Fifty Shades Freed (44 page)

“Let’s go to bed,” he says quietly after a while, and he pulls away from me, leaving me empty and aching as he rises from the bed. I scramble after him, keeping the satin sheet wrapped around me, and bend to pick up my clothes.

“Leave those,” he says, and before I know it, he scoops me up in his arms. “I don’t want you to trip over this sheet and break your neck.” I put my arms around him marveling that he’s recovered his composure, and nuzzle him as he carries me downstairs to our bedroom.

My eyes spring open. Something is wrong. Christian is not in bed, though it’s still dark. Glancing at the radio alarm, I see it’s three twenty in the morning. Where’s Christian? Then I hear the piano.

Quickly slipping out of bed, I grab my robe and run down the hallway to the great room. The tune he’s playing is so sad—a mournful lament that I’ve heard him play before. I pause in the doorway and watch him in a pool of light while the achingly sorrowful music fills the room. He finishes then starts the piece again. Why such a plaintive tune? I wrap my arms around myself and listen spellbound as he plays. But my heart aches.
Christian, why so sad? Is it because of me? Did I do this?
When he finishes, only to start a third time, I can bear it no longer. He doesn’t look up as I near the piano, but shifts to one side so I can sit beside him on the piano bench. He continues to play, and I put my head on his shoulder. He kisses my hair but doesn’t stop playing until he’s finished the piece. I peek up at him and he’s staring down at me, warily.

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

“Only because you were gone. What’s that piece called?”

“It’s Chopin. It’s one of his preludes in E minor.” Christian pauses. “It’s called
Suffocation
 . . .”

Reaching over I take his hand. “You’re really shaken by all this, aren’t you?”

He snorts. “A deranged asshole gets into my apartment to kidnap my wife. She won’t do as she’s told. She drives me crazy. She safe words on me.” He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, they are stark and raw. “Yeah, I’m pretty shaken up.”

I squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He presses his forehead against mine. “I dreamed you were dead,” he whispers.

What?

“Lying on the floor—so cold—and you wouldn’t wake up.”

Oh, Fifty.

“Hey—it was just a bad dream.” Reaching up, I clasp his head in my hands. His eyes burn into mine and the anguish in them is sobering. “I’m here and I’m cold without you in the bed. Come back to bed, please.” I take his hand and stand, waiting to see if he’ll follow me. Finally he stands, too. He’s wearing his pajama bottoms, and they hang in that way he has, and I want to run my fingers along the inside of his waistband, but I resist and lead him back to the bedroom.

When I wake he’s curled around me, sleeping peacefully. I relax and enjoy his enveloping heat, his skin on my skin. I lie very still, not wanting to disturb him.

Boy, what an evening. I feel like I’ve been run over by a train—the freight train that is my husband. Hard to believe that the man lying beside me, looking so serene and young in his sleep, was so tortured last night . . . and so tortured me last night. I gaze up at the ceiling, and it occurs to me that I always think of Christian as strong and dominating—yet the reality is he’s so fragile, my lost boy. And the irony is that he looks upon me as fragile—and I don’t think I am. Compared to him
I’m
strong.

But am I strong enough for both of us? Strong enough to do what I’m told and give him some peace of mind? I sigh. He’s not asking that much of me. I flit through our conversation of last night. Did we decide anything other than to both try harder? The bottom line is that I love this man, and I need to chart a course for both of us. One that lets me keep my integrity and independence but still be more for him. I am his
more,
and he is mine. I resolve to make a special effort this weekend not to give him cause for concern.Christian stirs and lifts his head off my chest, looking sleepily at me.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey.” I smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grey. Did you sleep well?” He stretches out beside me.

“Once my husband stopped making that terrible racket on the piano, yes, I did.”

He smiles his shy smile, and I melt. “Terrible racket? I’ll be sure to e-mail Miss Kathie and let her know.”

“Miss Kathie?”

“My piano teacher.”

I giggle.

“That’s a lovely sound,” he says. “Shall we have a better day today?”

“Okay,” I agree. “What do you want to do?”

“After I have made love to my wife, and she’s cooked me breakfast, I’d like to take her to Aspen.”

I gape at him. “Aspen?”

“Yes.”

“Aspen, Colorado?”

“The very same. Unless they’ve moved it. After all, you did pay twenty-four thousand dollars for the experience.”

I grin at him. “That was your money.”

“Our money.”

“It was your money when I made the bid.” I roll my eyes.

“Oh, Mrs. Grey, you and your eye rolling,” he whispers as he runs his hand up my thigh.

“Won’t it take hours to get to Colorado?” I ask to distract him.

“Not by jet,” he says silkily as his hand reaches my behind.

Of course, my husband has a jet. How could I forget? His hand continues to skim up my body, lifting my nightdress as it goes, and soon I’ve forgotten everything.

Taylor drives us onto the tarmac at Sea-Tac and around to where the GEH jet is waiting. It’s a gray day in Seattle, but I refuse to let the weather dampen my soaring spirits. Christian is in a much better mood. He’s excited about something—lit up like Christmas and twitching like a small boy with a big secret. I wonder what scheme he’s dreamed up. He looks dreamy, all tousled hair, white T-shirt and black jeans. Not CEO-like at all today. He takes my hand as Taylor glides to a stop at the foot of the jet steps.

“I have a surprise for you,” he murmurs and kisses my knuckles.

I grin at him. “Good surprise?”

“I hope so.” He smiles warmly.

Hmm . . . what can it be?

Sawyer leaps out from the front and opens my door. Taylor opens Christian’s then retrieves our cases from the trunk. Stephan is waiting at the top of the stairs when we enter the aircraft. I glance into the cockpit and see First Officer Beighley flipping switches on the imposing instrument panel.

