Happy Wednesday, all! I’m back this week with another recap of E. L. James’s masterpiece (ahem!), Fifty Shades Freed. We are currently on Chapter Eighteen, and Ana has just gone to see her dad in the hospital after his horrible car accident. Let’s see what happens next!
I stir, opening my eyes to a bright September morning. Warm and comfortable between clean, crisp sheets, I take a moment to orientate myself and am overwhelmed by a sense of déja vu. Of course, I’m at the Heathman.
Oh, and here I was hoping this whole series was just a terrible nightmare she was having, and that she would avoid Christian like the plague.
Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn’t tear, I find a beautiful red leather box. Cartier. It’s familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my watch. Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of silver, or platinum or white gold—I don’t know, but it’s absolutely enchanting. Attached to it are several charms: the Eiffel Tower, a London black cab, a helicopter—Charlie Tango, a glider—the soaring, a catamaran—The Grace, a bed, and an ice cream cone? I look up at him, bemused.
That ice cream cone is for his COOL VANILLA SWIRL. Whatever that means.
Tears prick my eyes. I launch myself at him, curling my arms around his neck and settling into his lap. “It’s such a thoughtful present. I love it. Thank you,” I murmur against his ear. Oh, he smells so good—clean, of fresh linen, body wash, and Christian. Like home, my home. My threatened tears begin to fall.
Why is he smirking? The thought nags me as I head into the en suite. A memory springs unbidden to my mind. I used his toothbrush after I first spent the night with him. I smirk and grab his toothbrush in homage to that first time. Gazing at myself as I brush my teeth, I’m pale, too pale. But then I’m always pale. The last time I was here I was single, and now I’m married at twenty-two! I’m getting old. I rinse out my mouth.
“You are completely over the top,” I whisper. He’s bought me a fucking Audi R8! Holy shit. Just like I asked! My face splits in a huge grin, and my inner goddess does a backflip off the high dive. I jump up and down on the spot in a moment of unguarded and unbridled overexcitement. Christian’s expression mirrors mine, and I dance forward into his waiting arms. He swings me around.
“How far above the limit? . . . I see . . . All charges, everything. Ana’s father is in the ICU—I want you to throw the fucking book at him, Dad . . . Good. Keep me informed.” He hangs up.
“The other driver?”
He nods. “Some drunken trailer trash from Southeast Portland.” He sneers, and I’m shocked by his terminology and his derisory tone. He walks over to me, and his tone softens.
Not only is he an entitled, classist prick, but he’s also a life ruiner. Christian Grey ruins lives.
“I don’t want to be poor,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve done that. I’m not going back there again. Besides . . . it’s a game,” he murmurs. “It’s about winning. A game I’ve always found very easy.”
“Unlike life,” I murmur to myself. Then I realize I said the words out loud.
And that’s it for this week!
2 replies on “Linotte Reads 50 Shades: Fifty Shades Freed, Chapter Eighteen”
“Derisory” is NOT A WORD. The word is “derisive.” GET A DICTIONARY, E.L. JAMES.
And I am annoyed by “Oh, I don’t know what the bracelet was, because I am a simple girl who doesn’t know about fancy things and is overwhelmed by a [fucking] CHARM BRACELET.”
All expletives my own.