Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(46)

"Good thing the weather held off till we finished," Grace says pleased, as we drift into the back room den. Christian sits down at the shiny black upright piano, presses the quiet pedal, and starts to play a familiar tune that I can't immediately place.

Grace asks me for my impressions of Saint Paul de Vence. She and Carrick went years ago during their honeymoon, and it occurs to me that this is a good omen, seeing how happy they are together now. Kate and Elliot are cuddling on one of the large overstuffed couches, while Ethan, Mia, and Carrick are deep in a conversation about psychology, I think.

Suddenly, as one, all the Greys stop talking and gape at Christian.

What?

Christian is singing softly to himself at the piano. Silence descends on us all as we strain to hear his soft, lyrical voice. I've heard him sing before, haven't they? He stops, suddenly conscious of the deathly hush that's fallen over the room. Kate glances questioningly at me and I shrug. Christian turns on the stool and frowns, embarrassed to realize he's become the center of attention.

"Go on," Grace urges softly. "I've never heard you sing, Christian. Ever."

She stares at him in wonder. He sits on the piano stool, looking absently at her, and after a beat, he shrugs. His eyes flicker nervously to me, then over to the French windows. The rest of the room suddenly erupts in self-conscious chatter, and I'm left watching my dear husband.

Grace distracts me, grasping my hands then suddenly folding me in her arms.

"Oh, darling girl! Thank you, thank you," she whispers, so only I can hear. It brings a lump to my throat.

"Um . . ." I hug her back, not really sure why I am being thanked. Grace smiles, her eyes shining, and kisses my cheek. Oh my . . . What have I done?

"I am going to make some tea," she says, her voice hoarse with unshed tears.

I amble over to Christian who is now standing, staring out through the French windows.

"Hi," I murmur.

"Hi." He puts his arm around my waist, pulling me to him, and I slip my hand into the back pocket of his jeans. We gaze out at the rain.

"Feeling better?"

I nod.

"Good."

"You certainly know how to silence a room."

"I do it all the time," he says and he grins at me.

"At work, yes, but not here."

"True, not here."

"No one's ever heard you sing? Ever?"

"It appears not," he says dryly. "Shall we go?"

I gaze up at him, trying to gauge his mood. His eyes are soft and warm and slightly bemused. I decide to change the subject.

"You going to spank me?" I whisper, and suddenly there are butterflies in my stomach. Perhaps this is what I need . . . this is what I have been missing.

He gazes down at me, his eyes darkening.

"I don't want to hurt you, but I'm more than happy to play."

I glance nervously around the large room, but we are out of earshot.

"Only if you misbehave, Mrs. Grey." He bends and murmurs in my ear.

How can he put so much sensual promise into six words?

"I'll see what I can do." I grin.

Once we've said our good-byes, we walk over to the car.

"Here." Christian throws me the keys to the R8. "Don't bend it"—he adds in all seriousness—"or I will be f*cking pissed."

My mouth goes dry. He's letting me drive his car? My inner goddess whips on her leather driving gloves and flat shoes. Oh yes! she cries.

"Are you sure?" I mouth, stunned.