I've lumbered over this bonus chapter for far too long. Hope you enjoy. On to Freed, but first some baby love in Grey Hearts and Flowers. xx

"Your mother seems excited," Ana says as we drive in the R8 along these winding, white picket fence lined roads of my youth, on the way down to the church.

It's odd, as I remember leaning my head against the glass of the family SUV as a boy—much like Ana is now—looking out a rain splattered window and wishing I could disappear into that blur of manicured lawns and tightly clipped shrubs that were so perfect and nothing like me.

After I beat the shit out of Reverend Walsh's son at school for calling me a Mama's boy, I was sure I'd never take this drive again.

And yet, here I am, driving my girl.

Hopefully God and the Reverend don't hold grudges.

"Are you kidding?" I say, placing my hand on Ana's, just over her knee. "Our wedding at her home. It's like we've gifted Grace the moon."

I can only imagine the pomp and pageantry that will unfold over the next four weeks, leading up to the big day. The Grey women will be in their element. Though, I am reluctant to introduce Mia to all that is Armando. If I remember anything from chemistry class, aside from that dreadful baton twirler who sat in front of me smacking grape gum and her opinions, it's that two compounds such as my sister and my glitterati florist have the potential to create beautiful fireworks or a fucking nightmare explosion. Well, at least a rhinestone and sparkle fueled one.

"I think it will be pretty special there," Ana smiles and I allow my thoughts to travel briefly to bouquets of blush roses, a fiery magenta sunset and my girl in white wedding lace in a garden deep into July.

Well, maybe off white...

"Yes, pretty damn special," I say with a love drunk grin.

Like her.

Watching Ana next to me, as she leans back into the seat and settles her eyes on the passing suburban sprawl, reminds me of when we were in Georgia, and on our way to fly in the glider. Our first official date as boyfriend and girlfriend. Strange to think I was once so terrified of those titles and now they're too flimsy.

Now, I need more.

I was giddy that morning and it surprised me. Less the feeling, and more how much I liked it. I knew I could get addicted to it, and I'd never been addicted to anything but pain. It's a feeling hard to explain, but one I imagined Christmas might be to little boys who deserved it.

We were in my rental car that morning, the wet heat already sweltering in through a cracked window, as we listened to my iPod. We were having fun, which had been a rarity for me, and Ana made some passing comment about the future and marriage and children. I froze. It was nothing of gut wrenching note to anyone but a man like me, but the problem is I was a man like me. And it struck me deeply, as the sun was both figuratively and literally beginning to rise on us, that a day not far off I'd have to give her up.

I'd have to let her go...

Ana deserved someone more than me, I knew that. And I wasn't so terrible that I'd ever keep her from that life. I knew someone else would be the one to take that walk with her down the aisle. Someone else would be the one to let her touch him, and hold him, and make love to him. And I loathed him—that son of a bitch who didn't exist for her yet, but who was such a better man than me. But, in all the hours I imagined destroying this phantom bachelor, and ripping him throat to testicles, I never dreamed I could actually become him.

"I really will sign anything, you know," Ana says, startling me out of my thoughts. She's playing with her hands again, picking at a particular chip of light pink polish on her right thumb, as the side of her head clips the glass.

Why is she bringing this up again?

"Ana—" I say, not attempting to hide my disgust with the subject. "Stop."

My fucking father! Why can't he mind his own damn business?

"It's important to your family," she says.

"It's not. My father is a lawyer. He's just pissed about Elena, I told you."

"Do you blame him?"

"Yes. He should drop it. Whatever Elena did, at least it kept me from being an addict on the streets."

"Why do you think that?" she asks.

"Because that's who I come from. I would've been dead."

"I don't believe that," she says, so adamantly.

"Well, it's well established you believe in fairytales, Miss Steele." I look over to her.

"I do, Mr. Grey," she smiles and I can literally feel the ice liquefying and dripping off my heart.

"I just don't want your family to ever think..." Ana says as she folds her arms and cuts her gaze down to her Louboutin pumps.

"Think what?" I ask.

"That I'm in this for the wrong reasons."

"Ana, fuck what people think. This is our business and no one else's."

"I know... but I don't want your money. That's the truth. I only want you." She looks up at me with those eyes. I never knew it was possible for someone to look at you and to see you so completely, and for that to change the way you see everything—including yourself. I never knew, until she looked at me.

"And I love you for that." I reach over and take her hand, bringing it to my mouth to kiss. "But, you're going to be my wife. Forever. Over my dead body are you signing anything that says you might not be. And I told you, if you ever left..." I shake my head, trying to rid myself of that torturous thought. "Ana, what's mine is yours. All of it. Always."

"And what's mine is yours," she says in a feathery whisper.

"Yes," I smile and kiss her fingers. "And I'll be partaking in the privileges of what's mine of yours quite frequently." I wolfishly grin as I set her hand back in her lap, and then stroke her knee.

So soft...

"You know, since what's mine is yours, once we say I do, you'll be the rightful owner of some first edition books again," she says.

Shit, she's got me there.

"Yes, I'm looking forward to putting Tess back on our shelves. Perhaps we'll have to get a matching set for the library in the new house. I want to build you one there, too."

"Two libraries... I'd like that." She smiles and then leans her head against the glass to gaze out the window again. She looks happy, yet conflicted.

Of course, first edition books cost a fortune.

I can see it's going to take a lot of measured effort, and my father butting the fuck out, but Ana has got to learn to be rich. I want her dripping in jewels and designer clothes—and panties that most people would have to take a second mortgage out to buy. What woman argues with this?

