A/N: What if? What if Christian kept his word when he told Ana that if she broke the contract, she couldn't ever come back, that was it. So in my what if, Christian doesn't come begging Ana to return to him. Instead, it's Ana who does the begging/proposing. I promised a stronger Ana but I also want Christian to keep his word and his teeth—isn't that why these books were fun?

****** START *********

Monday night: I've just spent three long days burning in the fires of hell. The indescribable grief I've been immersed in is so horrific that I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Not even Elena. Well, maybe Elena.

Fresh grief causes physical, emotional, psychological, and even metaphysical pain: these are the new facts I've gained from my gut-ripping agony over losing Christian. I walked out on him on Saturday morning and had to start my new job today. I went through the day on autopilot; I wonder if anyone noticed.

The worst of the searing ache is centered right below my breasts, dead center. Where the heart is located. Now I truly understand why it's called a broken heart. It feels as if it's rent in two, bleeding out, edging toward atrophy and death.

Death, however, is too easy. The body goes on functioning, the pain drags on, getting incrementally better but in such miniscule gradations, it's barely noticeable. It's Monday night and I know I can't go on. Not without Christian in my life. I love him and miss him terribly.

It's about eight o'clock at night when I have this sobering epiphany. At 8:01, I realize I haven't gotten any calls on my cellphone in a long time. Aha, I never diverted my calls back from the Blackberry. Shit! Christian's been getting all my calls.

What's he doing, I wonder? He sent me flowers today, congratulating me on my first day of work. Kind of him. Has he moved on already? Gotten a new sub? No, that's silly. It's only been three days. I reach for my phone and redirect the calls back to it and as soon as I do, the messages start piling up.

Jose! Shit, his show is this week and I don't have a car. How am I going to get there? I suppose I can try to rent a car.

Or I could ask Christian to take me.

Christian has a lot of rules. One of them said if a sub wanted out of the contract, she was free to go . . . but never allowed to return. That one I remembered clearly.

Dare I ask him? I opt for the cowardly route and choose email over telephone call. But, no: I gave back the laptop he gifted me with and Kate took hers away with her so no computer. I can text him, though. So that's what I do.

Christian,

Thanks so much for the beautiful flowers; it was so thoughtful of you to mark my first day with that lovely acknowledgement. Thinking about sending you a thank-you, I just now realized I hadn't redirected my calls from the Blackberry; I hope it didn't cause you any inconvenience.

I've also just remembered that Jose's show is on Thursday and I haven't yet had time to acquire a new car. I wondered if you might want to accompany me to the show and give me a ride there and back? If this is too much of an imposition, I certainly understand. If not, I'd very much appreciate it, as not only do I need a ride, but I miss seeing you, Christian.

Let me know.

Ana

I hit send before I can have second thoughts: I want to see him; I need to see him.

Staring pathetically at my phone, I will it to break into song, alerting me to a text message but it is stubbornly silent. I rise to my feet from my perch on the floor, and make my way into Kate's room and closet to find something to wear to work tomorrow. Thank God for Kate and her generosity with her clothes—and thank God we wear the same size.

I select a short black skirt, figuring I can pair it with a white silk blouse I have and my black shoes. I scour Kate's closet, looking for a black sweater I can wear over it since the office air conditioning is frigid. Ah, there it is. Just as I am reaching for the sweater, I hear my phone chime. I snatch it up off the dresser and see it's a phone call. Shit! What should I do?

"Hello?"

"Anastasia? It's Christian."

"Hi, Christian. I assume you got my text?"

"I did. I'm calling to offer you back your Audi until such time as you purchase your new car. It's just sitting in the garage at the moment and I can have Taylor deliver it to you as soon as tonight. Would that be of interest to you?"

"No, thank you, Christian. I'm planning to buy a car next week. It's just that I've started a new job, as you know so time has been thin . . . I really just need a ride to Jose's show and I thought you might like to accompany me. I suppose not then?"

"It's probably not a good idea to prolong the separation, Ana." He lowered his voice. "I'm hurting, too. I allowed you to break too many rules and as a result, I became emotionally entangled."

I thought I heard his voice break but surely it was wishful thinking?

"Be that as it may, I will ignore my better judgment and I'll take you to Jose's show. What time shall I pick you up?"

"The show starts at 7:30. What time do we need to leave to get there on time?"

"I'll pick you up at 5:45 on Thursday. Until then, Anastasia."

I hang up the phone and suddenly my appetite comes roaring back. I haven't eaten anything beyond a yogurt and banana for the last 72 hours plus. I manage a cup of soup and a slice of toast for dinner.

