Fifty Shades Freed


  Fifty Shades


  The Writer's Coffee Shop

  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 11k ' . i. . Riglmi let 201X1

  This work is copyright. Apan from any use as permitled under die ( onyridit Act

  1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, re-

  mission of the publisher.

  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 2 1 1 6 Waxahachie TX 75 1 68

  Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-060-6

  E-book ISBN- 978- 1 -6 1 2 1 3-06 1 -3

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.

  Cover image by: © Photo-Dave

  Cover design by: Jennifer MeGuire

  Dr. Seuss. The Lorax. New York: Random House, 1971.

  About the Author

  Since early childhood. she dreaml of writing siories thai readers would fall in love

  with, bill pnl ihose dreams on hold lo i'ocus on her family and her career. She 11-

  nally plucked up the courage to put pen to paper « ill) her first no el. Fifty Shades

  of (// c i h L I inies v i 1 1 in n 1 1 i i 1 I ui i

  natural twist.


  Thanks to: Niall, my rock;

  To Kathleen for just being a great sounding board, friend, confidante and a tech-

  To Bee for endless moral support;

  To Taylor (also a technical wiz), Susi, Pam and Nora for showing a girl a good

  And for their advice and tact I'd really like to thank:

  Dr. R;iina Sluder for help w illi all mailers medical:

  Anne Forlincs for the financial advice;

  Elizabeth de Yos for her kind counsel regarding the American adoption system.

  Thank- to Maddie Blandino for her exquisite, inspirational art.

  And to Pam and Gillian lor Salurda> morning coffee and hauling me back to real


  Also thanks to my editing team Andrea. Shay anal the e or Io ely and only occa-

  sionalK frothing lanine. who tolerate- m 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.

  Para ml Mama con todo ml amory gratltud

  And for my beloved Father

  Daddy, I miss you every day


  Mommy! Mommy! Mommy is asleep on the floor. She has been

  doesn't wake up. I shake her. Mommy! My tummy hurts. It is

  sink, and I have a drink. The water splashes over my blue sweater.

  Mommy is still asleep. Momim wake up! She lies still. She is cold.

  I fetch my blankie, and I cover Mommy, and I lie down on the

  siick> green rug beside her. Mommy is still asleep. I have two toy

  cars. They race by the floor where Mommy is sleeping. I think

  Mommy is sick, i search for something lo eal. In the freezer 1 find

  peas. They arc cold. I eal them slow l> . The;, make my tummy hurt. I

  sleep beside Mommy. The peas are gone. In the freezer is

  something. 11 smells funny. 1 lick il and m tongue is stuck to it. I

  eat it slowly. It tastes nasl . I drink Mime w ater. I play with my cars,

  and I sleep beside Momim Iomm is so cold, and she won't wake

  up. The door crashes open. I cover Mommy with my blankie. He's

  here. Fuck II hat il i >/*•; hen Oh, the crazy fucked up

  bitch. Shit. Fuck. Get out of my way. you little shit. He kicks me, and

  I hit my head on the floor. My head hurts. He calls somebody and he

  goes. He locks the door. I la dow u beside Mommy. My head hurts.

  The lady policeman is here. No. No. No. Don't touch me. Don't

  touch me. Don't touch me. I stay by Mommy. No. Stay away from

  me. The lady policeman has my blankie, and she grabs me. I

  scream. Mommy! Mommy! I want my Mommy. The words are

  gone. 1 can't say die words. Monunv can'! hear me. I have no

  nightmare, the depths of his despair. "I'm here. I'm here."

  i I i ii i in I l i hi i

  mouth. "You're here."

  "I had a dream . . ."

  "Ana." He breathe-, her name, and it's a talisman against the black clinking

  p 1 ' ours i . Ihn ugh Ins body.

  "Hush, I'm here." She curls around him, her limbs cocooning him, her

  warmth leeching int i forcing back I his k icing back the fear.

  She is sunshine, she is light ... she is his.

  "Please Id's no; fight." His voice is hoarse as lie w raps his arms around her.


  "The vows. No obc\ ing. 1 can do that. We'll find a \a ." Tlic words rush out

  of his mouth in a tumble of emotion and confusion and anxiety.

  "Yes. We will. We'll always find a way," she whispers and her lips are on

  his, silencing him, bringing him back to the now.

  Chapter One

  I stare up through g t > i the i grass pai I at the bit 1 skies, summer blue,

  Mediterranean blue v. ill) a contented sigh. Christian is beside me. stretched out on

  a sun lounger. My husband — my hot, beautiful husband, shirtless, and in cut-off

  jeans — is reading a book predicting the collapse of the Western banking system.

  more like a student than the hotshot (. k( > of one the top priately owned compan-

  On the final leg oh our honeymoon, we laze in die afternoon sun on the beach

  of the aptly named Beach Plaza Monte Carlo in Monaco, although we're not

  actually staying in this hotel. 1 open my eyes and gaze out at the Fair Lady

  anchored in the harbor. We Lire slaying, of course, on board a luxury motor yacht.

  Built in 1928, she floats majestically on the water, queen of the all the yachts in

  the harbor. She looks like a child's wind-up toy. Christian loves her — I suspect

  he's tempted to buy her. i loncslly. bos and their toys.

  Sitting back, I listen to the Christian Grey mix on my new iPod and doze in

  the hue afternoon sun, idly remembering his proposal. Oh his dreamy proposal in

  the boathousc ... 1 can almost -.nicll the seem ol'lhe meadow Honors . . -

  "Can we marry tomorrow?" Christian murmurs softly in my ear. I am spraw led on

  his chest in the flowery bower in the boathouse, sated from our passionate



  "Is that a yes?" I hear his hopeful surprise.

  I sense his grin. ""Miss Steele, are ou incoherent?"

  lie laughs and hugs me tightly, kissing the top of my head. "Vegas, tomor-

  Sleepily I raise my head. "I don't think my parents would be very happy with


  He thrums his fingertips up and down my nal i i i

  "What do you want, Anastasia? Vegas? A big wedding with all the trim-

  mings? Tell me."

  "Not big . . . Just friends and family." I gaze up at him moved by the quiet

  entreaty in hi;, glow in. s il does he want?

  "Okay." He nods. "Where?"

  "Could we do it here?" he asks tentatively.

  "Your folks' place? Would they mind?"

  He snorts. "My mother would be in seventh heaven."

  "Okay, here. I'm sure my mom and dad would prefer that."