Chapter 7

Love is a Cliché

Stupid Girl in the City-if my life's a romantic comedy film then that will be the title.

Christian wanted to have me checked with a doctor, but I insisted that I'll only feel worse. I told him that all I wanted and needed was to go home. Sooner than later, Taylor came with Christian's Lamborghini and he drove us to my apartment.

I felt pathetic while sitting on the backseat right next to Christian. The coat on my shoulders was his and his palm soothed my back, up and down again and again. From the rearview mirror, I could see Taylor's eyes. His gaze was not condescending, rather it was fatherly. I knew he wanted to ask if I was okay, but he knew that I'll feel better if he won't press. Having one person worried sick about me was bad enough already.

"We're here, Taylor," Christian said and Taylor pulled over.

We stopped in front of my apartment building and when we went out, Christian instructed Taylor to keep his lines open.

Taylor gave me a sympathetic smile-which I sadly returned-before he drove off.

Christian invited himself inside my apartment. I didn't mind though. I really needed someone around. I didn't want Kate or Ethan to be with me tonight because I didn't want them to worry about me like they usually do. I wanted to be more than a liability. After all these consecutive unlucky experiences, I didn't want more pity from them.

"We're here," I led him to my place and when we went inside, I felt grateful that I decided to clean up earlier albeit in a rush.

I placed Christian's coat on the rack by the door.

Christian's eyes roamed around my small space and to be honest, there really wasn't anything much to look at. When you come inside, you're greeted by my small green couch in front of my flat screen TV. To the right were two doors-one led to my bedroom, the other to the bathroom. Then to the left side of the couch was the small kitchen counter with a really cute wooden dining table with two chairs.

"Make yourself feel at home, Christian. I'll go get changed," I told him. My voice was no longer shaking, but it was barely audible.

Nevertheless, he still heard me. He nodded with an understanding smile.

When I closed my bedroom door, I pressed my back against it, covered my mouth, slid down the floor, and just cried. Christian won't hear me outside. Tears just came out of my eyes.

In my mind, I was reprimanding myself:

No one's as stupid as you, Ana. Really you went out with Brady?

That's what you get for being such a dummy!

Really? Do you really think that a guy will take you out to a fancy hotel to eat at its restaurant and not attend any conference?!

When I felt like I cried enough, I took a deep breath and composed myself. I made Christian wait long enough. I changed into my comfortable sleepwear: a set of green shirt and pajamas with yellow duckling prints on it. To match with my attire, I also wore my yellow headband with a cute orange duck beak.

"Sorry for making you wait," I said clearing my throat upon walking out of my room.

He didn't hear me though.

"Christian?"

He seemed to be entranced by the painting I left standing on the floor, right under my window. I gazed at his side profile and even from this vision, I saw the emotions running over him as he stared into the painting. His body language said it all: he was consumed by it. It's like he was stripping the painting down to its soul.

"Christian?" I asked again and this time he flinched and looked at me.

There was a flash of emotions at his eyes, I think both from my painting and from noticing that my eyes were so red it was obvious I cried. I braced myself for more 'are you okay' types of questions but he said something unexpected.

"What the duck?"

"Huh?"

"What the quack?"

"Oh," for the first time since the fire incident, I found myself laughing. He was making fun of my attire. Okay, I looked silly but this was the most comfortable sleepwear I owned.

Christian gave me a small grin and said, "I'm glad you're laughing now."

"Yeah, thanks for that," I quietly replied before I added, "I hope you don't feel that uncomfortable in my home. It may be small, but it feels homey."

"Well, it's just as big as my closet so it is homey," he sounded too serious when he said that so I scowled at him.

"You prick!" I took off my ducky headband and threw it at him.

He burst out laughing, but he was able to catch it though.

"Relax, Ana, I was just joking!"

Yeah, I could tell. This man's way of joking was making me frown, scowl, or mad. He just liked it that way. I rolled my eyes with affection instead. He may annoy me, but he won't ever leave me inside a burning building.

When he stopped laughing, he took a step forward and placed the headband back on my head again, "there."

He goofily added, "Don't get mad now. You look better with your beak."

While he was placing the headband, I took a moment to gaze at his gray eyes. I always knew that he was handsome from the moment we sat right next to each other. But now, I could see it better. They were more than gray hues in hazy sea storms, but they had a hint of softness, kindness, tenderness even.

"But I think it looks better here," he got sillier and I made a surprised gasp when he dragged the headband down until the beak reached my lips.

He was on the couch laughing and all I did was scold him for acting like a child. When I saw his eyes though-his mischievous eyes, my scolding stopped and I couldn't help but laugh with him too.

When the laughter faded, I asked him to eat dinner and I was glad that he didn't mind that it was bacon with eggs. I wasn't able to do grocery shopping because of hectic work schedule, but it was fine with him. In fact, he asked for coffee and I never thought that breakfast for dinners could be a good thing.