Ana... I sigh.

Maybe I'll surprise her with a shopping trip next week... Price tags off, of course.

"Are the photographers really going to chase us?" she asks with concern knit in her brow.

Fucking mimosa soaked Kavanagh. She had to bring that up at breakfast.

"No," I say, squeezing her knee. "We have Taylor. He's the human embodiment of flea repellent. That's why I hired him."

"He isn't with us now," she says.

"No, but trust me. They'll never find us today. No paparazzi is going to think I'd be going to church."

She softly smiles, though it's still a bit unsure, as bands of sunlight streak across her face.

She needs distraction. So do I.

"You know, these stockings are tremendous," I say, inching my fingers up under her skirt. The gentle pleating on this Chanel number, and how easily it edges up, is so damn sexy. It's the adult version of a slip and slide.

"Christian, we're going to church." She squirms, but definitely doesn't stop my expedition.

"Well, we better get any sinning out of the way before we repent," I say as I run my fingers in little circles up her thigh until I reach the lace edge of her panties.

Fuck, I have to remember I'm driving.

"We shouldn't..." She stops mid breath and tilts her head back into the seat as I tickle her swelling little bud through the lace.

"You were saying..." I slip my fingers under the band and softly stroke her slit. She responds with a mewl.

I slip one, then two fingers inside of her, as I watch the road ahead. Fuck, does she feel tight and warm—and so wet. My dick is practically flying off into traffic.

She starts to pant and moan as she rolls her hips up and around, grasping the leather edges of her seat.

"Do you like, Miss Steele?" I growl.

She bucks and then really starts to move up and down on my hand, giving me all the response I need.

This is so damn hot. I love when she uses me for her pleasure like this. I'm just glad I had Taylor get me illegally dark tinted windows, or the tightly clipped bushes of Bellevue would be getting a show—along with the landscapers.

"That's right, baby," I say as curl my fingers just right to get her g-spot.

"Oh god!" Ana cries out as my palm massages her clit, and all at once she lets loose. Her pussy clenching and quivering around my fingers. Her come dripping down my hand. "Christian!" she screams and I fear the windows may crack.

Once the aftershocks subside, I remove my fingers, stretching the sticky wetness between them, as I bring them to my mouth to suck.

"Delicious," I say, relishing her flavor.

Like fucking honey...

"Oh my god!" She puts her hands over her face, blushing and girlishly giggling. "I can't believe you just did that."

"Seriously?" I raise a brow. "You can't believe I just did that?" One final demonstrative suck.

She laughs as she straightens herself.

I never knew being with someone like this, so wild and without constraints, could be so much fun. Who would've thought that laughing after sexual activity could be a good thing.

It's a very good thing.

Speaking of very good things...

"I think I owe you something in return," she says, nibbling her lip as she looks from my face to my bulging crotch.

Holy fuck.

"Well, you can deliver this afternoon, in our bed." I smirk.

"I don't want to wait all day," she says and then leans over, her hair tickling my lap as she runs a finger up and down my fly. "I'm hungry now."

"Ana, no..." I breathe as she undoes my zipper and reaches in, managing to quickly pull me free.

Okay, this is new... Damn!

"What?" she says, licking her lips before running the tip of her tongue around my head. The one that's doing the thinking, not the one that grows hair on the top of my body that's completely useless at the moment.

"Fuck, we can't," I say, my hips involuntarily pumping myself into her warm, waiting mouth.

"I think we can," she smirks. Her lips wrap around me firmly as she begins to suck. The precum is dribbling down her chin.

"Ana," I growl as she takes me to back of her throat and swallows. The action is mind blowing. "If you keep doing that I'm going to come."

She smiles, and keeps doing just that.

"Ana, how am I supposed to drive?" I pant. She's reached her hand down into my briefs and is now massaging my balls.

Oh hell!

I literally can't take another second of this, and there's no way I can drive safely. I check around me for oncoming traffic, then pull over fast to the side of the road and turn off the ignition.

"Ana, you fucking unman me," I garble out as she starts to really swallow me. I can feel her smiling around my dick as her throat closes around my tip and it's the hottest fucking thing.

I hold her head, running my fingers through her hair and grabbing handfuls of it as she has her way with me. Licking and sucking, lightly running her teeth along my length, and then taking me deeper than even I thought was possible to go.

It doesn't take long until I'm on the edge of exploding. I start to rock my hips, pushing against her tonsils, and with one final thrust, I spill the contents of my balls down her throat.

"Ana," I cry out.

Like a good girl, she holds me in and sucks, swallowing every last drop I have to give.

God, I love her.

"Come here," I growl, taking her face with my hands to pull her in for a kiss. I can taste myself on her sweet tongue. There's something so erotic about that. She tastes all mine.

"I love you so much," I whisper against her lips, our kissing more urgent now. I have no plans to stop, until I hear the loud horns.

Fuck.

What the hell is that?

I pull away from her and look out the window, fearing it's the authorities and we're about to be the top story on TMZ, but then I see it's just Elliot, in his high wheeled monstrosity of a truck, pulled up next to us, blowing his horn. That thing alerts all oncoming traffic that you have dick size issues and that you fuck everything that moves. Plus, it's yellow, which basically is a highlighter to these facts.

I partially roll down my window, so my brother can't see my cock hanging out in my lap. Again, I'm thankful for the dark windows.

