by her intrusion.

  “Your father is here.”

  What? “In the office?”

  “He’s on his way up.”

  Shit!

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Grey,” Andrea continues. “I didn’t want to leave him in the lobby.” She shrugs apologetically. “He’s your father.”

  For heaven’s sake. I check the time. It’s 5:15 and I’m due to leave at 5:30 for the long weekend.

  “Ask him to wait.”

  “Yes, sir.” She leaves and closes the door behind her.

  What the hell.

  I do not want another conversation with good old Dad. The last one went so well. But thanks to my PA, I have no choice.

  Damn.

  He never turns up unannounced…unlike my mother. Taking a deep breath, I stand and stretch. I roll down my shirt sleeves and don the cuff links that have been lying on my desk. Grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair, I slip it on and fasten one button. I tug at my shirt cuffs, then straighten my tie and run my hands through my hair.

  Showtime, Grey.

  Carrick is standing outside my door, holding his battered briefcase. “Dad.” I keep my voice neutral.

  His lips curl into a warm open smile that reveals twenty-four years of love and paternal pride.

  Whoa. It floors me.

  “Son,” he says.

  “Come in. Can I get you anything?” I ask, trying to keep a handle on my suddenly warring emotions.

  Does he want a fight? Make peace? What?

  “Andrea’s already offered me something. I’m fine,” he says. “I won’t be long.” He enters my office and takes a quick look around as I close the door. “It’s a while since I’ve been here.”

  “Yes,” I mutter.

  “What a lovely portrait of Ana.”

  On the wall facing my desk, a monochrome Ana looks captivating as she stares at us, her smile sweet and shy, hinting at her amusement and belying her strength. I like to think she’s laughing at me in that way she does; in that way that makes me laugh at myself. “My newly acquired portrait. Her friend from WSU, José Rodriguez, took it. He had an exhibition in Portland. You’ve met him at my place. The night Charlie Tango went down. There’s a series. Seven in total. I had this one installed earlier this week. She has such a beautiful smile.” I’m babbling.

  Carrick’s look is warm but guarded, and he runs his hand through his hair.

  “Christian, I—” He stops, as if he’s had a particularly painful thought.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I came to apologize.”

  And just like that all the wind is out of my sails, and I’m becalmed and lost at sea.

  “What I said was wrong. I was angry. At myself.” His gaze sears mine as his fingers grip the handle of the old valise that he’s had for years. My throat tight
ens and burns as I search for something to say, and I remember how his briefcase always sat on a weathered chair in his study.

  “Christian, this is the second school that has been forced to expel you for your belligerent behavior.” Dad is beside himself. He’s in full asshole mode. “This is totally unacceptable. Your mother and I are at our wits’ end.” He paces in front of his desk, his hands behind his back.

  I stand before him, my knuckles raw and throbbing. My side aches from the kicking I’ve endured. But I don’t give a fuck. Wilde deserved it. Stupid bullying prick. He likes to pick on kids smaller than he is. Poorer than he is. He’s garbage, and the fucker’s been expelled, too.

  “Son, we are running out of options.”

  Dad and Mom are connected. I know they can find some other school. Fuck it, I don’t need to further my education.

  “We’ve even discussed military school.”

  He removes his glasses like he’s in a movie and glares at me, waiting and wanting a reaction. But fuck him. Fuck military school. If that’s what they want to do to get rid of me, fuck them. Bring it. I lower my eyes and stare at the stupid case he carries everywhere, ignoring the fire in my throat.

  Why doesn’t he take my side?

  Ever.

  The guy jumped me.

  I stood my ground.

  Fuck him.

  Now the lines around his eyes are deeper and the lenses in his glasses thicker, and he’s watching me, waiting for an answer to his apology in his calm and patient way.

  Dad.

  I nod. “Me, too,” I murmur.

  “Good.” He clears his throat and glances once more at Ana on my wall. “She’s a beautiful girl.”

  “She is. In every way.”

  His eyes soften. “Well, I won’t keep you.”

  “Okay.”

  He flashes me a quick smile and before I can take another breath he’s gone, the door closing behind him.

  I exhale and the knot at the back of my throat tightens and pulls at my heart.

  Fuck. An apology. From my dad. This is a first. I can barely believe it. I look at Ana with her secret smile, and it’s as if she knew this was coming. Christian, he’s your dad. He’s only looking out for you. I hear her voice in my head and I realize I need to hear her in real time. Now.

  I return to my desk and grab my phone.

  Ana answers in one ring as if she’s been expecting my call. “Hi.” Her tone is soft and breathy, a gentle salve to my ragged soul.

  “Hi,” I whisper. “I’ve missed you.”

  I can almost hear her smile. “I’ve missed you, too, Christian.”

  “Ready for this evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Council of war?”

  “Yes,” she giggles.

  Tonight. We sort the wedding. At her place.

  Ana opens the door to her apartment and stands silhouetted in the kitchen light. She’s wearing a floaty floral dress I’ve not seen before that’s sheer against the light. All her lines and planes and curves are etched like a fine sculpture, outlined just for me. She’s stunning.

  “Hi,” she says.

  “Hi. Nice dress.”

  “This old thing?” She does a quick twirl, the skirt clinging to her legs, and I know she’s worn it especially for me.

  “I look forward to peeling you out of that later.” I hold out the bunch of blush peonies I bought from Pike Place Market.

  “Flowers?” Her face glows as she reaches for them and buries her nose in the bouquet.

  “Can’t I buy my fiancée flowers?”

  “You may and you do. Though I believe this is the first time I’ve had a personal delivery.”

