"You've been avoiding me," his voice came out cold and hard as he stepped up behind her. She jumped, startled by his presence and his tone, before turning around to look up at him, recognizing him.
"I'm not. I've just been busy," she said, shrugging it off and turning back toward the bar, trying to gain the bartender's attention through the crowd.
"I've contacted you multiple times over the last week, Anastasia. I want to finish the conversation we started," he said, his tone almost a warning for her not to defy him.
"I know. And we will. Eventually. Just not tonight. I'm out celebrating my new job with Kate and your brother. Now if you'll excuse me," she said with a forced smile, trying to duck around the side of him to move to the less crowded side of the bar. But he was quick to grab her by the wrist, leading her away.
"Christian, let go," she whined as he tugged her toward a more secluded spot a few yards over.
"You're the one who wanted to be friends. You're the one who tried to push conversations between us multiple times. Why are you fighting me on it now?"
She rolled her eyes, and immediately he felt his blood pressure spike. "Yes. I wanted to be friends. Yes I wanted to get to know you better. But like- I wanted to know what kind of movies you like, what you do for fun, what your favorite color is. I didn't mean I wanted to talk about Elena. Jesus, Christian. I don't like thinking about her. I don't like thinking about my mom or Stephen Morton or any of the assholes from my adolescence. I don't like talking about my past. I did with you, because we obviously needed to find some common ground, some common understanding, and my past is what brought us together, so it made sense to tell you the truth. But it comes with a price for me. I dreamt about all that stuff for four straight nights before I finally managed to get some decent sleep. I moved past all that shit in my life. I'm in a good place with good friends, a nice, safe home, and now, a brand new job. So forgive me if I'm not jumping at the chance to stroll down memory lane again any time soon."
She had dreams for four nights in a row? Dream-dreams, or nightmares? He wanted to ask, it was on the tip of his tongue, but he was here on a mission. He needed to stay focused. "I can appreciate all that, but what I need to tell you is important. It's something you deserve to know."
"Well then I can know it another day. Tonight, I am celebrating my job. That's it," she said with finality. Unfortunately for her, Christian's only finality was one he dished out. He wasn't willing to back down on this. He opened his mouth to protest again when he felt an arm sling around his shoulder.
"Hey bro," Elliot said as Christian quickly pulled back from his touch. Elliot seemed unaffected by the gesture however. He was more than used to Christian pulling away from his touch after all these years. "What brings you here?" he asked, obviously knowing the bar scene was not something Christian indulged in. His eyes narrowed in a suspicious fashion as he realized Christian was talking to Ana, who was standing there with a small frown. "What are you doing here?"
"Just enjoying a rare night out," Christian said, not really knowing what other excuse he could come up with that Elliot would believe.
"Alone?" Elliot asked skeptically.
"I was out walking, looking for a place to stop and have a drink, when I saw Anastasia through the bar window and decided to say hello," he said smoothly, pointing to the window adjacent to the bar for effect.
"Right," Elliot said, still not convinced, but shrugging it off rather than push it. "Well we're celebrating Ana's new job!"
"I heard," Christian said, planting a smile on his face.
"Kate sent me to see if you needed help carrying the drinks. She said you were taking too long," Elliot said to Ana with a grin.
"Yeah, sorry. You wanna give me a hand?" she asked, seemingly thankful for Elliot's intrusion into her and Christian's private conversation.
"Sure. Christian, join us for a drink," he said more than asked, officially breaking up the two, leading a relieved Ana and a reluctant Christian to the bar.
Clearly she'd been imbibing much more than he'd suspected. She was now noticeably intoxicated after the last two drinks he'd seen her consume. He didn't know how much she'd had before that. She'd gone to get another, and he could see the light sway in her step as she walked. So he focused more on her, intent on making sure she stayed safe. She was too respectable, too purely good to let some idiot in a bar take advantage of her. Elliot and Kate had been in their own world for the last hour or so. If he didn't watch over Anastasia, who would? Too many guys here were eyeing her. He's noticed the attention she'd garnered all night. And for good reason- she was beautiful, wearing a dress that displayed her flawless body perfectly. And now, intoxicated, she was a prime target for unwanted attention from the male predators surrounding her. He still wanted to talk to her, needed to talk to her, but that took a back seat to needing to make sure she stayed safe right now.
