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

“Taylor will take you home, Elliot.”

“I’d like to see you into the apartment first, Mr. Grey,” Taylor says.

“Okay.” I sigh, knowing that he’s still in mother-hen mode, concerned about my safety. He parks beside the elevator and climbs out of the car.

Elliot opens his eyes. “I’ll stay in the car,” he mutters. I reach over to shake his hand, but he grabs it, forcibly. “Fuck off with your fucking handshake,” he grumbles, and tugs me into an awkward embrace, which is clumsy and male and…welcome.

“Don’t crease the suit,” I warn, feeling oddly touched by his gesture. He releases me.

“Good night, bro.”

I slap his knee. “Thanks again. Do you need the stuff you left here?”

“I’ll be back Friday night for the rehearsal dinner.”

“Okay. Good night, Lelliot.”

He grins and closes his eyes.

Taylor accompanies me up to the penthouse.

“You know you don’t have to do this, Taylor.”

“It’s my job, sir.” He looks straight ahead.

“Are you armed?”

Taylor’s eyes flick in my direction. “Yes, sir.”

I loathe firearms; I wonder if he took the gun to Canada and, if so, how he got it through security, but I don’t want to know the gory details.

Plausible deniability.

“Why don’t you ask Ryan to take Elliot home? You must be exhausted.”

“I’m good, Mr. Grey.”

“Thank you again for your part in all the organization of today.”

He turns to me with a warm smile. “It was a pleasure.”

The doors to the penthouse open and I wander in. Ryan is standing, waiting for me.

“Good evening, Mr. Grey.”

“Ryan, hi. All quiet tonight?”

“Yes, sir. Nothing to report. Do you need anything?”

“No. I’m fine. Good night.” I leave him in the foyer and amble into the kitchen. From the fridge I pull a bottle of sparkling mineral water, unscrew the top, and start to drink directly from the bottle.

My apartment is quiet. The low hum of the fridge and the distant rumble of traffic are the only sounds I hear. The place feels empty.

Because Ana’s not here.

My footsteps echo across the room as I meander to the window. The moon is high, and it shines in a clear night sky with the promise of another halcyon day, like today. Ana is near, under the same moon. She’ll be home soon. Surely. I lean my forehead against the glass. It’s cool, but not cold. As I let out a long sigh, my breath mists the pane.

Shit.

I saw her a few hours ago, and yet I’m missing her.

For fuck’s sake, Grey. You’ve got it bad. Pull yourself together.

I’ve had the most fulfilling day. Carefree. Adventurous. Sociable.

Flynn would be proud. I remember when we first sailed on The Grace, Ana asked me if I had any friends. Well, now I can say yes. Maybe.

I don’t understand why I’m suddenly feeling despondent; a familiar sense of loneliness is creeping into my psyche. I recognize its key ingredients: the emptiness, the longing, like I’m missing something. I’ve not felt it since I was a teenager.

Hell.

I haven’t felt lonely for years. I’ve had my family, though I’ve kept them at a distance. And there was Elena, of course, and I’ve been content with my own company and the occasional company of my submissives.

But now, without Ana here, I’m lost.

Her absence is an ache—a scar on my soul.

The silence is becoming intolerable.

I would have thought after all the noise of this evening—the bars, the night club, the casino floor—I would welcome some quiet.

But no.

The silence is oppressive, and it’s making me melancholy.

Fuck this.

I stalk over to the piano, lift the lid, and settle onto the stool. Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I place my hands on the keys, enjoying the grounding feel of the ivory beneath my fingertips. I begin to play the first piece that comes to mind; the Bach-Marcello, and I’m soon lost in the morose melody that perfectly reflects my mood. The second time through the composition I’m distracted by a noise.

“Shh…”

I look up, and Ana is standing by the kitchen counter, swaying slightly. She’s carrying her strappy high heels in one hand and she’s wearing what looks like a plastic tiara that may have perched on the top of her head at one time, but is now looking decidedly lopsided. A sash with the word bride in an elaborate serif hangs over her shimmering black dress. She has her index finger at her lips.

She is without doubt the most beautiful girl in the world.

And I’m delighted she’s home.

Behind her, Sawyer and Reynolds are stony-faced. Rising from the stool, I tip my chin at them in thanks. They smile as one and leave us.

Ana turns and stumbles a little to watch them leave. “Bye!” she almost shouts, and waves them away with a wide sweep of her arm.

She’s clearly intoxicated.

Turning back to face me, she rewards me with the biggest, warmest, most drunken smile and stumbles toward me. “Mr. Christian Grey!”