  “I think you’re right. May I come in?”

  She laughs, opening her arms, and I step into her embrace and hold her close. I nuzzle her hair, inhaling her intoxicating fragrance.

  Home. Is. Ana.

  She is my life.

  “Are you okay?” She rests her palm on my cheek, her vivid blue eyes searching mine.

  “I am now.” I lean down for a quick kiss. Her lips brush mine, and what I mean to be a grateful, I’m-so-pleased-to-see-you kiss…becomes more. Much more. The fingers from her free hand wind around the nape of my neck and she opens up for me like an exotic flower, her mouth warm and welcoming. She sucks in a breath as my hand skirts down the soft fabric that adheres to her body and squeezes her backside. Her tongue greets mine, in every language, until we’re both panting, and desire races through my veins looking for an out.

  I groan and pull back, staring down into her beautiful dazed face.

  “Okay, Taylor, you can go,” I say.

  “Thank you, sir.” From behind me, Taylor steps out of the shadows of the stairwell, deposits my leather overnight bag inside the door, gives us both a nod, and heads back down the stairs.

  Ana giggles. “I didn’t know he was there.”

  “I forgot, too.” I grin.

  To my great disappointment, Ana releases me. “I have to put these gorgeous flowers in water.” I watch as she moves over to the concrete kitchen island and I’m reminded of the last time I was here when Ana was facing an armed and deranged Leila. A shiver runs up my spine. That meeting could have gone so tragically wrong. No wonder Ana’s been on about the two of us spending another night here. I’m sure she’d love to supersede the last memory she has of us in this place. Thankfully, Leila’s recovered, and far across the country at her parents’ place in Connecticut.

  “Where’s Kate?” I ask, remembering that Ana does not live alone.

  “She’s out with your brother.” She fills a vase with water.

  “So we have the place to ourselves.” I shrug out of my jacket, take off my tie, and undo the top two buttons of my shirt.

  “We do.” Ana holds up a notebook. “And I have listed everything we need to discuss for the wedding.”

  “Can we take a rain check?”

  “No. I know what your rain check will involve. And we need to do this, Christian. Council of war, remember?” She waves the book at me, raising that Steele chin in determination.

  It’s a good look on Ana.

  I know she’s been stressing about the wedding, though I don’t know why. Ms. Gutierrez seems competent and is handling all the arrangements in an unflappable and efficient manner; our discussion should not take long.

  “Don’t pout,” she adds, with her familiar amused smile.

  I laugh. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  An hour later we’re sitting on barstools at the kitchen counter and we’ve completed the application for a marriage license. Agreed on stationery. Color scheme. Menus. Cake design. And party favors.

  Party favors!

  “Christian, I don’t think we should have a registry.”

  “Registry?”

  “For wedding gifts.”

  “God, no.”

  “But if people want to give something, perhaps they could contribute something to your parents’ charity, Coping Together?”

  I stare at her, amazed and humbled at once. “That’s genius.”

  Ana nods. “I’m glad you like the idea.”

  I lean forward and kiss her. “This is why I’m marrying you.”

  “I thought it was for my cooking.”

  I nod. “That, too.”

  She laughs, and it’s a joyful sound.

  “Okay, I’ve asked Kate to be my maid of honor,” Ana says.

  “Makes sense.” I ignore my sinking feeling; Katherine is the most irritating woman I know. But she’s Ana’s best friend…so… Suck it up, Grey.

  “I’m going to ask Mia to be my bridesmaid.”

  “Mia would love that, I’m sure.”

  “You’ll need to find a best man.”

  “Best man?”

&
nbsp; “Yes.”

  Well, it can only be Elliot. I’ll have to ask him, and he’ll give me shit.

  “You don’t really enjoy this, do you?” Ana fixes her gaze on me.

  “I will enjoy being married to you.”

  She cocks her head to one side, and I know that she’s not satisfied with my answer. I sigh. “No. I don’t. I have never enjoyed being the center of attention, which is one of the reasons I’m marrying you.”

  Ana’s brow creases and I run a knuckle down her cheek, because I haven’t touched her in minutes. “You’ll be the center of attention.”

  Ana rolls her eyes. “We’ll see about that. I’m sure you’ll look mighty fine in your wedding regalia, Mr. Grey.”

  “Do you have a dress?”

  “Kate’s mother is designing one for me.” She looks down at her fingers and adds, “I asked my dad to pay for it.”

  “He’s happy with that?”

  She nods. “I think he’s relieved he’s not footing the bill for the wedding, but he’s delighted he can contribute.”

  I grin. “Anastasia Steele, you’re brilliant. I knew you’d find a compromise. You are such a good negotiator.” I lean over and give her a peck on her lips.

  “Hungry?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll cook us some steaks.”

  “So, the panic rooms, how will they work?” Ana asks as she slices into her filet mignon.

  “There’s one going into Taylor’s office, and our bedroom closet will become one, too. Press a button and the doors will close and they’ll be impenetrable. There’ll be enough time for help to arrive. That’s the plan, anyway.”

  “Oh.” Ana blanches.

  I clutch her hand. “It’s merely a precaution. Here’s hoping we never have to use them.” I raise my glass of pinot noir and release her.

  “I’ll drink to that.” She clinks my glass with hers.

  “Don’t look so worried. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about, Christian. You know that. How…how is the investigation going?”

  “Not fast enough, which is frustrating. But don’t think about it. My team is on it.” I don’t want to trouble Ana with our lack of progress. “That steak was delicious.” I put down my knife and fork.