"Bro, couldn't you two wait 'till after communion?" He laughs and I see a snickering Kavanagh next to him. She's trying to feign outage, but she's still drunk from those contraband mimosas at breakfast, so she just looks like an oxygen deprived flounder.

I'm just glad the rest of them went ahead of us. The last thing I need is my grandfather's roadside commentary.

"Fuck off Elliot," I say as Ana hides her head into my shoulder. "I had engine trouble."

"Dude, I'm sure you did." Elliot says with a laugh. "But zip it up. You're late." He zooms off in that eyesore, dust kicking up in the road under those monster tires, and I look down to a blushing Ana.

"Screw my brother," I say, and give her a kiss on the head. "His brain is as blue as his balls."

"Stop," she laughs.

"I love you so much." I kiss her. "You know that, don't you?" There's a desperate cocker spaniel in my words.

She nods. "I love you, too. You know that, don't you?"

I smile softly. I want to know that...

"Elliot's right. We're going to be late," I say, brushing her hair behind her ear, trying not to dwell on my unworthiness of her love.

I tuck myself in, zip up and we take off.

The clouds literally part in the sky as we make our way up the drive to the First Episcopal Church of Bellevue.

I'm not sure why they always call these churches the firsts. You never see seconds and thirds. Did they get driven out by a dogmatic monopoly? Of course, who wants to advertise themselves as the second of anything? I guess all the ones named after saints were late to the game.

"Why don't they have valet at these things?" I ask as we get stuck in a line of cars attempting to make their way into a parking lot that looks like it predates Model T Fords.

The masses are converging on it, fighting for a handful of spaces set apart by basically chalk lines and your imagination. I didn't know church was that popular these days—and the drivers this aggressive. Some old lady with peacock feathers adhered to what looks like a hat, but could easily be the carcass of the actual bird, mowed down a trash can to fit her seventies Buick.

"Christian, it's church," Ana giggles. "There's no parking service."

"Well, why not? What good is it if we're stuck out in the parking lot, cursing," I say. "Doesn't that defy the purpose?"

I spot a guy in brick red pants and a white coat lumbering forth.

"Hey, maybe that's him," I say. I try to wave the guy down, but he looks at me like I'm flipping him off or something.

"That's not the valet. He's going in." Ana laughs.

"Well, I hope he's praying for some fashion sense," I say and she continues laughing.

Apparently I'm hilarious this morning. I'm not used to anyone thinking I'm funny. I'm used to them thinking I'm the capitalistic version of Satan.

As we plod along, amidst the line of family vehicles, I ask myself—why the hell didn't we have Taylor drive?

Oh, wait a minute. I got a blow job on the side of the road. Thank god we didn't. No privacy divider could have canceled out the volume of my name on her tongue.

We clear the gates—or rather the two orange cones astride a makeshift lane and a printed paper sign telling us to park to the right for the service—and forge our way through.

The church is how I remembered it. Made of ancient, sloppily set bricks and judgement. The double doors that parishioners are passing through look like they belong to some dungeon, though not the type I'm familiar with.

Funny, Elena always said that church was for the enslaved...

"You wouldn't catch me dead in that place," Elena remarked at brunch one Sunday, commenting on Grace's faith, over a Bloody Mary I bought her. She fought off Saturday night's vodka with Sunday's. "It's all a fairytale. And you and I don't believe in those," she said with a tap of her red nails against the glass.

I look over to Ana. The diamond on her hand glittering in the late morning sun. It now surprises me that I do.

"This church is so beautiful," Ana says as we attempt to park the R8 in a space I nearly knocked down two Fords and Hitachi bike to get.

I have to now maneuver behind a minivan—the kind with all the family members drawn in stick figures on the rear window to actually enter it. Let me tell you, I have a better chance against a semi truck on oil slicks than against this mother.

"Yes, it's quaint," I say, as I squeeze, just past this family monstrosity, into the space. I nearly clipped my tail.

I worry, as four children pour out of that thing, with flailing limbs and red popsicle stained mouths.

Who the hell has all those kids anyway?

They better not fuck with my car.

"When were you here last?" Ana asks as I watch the boys swing their toy lightsabers in a war outside my window.

"I haven't been here in forever," I say, turning the ignition off and putting the car into park. I pause a moment to just look at it. The sun is lighting that tree I used to hide away under as a boy. It's a good tree. It's got a solid trunk and an umbrella of full branches. The kind every boy should have when he doesn't know where else to go.

"You didn't even go to service on holidays with your family?"Ana asks.

"Never," I say, remembering all the times Grace pressed me to come with them on Christmas Eve. I always refused. A tumbler of brandy and my solitude seemed a better winter's night. Or a safer one.

"What made you stop?" Ana asks.

"I just didn't feel it was my thing..." I say, staring up at the cobblestones and biblical scenes made of multi-colored glass. It's daunting. A feeling I didn't expect.

"You sure you want to do this?" I ask Ana. "We could always just go home, enjoy the afternoon in bed. Alone."

She reaches over and takes my hand to squeeze. "I need to thank God for bringing you back to me," she says so sweetly.

Oh Ana...

And, as always, she somehow gives me courage to open a door.

This time it's the door of my R8, opening right out onto the gaggle of kids.

"Are you Batman?" one of the boys asks as I slip out of the car.

Is this child talking to me? I try to ignore the question, but he keeps staring. Wasn't there an M Knight Shyamalan movie that started out like this?

"What?" I ask, as I open Ana's door and help her out.

