Chapter 11

Christian

For the first Saturday morning I can recall in quite some time, I have no desire to work. The events of last night replayed in my head whether I was sleeping and waking, and they show no signs of stopping.

We met. We sat together. We bantered, maybe argued. She challenged me. We danced. I challenged her. She left. I went after her. She went home, presumably to him.

He who can't seem to spare any shred of his precious time for her, despite the fact that he's the luckiest man in the world.

Wait, what the fuck am I saying?

I get up to pace for the hundredth time in the last twelve hours. Part of me wonders if she's right, if I am reacting this way because she once was mine and now she's not. If it's a good old-fashioned pissing contest. But I've felt that before, wanting to conquer something just because it wasn't mine, wanting to show that I could win no matter the obstacle, and this feels different. I want her… in some way. Of course, in the way that a man wants a woman, the way I've always wanted her. But I also want her to be safe. Physically, mentally, emotionally. I want her to be happy. She of all people should be. I don't think she is with him. That's what I can't let go.

Denial is a river in Egypt… I can't think about this right now.

At the same time, her reactions to me are so… confusing. I swear I caught her looking at me last night when I had to step away. Jesus, if she only knew the details of that… well, honestly, I have no idea how she would react. This Ana is mysterious to me.

A light clearing of the throat interrupts me. I stop short and look up to see Gail. "Pardon me, Mr. Grey. I know it's Saturday, but Mia Grey has been trying to get ahold of you. She started calling Taylor—"

"Thank you, Gail." Someone had better be dying. I don't have the energy for this today.

It takes me a minute to remember where I left my phone, but I find it still charging on my nightstand. Which makes sense now that I think about it, given that I gave up on any real attempt at sleep fairly quickly and spent most of the night toiling at the piano.

16 missed calls from Mia. A ripple of nerves does run through me, but it doesn't last long as she answers immediately. "Have you seen the news?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. "What news?"

"TMZ."

"In what universe does that count as the news?"

"The one where you and Ana are pictured looking like Darcy and Elizabeth in the middle of the street."

My phone vibrates and I see a text from her as arrived with the link.

High Society Heartbreak… Cameron Westerley's Fiancée Caught Canoodling with Christian Grey.

I clench my jaw and go on to read the article.

Looks like that new Westerley Tech skyscraper isn't the only thing to keep an eye on in Seattle. Christian Grey, 35, was seen embracing in the street with none other than Cameron Westerley's fiancée, Anastasia Steele, 28. We'd just die to be a bystander and hear whatever they were discussing, but it looks pretty intense.

Below is a photo of Ana and I, my hand stroking her cheek, and then another of us standing nearly toe-to-toe with each other. She's looking up at me, craning her neck a bit with how close we are.

You may know Miss Steele as the typically all-smiles companion to her longtime lover and newly rising tech giant, Cameron Westerley, 28. In contrast to her usual demeanor, Steele is looking particularly troubled in her encounter with Grey. Troubled, yet surprisingly cozy?

Perhaps Miss Steele just has friends in high places. We look forward to upcoming details regarding the Westerley nuptials.

I'm silent as I skim through the words, mostly focusing on the two photos. This is a supreme invasion into both of our privacies, and God knows I'll be dealing with it as such, but I can't help but notice how… calm the image of the two of us makes me feel, despite the infuriating circumstances.

"You need to tell me what's going on." Mia interrupts my thoughts, her voice stern.

"I don't know what you're referring to."

"Christian, seriously. These photos."

"We were just talking."

"And you were just dancing last night? Listen, you have every right to deny everything to the public, which I think you should, but don't insult me by grouping me in with them. You are my brother, and I know you. I know you better than most anyone, and I know that I've never seen you act like this, not with anyone but her."

I swallow uncomfortably. "What exactly do you want me to say?"

"The truth. Do you love her?"

The words send unpleasant tingles down my spine. "Mia."

"Jesus Christ, Christian, do you?"

"I don't know," I spit out.

She's silent over the line for a long moment. "She's getting married."