The next day I'm hungry again by lunchtime. I walk over to Jack's office. Knocking lightly at the open door, I pop my head in. "Jack, I'm going to grab some lunch. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks, Ana. I have a lunch meeting. Can you stay a little late tonight so we can run through some things?"

I nod. "Absolutely. I do need to leave before six on Thursday, though, just to let you know. A friend of mine is having a gallery show opening that night in Portland."

"No problem, Ana. Thanks."

Feeling immeasurably better than yesterday—it's amazing what just speaking to Christian can do for me—I stroll to the deli to pick up a sandwich and an apple. Passing the coffee shop on my way back to the office, I duck in to get a latte, my newest bad habit, since I haven't been sleeping well at all since Saturday. Perhaps tonight I'll finally get some sleep—I'm going to see him in two days!

Thursday finally rolls around. I selected my outfit carefully on Wednesday night: I had to look good. I found a tight blue skirt—it sits on the hips and is rather short but still has a business-like air about it—and with it I wear a white Oxford linen shirt with three-quarter sleeves. I broke my usual rule about not borrowing shoes and filched Kate's black high heels. I couldn't help myself—I knew these shoes cost more than my share of the condo's monthly maintenance but they look so good and make my legs look killer. I wanted to look my absolute best for Christian; I needed to get him back. Badly.

I left him because he said he couldn't take the whipping off the negotiating table. I'm not turned on by pain nor by being dominated by another. That said, the agony I've experienced since leaving Christian made the sting from the belt pale into complete insignificance. I love Christian Grey so much—enough to give him what he needs from me. I only hope he'll let me break one last rule and take me back.

At 5:30 I'm finished with my work. I slip into the ladies' room. Ugh. I want to throw my pretty shoe at the damn mirror: I look horrible. My eyes are swollen from crying and my skin is so pale—paler than usual even. I've lost at least five pounds over the last few days and there are hollows in my cheeks—so much for looking my absolute best.

I dab on some bronzer and lip gloss and attempt to use some eye liner to distract the eye away from the swelling but it's no use. If only I could wear sunglasses but it's night and indoors so, no. Weird is not sexy.

After giving my hair a quick brush—at least my hair looks good for a change—I spin around, take a deep gulp of air, and head outside. Pushing the glass door open, I immediately see Taylor standing beside the rear door of the SUV. Sitting inside the tinted windows where I can't yet see him is my beautiful guy, the one I need so badly in my life. I throw a prayer to the universe to let me triumph tonight.

Taylor opens the door and there he waits, looking as edible as ever—Christian Grey. I smile at Taylor and slide into the car next to Christian. As soon as Taylor closes the door, Christian starts yelling at me.

"When was the last time you ate, Ana? You look like you've lost ten pounds in the last five days. What's wrong with you, for God's sake?"

"I'm so happy to see you too, Christian. You look well."

"Appearances can be quite deceiving, Anastasia. Tell me, when was the last time you ate a meal?"

I sigh. It's amazing how quickly he lapses right back into his role of ordering me around. He never even got around to saying hello. "I think the last full meal I ate was at your house on Friday night."

His eyes just bug out and it gives me some satisfaction, not sure why since I'm the one starving myself. I just couldn't bring myself to eat, though.

"Were you planning on starving yourself to death?"

I shake my head. "I had no appetite, Christian. I've eaten fruit and yogurt."

"Ana, you left me, not the other way around," he said quietly.

"I know, Christian, I know. But it's not as if I wanted to leave," I whisper, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the tenor of the conversation and Taylor not even three feet away.

"Why don't we stop in to see Jose's show and then I'll take you to dinner? How does that sound?"

"Sounds really good, Christian."

He flies us there in his helicopter as I watch him competently handle the big machine. Whatever other faults he has, ability is not one of them: the man can do just about anything and do it well. It's actually amazing—and annoying, too.

When we finally arrive at the gallery, it's about 7:20 and the place is hopping already. The redheaded woman greeting people at the door says hello to me by name though I've never seen her before in my life. Trying to figure it out, I notice other people staring at me and wonder if it's because I look really horrible. Could it be?

"I'm going to get some wine for us. I'll be right back," Christian says, leaning into me so I can hear him over the din. I nod and scan the large room for Jose, finally spotting him in the corner, holding court.

"Jose! Everything looks so great." "Ana! You made it. Come here, honey." He races over and gives me a bear hug. "Did you come alone?"

"No, Christian is with me." As soon as I say his name, a dark scowl drops over Jose's face. "Listen, I should warn you—"

"Jose," the redhead at the door is yelling to him, "we need you in front for photos."

"Ana, I'll be right back, okay?"

"Sure, Jose, do what you have to do. I'll look around."

Christian rejoins me, handing me a glass of wine and we begin to tour the large room. People are still looking at me. "Christian, do I look strange or something?"