"You got his car," he says. Is this kid that high on sugar? Oh wait, the Bat Mobile... Yes, I suppose it does give off that man of the night appearance. And he doesn't even know that I have a Taylor.

"No, this is my car. He borrows it when he's out... batting," I say. "Don't touch it. It sets off all sorts of alarms."

"Will Batman come then?" He looks hopeful that beating on my car will make his hero appear.

"No, he'll stay far away, the commissioner will go crazy and you'll have to go to school every single day for a year."

"No summer?" he asks, horrified.

"Not even spring break," I say.

The kid quickly backs away.

"Christian, they're so cute," Ana says as we walk off. Of course she waves back at the herd of them.

"They're cuter farther away from my rims," I say.

"That little boy liked you."

"Only when he thought I was Batman."

I had forgotten about the greeters that accost you when you reach the doors. Neighborly people—my least favorite kind— who force programs into your hands and try to stir up conversation by asking you highly personal information like your name and if you live nearby.

"Blessings!" a caffeine hyped woman in a mumu that's a cross between watermelon pink and stab my fucking eyes out already, says as she pushes one of the programs into my hand.

Why are these things always blue and covered with clouds?

"And for you," the woman says, handing it to Anastasia.

"Thank you," Ana says, far too enthusiastically, as enthusiasm is conversation bait for the moronic.

"I'm Eunice," the woman says.

"I believe it," I mutter and Ana nudges me.

"I'm Ana, this is Christian," Ana says, giving me a look that's equivalent to a side elbow. She's exceptionally good at that.

"What an absolutely gorgeous couple you two make," Eunice says. "Why haven't I seen you before?"

"We don't live nearby," I say fast and pull Ana along and inside, before she gets too enthusiastic with the moronic again.

It's a full house.

People are packed into the pews like sacramental sardines donning their good khakis and hair that's so high it can touch God's front porch. What is it with hairspray and congregational women? I look around to see if I recognize anyone. It all seems a blur of Sunday bests and worsts, with the latter taking precedence.

Wait, there's Gus Henderson from the ninth grade, with what appears to be his wife and baby. He actually got a woman. He looks different without his gym shorts seven ways up the rear. I swear his asshole had a vacuum setting for wedgies.

His eyes pop out of their already popped out sockets when he sees me, and then he gives me a wave. I nod my acknowledgment of his sausage fingers wading through the air, and pull Anastasia closer to me as we walk by. I don't want to actually converse with that dolt, but I want him and everyone around to see Ana firmly on my arm.

"Is that your friend?" Ana asks as we pass.

"No, I have none, you know that. And if I did, he wouldn't be it."

"But he's waving at you," she says, smiling back at him.

"So, Elliot waves at the chimps at the zoo, that doesn't make them friends," I say. Actually, it really does.

That baby is cute. Must not be his.

"Oh, Christian, Ana," Grace says, rushing toward us, up the center aisle. Her prance is as high as her spirits. "We thought you might not make it. Elliot said you had some car trouble."

Fucking Elliot.

"We made it, by the seat of our pants," I say and then look down to Ana. The seat of her pants, although it's technically a skirt, looks mighty fine right now.

And, of course, I start fantasizing about that La Perla thong...

"Speaking of seats, we better find one," I say and then start to move us toward a vacant back row. I want to sit away from everyone, to scope out the place, so I know where to hit my marks to show off my girl. And maybe, if we're alone back there, I can covertly cop a feel.

"Nonsense! We saved you places with us," Grace says, pointing to where my brother and Kavanagh have landed their asses, smack dab next to my grandparents.

Oh fuck. Pew two. Right up front.

And three whispering little old ladies are already smiling and waving at me.

I never knew so many old people could get this excited about my love life.

"Come and sit," Grace says. "Everyone can't wait to see you."

"Mom, we're fine back here—" I say, but I'm not able to get another word in, as Grace takes Ana's arm and starts to usher us along.

"Oh Ana, I want to introduce you to a few of my friends after service," Grace says.

"You mean there are more people you know than were at the festivities last night?" I say with sarcastic bite.

"Oh Christian," my mother chides me. "You don't realize how many people care about you."

Care about me? None of these people even know me. Well, not really. And if they did, caring wouldn't be the word they'd use.

"I'd love to meet your friends, Grace," Ana says.

"Oh, Ana. Please call me Mom," Grace says, so high on my life. I grin.

The Greys have taken up the entire second pew. It's like Grace made a reservation. I'm surprised there aren't blankets and a picnic lunch laid out.

"I'll alert the morgue, you're ready for your own funeral," Elliot says, pointing to my suit as we scoot our way though.

"I'll alert science that they were wrong. You really can marginally function upright without a brain," I say and he laughs.

"He looks good," my father says from his seat and gives me a nod. I don't say anything. I just look away. After what he's pulled, I'm not acknowledging him today.

"Ana!" Kavanagh says, opening her arms to give Ana a hug that's like a welcome back from war. We just had breakfast with her for God's sake.

What the hell is Kavanagh wearing?

She's got this Easter egg purple peasant dress number on. I think she borrowed it from Mia, as it looks like something my sister wore to an adolescent formal. Kavanagh's obviously trying to appear virtuous in that getup, complete with white kitten heeled pumps. Come on, who's she kidding?

"It's so good to have my children here," Grace says, all emotional, as she settles in by my father, whom I continue to dramatically ignore. "And it's all the more special to have them here with the ones they love."