"I'm perfectly fucking aware."

"And yeah, they clearly have some issues, but this is a dangerous game."

"We were just talking, and it is none of your business. I'm telling you, Mia, stay out of it. I'll take care of this disgusting article."

"There is so much you're not telling me. I wish you could see me as someone to confide in."

I'm thrown by how pained she sounds. "Mia…"

"Not one of us wants anything more than to see you happy, Christian. Ana is amazing, and I'd love to see her happy too, but think about what you're doing."

"Let me take care of this, Mia. I appreciate that you care, but there's nothing more to say."

She sighs heavily. "You know, in any other circumstances, I would be down for this."

The implication of what 'this' is sends a strange thrill through me. "I have to go make some calls."

"Bye. Make good choices." I roll my eyes and hang up.

The first call that I know I should be making is my PR team. But I'm wishing I could use the number that I now know by heart. And yet it's the morning after a night where she was just talking about boundaries. So I make the necessary calls instead.

As expected, they're already on it. They're in the process of drafting a statement if they can't get the article taken down, but they're confident that they can if they drop the names of some of my lawyers. So there's nothing for me to do except lay low. Shouldn't be hard. I notice another text from Mia with another link.

Another article.

Looks like clear skies on the Westerley horizons! Cameron Westerley and his fiancée, Anastasia Steele, stepped out this morning hand-in-hand. The couple was seen strolling before stopping for a humble brunch at a local bakery.

There are photos. Westerley is smiling and waving at the cameras in both. Ana has a half smile on in one, and she's completely looking down in the other.

The soon-to-be Mrs. Westerley's rock was clearly visible on her hand, and boy, are we jealous. Perhaps these two are just rubbing shoulders at Grey soirees these days.

I don't know what it is I feel. Something supremely uncomfortable and unfamiliar. There's something about having Ana in my life that brings up all these things in me that feel foreign, and both wonderful and terrifying at the same time. A long time ago I thought I might have been ready to give those feelings a name, and now I would most likely be completely cut out of her life if I ever tried to.

And now I need an emergency session. I'm not sure if I mean with Flynn or with Bastille, but I end up calling the latter.

All day, I haven't been able to think straight, so instead I've just tried not to. I'm not sure Flynn would approve of this tactic, but he's been on vacation traveling Europe for his second honeymoon for about a month, so he doesn't really get a say today. In fact, he's been gone so long that he doesn't know of Ana's grand reappearance in my life yet. Sure, he has a number that I could have called him at, but I've never known exactly what to say even if I had.

So I'm pacing once again, holding a glass of whiskey, this time outside, looking down at the sprawling city of Seattle. I wonder what most people are doing on their Saturday night. Spending time with friends, family, loved ones. Lovers. That's never really been an option I've had before. I had never really wanted to have it, until—

My own thoughts are interrupted by my phone, insistently vibrating in my pocket. I had honestly forgotten it was in there. I take it out and an unsaved number is calling me. The number looks hauntingly familiar though, and I realize that I've memorized it and wanted to call it multiple times. And now it's calling me. "Hello?"

"Oh! It's you."

"Yes," I say, somewhat amused. She sounds strange. Her voice is higher than usual.

"Just wanted to say thanks."

"For what?"

"For getting those stupid pictures taken down. So annoying," she mutters.

I suddenly get an overwhelming sense of déjà vu and I realize why she might sound strange. "Anastasia, are you drunk?"

She giggles. "Kind of."

I sigh. At this moment, I wish I had a telephoto lens inside of my pupils and I could just zoom into her spot in the city to see what she's getting herself into. "Is Westerley with you?" I'm not sure I really want to know.

She laughs again, this time more loudly. "Are you kidding me? He's probably working."

Is she by herself?! "Who are you with?"

"I'm with your sister. And your sister-in-law. Kind of weird that everyone I know is related to you."

"Where are you?"

"Why are you so cranky?"

I almost want to laugh at the way history is repeating itself. "I'm sorry. But where are you?"

"Outside of a bar. I don't really know. I don't drink that much anymore, I'm already getting sleepy."

