As the hot water falls over me, I'm eager to get back to my wife. Today could have been worse, much worse. We haven't learned anything new yet, not that I expected to, and I think Ana handled everything well, all things considered. I have to admit, that little silent "pissing contest" between Ana and Lucy was amusing. Not to mention a turn-on. I know this hasn't been easy for Ana. Having to face Lucy in a public setting for hours on end... I don't know how she does it. Hell, I don't know why she does it. Well, I think I do—she loves me. After all the shit I've put her through, I have no idea how that's possible, but there it is. Much as I hate what we're going through now with the trial, I know I'd never be able to face it without Ana by my side.

Tomorrow is going to be difficult. Lucy will be on the stand for who knows how long and I will be unable to refute anything she says as she's saying it. There is no end to the things she can say, no end to the damage she can do to my reputation or to Ana's self-confidence and stability. God knows I want to protect her from whatever might happen tomorrow, but she's so determined to see this through that I know she won't agree if I suggest sitting tomorrow out. Part of me appreciates what she's doing by not giving Lucy the satisfaction of staying away. She's proving to Lucy, and everyone else, that our marriage can survive through everything. The other part of me never wants to see her hurt again and as a result will go to any lengths to keep her from any further pain.

With a sigh and determination to make this evening the best possible for my wife, I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist, intending to pop out and ask Ana if she wanted to order room service. My entire world shakes when I see my wife, pale, angry, and crying, rushing past me to leave the room. "Ana?" I ask nervously, reaching out of her arm. "Baby, what's wrong?"

She ignores me, yanking her arm for my grasp, and fleeing the room. I stare at the door as it slams shut, wondering what the fuck just happened, wondering why I'm not chasing after her. I turn blindly towards television and feel all the blood drain from my body. On the screen are grainy black and white images that seem to depict me and Lucy in different poses together, all of which would have caused my wife to run from the room in a blind panic.

"Fuck," I breathe, scanning my mind to figure out what to do next. "FUCK!" My hand reaches for the remote control and the next thing I know, the glass screen of the plasma television is shattering along with my world.

When reason returns, I'm on my phone barking orders to Taylor about finding Ana even as I'm struggling one-handed to dress myself. It's only been about two minutes since Ana burst out of here, but I know that's an eternity for somebody who's running the way she was. I have to find her. I can't let her wander London alone, upset, and at risk for any number of threats to fall upon her. I will not let it end like this. Not after everything. I will get her back.

I only hope it's not too late.

Outside in the cool London air, I wander aimlessly with no real destination. All I know is that I need to get as far from Christian as I can right now or I won't be responsible for my reactions. The images I saw on the television are engrained on my mind and every time they surface, I feel my heart breaking a little more. He swore on everything—me, our marriage, our son—that he told me all there was to tell about his relationship with Lucy. He swore their affair only occurred in private, as it would have been far too obvious if they'd done anything in the open. The expressions on his face when he looked at her, much as they bother me, were nothing new. I saw enough of that on that fucking video. I saw how he looked at her as though she was his world at that very moment, as though I never even existed in his life. Seeing those photos only cements in my mind how much of a fool I've been to believe every fucking word he ever said to me. And after everything he's done to prove himself to me—the remarriage, handing over GEH to me, all his empty promises, the sex—I can only wonder if any of it was true or whether he was just doing what he thought I wanted him to do.

One thought stops me dead in my tracks, causing several pedestrians to maneuver around me to avoid collision. Kate was right about him. She warned me over and over that he hadn't changed and would only end up hurting me again. I hate that she was right. I really do. I wanted to prove them all wrong. Now I'm left feeling worse than I felt when I initially found out about the affair. And I honestly hadn't believed that possible.

I know I need to return to the hotel at some point. I need to confront him. The thought of facing him, though, is painful.

"Anastasia?"

I freeze at the sound of my name, wondering if one of Christian's security team members has found me. Until I realize none of them call me Ana, let alone Anastasia. When I turn around to look, I see a man who has just stepped out of a small restaurant I was passing. "Thomas," I say in surprise. Of all the people I might have expected to run into on my little walk, for some reason he was among the very last. "Hi."