I smile, squeezing Ana's hand, and then give her a chaste kiss.

I notice Elliot immediately freezes up. I don't think he's had the love talk yet. He was too busy waving his dick in front of her dad and covering it with her mother's sweater to talk romance. Plus, the dry cleaning fees...

But I do think he really likes her. God knows why. If I saw that mouth coming at me, I'd cast a fishing line and then throw it back.

I wonder if he'll move into Ana's old place soon... Lord knows his bachelor pad needs to be burned down. It's a Petri dish for STDs.

"How much singing is gonna be in this thing?" my grandfather blurts out as he flips through the program, trying to make out the print, squinting overtop his thick black rimmed glasses.

"Hopefully not too much. I don't want to hear your old voice clutching to a tune," my grandmother says.

"I don't want to sing. I want to know when I can take a nap," he says.

"Dad, you love church," Grace says.

"Yeah. Because I can sleep," he says.

My grandfather looks up at me as Ana and I push through to take our seats. "Car trouble, huh?" he whispers with a mischievous grin, tapping his nose. "I hope you got it parked good in that garage." He laughs.

Oh my god.

"Where's Mia?" I ask as I look around and notice a glaring vacancy in the pew.

"With lover boy," Elliot says, pointing to Mia and Surfer Curls across the sanctuary. She's dragging him around to meet people like it's the Tour de France—or rather the Tour de Idiot. He really is constantly just a heap of bobbing bangs and confusion, smothered in hemp oil.

I'd worry this is starting to get too serious between the two, but he looks like he's either about to hurl or run, and that's just how I like my sister's boyfriends.

As we all settle and wait for service to start, I find myself bouncing my knee, so I reach for Ana's hand in her lap to clasp. The knotting of her fingers in mine helps to ease my nerves. I thought I could just slip into a pew, hold on during the bore of a sermon, and then leave with a happy with me Ana, but that's not proving to be the case. There are too many memories in this place clawing at me.

Ana must sense my trepidation, because she squeezes my hand. Again, like that errant toddler, she pulls me from danger.

"I bet you were cute in Sunday school," she whispers, smiling up at me.

"Well, I don't know if cute is the word to describe me," I say.

"I do," she grins, and I can't help but return one.

I don't think I've ever smiled in church before. Well, maybe when Elliot was an alter boy and tripped and took a nosedive into old Mrs. Flannigan's cleavage. But it wasn't a smile like this.

"If you were in my class back then, when I was say ten, I wouldn't have been able to take my eyes off of you," I say to Ana.

"Yes, you would," she says.

"Why do you say that?" I ask.

"Because I would've been four," she says with a twisted mouth smirk.

"Fair point well made," I say. "But, you're certainly all grown up now." I give her knee a squeeze and she quickly swats it away.

The organ booms, startling us to attention, and the pomp and circumstance begin. The grand wood doors swing open, and an even grander procession marches down the center aisle. Everyone leaps to their feet, joining in a hymn that I can't find the page number to, but somehow Ana knows by heart. Hell, I had forgotten what an event these things are.

Ana looks perfect in here. Like she belongs. Of course, she's an angel, so she's in her element. I, on the other hand, feel like a thumb slammed between two car doors trying to fit into a glove.

A strange thought crosses my mind. Maybe Ana will want to come here sometime, again. There will be holidays that I know my mother will beg us to attend. Especially after we're married. Can I do that? Can I come back here more than once? I don't want to keep her away, but this isn't something I've ever considered. Of course, I've never considered any of this.

"What's wrong?" Ana whispers up to me after the procession concludes, a prayer is said and we take our seats.

Of course my grandfather is already snoring.

"Nothing," I say as I take hold of her hand. And once I feel her ring press against my flesh, nothing is wrong again.

Reverend Walsh is just how I remember him, except a little whiter and thinner up top, and wider and rounder down below. Those oblong wire rimmed glasses of his, propped on his pink chubby cheeks, make him look jolly. But, he never felt like Santa Claus to me.

"You've been given a great gift," he told me, all those years ago in his office, while trying to tether control of his exasperation with me. I was eleven, and I had just done something in Sunday school class to fuck up. I can't even remember what it was, but I was sent to see him in his dark wooden office. The one tucked behind the sanctuary, beneath the gathering of the faithful, practically buried under the stained glass and apostles. The walk there felt like the path to some gauntlet, or maybe that's just where I always felt I was headed. "You have a family that loves you very much. Can't you see that? Why do you continue to disobey the rules?"

That was before I was drilled to obey.

I didn't say anything to him, I just looked out the small round window above his bookshelves. It was the only place my eyes could land on that felt like escape. I imagined I was a crow I saw flying out there, only I kept flying, as far and away as I could go, until I was completely swallowed up by the sun. When the sun gets you, I imagined, all you feel is the fire of everything being burned away.

"Son, I don't want to send you home with a bad report again, but I'm afraid I'll have to. Your mother will be so disappointed," he said.

He hadn't told me anything I didn't already know.

I remember how his chair creaked as he leaned across his desk and folded his hands. It was as if a prayer and a punch had come together and were aimed in my direction. "Why don't you talk to me?" he asked.

I still didn't say anything. I knew I'd be in trouble, but that was better than opening my mouth. I could handle punishment, I just couldn't handle a chance that I may be known.

"You don't believe this, but one day you're going to get past all you're dealing with," he said. "I'm going to ask you how you're doing and you're going to tell me that you're okay. And, you know what, you're going to mean it."

