Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 207

“Coming right up.” The young woman leaves us.

“So, all is not well in the world of Christian Grey,” Elena observes. “I knew I’d see you again.” Her eyes

are fixed on mine and I don’t know what to say. “Like that, is it?” Elena fills the silence between us. “Did

you get my text?”

“On my wedding day?”

“Yes.”

“I did. I deleted it.”

“Christian, I can feel your enmity from here. It’s coming off you in waves. But you wouldn’t be here if I

was the enemy.”

I blow out a breath and sit back in the booth.

“Why are you here?” she asks, not unreasonably.

Fuck. “I don’t know.” Could I sound any more sullen?

“She’s left you?”

“Don’t.” I give her a glacial stare.

I don’t want to talk about Ana.

Elena purses her lips as the waitress returns. We both sit back and watch as she uncorks our wine and

pours a sample into my glass. “I’m sure it’s fine.” I wave in Elena’s direction and the waitress fills each

of our glasses in turn.

“Enjoy,” she says brightly, leaving us with the bottle.

Elena reaches for her glass and raises it. “To old friends.” She smirks and takes a sip.

I snort, feeling some of my tension leave my shoulders. “Old friends.” I raise my glass and gulp down a

few mouthfuls of wine, not tasting it. Elena frowns and presses her lips together but says nothing, her

eyes not leaving mine.

I sigh. She wants me to fill the silence. I’m going to have to say something. “How’s the business?”

“Good. It was generous of you to gift it to me. Thank you for that.”

“It was the least I could do.”

She glances down at her glass as the silence between us expands. Eventually, she breaks it. “As

you’re here, I think I should apologize for how I behaved at your parents’ house.”

Well, this is a surprise. It’s not like Mrs. Lincoln to apologize for anything. Her mantra has always been

“never apologize, never explain.”

“I said several things that I regret,” she adds quietly.

“We both did, Elena. It’s in the past.”

I offer her more wine, but she declines—her glass is still half full, while mine is empty. I pour myself

another.

She sighs. “My social circle is considerably diminished. I miss your mother. It hurts that she won’t see

me.”

“It’s probably not a good idea for you to get in contact with her.”

“I know. I understand. I never meant for her to overhear us. Grace was always most fearsome when it

came to protecting her brood.” She looks wistful for a moment. “We shared some good times, though.

Your mother knows how to party.”

“I don’t wish to know that.”

Elena laughs. “You’ve always placed her on such a pedestal.”

“I’m not here to talk about my mother.”

“What are you here to talk about, Christian?” She cocks her head to the side and runs a scarlet nail

around the rim of her glass, icy blue eyes on mine.

I shake my head and take another long draft of the pinot.

“Has she left you?”

“No!” I snap. If anything, it was me who walked out.

What kind of man walks out on his pregnant wife?

Hell. Maybe my father was right.

His words come back to haunt me. It’s about you. You living up to your responsibilities. You being a

trustworthy and decent human being. You being husband material.

Maybe I’m not husband material.

I shake off the thought as Elena gazes at me, and I know she’s trying to work out what’s wrong. “You

miss it? The lifestyle? Is that it? The little woman not giving you what you want?”

Fuck you, Elena.

I don’t have to listen to her bullshit.

I start to slide out of the booth.

“Christian. Don’t go. I’m sorry.” She reaches for my hand, then changes her mind, so her outstretched

hand becomes a fist on the table. “Please. Don’t go,” she pleads.

Two apologies from Mrs. Lincoln in such a short time.

I settle back in my seat. Warier.

“I’m sorry,” she says once more, for emphasis. Then tries a different tack. “How is Anastasia?”

“She’s good,” I answer, eventually, and hope that I haven’t given anything away.

Elena narrows her eyes; she doesn’t believe me.

I exhale and confess. “She wants children.” Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Ah,” Elena says, as if she’s solved the riddle of the Sphinx. “This shouldn’t be a surprise to you.

Though I will say she’s a little young to be producing your spawn.”

“Spawn?” I scoff, because she’s said the last word with such malicious invective. Elena’s never wanted

children. I suspect she doesn’t have a maternal bone in her body.

“Baby Grey,” she muses. “That will put an end to your predilections.” She looks amused. “Or maybe

they’ve come to an end already.”

I scowl at her. “Elena. Shut up. I’m not here to discuss my sex life with you.” I drain my glass and pour

more wine for us both, finishing the bottle. The pinot noir is beginning to work its magic. I’m already

feeling hazy around the edges. It’s not a sensation I normally enjoy, but right now, I welcome the

oblivion that beckons from the bottom of my glass. I signal the waitress for another bottle.

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