urmur.
“Just him?”
“Oh, I love megalomaniac Christian, too, and control-freak Christian,
sexpertise Christian, kinky Christian, romantic Christian, shy Christian . . . the
list is endless.”
“That’s a whole lot of Christians.”
“I’d say at least fifty.”
He laughs. “Fifty Shades,” he murmurs into my hair.
“My Fifty Shades.”
He shifts, tipping my head back, and kisses me. “Well, Mrs. Shades, let’s
see how your dad is doing.”
“Okay.”
353 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
“Can we go for a drive?”
Christian and I are back in the R8, and I’m feeling giddily buoyant. Ray’s
brain is back to normal—all swelling gone. Dr. Sluder has decided to wake
him from his coma tomorrow. She says she’s pleased with his progress.
“Sure.” Christian grins at me. “It’s your birthday—we can do anything you
want.”
Oh! His tone makes me turn and gaze at him. His eyes are dark.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
How much promise can he load into one word?
“Well, I want to drive.”
“Then drive, baby.” He grins, and I grin back.
My car handles like a dream, and as we hit the I-5, I sub一tly put my foot down,
forcing us both back in our seats.
“Steady, baby,” Christian warns.
As we drive back into Portland an idea occurs to me.
“Ha一ve you planned lunch?” I ask Christian tentatively.
“No. You’re hungry?” He sounds hopeful.
“Yes.”
“Where do you want to go? It’s your day, Ana.”
“I know just the place.”
I pull up near the gallery where José exhibited his work and park right outside
the Le Picotin restaurant where we went after José’s show. Christian grins at
me.
“For one minute I thought you were going to take me to that dreadful bar you
drunk dialed me from.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To check the azaleas are still alive.” He arches a sardonic brow. I blush.
“Don’t remind me! Besides . . . you still took me to your hotel room.” I smirk.
“Best decision I ever made,” he says, his eyes soft and warm.
“Yes. It was.” I lean over and kiss him.
“Do you think that supercilious fucker is still waiting tables?”
354 | P a g e
E L JAM
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