She stumbled slightly as she neared the bar, a probable result of the alcohol and those murderously high heels she was sporting. He saw a blonde, tanned, fit kid nudge his friend, then point to her as she stumbled slightly. When he saw them smirk at each other, then do that damned fist bump thing. His attention became laser focused. He watched the guy get her attention, then give her an over exaggerated once over before stepping closer to her, too close to her, flashing his bright white teeth. He was talking, probably saying whatever lines Christian was sure he kept in his back pocket for routine use on random bar girls. No way was he letting some low life piece of shit come along and take advantage of her drunken state. He rose from his spot at the table, moving quickly in their direction and finally saddling up next to her, one arm strategically slung around her shoulders as if it was the most casual thing in the world for him to be this close to her and touch her in such a friendly manor.
The blonde narrowed his eyes at Christian before shooting them over to Ana in question. She attempted to slither out from under the weight of Christian's arm, but her just cupped his fingers around her shoulder and held fast.
"Stop," she whispered harshly, but it was too late. The blonde took in Christian's hard glare and decided against putting up a fight for her. He held up his hands in defeat and did an about-face, lost in the crowd before Ana could get out another word. Well, that was easy. Though, it wasn't the first time his patented glare withered away the bravado of other men. Far from it.
"Why did you do that? I wanted to dance," Ana whined, yanking away from him this time.
"You're drunk and an easy target for men right now, Anastasia. It's unsafe for you to be left alone. These boys, who occupy these types of establishments have nothing but less than admirable intentions. They are only looking to slake their most basic of desires, and they will take full advantage of you. I'm not about to let you be another casualty to that lifestyle."
"I wasn't going to sleep with him, Christian! I just wanted to dance!"
He leaned his, his face now inches from hers as his eyes darkened and his voice lowered. "You may not be looking to get fucked, but that's all that was on that boy's mind. Trust me, I saw how he was looking at you."
"What business is it of yours who I fuck?" she asked, clearly becoming exasperated with this whole thing.
"You deserve better than to be someone's one night stand, Anastasia," he said.
"Nope, just someone's one night beat-and-fuck, right Christian?" she spat. Her face fell as soon as she said it, and she looked up at him with regret in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I know that's not how it was. That's not how I've ever looked at it. I was just—"
"It's fine," he cut her off curtly. Drunk Anastasia was apparently even more mouthy than sober Anastasia. With a shake of his head, he took her hand and started tugging her in the opposite direction.
"What are you doing?" she asked, stumbling slightly before catching herself, her legs rapidly moving in order to keep up with his long-legged stride.
"You said you wanted to dance," he yelled back over his shoulder as the roar of the music got louder.
Before she could respond, they were on the edge of the dance floor. He moved in a little bit further until they found a space that wasn't arm to arm with the people around them. The he stopped, pulling her against him, his front to her back. He lightly gripped her waist in his left hand, holding her body closely to his, and he began to move.
With her inhibitions lowered, Ana just went with it, rather than argue with him. Hell, this was what she wanted, so she'd better take advantage. He most definitely didn't make a habit of dancing with women in bars.
He wasn't sure how long they were out there. All this music seemed to bleed together in a way where he didn't know when one song was ending and another was starting. He just wanted to keep her safe from all the eyes that had been on her all night. This was the easiest way to accomplish that goal. If she was with him, she wasn't with anyone else.
So they danced, until he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see Elliot with an equally intoxicated Katherine on his arm. As soon as Elliot had his attention, Katherine grabbed Anastasia and the two of them talk animatedly in hushed whispers that he couldn't hear over the music. "I'm going to take Kate back to my place. I assume Taylor is around, as always, right? Can you have him make sure Ana gets home safe?"
"Taylor isn't here, but I can make sure she gets home safely," Christian said.
When he looked back at girls, Katherine was grinning widely at Anastasia while Ana glared back at her. Katherine then looked to Elliot, who nodded, then she spoke. "I'm going home with El. Is it cool if Christian has that Taylor guy give you a ride?"
"I will be assisting Miss Steele home myself," Christian said. He didn't know why it bothered him so much that they assumed he would pass the task off to Taylor. Normally, he probably would. But he wanted to take care of Anastasia himself. He would never leave her safety up to Taylor as long as he could be the one in charge of it.
