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

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

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

“Good morning,” I whisper, confused. I normally

“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.

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

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

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Eat!

Date: July 6 2011 9:22

To: Christian

My dearest husband-to-be

like you to

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

I hope your day is a

Axxx

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.

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