What Love Gave Us
by
Ava LeBeau
Ten
"Before you say anything I just wanted you to know that I really like you, Christian," Ana shifted in her seat, wondering if he knew just how much courage this confession had cost her.
"I– I was nervous when you went in for the kiss...," she side-glanced at him as he started the sports car, the deafening roar of its engine filling the room, making passers-by stop and stare.
She looked at him, trying to gauge any reaction but his face seemed impassive. Ana was sure that she must have hurt his ego, big time.
"...and that's why I pushed you away," she stammered, wishing Christian would say something, anything for that matter. But all he did was reach over, taking her hand in his, yes, even interlacing their fingers, giving her hand the faintest of squeeze, leaving her wondering if he was relishing the whole scene.
"Looking back now," Ana stammered, looking down at their hands in her lap, realizing that her skirt was scandalously short now that she was sitting, "I- I really wish I didn't push you away. Because I really like you, you know," she felt like an idiot, trying to catch the slightest grin ghosting across Christian's handsome features but his poker face was beyond annoying. He seemed to focus on the narrow cobbled streets of downtown Seattle, expertly steering the supercar through them, unaware of her struggle, right?
"Why can't you just say something? Are you mad at me?" Ana blurted out, causing him to chuckle, that voice so husky and oh so sexy. She craved to taste his lips on hers but he was too busy steering that roaring monster out of the narrow maze of downtown Seattle. Also, he had every right to let her stew, let her try harder to convince him that she was still interested.
When Christian brushed his thumb across the back of her hand, his fleeting touch sent a shiver down her spine, the desire just pooling down low between her legs, he sure knew how to drive a girl crazy if that's what he was aiming at.
Anastasia glanced at him again. His face was impassive but he was drumming his fingers on the leather steering wheel, waiting for the lights to turn green to tear along until they'd be stopped again at the next crossing.
"No, I'm not mad at you, Ana," his gaze met hers and he was smiling softly, looking calm and relaxed.
"You decided it was not the right time, probably not the right place and I accept that. Actually, I'm really sorry I read the situation wrong. I didn't mean to pressure you into something you don't want. And I really thought you wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted to kiss you."
Ana glanced at him, pressing her lips together before she said, "I see."
"Well, I guess I was curious about you. Still am. You seem so innocent, Ana," his voice was dark and low.
"I … uhm…"
Innocent? She wished she was anything but innocent.
Still holding his hand in hers, it was Ana who gave his hand a squeeze now. She wished she had his full attention but the streets were crowded and she was glad that he was diligent enough to keep his eyes on the road before them.
A moment of silence ensued and Ana stared down at his hand, the long, slender fingers, his soft skin, fingernails perfectly manicured. She drew a lazy circle against the back of his hand with the pad of her thumb.
Lost in her thoughts about those hands touching her, caressing her cheek, those fingertips tracing the outline of her pout, Ana had to bite back a gasp when he spoke.
"Listen, Ana, can you forgive me for that lapse?"
"What? I– uhm, I mean, yes. Of course."
Anastasia chewed on her bottom lip before she said, "And I'm really sorry, too. You know, I didn't mean to slap you."
"It's okay. Let's not talk about it anymore, okay?" He looked at her and she nodded.
For a while neither of them spoke, they'd left the downtown district and Christian had pulled onto an elevated roadway.
"The car… isn't it dangerous to drive such a car during winter?"
Christian laughed again.
"It takes a seasoned driver to control it, right?"
Ana was sure that she'd piqued his curiosity, the silence that hung over them like a dark cloud just too much for her to bear.
"I guess it does," Christian seemed to have found his voice again and it made Ana grin. He let go of her hand to shift up a gear.
"It has ESC, doesn't it?" Ana inquired, side-glancing at him, already missing his hand in hers.
"It has, but the car's way too boring when it's not in sports mode," Christian said.
"So, you've turned it off? For your own pleasure?"
"Don't worry, I know how to handle it," was all Christian replied, his hand reaching for hers again and she let him take it.
"You wanna drive?"
"Uhm, what?" Ana hated how shaky her voice sounded, she'd never drive that car, too much power, stick shift, no ESC, a recipe for disaster.
"The Audi, do you want to drive it?" He asked, finally looking at her, tilting his head a little, his face bright, that grin so cheeky.
"No," Anastasia folded her arms in front of her chest.
"You sure?" his lips had curved into another wry grin.
"Yeah," she gave a half-shrug and chuckled.
"Suit yourself," Christian said and sped up.
"Where are you taking me?" A squeal escaped Anastasia when the Audi oversteered slightly as Christian accelerated and she felt like being pushed back into the seat.
"My parents' house," he was quick to reply.
"And what is it that you want to show me there?"
"A surprise."
"Why don't you tell me?"
"You like to be in control, hm?"
"What makes you think that?" Her hand grasped the seat belt and pulled it tighter.
"Dunno," he laughed, "You asking all those questions?"
Ana rolled her eyes, unsure whether he'd noticed. The street leading to his parents' house was narrow and winding, demanding his full attention.