Katherine wagged her eyebrows up and down at Ana, who continued to scowl at her friend's more than obvious suggestive looks.
"Katie girl, take it down a notch. Ana, is it okay if Christian takes you home?"
Ana nodded slowly, looking up at Christian as if asking if it really was okay that he do this for her. He nodded once, trying to reassure her that it was no problem.
"Sure," she shrugged one shoulder up slightly. "I guess that's fine."
They sat in silence once they'd gotten into the car. He stole glances at her as often as possible without endangering them as he maneuvered the car through the city streets. She was buckled securely into the passenger seat next to him, her knees pressed together demurely, one hand on her purse in her lap, the other propped under her chin, her elbow resting on the door handle as she stared blankly out the window.
As they waited at a red light, he noticed her take a deep breath, then let it out with an almost inaudible sigh. She seemed to come back to herself, looking around the cabin of the car as if she'd forgotten where she was. Confusion washed over her face as she looked out the windows to the area surrounding them.
"This isn't the way to my apartment, Christian," she muttered.
"I know. We are going to my home," he said firmly, pressing his foot gently to the accelerator as the light turned green.
"What? No! Why?" she asked, tilting her body halfway toward him, her hands throw out slightly in exasperation. "I want to go to my apartment. You told Elliot you'd take me home!"
"No, I told him I'd assist you 'home', but I didn't say what 'home'."
She groaned, throwing herself back in her seat with her arms crossed indignantly over her chest. "Christian, come on. I just want to go home and crawl into bed under the nice warm blankets and sleep."
"I have a perfectly adequate bed with blankets at my home, in which you will be more than comfortable," he said mockingly.
"You don't just take someone to your place without asking them! How do I know you're not one of those 'boys with less than admirable plans' or whatever you were saying earlier? How do I know you aren't taking me home to take advantage of me?" she spat hostilely.
He looked over at her, quirking an eyebrow in her direction. "Do you truthfully feel uncomfortable with me, Anastasia? Do you honestly believe I am a danger to you, that I would cause you any harm?" he asked, half sure that she was arguing just to argue, and have curious if she was honestly leery of his intentions.
The anger on her face settled into a little frown as she seemed to contemplate his words for a moment. Then stubbornly, she said a simple, "No."
"Good," he nodded immediately. "Because I would never," he reiterated for good measure.
"I still don't see why you can't just take me home," she sulked, her temper gone, but her attitude still present.
"Firstly, my place is closer. Secondly, you're intoxicated and shouldn't be left alone. And thirdly, we still have things to discuss. In the morning, you will no longer be officially celebrating your new job, so we can talk then," he said, leaving no room to broker an argument.
"You're so bossy," she said with a sigh.
"So I've heard," he said dryly. They rode in silence the rest of the way to Escala.
"Nice place. A little… clinical. But very nice," she said, scrunching up her face as she took in the decoration, or lack thereof, before nodding in approval.
"Why thank you," he said, sardonically at her backhanded compliment.
They stood in an awkward silence for a few moments before Christian spoke up. "Are you hungry? Mrs. Jones, my housekeeper, isn't on duty on the weekends, but she usually has something stored in the refrigerator that we can quickly heat up."
She shook her head. "No, thanks. Elliot treated me to dinner before we went to the bar."
Christian nodded, and the silence again enveloped them. He didn't know how to do this. Normal, casual conversation. Her even being here, standing here in his home was something completely new to him. Should he offer her a tour? Suggest they watch a movie? It was late, half past one o'clock in the morning. What do you do to entertain someone in your home at this time of night?
"Look, I'm really tired and obviously had too much to drink. Do you mind if I just get some sleep, then we can talk about whatever it is you've got on your mind in the morning?"
"Yes. I can agree to that," he said. She seemed more prone to ire in her inebriated state. So it was probably best that he didn't share this particular news while she was under the influence.
"Look at that! He knows how to compromise!" she said, adding a little cheer in for affect. His eyes narrowed at her. That smart mouth…
"Shall I show you to bed, Anastasia?" he asked, purposefully ignoring her remark.
"You can show me to the couch," she said pointedly. "I'm sure it's more expensive than my bed," she added, quietly, her eyes darting around the apartment again, taking in its opulence.
"I did not say to my bed. I just said to bed. I had no intention of sharing a bed with you," he shot back with a raised eyebrow.