I thought he was crazy. But, then again, I never could've imagined Anastasia.

"Who among us is the worst of sinners?" Reverend Walsh's bellowing voice steals me from my memory. A part of me wonders if he sees me out here in the crowd and he's trying to get me to lift up my hand. Thankfully, Ana's got hold of it.

"We are all sinners," he continues, rather fired up. "No one is better or worse under God's watch. But it is God's love and sacrifice that set us free. Love is the only thing that can do that..."

Love...

I look over to Ana, and she smiles up at me.

He's right about that.

I find myself scanning the room as the sermon moves on. I need distraction and Ana's panties are only serving to tent my pants. I'm looking for familiar faces and I am met with a few. My American History teacher from the third school I was expelled from is here, along with my Algebra teacher from the first. Also, that wretched girl who tried to kiss me after said Algebra class behind the gymnasium. All wire blonde hair and projectile spit from her pink rubber banded braces. Thankfully, I was fast and I was able to outrun her.

"There is no time that has passed where God won't welcome you again," Reverend Walsh says. "No valley too low that he won't lift you out. No place too far that he can't bring you home."

Well, if that wasn't aimed at me, I don't know what was.

We're instructed to open the hymnal to one I actually know. Elliot and I had to memorize it in Sunday school. Of course, Elliot played it via fart noises with his hand to his mouth on the way home in the SUV. Grace lost it, and Mia and I laughed when he got in trouble. We really were stupid kids back then, but maybe those times were better than I allow myself to remember.

I look over to Elliot as we sing, and he laughs, mimicking a fart sound.

"Let us pray," Reverend Walsh says, after the song is finished, and heads bow in a chorus line. I keep up with appearances, though I don't close my eyes. I never do.

"Lord, I pray that you watch over us during trying times," Reverend Walsh says. "That you comfort us in pain and cradle us when we weep. And I especially pray for those who feel the burden of loss. Show them that there is a story beyond the end of a chapter. Show them that it's a good one. And especially, Lord, let those who have found happiness be able to truly rejoice."

I squeeze Ana's hand and I feel her head lightly rest on my shoulder. After the amen, my mother looks over at us and inhales sharply. It still shocks her to see me being touched like this, I know. Surprisingly, it's not so shocking to me anymore. It feels good. It's the best feeling I've ever known.

"I have money," Ana whispers to me as the collection plate is passed around. They have a man in a bolo tie, who looks ninety-eight, covering eleven pews. I suppose we'll only be here until next Sunday.

"Stop, I have enough for us," I say, waving off her fourteen dollars in cash and peeling my own from my wallet.

"I don't want to take your money," she says.

"You're not. It's your money, too. In a few weeks anyway." I smile as I throw five hundred into the passed bag for us both.

Of course Ana throws her fourteen bucks on top in sheer disobedience. And of course I sort of love it.

"The wages of sin," I whisper and she smirks.

There are more hymns and kneeling that my grandfather snores through. Church really is a workout. No wonder people who go live longer. It's less about the praying and more about the cardio.

They call for communion and everyone, including Kavanagh—whom I expect to be shot down with lighting bolts momentarily—readies to make their way up the aisle for the wine and wafers. I don't. I sit in place. Like always.

"Aren't you coming?" Ana asks, as she starts to get up.

I shake my head. "I don't do this," I whisper.

"Okay," she says, looking at me for a moment, before settling back into the pew.

"You should go," I say.

"Not without you," she says, and we both stay seated, holding hands, as everyone else moves forward. And, for the first time in this place, I really feel like I've partaken in some holy sacrament.

"Wasn't that a beautiful service?" Grace says after it concludes and we all ready to exit.

"It was lovely," Ana says.

"It really inspired me," Kate chimes in like an alarm clock accidentally set for Saturday.

I have to physically prevent myself from rolling my eyes so far back into my skull that my whole body does a back flip while projectile vomiting on itself.

"Ana and I are going to head back to our apartment now," I say.

"Nonsense, there's a reception," Grace says. "People want to see you."

The little old ladies wave again as they scurry past.

"They've seen us for over an hour," I say.

"But there's coffee and cake," Grace says, like that's supposed to lure me in. Two day old grocery store bakery items and cookies sliced from a tube and nuked on a tin sheet.

"Mom, as alluring as that all sounds, Ana and I both have early mornings tomorrow," I say.

"It's noon, dude," Elliot says. Fuck, he's right. It just feels like we've been here until midnight.

"Ana, you have to meet my friend," Mia says. "She does bachelorette weekends in Vegas."

"I wanna meet your friend!" Kavanagh says. "We can plan!"

"No, that's not happening, I already said," I state, and Mia and Kate laugh.

"Dude, I've already booked yours in my mind," Elliot says. "Ethan, what do you say to a burlesque review?"

Surfer Curls is more dumbfounded than he already is in general. He stays predictably silent. Good.

"No!" I say. "Not happening. I don't want any show girls."

"I'll take them," my grandfather says and my grandmother swats him with her handbag.

"You can talk about all that later. Reverend Walsh wants to say hello," Grace says to me. "Please stay."

"Did you tell him I was coming?" I ask.

"No," she says, but then the guilt of her lie takes hold of her. "Well, only when we first got here and we were saving places in the row. I had to tell him my family was coming—especially my newly engaged son with his fiancée." She beams.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I say. "We can't."

"We can stay for a few minutes, Christian,"Ana says, looking up at me, admonishing and encouraging at the same time. It's one of her many remarkable abilities— telling me to get my shit together and making me actually want to.