His parents' house was spacious and even more luxurious than she had expected it to be. Ana looked around as she followed Christian across the foyer and down a hallway to a well-stocked library.
And even though it was one of those bleak days in mid-winter, the sky a grayish blue and with an occasional snowflake dancing through the cold air every now and then, the room was bright and welcoming.
Christian walked over to a large table in the middle of the room.
"Come," he smiled and held out his hand for her.
On the table lay something that looked like a photo book. Christian pulled out a chair for Ana and when she had sat down, he took the seat nearest her and moved it closer.
He reached over and opened the book.
"We've just received new pictures for our charity and I wanted to show them to you. You will notice that they are very different from the pictures you chose for your project," Christian turned to the page that was marked with a post-it.
Anastasia perched on her elbows and straightened up, curious to see what he was about to show her. Swiftly he turned the pages, telling her more about the making of the pictures, stopping every now and then to point out important details, remarking on emotions conveyed.
He'd been right, the pictures were quite different, but not any less poignant. Contrary to the pictures she had selected, they showed impoverished individuals in situations that were intended to convey that things had improved for them. All of them wore new clothes, the villages they lived in looked as if they had been newly built. There were piles of food, fresh water supply wells... but if you looked at the faces of those pictured, if you looked closely at their eyes, you could tell that they had not overcome their hardships. In fact, it seemed to Ana, the pictures were most likely staged. An elaborate device to show how the donations could provide relief. A clever fib to ease consciences.
"Well? What do you think?" Christian smiled as she looked up at him.
"Impressive," Ana said, trying to swallow back the lump that was forming in her throat.
"I think so too," said Christian, his fingertips absently brushing over one of the images.
"We're planning to exhibit them at a gala in New York before they're auctioned off at my parents' charity ball next month. Naturally, the proceeds will go to the foundation.
"Of course," Ana managed to get out.
She fought against a strange mixture of anger and dread that was suddenly brewing inside her.
Anger that the fates of those people had obviously been glossed over to make the donors feel good, without thinking about how the people there must have felt when they had to pose for the photos, all dressed up and left to their own devices when the whole spectacle was over and the pictures were taken. What a terrible scam that was perpetrated on their backs. The anger made her feel sick to her stomach.
But there was also a fear, an intense anxiety that her project wasn't any better even though Ana was under the impression that she had selected more true-to-life imagery.
But wasn't the whole project just as phony? Wasn't it only a project following current trends? A project that was intended to make S.I.P. a lot of money.
Money and publicity.
Anastasia looked down at her folded hands, she'd rested on the wooden tabletop and wondered if Christian had noticed that they were shaking. She felt his eyes on her and swallowed dryly in a futile attempt to keep her composure.
"Is everything alright?" Christian asked, a worried look crossed his face as he reached out to gently touch Ana's elbow and his tender touch snapped her out of her thoughts.
The whole thing was nothing but a big scam, she was sure of that by now, and the realization made her feel bad, like a liar.
There was that familiar stinging in the back of her throat, in her nose and she took a deep breath to keep herself from crying but she knew that it was already too late.
Anastasia slightly bowed her head, her hair falling into her face, shielding her from his curious gaze. She pressed her lips together but couldn't fight back the sob that escaped her.
"Ana? Hey…," Christian leaned closer and took her hand but she only shook her head, "Are you okay?"
"I–I'm sorry," she sobbed.
"It's okay. It really is," he whispered gently, pushing the book aside with his free arm, "please don't cry."
"It's just…," her voice trembled, "Do you ever think that this is all just a scam? I mean we're using them for our own means…"
Anastasia turned her head to look at him, her eyes puffy, her nose red from her sudden outburst.
"No. What makes you think that?" he furrowed his brow, studying her features.
"Isn't it an illusion? To think that we are able to help…"
"You know what I think? Doubt keeps you from accomplishing great things, Ana," he smiled softly and took her hand in both his hands, giving it a gentle squeeze as she chewed on her bottom lip, musing over what he'd just said.
"You know, I had a rough start in life and I truly believe that it was a time that has defined me. In many ways. You're not supposed to compare your struggles with those of others and I know that I live a very privileged life, don't get me wrong. I appreciate everything Carrick and mother have done for me and I am thankful for the chances I was given. But it was that time in my life, the struggle that has formed me. And when I look in the mirror I see who I am… and who I'm not and I believe that the pain I had to go through when I was a child was a gift, Ana. I hope that I can help them to see it that way, one day in the future. I'll do whatever I can to try and save these people, Ana. That's why I believe in this mission. Because adversity makes you strong. Just look at me."
Anastasia stared at him through a fog of tears that was clouding her gaze, sobbing again before she mumbled, "Pain? A-Are you talking about the scars on your chest?"
Christian nodded, "And that's only what the eye can see."
"Who did this to you?" tears ran down her cheeks.
"Come," he whispered and stood, "I'll show you something," he held out his strong hand.
When they walked across the entrance hall, Christian's hand soft and reassuring against the small of her back, Anastasia glanced up, admiring the incredible glass ceiling for a moment before they made their way upstairs.