We sat across each other on my small dining table with my little cactus in the middle. He kind of looked too big for my furniture, but I found that cute. He looked like he was enjoying himself.

I started the conversation, "Sorry if I can't render two hours cleaning your condo."

His brows furrowed, "What are you sorry about? You almost died today. Do you think I'd ask you to clean my condo?"

I gave him an awkward smile, "But the $1000-"

"Consider it paid," he declared.

"Thank you," I gratefully said.

He was about to say something, but I cut him off when I said, "Thank you not just for cutting the $1000 but for coming to rescue me earlier."

Christian took a bite of the bacon before he replied, "You're welcome, Ana. And, what were you thinking about going out with Brady anyway? Do you like him?"

I couldn't read the expression on his face when he asked that question but I didn't mind it and just clarified, "No, I don't. Christian, my best friend, Kate has this notion that when I say no to dates, then it's because I haven't moved on from Jose. I wanted to prove her wrong. I wanted to prove to her that I was ready to mingle, to go out, you know, have fun."

He asked, "Are you?"

My back arched, "Not really."

"You're still not over him, huh?" There was something odd about his tone when he said that.

"It's not like that. The reason why I don't go on dates right now, it's because I am kind of enjoying my job at the moment. Yes, an illustrator in Lotus may not be my dream job, but it is strangely making me feel happy."

That sparked interest in him, "Lotus is not your dream job, huh?"

I laughed at that, "Shit! You're about to be the company's president, huh? How could I forget that?"

He just smiled and asked, "What's the dream job anyway?"

"You're gonna laugh because it sounds so unrealistic."

"Try me," he challenged.

I said with my ambitious and empowered voice, "I am going to be a successful painter whose exhibits are shown all over Europe. Art enthusiasts will bid for my paintings and I'll be critically acclaimed and well-known."

I expected him to laugh like some of my exes did, but to my surprise, he didn't. He looked serious, happy even. Instead, he affirmed, "And you will, Ana. You will."

When he said that, I felt my heart skip a beat. I dated a lot of men before and none of them took my passion seriously. With Christian though, he believed in me and because of that, I had this urge to believe in myself. It felt so . . . powerful.

Then, he asked, "So, those are your paintings, huh? They are beautiful."

"Thank you so much. I really appreciate that, Christian. Uhm . . . when I save enough money from Lotus, I'll move to Paris and study. Eventually, I'll work with painters and I'll make it."

He told me, "I am looking forward to that, Ana. When you come back to Paris, it will be a beautiful time and not like that awful moment you had because of that asshole."

I smiled at that, "Yes, when I go to Paris then it will be for me and not because of someone else."

"What about your parents then? They aren't supportive of your paintings?"

Then, I began to open up. I told him about my parents, Ray and Carla. They were those typical parents: provider husband and stay-at-home wife. We lived in the suburbs of Spokane. They weren't very progressive viewers though. They believed that science overpowered art especially in the financial aspect so they were never supportive about my passion. It took a lot of convincing for me study art in college and for sure, if only I chose to be a doctor or a lawyer then they will immediately sponsor my studying in another country.

"Before Lotus, what did you do?"

I told Christian that I was a freelance online artist. Clients ask me what to digitally draw and I'd make it all possible for them. It paid me enough to help me settle my bills and pay my rent. Yes, I did well in digital arts, sketching, and illustration, but I was so in love with painting; that's what I wanted to pursue.

The whole time, Christian just listened to me. He never looked bored or tired. Despite my duck-themed sleepwear, he took me seriously and it made me feel ... contented.

"So, you mean to say that no one's ever bought a painting from you before?"

"No," I confirmed.

"Let me be the first," he told me.

"Huh?" I was confused.

"I'll buy that painting for a thousand dollars," he gestured towards the canvas he stared at earlier.

"That one?! Christian, that's not worth a thousand dollars!"

The painting he was referring to was the abstract portrait I had a for a mother and her son. The strokes were imperfect and it wasn't neat. It's just not one of my best works.

"Why not, Ana?" he asked confused.

"Because that's a practice painting! Take a look at the colors. I don't think they are blended well."

"But I'd like to purchase it," he calmly opposed.

"Christian, I don't think-"

"That $1,000 will be deducted from your debt so all you'll owe me will be $2,000 only."

"YOU CAN HAVE IT!" Okay, I expressed that too aggressively that he got startled.

He gave me a smile before saying, "Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Steele."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Grey. Why'd you like that painting anyway?"

Christian just shrugged and ate his bacon. That's when I realized that when we googled him, we came across an article that read of his mother's death three years ago. I gazed at the painting and back to him. He resonated with the painting despite its imperfections because it reminded him of her.

He didn't seem like he wanted to open up about it so I decided not to press. When the time's right, then he will open up about it.

"So uhm . . . how is your pitch going about the AI?"

Christian's mood shifted at that, "It's going pretty well. Elliott and I are coming up with ways to present our idea to make our investor say yes. Well, of course, when our father asked about our progress and heard about our idea, he just didn't agree. I mean, we never agree. That's why he doesn't want to me to take over for Lotus when he retires."