"Fine," I say. "A few. Not all day."

My family is looking at me like my second head grew a third right before their eyes. They've never known me to be agreeable before, and never so quickly. Yes people, Ana runs me.

Well, at least I can show her off on my arm.

We enter the garden setting out back—which is really just a bunch of bricks and some plastic hanging plants— to find the reception area is packed. Never underestimate the allure of gossip and free baked goods amidst the puritanical set.

"Do you want cookies?" Ana asks, motioning to a table buried a half mile deep in boxed bakery nonsense.

"Yes, that's why I want to get you home," I growl as I lean over and kiss the side of her head. "Of course, there's probably a broom closet here somewhere."

"Stop," she giggles as I nibble her ear. "Look, they have chocolate chip." She motions to the table.

"Those are probably raisins," I say. "Church cookies are always raisin. My fundamental problem with religion."

She rolls her eyes and then stuffs one in my mouth.

And yes, it's fucking raisin.

"Christian Grey," a shrill voice stabs from behind. I look around, cookie crumbles on my mouth, and see the freckled strawberry blonde woman it's attached to.

"Yes," I say.

Who is this person? She's got a buttoned up pantsuit on and one of those traveler's thermos mugs that I'm sure she brought to partake in the benefits of free canned coffee. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was about to sell me insurance.

"Jill Beck," she says, offering a hand I don't take.

"Right," I say. She does look oddly familiar, but I can't place her.

"I'm sorry, Jill Baker Beck," she says. "It's been forever!"

"Yes... Time is relative they say. We were just enjoying the variety of baked goods here, alone, so if you'll excuse us," I say.

"I was on yearbook senior year," she shoots off. "I gave you your title."

"I don't remember a title," I say.

"Most likely not to come to the reunion." She laughs.

Is that a joke?

"Well, you were right," I say.

She laughs again. It's high pitched, like something stray cats would sing to in alleyways. God, is it annoying.

Strange. I don't remember her at all from high school. I feel like I've seen her somewhere else. But, where?

"I see congratulations are in order," she says, gesturing to Ana's hand. "You two are adorable. How did you meet?" she asks quickly.

"We don't discuss—" I say.

"I interviewed him for the student newspaper at my university," Ana says, smiling brightly.

I'm thrilled she's so proud, but why is she telling this woman anything?

"A co-ed," Jill smiles, lighting up. "Well, that's adorable. I just love engagement stories. I'm such a romantic at heart. Do tell me all."

"It's nice talking to you, but we need to go," I say, pulling Ana away.

"Uh, nice meeting you," Ana says politely.

"Of course, maybe we can talk later—" Jill says, but then we're gone.

"What's wrong?" Ana asks as we move. "Why were you so rude?"

"I didn't like her," I say.

"She seemed fine," Ana says.

"She was nosy."

"She was just making conversation."

"And probably recording it with her iPhone. You have to be careful of these types. Never underestimate the public, Ana."

"Ana, Christian, I want you to meet my dear friends," my mother says, whirling up to us with a rush of women who smell like puffs of department store powder with the hairstyles to match.

I see my father sulking off to the side with his coffee. I don't allow our eyes to make contact, but I do make sure to hold Ana close.

"Your mother told us you're having the wedding this summer," one of the ladies says.

"Yes, a small wedding." I glare at my mother. "Only family and a few friends. Hardly anyone."

"Will it be in the garden or under a tent with the dance floor?" one powderpuff lady asks. "Oh Grace, you make a lovely dance floor. Will it be like the gala?"

"It could start in the garden and then flow under the tent," another powderpuff lady says. "With the good champagne passed while you walk. And cheese."

"It'll be private," I say. "No walking or passing of cheese."

"She's so pretty," another says. "You two will make beautiful babies. Long legs with nice hair." The way her eyes travel from my legs to my hair is creeping me out.

"Excuse us, we need to be... on the other side of the room," I say as I pull Ana away fast.

"And Ethan is going to graduate school next month for psychology," Mia says to a group of her friends as we pass her and Surfer Curls. "He's going to be a doctor." She practically squeals it.

He's never going to be a doctor. He'd have to cut his hair.

"Yo bro, let's get some coffee," Elliot says as he approaches with Kavanagh draped on his arm. Her lipstick is smeared and his collar undone. I think they've been making out.

"I've never seen you this excited over a can of Yuban," I say as he rushes to the pot on the communal stand.

"Oh yeah, the church has the best," he smiles and then brings out a flask from his jacket pocket.

"Are you insane?" I whisper-yell, looking around to make sure no one has seen. "You brought a flask to church?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who got a blow job on the side of the road." He pours a shot in his glass, then adds the coffee. "Besides, it's like old times."

That's right. He did always bring that thing everywhere in high school.

"We're not going to be a part of any of that," I say as he repeats the process for Kavanagh.

"Oh come on, guys. Lighten up," Kavanagh says, taking her spiked bargain joe.

"I don't think so, Kate," Ana says.

"I'm making you one, bro," he says, pouring the vodka and coffee into a cup and trying to shove it into my hand.

"No—" I say, pushing it back.

"Kids, this is my friend Martha Ridley," Grace says, approaching again with another powderpuff lady.

Elliot pockets the flask quicker than he did back in high school. I suppose he's had more experience. He's fucking thirty.

"Congratulations," Martha says to Ana and me. "Oh, and I'd love a cup," she says to Elliot who, like a moron, is still holding the spiked coffee out as an offering.

