Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian novel Chapter 191

The concierge sees us, and I give him a nod. Ana notices our exchange, but I give my girl my patented I-so-own-you-and-I’ve-got-a-surprise-for-you smile, and she frowns. “Where’s Taylor?” she asks.

“We’ll see him shortly.”

“Sawyer?”

“Running errands.”

We head outside and stop on the wide sidewalk. It’s a beautiful late-summer day; the trees on Broadway are in full leaf, but there’s a hint of the coming fall in the air. There’s no sign of Taylor. Ana looks up and down the street, following my lead. “What is it?” she asks. I lift my shoulders, trying for nonchalance, not wanting to give the game away.

Then I hear it: the growl of the R8’s throaty engine. Taylor steers the white, pristine vehicle that is Ana’s brand-new Audi to a stop in front of us.

Ana takes a step back, and in stunned disbelief looks from the car to me.

Okay, last time I tried to give her a car, it didn’t go so well.

This could go either way.

You said it, Ana. You can buy me one for my birthday. A white one.

“Happy birthday,” I murmur, and from my pocket I produce the key.

Her mouth drops open. “You are completely over the top.” Each word is a quiet staccato, then she turns to admire the marvel of engineering parked at the curb. Her consternation is short-lived; her face lights up and she jumps up and down on the spot. She turns and barrels into my waiting arms, and I swing her around, delighted at her reaction.

“You have more money than sense!” she cries. “I love it! Thank you.”

I dip her low, surprising her, so she gasps and grips my biceps. “Anything for you, Mrs. Grey.” I kiss her. “Come. Let’s go see your dad.”

“Yes!” she exclaims. “And I get to drive?”

Smiling down at her, and against my better judgment, I acquiesce. “Of course. It’s yours.” I pull her to her feet, and she dances to the driver’s door, which Taylor is holding open for her.

“Happy birthday, Mrs. Grey.” He beams.

“Thank you, Taylor.” She hugs him while I roll my eyes and climb into the passenger seat. Ana clambers in beside me and slides her hands around the steering wheel, grinning with glee, as Taylor closes her door.

“Drive safe, Mrs. Grey,” he says, his affection obvious despite the gruff tone. For some unfathomable reason it makes me smile.

“Will do,” Ana replies, buzzing with excitement. She puts the key in the ignition, and I tense beside her.

I hate being driven.

Except by Taylor.

But she knows this.

“Take it easy,” I caution. “Nobody chasing us now.” She turns the key, and the R8 roars to life. Ana quickly adjusts the side and rearview mirrors, puts the car in drive, and pulls out into the street at a harrowing speed.

“Whoa!” I cry out, clutching my seat.

“What?”

“I don’t want you in the ICU beside your father. Slow down,” I yell, wondering if the R8 was a good idea. She slows immediately.

“Better?” She gives me a dazzling smile.

“Much,” I mutter, grateful that we’re both still alive. “Take it easy, Ana.”

Seven minutes later we’re in the hospital parking lot, and I’ve aged at least ten years with each minute of the journey. My pulse must be at 180 bpm; being driven by my wife is not for the faint of heart. “Ana, you have to slow down. Don’t make me regret buying you this.” I glare at her as she turns off the ignition. “Your dad is upstairs because he was involved in a car accident.”

“You’re right,” she whispers, reaching over and clasping my hand. “I’ll behave.”

I want to say more, but I don’t. It’s her birthday and her dad’s in the ICU.

And you bought her the car, Grey.

“Okay. Good. Let’s go.”

While Ana is visiting with Ray, I hole up in the waiting room and make some calls. First, Andrea.

“Mr. Grey. Good morning.”

“Good morning. What news?”

“Everyone is lined up to come to Portland. I’m liaising with Stephan later this morning. I’m still waiting to hear from The Heathman, and if they can’t source a cake, I’ve found a bakery in Portland that can do it today.”

“Good work.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Adams will take off at ten thirty this morning Pacific time. They should be in Portland by four thirty.”

“Do they know why we’ve moved the surprise party to Portland?”

“I haven’t elaborated.”