"No, why?"

"People keep looking at me oddly. It's getting really uncomfortable." We reach the end of the large gallery and there is a small alcove room just off the main one. As we enter that room, I see why I am getting so much attention.

Plastered across the entire wall are seven giant portraits of me, both in black and white and color. Every facial expression is represented on the wall. I gape at Christian but he's just staring at the photos, mesmerized.

"I can't believe he did this," I say, taking them all in.

"Excuse me for a moment, Ana," he says and walks back to the front room, stopping at the desk to speak to the person manning it. I return my attention to the photos. I remember Jose taking the shots, of course, but they were supposed to be throwaways, shots to test the lighting and whatever.

"So you're the muse?"

I look over my shoulder to see a young, handsome guy with a head full of blond waves smiling back at me.

"I suppose so . . . though all this," I sweep my arm across the room, "came as a huge surprise to me.

"Well, I can't say I blame him. I'm Chris, by the way," he says, extending his hand.

I take it. "Ana," I smile. Chris seems like a nice, uncomplicated guy.

At that moment Christian returns and sees Chris touch my shoulder and he yanks me away. Chris's smile vanishes and he hastily retreats, mumbling a quick, "Nice to meet you, Ana," and he's gone. No one does intimidation quite as effectively as Christian Grey.

"Let's go," Christian says tersely. "We've seen all the photos and you need to eat."

I'm not ready to leave yet but I suppose I should because we have a long drive back to Seattle and I have work tomorrow. "Okay, I'll say goodbye to Jose."

I quickly find Jose and say my goodbyes, giving him a big hug, and I promise him we'll get together soon; I then rejoin Christian, who looks none too pleased at the display of affection I've shown to Jose. If he's still jealous, that means he still cares, right? Taylor is waiting and we get in the car to drive to the restaurant.

"So, why did you call me, Ana?" We're seated at a rear table in a small, intimate dining room of a local bistro.

"I told you, Christian. I missed you very much and I needed a ride to the show. That's all."

"Okay. I want you to eat a decent dinner tonight and begin to acclimate your stomach to eating again. The last thing I want is for our short-lived relationship to have a permanent negative impact on your life, Ana."

Nodding my assent, I ask, "How have you been, Christian?"

He smirks. "I've been better . . . much better. But I've also been worse. I'll get through it. By the way, thank you for the model plane. I spent the whole damn day Saturday putting it together."

I look into his eyes, hoping to see anguish or sorrow or something . . . but there's nothing. If I ask him to take me back, he'll probably just remind me of his rule. Still, shouldn't I at least give it the old college try? If I don't, I'll regret it forever.

First, I'll eat. I might lose my appetite if he turns me down. So we both sit quietly, listening to the ambient music and eating the dinner—which tasted really good. When I had eaten as much as I could, I put down my fork.

"Christian, you told me once that I was free to break our contract but that once it's broken, it's done. I never signed a contract, though. Does that rule still apply to me?"

He looked up, gazing into my eyes with that penetrating focus he does so well. "What exactly are you asking, Anastasia? Are you asking to come back into the relationship?"

I cast my face down. What am I doing here? Is this what I really want? "Yes, I suppose I am, Christian. When I told you I loved you, I wasn't exaggerating. I'm deeply in love with you and I can't bear the thought of losing you. These past five days have been the worst of my life—easily. None have come even close." My voice has dropped to a whisper.

"Ana," he reaches over and covers my hand with his. "Your protestations of love only make my conviction stronger. I think your leaving me was the best thing for both of us, regardless of how much it hurts right now. I was getting too emotionally involved with you and letting you break all my rules. Those rules have been my mainstay for half of my life, Ana. I'm not nearly ready to let them go.

"And you are definitely not sub material. You need to find a man who's your equal partner and pursue a traditional type of relationship. I'm not that man, Ana. I told you that from the first."

I nod, my face still focused downward so he can't see my imminent breakdown. Tonight was a big mistake; I shouldn't have invited him. "Excuse me," I say, jumping up to escape to the ladies' room. I'm racking my brain, thinking of any way I can get home on my own. I wonder if Jose would consider driving me if I let him stay over? As soon as I reach the restroom, I whip out my phone, tears rushing down my face.

"Jose, it's Ana. What time is your show over?"

"We'll be wrapping up in about forty-five minutes. Why?"

"I know this is a crazy proposition but would you consider driving me back to Seattle tonight? You can stay over at my apartment and I'll take you out for dinner tomorrow night after work. Please, Jose? I don't want to drive back with Christian."

"Did you two have a fight?"

"Not really, Jose. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Okay. Where are you now?"

I give him the name and address of the restaurant.

"I'm going to have Nanette drive over right now to pick you up. Don't worry, honey. You don't have to drive home with him tonight or ever."

