would you put them?”
“What?”
Christian is nuzzling my ear. “The paintings—where would you put them?” He
bites my earlobe and I feel it in my groin.
“Kitchen,” I murmur.
“Hmm. Nice idea, Mrs. Grey.”
I squint at the price. Five thousand euros each. Holy shit!
“They’re really expensive!” I gasp.
“So?” He nuzzles me again. “Get used to it, Ana.” He releases me and
saunters over to the desk where a young woman dressed entirely in white is
standing gaping at him. I want to roll my eyes, but turn my attention back to
the paintings. Five thousand euros . . . jeez.
We ha一ve finished lunch and are relaxing over coffee at the Hotel Le Saint
Paul. The view of the surrounding countryside is stunning. Vineyards and
fields of sunflowers form a patchwork across the plain, interspersed here and
there with neat little French farmhouses. It’s such a clear, beautiful day we
can see all the way to the sea, glinting faintly on the horizon. Christian
interrupts my reverie.
49 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
“You asked me why I braid your hair,” he murmurs. His tone alarms me. He
looks . . . guilty.
“Yes.” Oh shit.
“The crack whore used to let me play with her hair, I think. I don’t know if it’s a
memory or a dream.”
Whoa! His birth mom.
He gazes at me, his expression unreadable. My heart leaps into my mouth.
What do I say when he says things like this?
“I like you playing with my hair.” My voice is gentle and hesitant. He blinks, his
eyes wide, and fearful.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” It’s the truth. Reaching over I grasp his hand. “I think you loved your
birth mother, Christian.” His eyes widen even more and he stares at me
impassively, saying nothing.
Holy shit. Ha一ve I gone too far? Say something, Fifty—please. But he
remains resolutely mute, gazing at me with fathomless gray eyes while the
silence stretches between us.
What are you thinking, husband of mine? He looks lost. He glances down at
my hand on his and he frowns.
“Say something,” I whisper, because I cannot bear the silence any longer.
He b
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