ow of the strip of
light coming from inside the boathouse, I can see he’s
anxious. My anxious man, not a white knight or a dark
knight, but a man—a beautiful, not-quite-so-fucked-up
man—whom I love. I reach up and caress his face, running
my fingers through his sideburns and along his jaw to his
chin, then let my index finger touch his lips. He relaxes.
“I’ve something to show you in here,” he murmurs and
opens the door.
The harsh light of the fluorescents illuminates the
impressive motor launch in the dock, bobbing gently on the
dark water. There’s a row boat beside it.
“Come.” Christian takes my hand and leads me up the
wooden stairs. Opening the door at the top, he steps aside
to let me in.
My mouth drops to the floor. The attic is
unrecognizable. The room is filled with flowers . . . there
unrecognizable. The room is filled with flowers . . . there
are flowers everywhere. Someone has created a magical
bower of beautiful wild meadow flowers mixed with
glowing fairy lights and miniature lanterns that glow soft
and pale round the room.
My face whips round to meet his, and he’s gazing at
me, his expression unreadable. He shrugs.
“You wanted hearts and flowers,” he murmurs.
I blink at him, not quite believing what I’m seeing.
“You ha一ve my heart.” And he wa一ves toward the room.
“And here are the flowers,” I whisper, completing his
sentence. “Christian, it’s lovely.” I can’t think of what else
to say. My heart is in my mouth as tears prick my eyes.
Tugging my hand, he pulls me into the room, and
before I know it, he’s sinking to one knee in front of me.
Holy hell . . . I did not expect this! I stop breathing.
From his inside jacket pocket he produces a ring and
gazes up at me, his eyes bright gray and raw, full of
emotion.
“Anastasia Steele. I love you. I want to love, cherish,
and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always.
Share my life with me. Marry me.”
I blink down at him as my tears fall. My Fifty, my man.
I love him so, and all I can say as the tidal
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