"Well… good," she said, her confident smarminess dampened.
"Yes," he confirmed. "You will be sleeping in a guest room upstairs," he said, motioning toward the staircase as he started walking toward it. She followed a few steps, then stopped. "What's wrong?"
She looked down at herself, then back up at him. "I can't sleep in this," she said, like it was the world's biggest riddle how she would ever manage it.
"I can lend you something to sleep in," he said, "Come."
And she did, passing the staircase and instead following him down a hallway. He pushed open a door at the end, entering immediately. He noticed that she remained in the doorway, looking around the room as he moved toward his walk-in closet.
"This is your room?" she asked the obvious. Well, maybe not too obvious. It had no personal affects to make it truly obvious. But it was the safe assumption.
"It is," he said. "You may step inside," he offered, as she remained still standing awkwardly in the doorway, almost like she was afraid to enter. Like she could sense that he didn't let anyone in this room. Taylor had been in a few times during his worst nightmares. And Mrs. Jones, of course, to clean. But that was the extent of it. However, he would take this opportunity to change his own clothes inside of his walk-in. It would be rude to leave her in the doorway for the duration. "I could like to take a few moments to change my own clothes, while procuring yours, if you don't mind."
She shook her head. "Of course," she said, then her face scrunched up in an uncomfortable manor.
"What's wrong?" A blush flushed her face. "What?"
"I have to pee," she whispered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
He smiled, a genuine smile. "There is a bathroom through there," he motioned toward the third door in the room. "Please feel free to relieve yourself."
He entered his walk-in closet as she shut the bathroom door. He knew sleep would be of no interest to him tonight with their morning conversation looming over him. He would put her to bed, then go to his study to work. He just needed to get out of these clothes before he did. He stripped himself of his own clothes, pulling on a pair of soft cotton pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. He riffled through his casual clothing options, opting for a silk pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt he'd gotten from his father the day he'd been accepted to Harvard. He'd never worn it, not being the type to represent his alumni across his chest. However, he'd never been able to actually get rid of the thing. Every time he saw it, he saw the look of pride in Carrick's eyes as he congratulated him. Of course, that thought was always immediately followed by the look of disappointment he'd received when he'd told Carrick he was dropping out. Regardless, it was the only shirt in his collection which he hadn't worn. So he would allow Anastasia the courtesy of being its first wearer. His trip down memory lane was cut short as he heard a loud call of what he was pretty sure was his name.
He tucked the items under his arm, exiting the large closet and once again entering main bedroom. But it was empty, the door to his master bath was now cracked open. Should he go in? Was the inappropriate? What if she hadn't called him and he walked in on her doing something she would be mortified by? But what if something had happened and she had called him because she'd needed help? Before he could contemplate it further, she yelled again.
"Cistan!" he heard her mumbled call. This time he didn't hesitate as he pushed the door open all the way. He leaned against the doorway, eyebrow cocked up in question.
She was standing in front of the vanity, her hand holding a toothbrush- his toothbrush- which was vigorously swishing across her teeth. She caught his eye in the mirror, the she spit into the sink before looking back up at him in the mirror. "How did you know I was at the bar?" she asked, her eyebrows high in suspicious questioning as she glared slightly at him.
He leaned forward, holding out the clothing he'd obtained for her. "Is that my toothbrush?"
"Yes," she said, breaking her gaze with him to turn on the faucet and run it under the water. "How did you know where I was?" She placed his toothbrush back in the holder, then took the clothes from his outstretched hand muttering a quick, "Thanks."
He nodded, shifting his weight so he was no longer leaning in the doorway and was instead on his own two feet. "I tracked your phone," he said simply, then turned on his heel and walked back into the bedroom.
"What do you mean, you tracked it?" she asked, her voice becoming louder with both incredulity and the fact that she was leaving the bathroom and closing the distance between them.
"GPS. Global. Positioning. System," he said slowly, like she was having a hard time understanding him.
"I know what GPS is! Why would you track my phone? That's… creepy."
"Well, had you returned my attempts to contact you, it wouldn't have been necessary," he said pointedly. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at him. He clenched his jaw, pulling together enough control to force himself to ignore the rude gesture. "Shall I show you to your room?"
"Yes, please," she said, thankfully resigned.
