Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,213

reading or if she’s immersed in the narrative, but it has the usual effect on my body.

I want to bite that lip.

Smiling to myself, I remember my surprise wake-up call this morning. Ana is becoming more and more proactive when it comes to sex, but as the beneficiary of her passion, I’m not complaining. I think seeing her nearest and dearest at this difficult time has been therapeutic.

Having said that, it’s been an emotional morning. After a convivial breakfast with our family and friends, we said good-bye to everyone, except Carla and Bob. My parents have driven back to Seattle; Stephan has flown Elliot, Mia, Kate, and Ethan back home in Charlie Tango. Ryan, who’s still in Seattle, will pick them up at Boeing Field.

After everyone left, Carla, Ana, and I visited Ray. Well, Carla and Ana did; I gave them some privacy and worked in the waiting room until it was time to take Carla and Bob to the airport. We delivered them into the safe hands of First Officer Beighley and her copilot, who were standing by with the Gulfstream. Ana said a tearful farewell to her mother, and now we’re back in our suite, cooling our heels after a light lunch. I think Ana is reading to distract herself from thinking about Ray.

I’d just like to go home.

But I guess that depends on Ray’s recovery.

I hope he wakes shortly, and we can make plans to move him to Seattle and return to Escala. I don’t mention this to Ana, though—I don’t want to add to her worries.

I’ve had my fill of reading, so to pass the time, I’ve started assembling a collage of photographs of my wife to use as a screensaver on my laptop and phone. I have so many photographs of her from our honeymoon—and in all of them, Ana is stunning. I’m delighted to have captured her in so many different moods: laughing, pensive, pouting, amused, relaxed, happy, and in some, she’s scowling at me. Those are the photos that make me grin.

I’m reminded of the shock at seeing her image, large and lovely, at José Rodriguez’s exhibition, and our conversation afterward.

I want you that relaxed with me.

I glance over at her again. Here she is. Relaxed. Absorbed in her work.

Mission accomplished, Grey.

We’ll hang the other photographs in our new house, and maybe I’ll put one of them in the study at Escala.

She looks up. “What?”

I tap my index finger against my lips and shake my head. “Nothing. How’s the book?”

“It’s a political thriller. Set in a dystopian surreal future.”

“Sounds riveting.”

“It is. It’s a take on Dante’s Inferno by a new writer who’s based in Seattle. Boyce Fox.” Ana’s eyes shine, animated with the thrill of a good book.

“I can’t wait to read it.”

She smiles and returns to her manuscript.

Smiling, I return to my collage.

A little later she gets up and wanders over to me, her expression hopeful. “Can we go back?”

“Of course.” I close my laptop, pleased with my photomontage of Mrs. Anastasia Grey.

“Will you drive?” she asks.

“Sure.” Taylor is visiting his daughter, and I’ve given Sawyer the day off.

“I want to grab a copy of The Oregonian on the way, so I can read Dad the sports page.”

“Good idea. I’m sure they’ll have one at reception. Let’s go.” I grab my jacket and my laptop, and we head out.

Ray lies peacefully asleep in his hospital bed, and it takes a few seconds for Ana and me to realize that he’s no longer on a ventilator. The repetitive, measured blast of air that had been his constant companion is no more; he’s breathing on his own. Ana’s face glows in relief. With infinite tenderness she strokes his stubbled chin and wipes his spittle with a tissue.

I look away.

I’m intruding. This wordless expression of love from a daughter to her father is too intimate for me to witness. I know Ray would be mortified if he knew I was standing here watching him at his most vulnerable. I stalk off to find one of his doctors for an update. Nurse Kellie and her colleague Liz are at the nurses’ station. “Dr. Sluder is in surgery.” Kellie picks up the phone. “She’s due out any minute. Do you want me to page her?”

“No. That’s fine. Thanks.” I leave both nurses and head back to the all-too-familiar waiting room. Again, I’m here alone; slumping into one of the chairs I open my laptop and pull up the latest iteration of my Ana collage. I’ve decided I