"Hi," he replies as I approach. His eyes drift over me and I'm suddenly aware that I probably look a mess with my puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. "Are you all right?"

The concern in his voice almost sets me crying again, but I refrain. "Not really," I say. "I was just walking."

He nods slowly. "I see that," he says quietly. "Why don't you come in and have a seat? I was just having coffee."

I hesitate. I wanted to be alone and by having coffee with Thomas, I would be doing the exact opposite. But then again, I've been stumbling blindly down the sidewalk for who knows how long. I'm cold, I'm tired, and if I were to keep walking, I don't know where I'd end up. And it only takes one silent reminder of the photographs I saw to make my decision. "Sure," I whisper quietly, hugging myself a little more tightly.

With a small smile, Thomas holds open the door for me and leads me to his table where he orders me a cup of coffee before sitting across from me. "I have to admit," he tells me quietly, "I'm surprised to see you."

I sigh. "We're here for the trial," I explain, my gaze on the table between us.

"Ah," he says in realization just before my coffee arrives. I give the waitress a small smile of gratitude and take a sip. Immediately my body is warmer. "Yes, it's been the talk of the town these last few weeks."

"So I've gathered," I mutter bitterly.

Giving me a sympathetic glance, Thomas asks, "Ana, has something happened? You don't have to share with me, obviously," he backtracks quickly, "but if you wanted to, I'd be more than happy to listen."

While I can think of several people probably more qualified to listen to me bitching about my problems than my former boss/date, those people aren't here and I have the sudden desire to talk to somebody. So I do. I tell Thomas about everything—he knew Christian had an affair, and that was why I had been in London, but I explain about the video and the photos and the incredible improvements that have been made in my marriage, and even about the remarriage Christian proposed. At this, I glance down at the third finger of my left hand, wanting desperately to rip off that fucking ring and throw it away. I don't, though. Maybe if I saved that for when I faced Christian, I could make him suffer a little.

"I just don't know what to do, Thomas," I say hoarsely as I drink my third cup of coffee. "I feel like everything he's ever said has been a lie and that I'm a fool for giving into him so easily."

"You're not a fool," Thomas replies, hesitantly reaching over to place his hand on mine in what I know is simply a comforting gesture. "You did what you believed to be right for both yourself and your son. As for those photos... At risk of sounding as though I'm not on your side, those were taken over a year ago. Since then, you say you've come to terms with the affair and have even forgiven your husband what he's done to you and your family. In the grand scheme of things, it's not truly something you should let tear apart all the effort the two of you have made. Giving up on him now, after everything, only makes it so the people trying to hurt you become the victors in this."

Before I entered the restaurant, I had a brief image in my mind about how this meeting might go. Some men might take the vulnerability I'm currently experiences and use it to their advantage, and I almost welcomed the very thought of getting back at Christian by letting something happen with Thomas. But here he is, basically telling me to go back to my husband even after all I've told him. "I just don't know if I can get past it this time," I admit, shaking my head as a few tears leak from my eyes. He squeezes my hand in comfort. "He claimed not to love her dozens of times, while I knew full well there was something more than sex between them. Those photos only prove it."

Thomas's eyebrows shoot up briefly. "Ana, as a fellow man, I feel the need to remind you that we as a species don't always do the logical thing. We tend to fall in love using parts of us that aren't our brain or heart." I choke on my coffee as a laugh bubbles up through my throat. Thomas grins. "I may not know your husband personally and what I do know of him makes him a world-class idiot for his behavior, but I believe he loves you. Men don't glare at other men as though they are about to rip arms off bodies because someone is sitting a little too close to their woman for anything short of true love. I saw the way he looks at you and you at him. The two of you have something incredibly special and as I told you the night of our date, I'd never be able to measure up to him or what the two of you have."

"If it's so special, then why does he insist on hurting me at every turn?" I ask bleakly, managing to take very slight comfort in his words.

