Chapter Eighteen
I stir, opening my eyes to a bright September morning. Warm and
comfortable between clean, crisp sheets, I take a moment to orientate
myself, and am overwhelmed by a sense of déja vu. Of course—I’m at the
Heathman.
“Shit! Daddy!” I gasp out loud, recalling with a gut-wrenching surge of
apprehension that twists my heart and starts it pounding why I'm in Portland.
“Hey.” Christian is sitting on the edge of the bed. He strokes my cheek with
his knuckles, instantly calming me. “I called the ICU this morning. Ray had a
good night. It’s all good,” he says reassuringly.
“Oh, good. Thank you,” I mutter, sitting up.
He bends and kisses my forehead. “Good morning, Ana,” he whispers and
kisses my temple.
“Hi,” I mutter. He’s up and dressed in a black T-shirt and blue jeans.
“Hi,” he replies, his eyes soft and warm. “I want to wish you happy birthday. Is
that okay?”
I offer him a tentative smile and caress his cheek. “Yes, of course. Thank you.
For everything.”
His brow furrows. “Everything?”
“Everything.”
He looks momentarily confused, but it’s fleeting and his eyes widen with
anticipation. “Here.” He hands me a small, exquisitely wrapped box with a
tiny gift card.
In spite of the worry I feel about my father, I sense Christian’s anxiety and
excitement, and it’s infectious. I read the card. For all our firsts on your first
birthday as my beloved wife. I love you.
C x
345 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
Oh my, how sweet is that? “I love you, too,” I murmur, smiling at him.
He grins. “Open it.”
Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn’t tear, I find a beautiful red leather
box. Cartier. It’s familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my
watch. Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of
silver, or platinum or white gold—I don’t know, but it’s absolutely enchanting.
Attached to it are several charms: the Eiffel Tower, a London black cab, a
helicopter —Charlie Tango, a glider—the soaring, a catamaran— The
Grace, a bed, and an ice crea
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