Oh fuck.

She takes a sip, looks up like she's trying to decipher what's different about it, and then takes another sip.

"This church coffee has improved," she says.

"Thank you for your well wishes. It's lovely to meet you," I say to her. "My brother and his girlfriend would love to talk while my fiancée and I grab some more cookies for the group."

I pull Ana away fast.

"You know, nobody is looking,," I say to Ana as we stop just before the door. "We could head out now. There's no one else to really see—"

"Reverend Walsh," Ana says animatedly.

"Oh, no. You don't want to see him. He's miserable," I say.

"No, he's behind you. Right now," Ana says through gritted teeth, putting on a smile, as she looks over my shoulder.

Fuck.

I turn around, and speak of the devil...

"Well, well, Christian Grey," he says with his signature belly laugh. With the weight he's gained, that signature is now a John Hancock.

"Reverend Walsh," I say, and my voice sounds pretty much the same as the last time I spoke to him. Broken and pubescent.

"It's been far too long," he says.

"Well, you told me not to come back," I say with a laugh.

"Oh, I didn't." He chuckles with his belly jiggle again.

"No, you pretty much did," I say.

"I think it was more like, you shouldn't come back until you were serious. But, you were a boy then."

"I was."

"My Reggie is all grown up, too. He's in plastics," he says. That would be the kid I beat the shit out of.

"Hope his face healed okay," I say and then I realize what an idiot I sound like. "I mean, plastics are impressive." Not any better.

Why does this man make me so nervous?

"And now..." He opens his arms wide in gesture and smiles when he looks at Ana. "This must be your better half."

"Reverend Walsh, this is Anastasia Steele, my fiancée. Anastasia, Reverend Walsh," I say.

"Lovely to meet you," she says and he takes her hand.

"My word! She's a beauty! Congratulations to you both," he says. Why is he still holding her hand?

"She is," I say and take it from him.

"I have to say, even I, the called of the faithful, didn't expect such good news," he says with bellowing joy. "Miraculous, really."

"Thank you," I say. "Neither did I."

"I loved your sermon," Ana says, tucking under my arm. "And the church is lovely. I look forward to visiting more."

Oh shit.

I was afraid of this.

How much more is more?

"Well, we would love to have you," He laughs with his jolly air. "So when is the big day?"

"A month," I say and his face turns from mirth to a concerned stare. "Because we don't want to wait, not because we have to hurry it up."

"Of course," He laughs. "I have to say, it's quite refreshing to see two young people who are in love, taking their union so seriously, and running to the alter to solidify it under God's law."

"Right. We're all about solidifying," I say. He really has no idea who he's talking to.

"Well, your mother thought you might need someone to officiate," he says.

Of course she did.

"That would be wonderful," Ana says. "We don't have anyone, do we?" She looks up at me.

"Uh... There have been offers..." I think Taylor could get a certificate online if we pay for expedited shipping.

"Well, if you wish, you two give me the date, and I'll be there."

"Our people will call yours," I say.

"Well, I'd love to have you in for some pre-marital sessions before," he says.

"Like psychotherapy?" I ask.

"No, more like Godly guidance," he says. "Prepare you two for the road of matrimony."

"We may be busy. A lot," I say.

"We can work around your schedules," he says.

"I think that would be nice," Ana says as she looks up at me.

Fuck, psychiatry from the pastor. He's definitely going to tell her not to marry me.

"Splendid," he says. "Perhaps we can talk next week."

"Okay..." I say.

"Wonderful," he says. "And, it was such a pleasure meeting you Anastasia. I can tell you two will be very happy."

"Nice seeing you Reverend," I say.

"You don't know how wonderful it is to see you again," he says. "Oh, and I do have one question. How are you now?"

He remembered...

"I'm okay," I say and I can't help but smile.

"I knew you would be," he says and gives a jolly laugh before walking away.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask Ana.

"What do you mean?" Ana says.

"We don't have to do this fussy religious ceremony if you don't want. Hey, I know, we could get the mayor. I know the mayor." Although I don't want that slob standing in front of us at the alter. I think he sweats chicken parm.

"I think it will be nice. He's close to your family. You grew up with him. I think it's special to think the person who marries us might baptize our kids one day."

Oh my god. I freeze.

Kids? Plural?

"Uh, yes. He may work," I say. "But let's get you out of here. My mother has enjoyed showing us off long enough."

I notice, when we slip out, that nosy girl from my high school is on her cell phone, talking intensely to whomever is on the other end. She cuts her eyes up at us for a moment and plasters on a smile, before walking off.

I don't like her.

"This morning was beautiful," Ana says as we walk hand-in-hand back to the car. I'm relieved to see the demon children haven't beaten my hood in. "I like it here."

"I'm glad," I say as she leans up and plants a kiss on my lips. "And I promise, I'm going to protect you." I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close. "You don't need to worry. As God as my witness, no one is getting to you, or us."

We kiss again, and it quickly deepens. Soon we're tangled up in each other, under the tree I sat beneath as a boy.

And right then, as I'm lost in her mouth and her skin and the warm summer day, I hear it.

Click, click, click.

We break, startled.

And then, I see it...

Flashbulbs.

Fuck.

The press had found us.

The End of Darker.

On to Freed and Grey Hearts and Flowers!

Thank you for reading and reviewing and for all your support! This has been an amazing journey. Thanks for taking it with me! I love you guys! xx