"I seriously doubt he does it on purpose. Ana, you really have to decide whether your marriage is worth whatever this world is going to throw at you. Clearly somebody just keeps piling the trouble and hurt higher and higher, but if you love him, you'll have no problem getting through the bad and back to the good."

Surprisingly, I feel better. I still don't know how I'm going to handle this latest situation, but I think I can start calmly working on my options. Thomas and I sit together sipping coffee for another hour or so and just talking. He tells me about how Elena Lincoln suddenly backed out of her investment proposal to Canton Publishing, leaving bitter tastes in the mouths of Thomas and his siblings. I keep my mouth clamped tightly shut, hoping he moves on from this line of discussion; the Bitch Troll is the very last person I want to talk about right now.

When I glance at a clock on the wall behind Thomas, I realize how late it is and vaguely wonder whether Christian and the security team are scouring the city for me. Thomas offers me a ride back to the hotel and I gladly accept. We pull up in front of the building a short time later—I thought I'd walked much farther than I had...—and I thank Thomas for the coffee, the ride, and the talk.

"You're welcome," he tells me sincerely. "And good luck. With everything. You deserve the best of things, Anastasia, and I truly hope you find your happily ever after."

I blush at the sweetness in his tone and suddenly wish I felt something more for him than friendship. With Thomas, I have no doubt that there would be no drama in my world, no mistresses or submissives or child molesters. He could probably give me a simple, happy life, the kind I had hoped to have with Christian.

So much for that plan, I think to myself. With a farewell to Thomas, I get out of the car and enter the hotel with absolutely no idea what I'm going to be facing when I arrive back at our suite.

Hours have gone by since I last saw Anastasia. The moment I came to my senses, I had Taylor and Sawyer out looking for her, and I joined them after placing a hasty call to my parents to explain our appointment for dinner was cancelled. I didn't waste time trying to explain why and my parents seemed to understand that something had happened. We searched for hours and finally I located her inside some little restaurant, sitting at a table with a cup of coffee in one hand and the other being held by none other than fucking Thomas Fucking Canton. Naturally my first instinct was to burst into the restaurant, rip off the fucker's arm for touching my wife, then drag her back to the hotel so I could explain and make her understand. But the longer I stood there out of their eyesight, the more I felt the fight leaving me. I watched them for what had to be twenty minutes. They were deep in conversation, clearly he was comforting her. He wiped her tears, squeezed her hand, spoke what I assume were soothing words... In short, everything I should have been doing.

I hadn't wanted to leave, but it was painful to stay and watch. When he said something that made her laugh even while she was crying, I couldn't take anymore. If this had become too much for her to handle, I should just leave her in the hands of someone who can take care of her, comfort her, make her laugh. It went against everything I am, but I forced myself back to the hotel after calling Taylor to end the search and have him place Sawyer near the restaurant—not to intervene between Ana and Canton, just to keep her (them) safe.

At the hotel, I made several phone calls, had information emailed to me in case Ana came back for her things. I at least want the chance to explain what it was she saw. After that, if she leaves me, I won't stand in her way. My heart is already being ripped apart because of the inevitable and for a complete change of plot it isn't my fault this time. Truly, honestly, and completely not my fault. And I've got the proof sitting beside me. Will she understand, though? Will she even believe me? Or will she think I've managed to manipulate all the evidence to fit my desires?

I don't know how I'll be able to go home without her, or even if she does come home with me, how I'll be able to watch her walk right back out of my life. Losing her was one of the worst feelings in the world, but I've only just gotten her back and things seem to have gotten better than they've ever been. Now this.

The door clicks softly shut and I'm on immediate high alert. I've been surrounded by darkness save a small desk lamp since I returned and I'm able to make out a faint shadow outline walking slowly towards me. Instinct tells me to stand and cross the room to her, to pull her in my arms and hold onto her. Instinct tells me beg her to hear me out. Instinct tells me a lot of things, none of which I seem to be capable of at the moment. Because now that Ana is here with me again, I can't do anything but stare at her defeated posture, her arms wrapped tightly and protectively around herself.

