Fifty Shades Freed

551 Pages·4.29 MB·English

by  E. L. James

First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2012
Copyright © E L James, 2012
The right of E L James to be identified as the author of this work has been asser-
ted by her under theCopyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act
1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, re-
corded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written per-
mission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Writer’s Coffee Shop
(Australia) PO Box 2013 Hornsby Westfield NSW 1635
(USA) PO Box 2116 Waxahachie TX 75168
Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-060-6
E-book ISBN- 978-1-61213-061-3
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.
Cover image by: © Photo-Dave
Cover design by: Jennifer McGuire
Dr. Seuss.The Lorax.New York: Random House, 1971.
www.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/ejames
E L James is a TV executive, wife and mother of two, based in West London.
Since early childhood, she dreamt of writing stories that readers would fall in love
with, but put those dreams on hold to focus on her family and her career. She fi-
nally plucked up the courage to put pen to paper with her first novel,Fifty Shades
of Grey. E L James is currently working on a new romantic thriller with a super-
natural twist.
Thanks to: Niall, my rock;
To Kathleen for just being a great sounding board, friend, confidante and a tech-
nical wiz;
To Bee for endless moral support;
To Taylor (also a technical wiz), Susi, Pam and Nora for showing a girl a good
time.
And for their advice and tact I’d really like to thank:
Dr. Raina Sluder for help with all matters medical;
Anne Forlines for the financial advice;
Elizabeth de Vos for her kind counsel regarding the American adoption system.
Thanks to Maddie Blandino for her exquisite, inspirational art.
And to Pam and Gillian for Saturday morning coffee and hauling me back to real
life.
Also thanks to my editing team Andrea, Shay and the ever lovely and only occa-
sionally frothing Janine, who tolerates my frothing with patience, fortitude and a
great sense of humour.
And lastly to Amanda and all at The Writer’s Coffee Shop Publishing
House—Thank you.

Mommy! Mommy! Mommy is asleep on the floor. She has been
asleepforalongtime.Ibrushherhairbecauseshelikesthat.She
doesn’t wake up. I shake her. Mommy! My tummy hurts. It is
hungry.Heisn’there.Iamthirsty.InthekitchenIpullachairtothe
sink,andIhaveadrink.Thewatersplashesovermybluesweater.
Mommyisstillasleep.Mommywakeup!Sheliesstill.Sheiscold.
I fetch my blankie, and I cover Mommy, and I lie down on the
stickygreenrugbesideher.Mommyisstillasleep.Ihavetwotoy
cars. They race by the floor where Mommy is sleeping. I think
Mommyissick.Isearchforsomethingtoeat.InthefreezerIfind
peas.Theyarecold.Ieatthemslowly.Theymakemytummyhurt.I
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sleep beside Mommy. The peas are gone. In the freezer is
something.Itsmellsfunny.Ilickitandmytongueisstucktoit.I
eatitslowly.Ittastesnasty.Idrinksomewater.Iplaywithmycars,
andIsleepbesideMommy.Mommyissocold,andshewon’twake
up.Thedoorcrashesopen.IcoverMommywithmyblankie.He’s
here.Fuck.Whatthefuckhappenedhere?Oh,thecrazyfuckedup
bitch.Shit.Fuck.Getoutofmyway,youlittleshit.Hekicksme,and
Ihitmyheadonthefloor.Myheadhurts.Hecallssomebodyandhe
goes.Helocksthedoor.IlaydownbesideMommy.Myheadhurts.
The lady policeman is here. No. No. No. Don’t touch me. Don’t
touchme.Don’ttouchme.IstaybyMommy.No.Stayawayfrom
me. The lady policeman has my blankie, and she grabs me. I
scream. Mommy! Mommy! I want my Mommy. The words are
gone. I can’t say the words. Mommy can’t hear me. I have no
words.
“Christian! Christian!” Hervoiceisurgent,pullinghimfromthedepthsofhis
nightmare, the depths of his despair. “I’m here. I’m here.”
Hewakesandshe’sleaningoverhim,graspinghisshoulders,shakinghim,
her face etched with anguish, blue eyes wide and brimming with tears.
“Ana,” His voice is a breathless whisper, the taste of fear tarnishing his
mouth. “You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here.”
“I had a dream...”
“I know. I’m here, I’m here.”
“Ana.”Hebreatheshername,andit’satalismanagainsttheblackchoking
panic coursing through his body.
“Hush, I’m here.” She curls around him, her limbs cocooning him, her
warmthleechingintohisbody,forcingbacktheshadows,forcingbackthefear.
She is sunshine, she is light... she is his.
“Please let’s not fight.” His voice is hoarse as he wraps his arms around her.
“Okay.”
9/551
“Thevows.Noobeying.Icandothat.We’llfindaway.”Thewordsrushout
of his mouth in a tumble of emotion and confusion and anxiety.
“Yes.Wewill.We’llalwaysfindaway,”shewhispersandherlipsareon
his, silencing him, bringing him back to the now.
Istareupthroughgapsintheseagrassparasolatthebluestofskies,summerblue,
Mediterraneanbluewithacontentedsigh.Christianisbesideme,stretchedouton
asunlounger.Myhusband—myhot,beautifulhusband,shirtless,andincut-off
jeans—isreadingabookpredictingthecollapseoftheWesternbankingsystem.
Byallaccounts,it’sapage-turner.Ihaven’tseenhimsitthisstill,ever.Helooks
morelikeastudentthanthehotshotCEOofonethetopprivatelyownedcompan-
ies in the United States.
Onthefinallegofourhoneymoon,welazeintheafternoonsunonthebeach
of the aptly named Beach Plaza Monte Carlo in Monaco, although we’re not