"This is why you need a driver."

"I'll just get an uber."

"No, you can't do that," I say firmly.

"Oh, and who's gonna stop me?"

Her voice lowers a bit. If I didn't know better, I would say she was suddenly sounding… coquettish. "Where are Mia and Kate?"

"Inside dancing their asses off."

"Go back with them."

"But it's hot in there," she whines.

"Ana, just go back inside until I get there." I feel like I'm negotiating with a toddler.

"I had no idea that you'd started driving for uber. Don't you have enough money?"

I can't stop myself rolling my eyes, even though she can't see. "You're so funny. Which bar are you at?"

"I don't remember. Just track me."

This time I can't hold back a laugh. She knows the drill all too well… "If you insist. I'll see you soon. Stay put."

"I'm put," she mutters.

I hang up and send a text to Welch. By the time the elevator has made it downstairs and Taylor is opening my door, we have her location. She's a seven-minute drive away.

I find myself antsy on the drive, making it feel much longer. Does she get drunk often these days? Why is her fiancé not looking after her? Well, that answer is obvious. His head is too far up his own ass.

The bar we pull up to seems more like a club. I'm ready to stride inside when I see her pacing in front, looking down at her phone. She clearly did not listen to my instructions to go inside. She's not paying attention, alone, in the dark, in a city, on a day she was photographed with her multimillionaire fiancé for all the world to see her and know what a fat ransom note they could send if they kidnapped her.

Some things never change.

I walk up to her and stand in front of her, waiting for her pace to loop back around. She almost runs right into me before stopping like a startled colt. "Oh! That was quick."

"You were meant to go inside."

"I did, it was hot."

Her breath smells like vodka. It also smells sweet, like Ana, but I don't have time for these distractions right now. "Do they know you're leaving?"

Her eyes are unfocused and I can see her wobble slightly as she stands still. Well, I've held her hair once before… "Yeah, I told them I was calling uber."

"And they allowed you?" I sigh frustratedly.

She shrugs. "Well, I told them I was calling Cam." She smiles and rolls her eyes almost cartoonishly. "But he wouldn't answer."

Of fucking course he wouldn't. So does that mean…? My heart stutters. "How much have you had to drink?" She shrugs in lieu of an answer. "Do I have to make an appointment to get my car interior shampooed tomorrow?"

She opens her mouth in humorous outrage. At least, it's humorous to me. "That night was the first and only time I ever threw up from alcohol, Mr. Man. Whatever, take me home."

I put my hands on her shoulders, trying to steady her. "Is Westerley home?"

"Don't fucking ask me that," she mutters, slurring a bit and shrugging out from my hold.

So that's a no. I take her hand. I don't know if she'll be able to walk to the car if I don't. "Come."

She flops somewhat unsteadily into the back seat, and I buckle her seatbelt for her, then go around to the other side. Taylor gives me a sideways glance, and I know he's asking where to. I look over at Ana. Her head is already slumping forward, and I seriously doubt she's going to make it all the way across town to the house she shares with Westerley. And since he's not there to care for her…

Fuck it. "Escala."

Ana startles awake when I speak, looking over at me with bleary eyes. She smiles with one corner of her mouth, then closes her eyes again, but this time she slumps sideways, her head nestling against my shoulder.

The car ride is short. Too short. I use up all the time by breathing in her smell so close to me, feeling the warmth of her through my jacket and her hair tickling my ear. I feel oddly at peace given the situation. She's overindulged, but it's handled. She's with me now. She's safe.

When we come to a stop in the garage, I raise my hand up and stroke her hair. "Ana," I murmur. "You have to wake up so we can get upstairs."

"Mmmmm." She makes a groaning sound in protest, but opens her eyes and sits up. "Where are we going?"

I take both her hands and all but haul her out of the car. "You are going to bed." I give Taylor a nod in dismissal. I'll take it from here.