He led her upstairs, down a hallway where all the doors were closed. He stopped at the second one of the left, twisting the knob and pushing the door open from the side, waving her to enter before him.
"This is a nice room," she said as she looked around briefly.
He shrugged. "It's hardly used. It's usually where my sister sleeps on nights she's in the city late. However, she's been in Paris for a while studying culinary arts, so she hasn't been here in a while."
Ana nodded, sweeping her eyes around the room once more before they landed on his. "Okay, well, thanks," she said, motioning around the room, then tilting the clothes in his direction, in a blanket thank you for everything.
"You're welcome, Anastasia. I will see you in the morning," he confirmed, to which she simply nodded.
And with that he turned, glancing back at her one last time before closing the door behind him.
His eyes flickered open, confusion washing over him immediately. He was sitting. In a chair. In the guest room. Ana's guest room. His eyes trailed over the bed, seeing as it was obviously empty, the comforter straightened but still slightly mussed, confirming that it had been slept in. Fuck! He'd fallen asleep in her room? How? Jesus, she already thought he was a bit of a creep after he'd tracked her phone! What would she say about this? If she even stuck around to say anything at all, he realized. He stood up, scouring the room for a sign of her, seeing her dress still draped over the on-suite bathroom door, which was ajar and also empty. But she must still be here if her dress is here, he thought. He glanced at the clock, seeing the glaring 9:06 AM staring back at him. Shit. He never slept this late. What the fuck?
He made his way swiftly from the room, descending the stairs. As soon as he hit the bottom, he could make out the sounds of noises in the kitchen. He slowed his pace, not knowing what she would do or say when she saw him. He was sleep in a chair across from her bed for fucks sake! She would want to know why he'd come in her room, why he was watching her sleep. Fuck! How had he let this happen? He stepped into the kitchen reluctantly. She was standing in front of the stove, her back to him, as she moved something around in a pan on the stovetop. His oversized Harvard t-shirt hug loosely from her body, skewed to one side exposing the curve of her neck into her left shoulder. He approached the island that separated them, but before he even reached it, she spoke.
"I thought I'd dreamt the whole thing, when I first woke up. I was sure, before I opened my eyes, that I would be in my own bed. But nope. I popped them open and I was here. With you asleep in my room, on a chair, facing my bed, like a creep," she mused, her back still toward him, laughing nervously, like she was hoping he had a good explanation. That is wasn't what it appeared to be, that he wasn't watching her sleep.
The truth was, he'd gone in there for a reason he now couldn't remember. He'd gone to his study as planned. He'd done about an hour's worth of work before the numbers on the spreadsheets started to blur on his computer screen and he'd called it quits. He was tired but knew himself well enough to know he would just toss and turn if he went to his bed. Or worse, actually fall asleep and risk the possibility of subjecting Anastasia to one of his nightmares. That could not happen. He'd entertained the idea of playing his piano, but he was worried about waking her. The next thing he knew, he was outside her guestroom door. A nanosecond later he was in the chair next to her bed. He wasn't sure why. The only thing he knew was that he'd found sleep swiftly after he'd done so, then had woken in the morning confused, but decently well rested. No nightmare. It bemused him.
But he couldn't tell her that. So he made something up on the fly. "You don't remember?" he asked, feigning surprise. She just raised her eyebrows in suspicious questioning. "I came in, because I heard a noise. Talking, or more like yelling. I was just heading to bed after doing some work in my office. I came in because I thought you were coherent. However, when I tried to respond, I was met with nothing. So I surmised you were dreaming. Experiencing a nightmare, actually. I wanted to make sure you were okay, so I decided to stick around for a minute. I must have fallen asleep. I apologize if my presence startled you when you awoke," he said with all the sincerity he could muster, taking a seat casually at the breakfast bar in front of him.
She turned, looking at him disbelieving. "I don't think I've ever had a nightmare like that," she said slowly.
He shrugged. "Consuming copious amounts of alcohol often exacerbates these things," he said nonchalantly. His face remained impassive as they stared each other down for a moment. If he flinched in the slightest, he knew she wouldn't believe him, so he held steady.
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but then slowly she nodded. "Okay. Well sorry for disturbing you," she said as she turned back to finish off the food.
"Don't mention it," he said, letting out a slow breath, thankful he'd successfully dodged that one.
