Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(61)

"Welcome home and congratulations." She smiles.

"Please call me Ana."

"Mrs. Grey, I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that."

Oh! Why must everything change just because I have a ring on my finger?

"Would you like to run through the menus for the week?" she asks, looking at me expectantly.

Menus?

"Um . . ." This is not a question I have ever anticipated being asked.

She smiles. "When I first worked for Mr. Grey, every Sunday evening I would run through the menus for the upcoming week with him and list anything he might need from the grocery store."

"I see."

"Shall I take those for you?"

She holds out her hands for my clothes.

"Oh . . . um. Actually I haven't finished with these." And they are hiding the bowl with the butt plug in! I turn crimson. It's a wonder I can look Mrs. Jones in the eye. She knows what we do—she cleans the room. Jeez, it's just weird having no privacy.

"When you're ready, Mrs. Grey. I'd be more than happy to run through things with you."

"Thank you." We are interrupted by an ashen-faced Sawyer who stalks out of Christian's study and briskly crosses the great room. He gives us both a brief nod, not looking either of us in the eye, and slinks into Taylor's study. I'm grateful for his intervention as I don't wish to discuss menus or butt plugs with Mrs. Jones right now. Offering her a brief smile, I scurry back to the bedroom. Will I ever get used to having domestic staff at my beck and call? I shake my head . . . one day, maybe.

I dump Christian's shoes on the floor and my clothes on the bed, and take the bowl with the butt plug into the bathroom. I eye it suspiciously. It looks innocuous enough, and surprisingly clean. I don't want to dwell on that, and I wash it quickly with soap and water. Will that be enough? I'll have to ask Mr. Sexpert if it should be sterilized or something. I shudder at the thought.

I like that Christian has turned the library over to me. It now houses an attractive white wooden desk I can work at. I take out my laptop and check my notes on the five manuscripts I read on honeymoon.

Yep, I have everything I need. Part of me dreads going back to work, but I can never tell Christian that. He'd seize on the opportunity to make me quit. I remember Roach's apoplectic reaction when I told him I was getting married and to whom, and how, shortly afterward, my position was confirmed. I realize now it was because I was marrying the boss. The thought is unwelcome. I am no longer acting commissioning editor—I am Anastasia Steele, Commissioning Editor.

I haven't yet plucked up the courage to tell Christian that I am not going to change my name at work. I think my reasons are solid. I need some distance from him, but I know there will be a fight when he finally realizes that. Perhaps I should discuss this with him tonight.

Sitting back in my chair, I start my final chore of the day. I glance at the digital clock on my laptop, which tells me it's seven in the evening. Christian still hasn't emerged from his study, so I have time. Taking the memory card out of the Nikon camera, I load it into the laptop to transfer the photographs. As the pictures upload, I reflect on the day. Is Ryan back? Or is he still on his way to Portland?

Has he caught up with the mystery woman? Has Christian heard from him? I want some answers. I don't care that he's busy; I want to know what's going on, and I suddenly feel a tad resentful that he's keeping me in the dark. I rise, intending to go and confront him in his study, but as I do the photos from the last few days of our honeymoon pop up onscreen.

Holy crap!