"Thanks, Jose," I say, trying not to cry audibly. "See you soon." I disconnect the call, wondering what I should do. I can't wait outside now because it will take at least ten minutes for Nanette to get here. Should I just go tell Christian? I suppose so, though it would be much easier and more satisfying to disappear without explanation.

First, I splash some cold water on my face and and pat it dry, in an effort to collect myself. I wipe off the smeared eyeliner and take in a deep swallow of air. Stepping back into the dining room, I almost gasp: he is sitting there in the soft, dim light and he is just so freaking handsome. My heart lurches in its cavity at the thought that this man was mine and I walked out on him—and now he doesn't want me back. I reach the table and he smiles warmly, squeezing my heart a little bit harder.

I don't sit down. "Christian, thank you for dinner and for taking me to Jose's show. I'm going to say goodnight now. I won't be riding back with you to Seattle."

I can see the surprise flare in his eyes. "How are you getting home, Ana?"

I shake my head, about to say something mean but change my mind. "A friend is giving me a ride, Christian. I wish you well and hope you have a nice life." I spin around and quickly walk out of the restaurant, thankful I didn't break down in front of him. Please God, let Nanette be waiting for me but when I get outside, the only car in front is his SUV, the ever faithful Taylor sitting inside. When he spots me, he jumps out.

"No, Taylor. I'm not driving back with you tonight. Stay put."

"Does Mr. Grey know, Ms. Steele?"

"Yes, Taylor, I told him. I'm just waiting for a friend. By the way, thanks for everything, Taylor." I reach over and give him a kiss before he can react—I have a lot of affection for the stoic Taylor. "I owe you a handkerchief, by the way." At that moment, Christian emerges from the bistro.

"Mr. Grey." Taylor nods and begins to go around to open the opposite car door for him.

He points to my door of the car. "This one will do, Taylor."

"Ms. Steele has informed me she won't be riding home with us, sir."

"Like hell she's won't." His eyes swivel to me. "How do you propose to get home, Ana?"

"I have another ride home, Christian—I told you. Don't do this, please. Just go."

"Who is driving you home, Ana?" His voice drops into that soft, lethal register.

"It's none of your concern, Christian. Just. Go. Home." Anger is my friend; as long as I can stay on game, it will keep the freaking idiotic tears away. And being rejected happens to make me freaking angry.

At that moment Nanette pulls up in a small red sedan. I wave to her and turn to the two men. "My ride. Goodnight, gentlemen. Have a safe trip home."

Turning quickly, I go to get into Nanette's car but I feel him grasp my arm. "What?" I snap.

"Who is driving you back to Seattle, Ana?"

His tone is just this side of not losing it so I answer him. "Who do you think, Christian? Jose, of course."

"And what will happen when you get there?"

"He is staying the night," I say with relish, yanking my arm out of his grasp.

He leans down, his face inches from mine. "That's not going to happen."

"Christian," I drop my voice low so Taylor can't hear me, "you just told me a few minutes ago that you weren't interested in resuming any relationship with me. At this point, I can fuck Jose all night and into the morning and you have nothing to say about it. Comprende?" I think the Spanish is a nice touch seeing as how Jose is Latino.

"I've changed my mind, Ana. Get in the fucking SUV."

Looking into his eyes, I can see there's serious heat there: I'm not sure if it's fury or lust. I am entirely unsure as to what to do. My instincts are screaming at me, like groupies at a concert, to get into Nanette's car but my body, always panting after him like a total slut, is pushing me toward the SUV. I turn away from him to go to Nanette's car but he holds fast to me.

"Christian, I'm going to tell her never mind."

He clearly wasn't expecting me to do that—I can see it in his eyes. He doesn't trust me, though, so he walks over with me to her car.

"Nanette, please forgive me for the trouble and make my sincerest apologies to Jose. Mr. Grey insists I ride home with him, after all. Will you please tell Jose I'll call him tomorrow? And tell him that my invitation for dinner still stands. Okay?"

"Sure, Ana. It's not a big deal. Take care," she says and speeds off.

Christian takes my elbow and steers me back to the SUV and I get in thinking that I really deserve whatever I get for my gross stupidity. Choosing Christian over Jose probably takes the prize for most moronic decision of the year. I can't help it, though. I fucking love him and his body and right now if Taylor wasn't here, I'd rip off his clothes and have him in the car. I smile at the thought.

He gets in the car. "What's funny?"

"A private thought."

"Will you share?"

I lean over and whisper in his ear, "Ripping off your clothes right here was what I was thinking."

His pretty eyes absolutely light up and I know we're going to be okay—on that level, at least. At the end of the day, we always have the mutual lust.