"I made Spanish omelets, I hope that's okay," she said as she plated the dish. Normally he ate just spinach omelets, but he was more than happy to eat whatever she made as long as it was, in fact, edible. And if the smell was any indication, it would be more than simply palatable.
"Sounds wonderful, thank you," he said, truly appreciative. If she hadn't cooked, he'd be having cold cereal this morning, as he did most weekend mornings when he didn't have a contacted submissive, or Gail, to cook for him.
She turned, flashing a quick smile as she slid two plates across the island, one in front of him and one in front of the empty chair next to him. She already had place settings ready, so he grabbed his fork and cut into the omelet immediately taking a hearty bite. Normally he would have been up and would have eaten breakfast hours ago. The fork was still at his lips when she stepped around the side of the island to take her seat. His eyes instantly drew to her legs, following them up alllllll the way to her upper thighs were the hem for his t-shirt obscured their view. His eyes followed it the rest of the way up her body, landing on her face only to see her staring back at him pointedly.
"I could have sworn I provided you with pants, as well, Anastasia," he said impassively.
"Yes," she said. "You did. However, they wouldn't stay on no matter how tightly I tied them." In an instant, she was lifting the hem of the t-shirt, exposing the world's tiniest pair of shorts he'd ever seen. "I found these in the closet last night. I assumed they were your sister's since you said she stays in there."
Yes, they had to be Mia's. Those tiny things were definitely something his dear little sister would wear, then get an earful about from him when she did. He hated when she showed off skin. His eyes raked over her once more, noting that they fit Anastasia like a glove. Quickly he tore his eyes away and back to his omelet before she had something else to call him a 'creep' about.
"So," she said, saddling up on the stool next to him, grabbing her own fork and cutting into her omelet. "You wanted to talk?"
"Now?" he asked, cutting off another bite.
"No time like the present, or so they say," she said with a shrug, taking a sip of the juice she'd set out in glasses in front of them.
"This isn't a light conversation, Anastasia," he warned.
"Are our conversations ever light, Christian?" she asked with a smirk.
He eyed her for a moment, before saying, "No, no they are not."
"So then continue," she said with a wave of her hand.
He set his fork down in order to run both of his hands through his exceptionally unruly morning hair. "I need you to promise to hear me out. You are not going to like what I am about to tell you, but you have to let me explain everything to you. Try to keep an open mind in regards to my role in this."
She gave him a curt nod, steeling herself for his words.
"In my office, you told me a story about contacting the police with regards to Elena," he led.
A frown graced her face as she set her fork down, "Yeah…?"
He took a deep breath, and let it out before he continued. "You know that I provide the financial backing for Elena's salons. I told you that in your apartment." She nodded. "Elena came to me some years ago, saying a patron of hers was making some sort of claim against the salon. I couldn't recall the specifics until I looked up the complaint claimed by Elena in Esclava's files. I checked the files recently and saw it was, in short, a hazardous conditions complaint against the salon. Which was ridiculous, because the salon was pristine. So I believed when Elena told me that the patron was after money. It made sense, how she described the story to me back then. It's bad for business, to be the focus of police attention. So when Elena came to me, I greased a few palms at the police station to make it all go away. That was four years ago."
He sat silently, waiting for her to chew over the information, hopefully reaching the conclusion without him having to spell out "I'm the reason the police shut you down". Of course, Anastasia being the shrewd person she was, the light of understanding shined in her eyes almost immediately.
"You paid off the police to ignore my case," she said softly, thoughtfully.
"After hearing your story and matching up the time lines, I believe that's the case, yes. However," he said quickly, turning to her, staring into her eyes in a show of sincerity, "I had no idea. If I had known, I would never have done it. I truly believed it was a simple salon issue. I hated contact from Elena. Loathed hearing from her. I wanted to make her go away, as well as the claim, since like I said, these things are bad for business. So to kill two birds with one stone, I made a simple call to the station. I told them I wanted to help donate something of need to our brothers in blue, and told them to pick what they wanted upgraded. Then I offered a check for it, sliding in that it was courtesy of me and my business associate, Elena Lincoln. They knew that this was persuasion for them to get whoever was making their claim against her to stop. Obviously, they did just that. Once again, without even being aware, I managed to cause distress to your life. I'm sorry, Anastasia."
