Updated on August 5, 2015
50 Shades Freed – Chapter Four
What happened last time? Oh yeh, nothing. They had an argument, made up and he bought her a diamond bracelet in a medieval hilltop town. So far, so sickeningly wealthy. And then someone called to say the server room was on fire. NOOOOO! NOT THE SERVER ROOM!
Read Chapter Three.
50 Shades Freed
I have tried reading, watching TV, sunbathing … but I can’t relax.
A murderous nutter on the loose will do that to a girl.
I go to find Taylor.
“I’d like to go shopping.”
Dear God, don’t let this be an Ana shopping chapter.
“I’d like to take the Jet Ski.”
Aaagh! Still with the capitals!
She goes to tell Christian that she’s off shopping and is surprised when he doesn’t freak out about it. Apparently this is because he’s distracted by the fire thing, rather than the fact that it DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER.
I want to kiss him. Hell, I can – he’s my husband.
I plant a kiss on his lips, surprising him.
Woman kisses husband shocker!
“You’re distracting me.”
Bloody hell, it was a goodbye kiss.
“Go spend some money.” He releases me.
That money you didn’t earn and object to at every turn. Still happy to blow it, though, aren’t you? Hypocrite.
My subconscious shakes her head and purses her lips. You didn’t tell him you were going on the Jet Ski.
Again, because it DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER.
When I squeeze the gas further, the Jet Ski leaps forward. This rocks! No wonder Christian never lets me drive.
He doesn’t stop you driving because it’s awesome. He stops you driving because he thinks you’re pathetic and will kill yourself.
I veer around to do a circuit of the stately Fair Lady. As I complete the circuit, I spot Christian on deck. I think he’s gaping at me.
Oh girl, you’re in trouble!
Bravely, I lift one hand and wave enthusiastically at him.
THIS IS NOT BRAVERY.
They arrive on the shore. Taylor tells her that Christian called and isn’t happy with her riding the jet ski (see, no capitals!). Ana grows some balls and says Christian can tell her himself when they get back. Those balls will disappear when she’s face to face with him, I guarantee it.
I feel my BlackBerry vibrate … it’s Christian.
Because of course it is.
“I’ll come back on the boat. Don’t be mad.”
Wow, those testicles couldn’t recede any faster if you’d applied ice cubes directly to the scrotum.
“Well, far be it from me to curtail your fun. Just be careful. Please.”
You can’t stop her having fun, but you can call her straight after to fill her with guilt about it.
Jet Ski crisis averted, I think.
I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW MUCH TIME IS BEING DEDICATED TO THIS TOTAL NON-ISSUE.
They get in the car and, oh good Christ, she emails Christian. They exchange some vacuous statements of love, as if mere words can patch over the suppurating, pus-filled wound that is their relationship.
Why did I want to go shopping? I hate shopping.
EL James, you could have just saved us all the trouble and written a chapter about Ana taking a shit.
I walk determinedly past Chanel, Gucci, Dior, and find a small, overstocked touristy store.
The height of female empowerment: not buying expensive brands with your husband’s money.
[I buy] a little silver ankle bracelet with small hearts and little bells … it costs five euros.
Look at her, shopping all rebelliously.
This is me – this is what I like. Immediately I feel more comfortable.
Ana, your sense of inner peace is tied up with the purchase of cheap jewellery. This DOES NOT MAKE YOU BETTER than someone whose inner peace is tied up with the purchase of expensive jewellery. Same thing, different price tag.
I don’t want to lose touch with the girl who likes this, ever.
For someone who claims to hate shopping, she sure does seem to define herself by it.
She wants to buy something for Christian and suddenly remembers seeing the Venus de Milo with him. This gives her an idea, so she calls José and then practically rolls her eyes at his jealousy oozing through the phone. YOU CALLED HIM. Two hours later, she’s back on the boat.
Christian takes the box and shakes it gently.
“Thank you,” he says with shy delight.
“You haven’t opened it yet.”
“I’ll love it, whatever it is.”
You might not. It might be shit.
“A Nikon?” He glances up at me, puzzled.
It is a camera. Stop referring to objects by their brand names and not their real names.
“…this is for … um … portraits and the like.”
He blinks at me, still not understanding.
Oh my God, she wants him to take nude pictures of her! How racy!
“For me, photos like those have usually been an insurance policy, Ana. I know I’ve objectified women for so long,” he says.
Oh yeh, and now you’re a feminist saint.
“I am so confused,” he whispers.
Well done, Ana. You found the only sex-obsessed man who doesn’t understand the appeal of nude photos.
It comes to me – the fire, Charlie Tango, the Jet Ski…
…He’s scared, he’s scared for me, and seeing these marks on my skin must bring that home.
I don’t … I don’t understand. You were talking about nude photos, not the love bites.
She reassures him that she likes rough sex. I entirely lose the thread of the narrative, if there even is one. She takes a photo of him and he says, all sexy like, “I could oppress you big-time, Mrs Grey,” and then goes all moody again. Then he’s happy again and he takes some photos of her. Then they’re having sex. I really don’t know what’s happening now.
Whoa! He’s not taking off his clothes or my T-shirt.
The kinkiest thing of all: sex with some clothes on!
He starts to move … move like he’s trying to climb inside me.
Well, that’s just not right.
“Oh, Ana,” he cries and he joins my climax.
It’s just that easy!
After the sex, they’re back into whatever the hell was happening before. She asks him what’s wrong, then they repeat their wedding vows to each other. Finally, AT LAST, he tells her what’s bothering him (because apparently that’s what caused all this bloody confusing shit).
“It’s arson,” he says.
Well, yes. Obviously.
“And my biggest worry is that they are after me.”
Yes, also obvious.
“And if they are after me – “
“…They might get me,” I whisper.
A round of applause for the slowest couple in the world!
“You can worry yourself to death. You’ll probably die of a heart attack before you’re forty.”
“You’ll be the death of me. The sight of you on the Jet Ski – I nearly did have a coronary.”
Ha ha! Heart attack humour!
“Christian, it’s a Jet Ski.”
No, it’s a jet ski.
“Even kids ride Jet Skis.”
No, they ride jet skis. This is bugging the shit out of me.
They have dinner on the boat, during which there’s a scene about Ana and Christian at the Palace of Versailles. Don’t know why, just a ‘memory’. Then Christian goes off to do some work and Ana checks her emails. There’s one from Kate, asking about the fire.
Kate is online! I jump onto my newfound toy – Skype messaging – and quickly type a message.
You know what else Skype can do? PHONE PEOPLE.
Christ, they type messages to each other. This is unbearable.
Kate: How’s our favourite ex-dom?
Ana: He’s fine. More than fine. :)
On my Kindle the smiley is SO SMALL that at first I thought it was a little © symbol. Given the all the product placement so far, that would not surprise me.
Now there’s a dream scene. EL James is really using all her tricks in this chapter.
I curl around him, trying to ignore the loss and devastation I felt in my dream, and in that moment, I know that my deepest, darkest fear would be losing him.
Wow! I would never have guessed that from any of your previous behaviour!
And there we go, the end of a chapter seemingly sponsored by every rich-person brand going. See you next week for more.
Read Chapter Five.