"Hi," I choke out through the lump in my throat.

"Hi," she whispers shakily. Her eyes dart to where the television once sat in the entertainment center. "Where's the TV?"

"It broke," I respond, watching her closely. "Have you come to get your things?"

Though I can't quite see her face, I imagine her brow furrowing. "What do you mean?" she asks uneasily.

"Your things," I repeat before clarifying, "Before you go back to Canton."

Her entire body stiffens. "How did you know I was with Thomas?"

I snort derisively. Of all the things for her to ask me... "I saw you, Ana," I say tonelessly. "Does it really matter at this point?"

She sighs, but otherwise doesn't respond. It's several minutes before either of us speaks again and as soon as she sucks in a deep, sharp breath, I'm bracing myself for what is to come. "I trusted you," she whispers painfully. "I believed every fucking word you spoke. Every touch, every promise... I thought I could do this, Christian. I thought I could get past this, but those fucking pictures." Her voice cracks and my heart breaks more. "The way you were looking at her..."

"Ana," I say quietly, desperately trying to keep my composure as I pick up one of the photos that was shown on television with shaking hands. "Look at this." I stand and switch on a light to make it easier for both of us to see. She's not currently crying, but she's not far from it, and judging by the expression on her face, I'm only making things worse. Still, I need to explain.

"Are you fucking insane?" she whispers harshly, glaring at both me and the photo in my hand.

I consider her question. Am I? There's every possibility. "Please, Ana," I beg. "It's not what you think."

It looks as though she's either going to slap me or run again. Finally, after several moments of scrutinizing my expression, she nods fractionally, reaching out for the photo. I could probably hand it to her without touching her at all, but I need her touch, however brief it might be. She shivers as my fingers brush hers and I suck in a breath. "What am I supposed to be looking at?" she breathes, forcing her gaze from mine to the photo.

"That's what made you run," I tell her quietly. "Ana, these photos never happened. Or at least not with my involvement."

She stares at me incredulously. "How can you possibly stand there and say that to me?" she asks me evenly. "After everything, you're going to lie to me?"

"It's not a lie," I insist earnestly, turning away briefly to retrieve another set of photos. Unlike the ones Ana saw, these are clear and in picture as opposed to gray and grainy. "These are the original pictures."

She takes them from me and looks at each one. Lucy is, of course, in all of them, but instead of me, there's another man with her. He's around my height, has similar features to mine, but he very obviously isn't me. "Who is this?" she asks slowly.

I sigh in relief. Relief from what, I'm not yet sure. "I don't know," I say softly. "The pictures are the same except that man has been replaced with my picture. And there's more..." I grab another stack of photos, ones I tend to carry with me wherever I go, and hand it to her. Her eyes soften at the pictures. These ones of are the two of us. Holding hands. Walking with our arms around one another. Me pressing my lips against her forehead. I watch silently as she looks between all the different photographs, comparing them to one another. Slowly, she meets my eyes again, confusion replacing the despair and hurt she felt before.

"How..."

"Haven't you ever heard of Photoshop?" I ask gently. "Ana, somebody took the time to get their hands on these photos and spent what I understand to be an exorbitant amount of money to turn them into those." I point at the grainy stack. "I realize they don't look like much, that they could have been made into better quality, but don't you see what's going on? Someone's fucking with us. They knew you'd see them and they'd upset you. This is what they wanted, Ana."

She shakes her head in confusion. "Who would do that, though?" she whispers, obviously wondering whether I did all this myself.

I look at her in exasperation. I suppose it doesn't matter how brilliant a woman is; logic and intelligence goes straight out the window in the face of some devastating event. "Anastasia," I say with stained patience. "Who do we know that will do anything and everything to tear us apart, to make you miserable? Who do we know that would go to such ridiculous lengths just to hurt us?"

Her eyes dart all around the room as her mind processes everything she's being told. Once her mouth drops open in shock, I know she's reached the true conclusion. "Elena?" she asks weakly. I only nod. The photos fall from her fingers and I reach out to catch her before she collapses, carrying her over to the couch to sit. It's not until I pull away do I notice she's still managed to hang on to the photos of the two of us. "Oh god, Christian..."