"He doesn't?" I pretended to be shocked.

He just raised his brow, "Come on, Ana. You know this. You were there outside his office when we had one of our million disagreements."

"Right," I said.

Christian explained, "He doesn't agree with my visions in Lotus. Aside from wanting to go 100% digital, he doesn't agree that I eliminate some genres in our publication."

"Which genres?"

"Romance, co-"

"ROMANCE?!" I screamed out loud and he was startled again. Okay, I wasn't a reader of fiction, but getting rid of a romance genre? That's way out of control!

"Yes, I am proposing to eliminate that genre because it's not that profitable. Most of our market are intellectuals who prefer to read dystopian books, like the one you created a cover for. That's where we excel."

"Hold up. When you say 'intellectual', do you mean intelligent people don't read romance books?"

He answered, "They don't."

I gasped at that. "Christian, that's so not true!"

Christian still disagreed, "Ana, romance books follow the same formula: boy and girl meet, they fall in love, there's a conflict, and in the end, they either end up together or not. It's pretty basic. Love is a cliché. There are no surprises about it at all. You always know what happens next. It's not for smart people. But then again, love is not for smart people."

I gasped louder at that. "That's not true!"

He changed his posture and he seemed like he was ready to argue.

He claimed, "Okay, let's look at it this way: for example, you are a hardworking man and you earn a lot of money because of your intellect. You go home to your expensive house and greet your loving wife and kids after a long day at work. You think you have life all balanced out, but as it turns out, you don't. While you get all praises at work and rise to the top, your wife's been cheating on you for years and you didn't even know despite seeing all the signs. Now, who can say that love makes you smart?"

I reflected on that. Okay, fine, he was right. Yet, I still argued.

I refuted, "I get what you're trying to say, but the whole point about falling in love is letting go of being so smart. It's about letting go of pride. Because love makes you happy, it makes you sad, it makes you angry, it makes you . . . crazy. Love makes you feel alive."

Christian turned quiet. A smile slowly formed in my lips when I realized he didn't know what to say anymore.

So, all he said was, "I still don't think it's profitable."

My hand hit the table, "See? I'm right. You know what, you know all about my love life. You know all about my embarrassing stories and all that. But there is one thing you don't know."

"What?" he raised his brow.

"When love comes back in its next form, I'll do it all again," I admitted.

He rolled his eyes and snorted.

"You can roll your eyes at me, Christian, but at the end of the day, when love comes back into my life, I'll give it another try," I confidently declared with my chin held up high.

It wasn't about proving myself to Jose or Kate or anyone else. This was about me . . . for me. Because I know that no one from my past deserves to get a hold of my future.

"Let's watch some romcoms, Christian," I practically commanded.

He rolled his eyes again, "Ana, I don't-"

I gave him a threatening look, but he just chuckled.

"Okay, you're a cute duck so let's watch," he said and it made me slightly blush.

I shook my head and decided to just focus on setting up my TV. I wrapped my knitted quilt around my body and I gave him one too. He took his shoes off as he rested his feet on the small center table.

The first movie we watched was Pretty Woman because it was a crime that he had no idea that it existed. He was quiet the entire time and to be honest, he seemed like he was going to sleep. From time to time, I caught him staring at me, but it was to make fun of how emotional I was getting. Asshole. I was asking him to watch the movie, but he was making fun of me instead.

After the first movie, we watched Crazy Rich Asians which is one of my newer favorite romantic films. I kind of wanted him to be touched by the whole beautiful love story between Rachel and Nick, but all he was talking about were the business in Singapore. He was talking in graphs and it was very difficult to keep up.

For our third film, I played 10 Things I Hate About You on the screen and he yawned and wrapped the quilt tighter around his body. In my favorite scene, I felt him resting against me.

"Christian?" I whispered. I looked at him and his eyes were closed. He was already sleeping.

His cheek rested against my arm and I could feel the tips of his hair strands on my cheek. This felt odd yet . . . right. Having him this close made me believe something, it made my heartbeat rapidly and the butterflies in my stomach breaking me from their cocoons.

On the TV screen, Heath Ledger was singing Can't Take My Eyes Off You. Blood gathered in my cheeks and my hands were cold from the tingling feeling and I immediately knew that it wasn't from the man singing in the movie, but instead, it's because of someone who's leaning next to me.

I love you, baby and if it's quite alright

I need you, baby to warm the lonely night

As the Heath Ledger sang to Julia Stiles in the film, I frowned at the fact that Christian thought of love is such a cliché. Most certainly, if love comes back to me in a form of Christian Grey, I would give it another shot.

Author's Note:

This story is an ode to my love for romantic comedies. Reading your reviews about how much you love romcoms too is so amazing.

This chapter was all about Christian and Ana getting to know each other. What do you think of this?

I am excited to hear your thoughts.

Thank you very much for stopping by to read the new update.