Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 29

But would I want her any other way?

Of course not. I want her happy and I want to protect her. But how can I do that if she’s not willing to

obey me?

Deal with it, Grey.

Sighing, I lean over and brush her hair with my lips; it’s the gentlest of touches, as I don’t want to wake

her. But I silently implore her to change her mind.

Please, Ana. Grant me this.

Switching off the light, I stare, unflinching, into the dark, and suddenly the silence in the room is

deafening and oppressive. My heart rate doubles and I’m dragged down into a swamp of despair. It’s

overwhelming. Maybe this is a huge mistake. Our marriage is never going to work if she can’t do this.

What was I thinking?

Maybe I want—no, need—someone more submissive.

I need to be in control.

Always.

Without control, there is chaos. And anger. And hurt, and fear…and pain.

Shit. What am I going to do?

This is an impossible hurdle to overcome.

Isn’t it?

But living without Ana would be unbearable. I know what it’s like to bathe in her light. She is warmth

and life and home. She is everything. I want her by my side. I love her.

How can I get her to reconsider?

I rub my face, trying to fend off my bleak thoughts.

Get a grip, Grey. She’ll come around.

I close my eyes and try to utilize Dr. Flynn’s mindfulness exercises and find my happy place. Maybe a

flowery bower in a boathouse…

I’m walking on air, soaring high in the sky above Ephrata. The Washington landscape is a patchwork

beneath me. I wing over and marvel at the quilt of browns and blues and greens crisscrossed by roads

and irrigation canals. Catching a thermal I rise above a ridge on the Beezley Hills. The sky is

unencumbered, a dazzling, shimmering blue, and I’m at peace. The wind my companion. Constant.

Rushing. The only sound. I am alone. Alone. Alone. I wing over again. My world turned upside down.

And Ana is in front of the cockpit, her hands stretched out to the canopy, squealing with joy. And

wonder. My heart is brimming. This is happiness. This is love. This is what it feels like. I bank, and

suddenly I’m in a tailspin. Ana’s disappeared. I stamp my feet, but the rudder’s gone. I fight the control

stick, but the ailerons don’t respond. I have no control. All I hear is the roar of the wind and someone

screaming. We’re going down. Fuck. Spinning. Down. Down. Down. Shit. I’m going to hit the ground.

No. No! Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

I wake with a start.

Fuck.

I’m wrapped around Ana, and she’s threading her fingers through my hair. Her scent is soothing and it’s

filling the desperate emptiness that’s deep in my soul. “Good morning,” she says, and immediately I’m

calmer. Back to earth.

“Good morning,” I whisper, confused. I normally wake before Ana.

“You were having a bad dream.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s just after seven-thirty.”

“Shit. I’m late.” I give her a brief, chaste kiss and bound out of bed.

“Christian,” she calls.

“I can’t stop. I’m late,” I mutter as I disappear into the bathroom, recalling her defiance from last night.

And I’m still pissed.

At my desk, I eye the model glider that Anastasia gave me when she left. It took me a whole day to

make. Unease circles my gut; maybe it’s the echo of that dream or a reminder of the desolation I felt

when she was gone. I touch the wing tip, holding the cool plastic between my thumb and forefinger; I

never want to feel like that again.

Ever.

I shake off the feeling and take a sip of the espresso that Andrea has prepared, followed by a bite of

fresh croissant. I glance at my iMac to see an e-mail has arrived from Ana.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Eat!

Date: July 6 2011 9:22

To: Christian Grey

My dearest husband-to-be

It is not like you to skip breakfast. I missed you.

I hope you’re not hungry. I know how disagreeable that is for you.

I hope your day is a good one.

Axxx

I’m comforted by the number of small x’s at the end of her message, but I glance at her portrait on my

office wall, close the e-mail, and summon Andrea into my office to go through my schedule.

I’m still pissed.

After lunch, I’m in the elevator returning from an external meeting with Eamon Kavanagh when I check

my BlackBerry. There’s another e-mail from Ana.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Are you okay?

Date: July 6 2011 14:27

To: Christian Grey

My dearest husband-to-be

It’s not like you not to reply.

The last time you didn’t reply—your helicopter went missing.

Let me know you’re okay.

Ana

Worried of SIP

Shit. A twinge of guilt flares in my stomach, especially as there is a distinct lack of kisses on her note.

For fuck’s sake.

I’m mad at you, Anastasia.

But I don’t want her to worry. I type out a brief reply.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Are you okay?

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