e buries his nose in my hair. I wrap my
arms around him, holding him close, and feel the tension lea一ve his body as
he nuzzles me.
“Am I forgiven?”
“Am I?”
I feel his smile. “Yes,” he answers.
“Ditto.”
39 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
We stand holding each other, my pique forgotten. He does smell good,
adolescent or not. How can I resist him?
“Hungry?” he says after a while. I ha一ve my eyes closed and my head against
his chest.
“Yes. Famished. All the . . . er . . . activity has given me an appetite. But I’m
not dressed for dinner.” I’m sure my sweatpants and camisole would be
frowned upon in the dining room.
“You look good to me, Anastasia. Besides, it’s our boat for the week; we can
dress how we like. Think of it as dress down Tuesday on the Cote D’Azur.
Anyway, I thought we’d eat on deck.”
“Yes, I’d like that.”
He leans down and kisses me—an earnest forgive-me kiss—then we
wander hand in hand toward the bow where our gazpacho soup awaits.
The steward serves our cr&egra一ve;me brulée and discreetly retires.
“Why do you always braid my hair?” I ask Christian out of curiosity. We’re
sitting adjacent to each other at the table, my lower leg curled around his. He
pauses as he’s about to pick up his dessertspoon and frowns.
“I don’t want your hair catching in anything,” he says quietly, and for a moment
he’s lost in thought. “Habit, I think,” he muses. Suddenly he frowns and his
eyes widen, his pupils dilating with alarm. Holy shit! What’s he
remembered? It’s something painful, some early childhood memory, I guess.
I don’t want to remind him of that. Leaning over, I put my index finger over his
lips.
“No, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to know. I was just curious.” I give him a
warm, reassuring smile. His look is wary, but after a moment he visibly
relaxes, his relief evident. I lean over to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“I love you,” I murmur, and he smiles his heart-achingly shy smile, and I melt. “I
will always love you, Christian.”
“And I you,” he says softly.
“In s
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