Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(8)

Another young woman in uniform stands at the other end of the cabin—a very pretty brunette.

"We have the all clear. Weather is good from here to Boston."

Boston?

"Turbulence?"

"Not before Boston. There's a weather front over Shannon that might give us a rough ride."

Shannon? Ireland?

"I see. Well, I hope to sleep through it all," says Christian matter-of-factly.

Sleep?

"We'll get underway, sir," Stephan says. "We'll leave you in the capable care of Natalia, your flight attendant." Christian glances in her direction and frowns, but turns to Stephan with a smile.

"Excellent," he says. Taking my hand, he leads me to one of the sumptuous leather seats. There must be about twelve of them in total.

"Sit," he says as he removes his jacket and undoes his fine sliver brocade vest. We sit in two single seats facing each other with a small, highly polished table between us.

"Welcome aboard, sir, ma'am, and congratulations." Natalia is at our side, offering us both a glass of pink champagne.

"Thank you," Christian says, and she smiles politely at us and retreats to the galley.

"Here's to a happy married life, Anastasia." Christian raises his glass to mine, and we chink. The champagne is delicious.

"Bollinger?" I ask.

"The same."

"The first time I drank this it was out of teacups." I grin.

"I remember that day well. Your graduation."

"Where are we going?" I'm unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

"Shannon," Christian says, his eyes alight with excitement. He looks like a small boy.

"In Ireland?" We're going to Ireland!

"To refuel," he adds, teasing.

"Then?" I prompt.

His grin broadens and he shakes his head.

"Christian!"

"London," he says, gazing intently at me, trying to gauge my reaction.

I gasp . Holy cow. I thought maybe we'd be going to New York or Aspen or maybe the Caribbean. I can hardly believe it. My lifetime ambition has been to visit England. I'm lit up from within, incandescent with happiness.

"Then Paris."

What?

"Then the South of France."

Whoa!

"I know you've always dreamed of going to Europe," he says softly. "I want to make your dreams come true, Anastasia."

"You are my dreams come true, Christian."

"Back at you, Mrs. Grey," he whispers.

Oh my . . .

"Buckle up."

I grin and do as I'm told.

As the plane taxis out on to the runway, we sip our champagne, grinning inanely at each other. I can't believe it. At twenty-two years old, I'm finally leaving the United States and going to Europe—to London of all places.

Once we're airborne, Natalia serves us yet more champagne and prepares our wedding feast. And what a feast it is—smoked salmon, followed by roast part-ridge with a green bean salad and dauphinoise potatoes, all cooked and served by the ever-efficient Natalia.

"Dessert, Mr. Grey?" she asks.

He shakes his head and runs his finger across his bottom lip as he looks questioningly at me, his expression dark and unreadable.

"No, thank you," I murmur, unable to break eye contact with him. His lips curl up in a small, secret smile and Natalia retreats.

"Good," he murmurs. "I'd rather planned on having you for dessert."