y question. What would you like to eat?”
“Something light. Surprise me,” he says, mirroring my words from the
playroom earlier.
“I’ll see what I can do.” I sashay out of his study and into the kitchen. My heart
sinks when I see Mrs. Jones is there.
“Hello, Mrs. Jones.”
“Mrs. Grey. Are you ready for something to eat?”
“Um . . .”
She is stirring something in a pot on the stove that smells delicious.
“I was going to make subs for Mr. Grey and me.”
She pauses for a heartbeat. “Sure,” she says. “Mr. Grey likes French bread
—there is some in the freezer cut to sub length. I’d be happy to make it for
you, ma’am.”
“I know. But I’d like to do this.”
“I understand. I’ll give you some room.”
“What are you cooking?”
“This is a bolognaise sauce. It can be eaten anytime. I’ll freeze it.”
She smiles warmly and turns the heat right down.
“Um—so what does Christian like in a, um . . . sub?” I frown, struck by what
I’ve just said. Does Mrs. Jones understand the inference?
119 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
“Mrs. Grey, you could put just about anything in a sandwich, and as long as
it’s in French bread, he’ll eat it.” We grin at each other.
“Okay, thank you.” I skip to the fridge. In the freezer compartment I find the
French bread cut to size in Ziplock bags. Taking out two, I place them on a
plate, pop them into the microwa一ve and set it to defrost.
Mrs. Jones has disappeared. I frown as I return to the fridge to search for
ingredients. I suppose it will be up to me to set the parameters by which Mrs.
Jones and I will work together. I like the idea of cooking for Christian on the
weekends. Mrs. Jones is more than welcome to do it during the week—the
last thing I’ll want to do when I come home from work is cook. Hmm . . . a bit
like Christian’s routine with his submissives. I shake my head. I mustn’t
overthink this. I find some ham in the fridge, and in the crisper a perfectly ripe
a一vocado. As I am adding a touch of salt and lemon to the mashed a一vocado,
Christian emerges from his stud
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