Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 19

“Thank you, Alondra,” Grace coos. “I love your ideas.” My mother claps her hands in uncharacteristic

enthusiasm while I make a supreme effort to keep my smile fixed and not roll my eyes. I am on my best

behavior. Ms. Gutierrez’s ideas are great. I just want them done, and quickly, so we can get married. This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

“I’ll see you out,” Ana says, and leads her to the foyer.

“What do you think?” Grace asks.

“She’s fine.”

“Oh, Christian.” Mom sounds irritated. “She’s much more than fine.”

“Okay. She’s God’s gift to wedding planning.” My sarcasm bleeds into my words. Grace’s lips thin and I

think she’s about to scold me, but Ana reenters the room.

“What did you think?” Ana asks, her gaze searching my face for answers.

“I thought she was fine. Did you like her?” That’s the important question.

“Of course. I thought she was full of imaginative ideas. Dr. Gre—”

“Ana, please. Call me Grace.”

“Grace,” Ana says with an embarrassed smile. “So, we need to do a save-the-date note to all our

guests?” Ana blinks rapidly, suddenly looking shell-shocked. “We don’t even have a guest list,” she

whispers.

“That’s easily done,” I reassure her. Apart from the family, I think I have two guests: Ros and Dr. Flynn

and their respective partners. Maybe Bastille…and Mac.

“There is one more thing,” Grace says.

“What?”

“I know you don’t want a Catholic ceremony, but would you consider asking Reverend Michael Walsh to

officiate?”

Reverend Walsh. The name rings a bell.

“He’s the chaplain at my hospital. He’s such a dear friend, and I know you never saw eye to eye with

any of the priests we know.”

“Oh, yes. I remember him. He was always kind to me. I don’t want a religious ceremony, but I’m fine

with him conducting it, if that’s okay with Ana.”

Ana nods, a little pale; she looks overwhelmed.

“That’s great. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll leave you two to get on with a list.” Grace

raises her cheek to me and I give her a quick peck. “Good-bye, darling,” she says. “Ana, good-bye. I’ll

call.”

“Great,” Ana replies, though I think she lacks conviction. Is she not happy with the wedding planner? Is

she as bewildered as I feel? I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, and together we walk my mother

out to the foyer. Grace turns to me as we wait for the elevator.

“Please call your father, Christian.”

I sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

“Stop sulking,” she warns, quietly.

“Grace!” Back off.

Ana glances at the two of us, but wisely holds her tongue and says nothing. I’m saved by the ping of

the elevator and its opening doors. I reach for Ana’s hand as Grace steps inside. “Good night,” she

says, and the doors close.

“You’re not talking to your father?” Ana asks.

I shrug. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.”

“Is this from last weekend? Your fight with him?”

I return her curious gaze, but say nothing. This is between him and me.

“Christian, he’s your dad. He’s only looking out for you.”

I hold up my hand in the hope that she’ll stop. “I don’t want to discuss this.” She folds her arms and

raises that stubborn Steele chin. “Anastasia. Drop it.”

Her eyes flash cobalt blue, but she sighs and lowers her arms, regarding me with what I think is a

mixture of frustration and compassion.

Fifty Shades, baby.

“We have another issue,” she says. “My dad wants to pay for the wedding.”

“Does he, now?”

No way. It will cost a fortune, which he doesn’t have. I’m not bankrupting my father-in-law. “I think that’s

out of the question.”

“What? Why?” Ana’s hackles are up.

“Baby, you know why.” I don’t want to debate this. “The answer’s no.”

“But—”

“No.”

Her mouth forms that mulish line I know so well.

“Ana, you have carte blanche on this wedding. Whatever you want. But not that. You know it’s not fair

to your father. It’s 2011, not 1911.”

She sighs. “I don’t know what I’ll say to him.”

“Tell him my heart is set on providing everything for us. Tell him it’s a deep-seated need that I have.”

Because that’s the truth.

She sighs again, resigned, I think.

“Now, shall we work on the guest list?” I ask, in the hope that starting this process will relieve her

anxiety and also distract her from Ray.

“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.

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