Christian and Stephan shake hands. “Good morning, sir.” Stephan smiles.

“Thanks for doing this at such short notice.” Christian grins back at him. “Our guests here?”

“Yes sir.”

Guests
?
I turn and gasp. Kate, Elliot, Mia, and Ethan are all smiling and sitting in the cream-colored leather seats. Wow! I spin around to Christian.

“Surprise!” he says.

“How? When? Who?” I mumble inarticulately, trying to contain my delight and elation.

“You said you didn’t see enough of your friends.” He shrugs and gives me a lopsided, apologetic smile.

“Oh, Christian, thank you.” I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him hard in front of everyone. He puts his hands on my hips, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of my jeans, and deepens the kiss.

Oh my.

“Keep this up and I’ll drag you into the bedroom,” he murmurs.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I whisper against his lips.

“Oh, Anastasia.” He grins, shaking his head. He releases me and without further preamble, stoops down, grabs my thighs, and lifts me over his shoulder.

“Christian, put me down!” I smack his behind.

I briefly catch Stephan’s smile as he turns and heads into the cockpit. Taylor is standing at the doorway trying to stifle his grin. Ignoring my pleas and my futile struggles, Christian strides through the narrow cabin past Mia and Ethan who are facing each other in the single seats, past Kate and Elliot, who is whooping like a demented gibbon.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says to our four guests. “I need to have a word with my wife in private.”

“Christian!” I shout. “Put me down!”

“All in good time, baby.”

I have a brief view of Mia, Kate, and Elliot laughing.
Damn it!
This is not funny, it’s embarrassing. Ethan gawks at us, mouth open and utterly shocked, as we disappear into the cabin.

Christian closes the cabin door behind him and releases me, letting me slide down his body slowly, so that I feel every hard sinew and muscle. He gives me his boyish grin, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“That was quite a show, Mr. Grey,” I murmur, crossing my arms and regarding him with faux indignation.

“That was fun, Mrs. Grey.” And his grin widens.
Oh boy.
He looks so young.

“Are you going to follow through?” I arch a brow, unsure how I feel about this. I mean, the others will hear us, for heaven’s sake. Suddenly, I feel shy. Glancing anxiously at the bed, I feel a blush steal across my cheeks as I recall our wedding night. We talked so much yesterday, did so much yesterday. I feel as if we leaped some unknown hurdle—but that’s the problem. It’s unknown. My eyes find Christian’s intense but amused gaze, and I’m unable to keep a straight face. His grin is too infectious.

“I think it might be rude to keep our guests waiting,” he says silkily as he steps toward me.
When did he start to care what people think
? I step back against the cabin wall and he imprisons me, the heat from his body holding me in place. He leans down and runs his nose along mine.

“Good surprise?” he whispers, and there’s a hint of anxiety in his voice.

“Oh, Christian, fantastic surprise.” I run my hands up his chest, curl them around his neck, and kiss him.

“When did you organize this?” I ask when I pull away from him, stroking his hair.

“Last night, when I couldn’t sleep. I e-mailed Elliot and Mia, and here they are.”

“It’s very thoughtful. Thank you. I’m sure we’ll have a great time.”

“I hope so. I thought it would be easier to avoid the press in Aspen than at home.”

The paparazzi! He’s right. If we’d stayed in Escala, we’d have been imprisoned. A shiver runs down my spine as I recollect the snapping cameras and dazzling flashes of the few photographers Taylor sped through this morning.

“Come. We’d better take our seats—Stephan will be taking off shortly.” He offers me his hand and together we walk back into the cabin.

Elliot cheers as we enter. “That sure was speedy in-flight service!” he calls mockingly.

Christian ignores him.

“Please be seated, ladies and gentlemen as we’ll shortly begin taxiing for takeoff.” Stephan’s voice echoes calmly and authoritatively around the cabin. The brunette woman—
um . . . Natalie?
—who was on the flight for our wedding night appears from the galley and gathers up the discarded coffee cups.
Natalia . . . Her name’s Natalia.

“Good morning Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey,” she says with a purr. Why does she make me uncomfortable? Maybe it’s that she’s a brunette. By his own admission, Christian doesn’t usually employ brunettes because he finds them attractive. He gives Natalia a polite smile as he slides in behind the table and sits down facing Elliot and Kate. I swiftly hug Kate and Mia and give Ethan and Elliot a wave before sitting down and buckling up beside Christian. He puts his hand on my knee and gives it an affectionate squeeze. He seems relaxed and happy even though we’re with company. Idly, I wonder why he can’t always be like this—not controlling at all.

“Hope you packed your hiking boots,” he says, his voice warm.

“We’re not going skiing?”

“That would be a challenge, in August,” he says, amused.

Oh, of course.

“Do you ski, Ana?” Elliot interrupts us.

“No.”

Christian moves his hand from my knee to clasp my hand.

“I’m sure my little brother can teach you.” Elliot winks at me. “He’s pretty fast on the slopes, too.”

And I can’t help my blush. When I glance up at Christian, he’s gazing impassively at Elliot, but I think he’s trying to suppress his mirth. The plane surges forward and starts taxiing toward the runway.

Natalia runs through the plane’s safety procedures in a clear, ringing voice. She’s dressed in a neat navy short-sleeved shirt and matching pencil skirt. Her makeup is immaculate—she really is quite pretty. My subconscious raises a plucked-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life eyebrow at me.

“You okay?” Kate asks me pointedly. “I mean, following the Hyde business?”

I nod. I don’t want to think or talk about Hyde, but Kate seems to have other plans.

“So why did he go postal?” she asks, cutting to the heart of the matter in her inimitable style. She tosses her hair behind her as she prepares to investigate the matter.

Eyeing her coolly, Christian shrugs. “I fired his ass,” he says bluntly.