his eyes in exasperation, but fondly, I think.
“I just want you to know that I appreciate it.”
“Anastasia, it’s what I do.” His eyes are wide and serious—of course,
Christian in command and control. How could I forget . . . and would I want
him any other way?
I smile at him. “Yes, it is.”
He gives me a puzzled look then shakes his head. “Shall we go?”
“I’ll just brush my teeth.”
He smirks. “Okay.”
Why is he smirking? The thought nags me as I head into the en suite. A
memory springs unbidden to my mind. I used his toothbrush after I first spent
the night with him. I smirk into the mirror and grab his toothbrush in homage
to that first time. Gazing at myself as I brush my teeth, I’m pale, too pale. But
then I’m always pale . . . last time I was here I was single . . . and now I’m
married and twenty-two! I’m getting old. I rinse out my mouth. Holding up my
wrist I shake it, and the charms on my bracelet give a satisfying rattle. How
does my sweet Fifty always know exactly the right thing to give me? I take a
deep breath, attempting to stem the emotion still lurking in my system, and
gaze down at the bracelet once more. I bet it cost a fortune . . . ah well. He
can afford it.
As we walk to the elevators, Christian takes my hand and kisses my
knuckles, his thumb brushing over Charlie Tango on my bracelet. “You like?”
“More than like. I love it. Very much. Like you.”
He smiles and kisses my knuckles once more. I feel lighter than I 347 | P a g
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Fifty Shades Freed
did yesterday. Perhaps because it’s morning and the world always seems a
more hopeful place than it does in the dead of night. Or maybe it’s my
husband’s sweet wake-up. Or maybe it’s knowing that Ray is no worse.
As we step into the empty elevator, I glance up at Christian. His eyes flicker
quickly down to mine, and he smirks again.
“Don’t,” he whispers as the doors shut.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Fuck the paperwork,” I mutter, grinning. He laughs, and it’s such a carefree,
boyish sound. He tugs me
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