Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian
Chapter 7

Ana gasps when she sees her.

Without a doubt this is still one of the most beautiful shrines I've ever seen. The Virgin, eyes cast down at the floor in modesty, holds her child aloft. Her gold-and-blue robes shimmer in the light from the burning candles.

It's stunning.

"My mother used to bring us here sometimes for Mass. This was my favorite place. The Shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary," I whisper.

Ana stands and soaks up the scene, the statue, the walls, the dark ceiling covered in gold stars. "Is this what inspired your collection? Your Madonnas?" she asks, and there's wonder in her voice.

"Yes."

"Motherhood," she murmurs, and she peeks up at me.

I shrug. "I've seen it done well and done badly."

"Your birth mom?" she asks.

I nod, and her eyes grow impossibly large, revealing some deep emotion that I don't want to acknowledge.

I look away. It's too raw.

I place a fifty-dollar bill in the offertory box and hand her a candle. Ana clasps my hand briefly in gratitude, then lights the wick from one of the tapers and places her candle in an iron sconce on the wall. It flickers brightly among its companions. "Thank you," she says quietly to Mary, and wraps an arm around my middle, placing her head on my shoulder. Together we stand in quiet contemplation in this most exquisite of sanctuaries in the heart of the city.

The peace, the beauty, and being with Ana restores my good humor. To hell with work this afternoon. It's Sunday. I want some fun with my girl. "Shall we go to the game?" I ask.

"Game?"

"The Phillies are playing the M's at Safeco Field. GEH has a suite there."

"Sure. Sounds like fun. Let's go." Ana beams.

Hand in hand, we head back to the R8.

Monday, June 20, 2011

This morning has been extremely aggravating, and I'm ready to rip someone limb from limb. There were hordes of reporters, including a couple of TV crews, camped outside Escala and Seattle Independent Publishing.

Have they nothing better to do?

It was easy to avoid them at home because we arrived and left through the underground garage. At SIP it's another issue. I'm confounded and appalled that these vultures have managed to track Ana down so quickly.

How?

We dodged them by skirting the SIP building and going to the rear loading doors. But now Ana's trapped inside her office and I'm ambivalent about that. At least she's safe there, but I'm sure she's not going to tolerate confinement for long.

My heart sinks. Of course the Seattle media are curious about my fiancée. It's part of the Christian Grey bonus. I just hope to God this attention doesn't drive her away.

Sawyer pulls up outside Grey House, where another couple of hacks are lurking, but with Taylor beside me I storm past them, ignoring their shouted questions.

What a fucking start to the morning!

Still aggravated, I wait for the elevator. I have a to-do list longer than my dick and I have to deal with the fallout from the weekend: missed calls from my dad, my mom, and Elena Lincoln. Why the hell she's calling me I don't know. We're done. I made that clear on Saturday night.

I'd rather be at home with my girl.

In the elevator I check my phone. There's an e-mail from Ana.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Showing A Fiancée A Good Time

Date: June 20 2011 09:25

To: Christian Grey

My dearest husband-to-be

I feel it would be remiss of me not to thank you for

a) surviving a helicopter crash

b) an exemplary hearts-and-flowers proposal

c) a wonderful weekend

d) a return to the Red Room

e) a very pretty rock, which everyone has noticed!

f) my wake-up call this morning (especially this! ;))

Ax

Anastasia Steele

Acting-Editor, Fiction, SIP

PS: Do you have a strategy for dealing with the press?

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Showing a man a good time

Date: June 20 2011 09:36

To: Anastasia Steele

My darling Ana

You are entirely welcome.

Thank you for a wonderful weekend.

I love you.

I'll come back to you about a strategy for the f****** press.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

PS: I think wake-up calls are underrated.

PPS: F****** BLACKBERRY!!!!!!!!!!!

How many times do I have to tell you, woman!

Amused and mollified by our e-mail exchange, I charge out of the elevator. Andrea is at her desk in my outer office. "Good morning, Mr. Grey," she says. "I...um...I'm glad you're still with us." "Thank you, Andrea. I appreciate that. And thank you for all your help on Friday night. It was invaluable."

She flushes, embarrassed, I think, by my gratitude. "Where's the new girl?" I ask.

"Sarah? She's on an errand. Coffee?"

"Please. Black. Strong. I have a great deal to do."

She gets to her feet.

"If my father, mother, or Mrs. Lincoln call, take a message. Refer all press inquiries to Sam. But if the FAA, Eurocopter, or Welch call, put them through."

"Yes, sir."

"And, of course, Anastasia Steele."

Andrea's face softens with one of her rare smiles. "Congratulations, Mr. Grey."

"You know?"

"Everyone knows, sir."

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