He sat pensively, waiting, watching her. She stared down at her barely touched breakfast, not speaking, not even moving. The feeling in his gut, the self-hated, the self-loathing, started rolling around full force. He hated the man her was. He hated that all he was capable of causing people around him was hurt and pain. Anastasia deserved none of what she'd been dealt by his hands. Even the most innocent of people were left crumbled in his wake.
The longer they sat in silence, the sicker he felt. He'd expected immediate rage from her. Yelling, screaming, something. Not silence.
"Anastasia?" he braved to say, even though it came out more quietly than he'd intended.
More silence followed, before finally she asked, "You truthfully did not know it was me making the complaint?"
"Of course not. I've spent years harboring overwhelming guilt for what I'd done to you that night. I would never, never have denied you the right to justice over it. I would have moved heaven and earth before allowing more upset to happen to you at my hands."
Silence. God, the silence could drive him mad. Kill him, even.
"I feel I've been quite understanding, quite forgiving of a lot of turmoil I've suffered at your hands, Christian," she said contemplatively.
"I agree," he said, making sure she knew, without a doubt, that he knew the pain he'd caused her. She had to know. He couldn't change any of it, but she had to know he regretted it, and had done it, all of it, unknowingly.
"I'm not just talking about the things related to Elena, even though they are obviously the most important, the most volatile. I am also referring to the hateful words you've spewed at me in the recent past. You do not deserve to have me sitting here, calmly discussing this situation with you after some of the things you've said to me, things you've accused me of."
He tugged at his hair. Yes, she was right. He had caused her undue emotional pain intentionally as well as unintentionally. It had all been in a misguided attempt to drive her away, but it had been cruel nonetheless. "You're right. I've been unfair. I acknowledge that and take responsibility for it."
"Okay," she said, picking her fork back up and continuing to eat her breakfast.
Christian stared at her, completely dumbfounded. "Okay?" he asked incredulously, like he simple couldn't comprehend the meaning of the word. Where was the anger? Where was the ire at his betrayal? Time and time again he watched her shrug off these instances of her past that left him sick to his stomach. How was she able? Was she simply so well adjusted that she truly was able to move on from these things? Or was there something deeper, more troublesome brewing in the depths of the psyche of Anastasia Steele?
She shrugged. "What do you want to say, exactly? It's over. It happened years ago. Even then, the statute of limitations was over. I can't keep revisiting that part of my past. I have spent too many years getting away from it to let it keep me up nights now. I appreciate you being honest with me about it. I believe you when you say you didn't know the truth about what you were bribing the police to ignore. I won't hold it against you. The only thing I can hope for now, is that your eyes are a little more open to the truths you thought you knew in regards to Elena, and that you will do something to eradicate her from your life. She is a poison, a disease, a plague that the world would be better without. She had lied to and manipulated you every step of your life, and if you still can't see that, then it's you who is the fool, and you who is responsible for allowing her to still flourish when she should be suffering. You can no longer be naïve about what she is capable of. But at the end of the day, that is none of my business. You have to be the one to see who she really is, what she has really done, and decide to end your connection to her. That's a call on you can make." She took a sip of juice.
"I have begun forming plans to end my business relationship with her," he said softly, like a consolation. As he'd begun to wrap his mind around her true influence in his life, even to this day, the one thing he'd become increasingly sure of was that he wanted no more ties between himself and Elena Lincoln.
"Good," she said with a sharp nod. "So is that it? Is that all the secrets, finally out of the way? Should I expect any more shocking news from you in the future?"
He began to shake his head no, but stopped. Well, there was one more thing she might consider shocking. One more thing she might take badly if he didn't come clean about it now.
"Uh-oh," she said with a mock smile. She rubbed her palms on her legs before patting them gently on the tops of her thighs. "Okay, big boy. Lay it on me."
He stood, his eyes boring into her, beseeching her to trust him. He extended his hand, grasping hers when she placed it delicately in his palm. He walked, grabbing key off a hook they'd passed as he lead her toward the stairs. They ascended, then walked down the hall to the first door on the right. He released her hand, taking the key and pushing it into the lock on the door knob. He turned it, twisting the knob, pushing the door open. He stepped in leaving her room to stand in the doorway behind him. The he flicked on lights, and her eyes washed with red.