Holy shit, she understands. "Yeah," I breathe against her hair.

"I'm sorry," she says weakly, her face buried against my shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh..." I pull her into my lap as she cries. I've never been this calm when she's in tears. Normally I hate seeing her like this, in so much pain, but this time it means there's a chance in hell I might not lose her. I'm still uncertain, though; she realizes the truth about the photos, but I can't get the image of her and Canton holding hands in that fucking restaurant out of my head. Understanding about the photos doesn't mean she's here to stay; she could have come to the conclusion that this was one problem too far and she can't do handle this life—our life—anymore.

While my mind is thinking through the worst-case scenarios, my body has apparently settled on what it wants. Ana is in my lap, ripping at my clothes, desperately kissing every inch of skin she reveals. My fingers are digging into her hips, pressing her against me as her fingers trace heated paths across my chest to my nipples. I groan out loud when she bends to allow the tip of her tongue to graze one. Somehow I manage to remove her shirt and am now placing open-mouthed kisses across her collarbones, scraping my teeth against her shoulder, which she seems to enjoy, if the hissing through her teeth and fingers fisting of my hair are any indication. Without warning, I stand from the couch, latching onto her mouth with mine and kissing her so feverishly I think I might actually lose my balance.

Luckily it's not a long walk to the bedroom. I lay her gently on the bed and stand back just enough to take in the full sight of her. Her chest is heaving. Her face is flushed. Lips swollen. Hair a complete mess. But only semi-naked. Must correct this...

With a grin, I reach out to unbutton her jeans and she lifts her bottom enough for me to remove them along with her panties. Still holding her eyes with mine, I bring her panties to my nose and inhale deeply. Fuck... Her scent alone nearly makes me come. Dropping the clothing, I climb over her, straddling her waist as I undo the front clasp of her bra. I groan at the sight of her breasts, her pert nipples, and can't resist the urge to pay them some very deserving attention. Fully aware that I'm grinding against her belly, I sit up to undo my belt buckle, and in her apparent desperation to have me just as naked as she is, Ana's hands join in the fray as they impatiently shove my pants and boxers over my hips. I fall forward onto my hands as she uses her feet to remove the rest of my clothing, kicking them off the side of the bed before returning my attention to my wife. For a few minutes, we only stare at one another, seeking comfort or love or just the need to see that the other wants this just as much. When I can't handle the distance between us again, I crush my lips to hers, kissing her deeply, then begin to work my way down her body, not leaving even a centimeter of skin unkissed, unsucked, unlicked, unnipped. I let my tongue circle her navel and move even lower, lightening my touch just enough to make her squirm. She knows my destination. It's not a secret that it's one of my favorite places on her body. And I have to taste her.

She cries out as the tip of my tongue touches her clit and immediately her fingers are in my hair again, demanding that I pay her proper attention. I think I can live with that. I could spend hours teasing her here between her folds, lapping up every bit of what she gives me. Allowing my fingers to sink into her and we both groan—her at the sensation of stretching for my fingers, me at how incredibly soaking wet she is—I continue working her with my tongue until I feel her body stiffen. Usually, I would tease her a little longer, draw out her pleasure, but we're both desperate for what's to come and I can't wait any longer.

Before she even has the chance to protest, I'm climbing up her body, positioning myself at her entrance. Our lips and tongues tangle and I sink into her with a relieved moan. There's no hesitation: with each thrust I give her, she meets my hips with hers and it's not long before she's gripping me against her, crying out my name as she comes. Another couple thrusts and I bury my face in her neck, emptying myself into her.

At some point, I roll off her, pulling her with me so she's resting against my chest and can hear my frantic heartbeat. There's so much I want to say to her right now, that I need to say to her, but there's only one thing that's appropriate at the moment. The rest can wait.

"I love you, Anastasia."

I feel her smile against my chest. "I love you, too."

And with that, we fall asleep in each other's arms.