I sling her arm around me, and we walk slowly to the elevator. Drunk adults really do revert back to being toddlers; walking unsteadily, speaking their mind without fear of consequence, losing control of their bodily functions. Hopefully we avoid that tonight. I could throw her over my shoulder. It would probably be faster, but I doubt she would take kindly to that even in her lubricated state. She stands face to face with me as the elevator slowly takes us up, but she's looking down. I keep my hands on her shoulders for steadying purposes. At least that's what you're telling yourself.

She slowly rolls her neck up and pins me with her sleepy, bright blue eyes. She smiles as though she's enjoying a private joke. "What's funny?"

"You are so pretty."

In all of my days, no one has ever called me that. In her little slurring voice, I find it funny. "Pretty?"

"Mmmm-hmmmm. Such a pretty face. Never been able to forget it." She squirms, freeing her arms, and craning her neck a bit more so she's facing me. "Do you 'member the last time you came and got me?"

"Vividly," I reply, arching a brow. It was messier last time.

"I had no idea," she mumbles.

"About what?"

"Back then. I had no idea that I would end up knowing you… like that. Wanting you so much."

"Like what?"

She doesn't answer. Instead, she blinks a few times, staring up at me, her eyes scanning back and forth as if she's examining my whole face. And to my utter astonishment, and with a surprising speed for a drunk person, she reaches her hands up, places them firmly on either side of my face, and all but yanks me down.

And then she's kissing me.

My body responds in the way it's been longing to for the last seven years. I pull her to me as her tongue slips inside my mouth, re-memorizing the curve of her lips moving against mine. It's just as exhilarating as it ever was, maybe more so. Her tastes sweet, her body is warm against mine and I think we both might be flushed already, and her smell is intoxicating…

Intoxicating. And as the taste of vodka on her tongue finally registers, I realize how wrong this is. She's intoxicated. I can't do this. She's not in control. Ana would not do this if she was in her right mind, and that's a harshly sobering realization.

With Herculean effort, I pull back and stand up straight, out of her reach. She looks up at me with wide eyes, her lips parted and reddening from the urgency of our kiss. "Ana… I don't think you want to do this."

She smiles serenely. "You can do whatever you want in a dream. It's just… healthy fantasy," she says, her voice almost singsong.

To my relief and regret, the elevator arrives and opens. I put my arm around her again. "Come on, darling." The term of endearment rolling off my tongue takes me by surprise. I have no idea where that comes from. I've never said that to anyone, not even her. But I don't have time to think about it right now.

I take her to the nearest guest bedroom that isn't… the last room she was in when she was here. She flops down onto the bed, kicking her shoes off. "Ana. I'm going to get you some pajamas. Stay here, okay?"

"Mmm," she responds. I take that as an affirmative.

I have no women's clothes here anymore, so one of my T-shirts and a pair of boxers will have to do. God knows how that will look, and I almost shudder at the thought, but it will have to be explained to her. I return to her room to find her snoozing on the bed. "Ana," I say, gently but with volume. "I have clothes for you."

She grunts and sits up, and begins pulling off her clothes as if no one is watching. Out of pure courtesy, I turn my head, but not before I catch a glimpse of her breasts. If she's not wearing a push-up bra, heaven help me. I clench my teeth and close my eyes as she basically waves her ass in my face as she pulls her pants down. Or panties. If I look, game over.

I hear the covers move and peek through one eye. She's fully under the blankets now, getting all curled up. "Goodnight, Ana."

"Mmm."

I chuckle to myself and turn her bedside lamp out. What I should do is go to my own room and try to get the rest that's evaded me for the last thirty-six hours or so, but I have no idea if this will ever happen again. So I watch her sleep just a little longer.

I replay the elevator incident in my mind, and it occurs to me that while it's true that Ana would never do that when she was sober, it means I might not be the only one having secret desires. And that gives me hope. For what, I don't know. But tonight, I just let myself enjoy that. I meant something to her too.

A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for your patience (those of you who actually had some, lol). Life just got busy and I've had to sit down and work on this one multiple times. I've been thinking about writing this chapter since I came up with this story, and I'm so glad it's finally out into the world.