Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian (Fifty Shades 6)

Damn. I was crazy then.

Crazy in love, Grey.

And I didn’t even know it.

Approaching my stalker’s hide, I contemplate pausing there, but dismiss the idea. Those dark days are far behind me. And I don’t want to be away from Ana for too long.

I turn left at the corner onto Western Avenue, my mind drifting to all that’s happened since Ana and I tied the knot—on this day, last year. Of course, the biggest change was the dramatic arrival of Theodore Raymond Grey on May 2, who now rules our hearts and our domain.

God, I love my boy.

Even though I now have to compete with him for my wife’s attention.

I do choose this defenseless baby over you. That’s what any loving parent does.

Damn right, Ana.

Her words still sting, but they resonate with me now. It’s hard, surrendering her to someone else. I wouldn’t do it for anyone but him.

And to see her care for him!

She loves him so much. She’ll do anything for him.

I know that my birth mother, to some degree, must have done the same for me. I wouldn’t have survived to age four otherwise. It makes me feel a little more kindly toward Ella…just.

In a way, I envy Ted; he has such an advocate in his mother. She’ll fight for him. Always. That’s why he’s in our bed.

While I’m breastfeeding him, he’s here with us. Deal with it, Christian.

My girl does not back down.

And, of course, he has me.

I’ll do everything in my power to keep him safe.

That fucker Hyde is locked up. The trial was a painful but necessary evil—he was convicted of aggravated kidnapping, arson, extortion, and sabotage and sentenced to thirty years. Not long enough, in my opinion, but at least he’s out of our lives and where he deserves to be—behind bars.

Lincoln is bankrupt and currently on remand for felony fraud charges. I hope he, too, rots in jail. Revenge is indeed a most satisfying dish.

Enough, Grey.

I direct my thoughts back to my family as I run through Pike Place Market. I love this time of the morning here: the florists setting up their colorful displays, the fishmongers icing their fresh catch, and the grocers arranging their fruits and vegetables—it’s such a vibrant, bustling part of the city, and so much easier to navigate this early, without the tourists in the way.

Next weekend’s wedding will be held at Eamon Kavanagh’s Medina residence. I still have to write my speech, and much to Kate’s irritation, I’ve refused to give her editorial approval.

She’s such a control freak.

I don’t know how Elliot puts up with her.

Ana and Mia are both part of the bridal party—Ana as matron of honor and Mia as bridesmaid. I hope it’s not going to be too awkward with Ethan.

I shake my head. He’s just not that into you, Mia.

I continue on and pick up my pace on Stewart Street, running toward Escala.

Running home.

Well, to one of our homes.

We divide our time between our two residences—Escala during the week and the Big House, as Ana calls it, on the weekends. So far, it’s working well.

As I reach the main entrance, I check my time. Not bad.

In the elevator I catch my breath and, as I’m alone, stretch out.

Mrs. Jones is busy in the kitchen as I walk past on my way to my bedroom. I check in on Ted and find that he’s still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling.

Damn, but I love it when he sleeps.

Hope, his nanny, should be up and with him shortly.

Ana is still out for the count, too.

I strip down in the closet, dumping my sweaty clothes in the laundry basket, then head into the shower.

The hot water douses me, washing off all the sweat from my run. I’m lost in my thoughts as I soap my hair when I hear the sound of the shower door open. Ana snakes her arms around me and kisses my back, pressing her body against mine.

My day just got a whole lot better.

I make to move, but Ana tightens her arms and splays her hands on my chest. “No,” she says, between kisses on my back. “I want to hold you here. Properly.”

We stand quietly, together, until I can bear it no more. Turning around, I pull her into my arms, enjoying the softness and warmth of her body against mine. She raises her lips to me, her eyes darkening.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grey. Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, Christian.” Her voice is husky, laced with desire.

I touch my lips to hers and my body comes alive. As does Ana. She moans as she kisses me back, opening her mouth and granting me access to her tongue, which greets mine with heightened fervor. We kiss, tongues tangling and tussling together, pouring what must be a week’s worth of frustration into each other as she runs her hands up my back, over my shoulders, and into my hair, pushing me against the cold tiles.