Anastasia bit her lip when he opened the door to one of the rooms on the second floor, revealing what clearly was a teenage boy's bedroom.
"Yours?" she glanced at him, a small smile ghosting across her pale features.
"Mhmm," he nodded and walked into the room, Ana following him.
"It's beautiful, the perfect color palette," she pointed out, wandering across the room, her fingertips grazing across the neat coverlet on the bed, her gaze wandering to the CD collection by the wall.
Christian, his arms folded over his chest, stood by the door, watching her, his face impassive, unreadable.
"Whitney Houston? That album's more than twenty years old," Anastasia laughed and looked back at him, "Interesting."
Her fingertips brushed across the neatly stacked CD covers, silently mouthing the albums' names as she marveled at the collection.
"Most of the time we don't look for old songs, what we really long for is the memories they carry," Christian said and Anastasia wondered if she'd noticed the slightest tremble in his voice.
She turned to look at him again, "What do you mean?"
"My mother used to listen to it when I was a boy," he stated.
"And now she doesn't anymore?" Anastasia stopped in front of the dresser and took a closer look at the picture in a frame on it. It showed Christian, beaming as he showed off a winner's cup. Him always seeming to be rather ambitious, Ana had to admit to herself that she wasn't surprised to find that picture there.
"No. Not anymore," his voice dragged her out of her thoughts.
"Why's that?" she let her fingertips brush over the picture frame.
Christian sighed and opened a drawer, pulled out an old photograph.
"Come," he said and sat down on the bed, patting the spot beside him.
Ana folded her hands in her lap, leaning closer to catch a better look at the photo.
"That's my mother," Christian said and Anastasia furrowed her brow, confused.
"What? How? I-I mean, I don't understand…," she'd seen his mother before, pictured in the magazines and on their charity's homepage, her being a patroness of the charity, looking nothing like the haggard woman in the photograph.
"My birth mother," Christian specified, his upper arm brushing against Ana's shoulder when she leaned closer.
Anastasia stared up at him.
"She died when I was four years old. She was a drug addict, Ana," Christian continued, looking down at the tattered photograph in his hand.
"I was there… when it happened," he cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his voice steady and firm, "And I almost died that night, too. But I fought against it…"
"I'm so sorry, Christian," was all she managed to say and the moments those words had left her lips she already regretted it, feeling stupid and shallow.
"Are those scars… I mean…," Ana mumbled, avoiding his gaze, unsure whether she should've asked at all.
"Yes, it was one of the men… he… uh… he took great pleasure in it," Christian ran his free hand through his hair, shifting beside her and Anastasia could tell how difficult it was for him to recall the ordeal. And so she decided to not press any further, to not hurt him again.
Tears welled up in her eyes and once again she felt her throat closing up.
"Why are you telling me this, Christian?"
"Because I trust you," he shifted to meet her gaze, "With all my heart."
Ana nodded quietly, overwhelmed by his confession, unsure what to say next, instead she pressed her lips together, on the verge of sobbing again.
"And I hope you believe me, when I say that I take this whole charity mission seriously. That I want to make a change, an impact. I want to fight for them. Because I know that I wouldn't be where I am now if it weren't for people who helped me and believed in me…," his voice trailed off when Ana let out another sob, resting her head against his shoulder, making him flinch.
"Hey," he whispered, rubbing her back, trying to console her.
"I'm so sorry," she pressed forth.
"It's okay. I'm fine and everything will be okay."
She nodded against his shoulder, inhaling the smell of his skin, the expensive cologne he was wearing for a moment before she looked up at him.
His brow furrowed, he scanned her face, held her gaze while neither of them spoke. He reached up, cupped her cheek in his hand, carefully brushing his thumb across her jaw, leaning even closer when Ana craned her neck.
Anastasia's gaze darted to his lips and Christian noticed it.
"Are you gonna slap me again?" his voice was low and husky.
A chuckle escaped Ana while she closed the distance between them and claimed his lips. Christian stared at her, looking startled at first, but soon enough he gave in. He took his time, kissing her gently but thoroughly, clearly loving the feel of her lips on his while he ran his fingers through a strand of her silky hair that had fallen to her face. Anastasia slid her arms around his waist to hold him close and where she wanted him, and while it was probably still not what she had dreamed of when it came to kissing him, Christian Grey, his tender caress, his careful but seemingly loving approach made up for all that was missing. When his tongue glided across her plump lower lip she opened her mouth ever so slightly, allowing him entrance and it wasn't long before their tongues were engaged in a breathtaking dance, a fight for dominance while happiness swelled inside of her, sending all those walls she'd built inside tumbling down. And it seemed to Anastasia that their kiss held so much more emotion and meaning than a thousand words, connecting them on a deeper level.
When Anastasia realized where they were, kissing on the bed in his teenage bedroom, a chuckle formed in her throat. Of course Christian noticed and pulled away, looking down at her, his cheeks flushed, his features relaxed, looking happy, he whispered, "What?"
"Nothing," she mumbled against his lips, pulling him closer, unwilling to let go, wanting this to last forever, wanting to kiss him forever.
A/N: Thank you for all your reviews and input. I look forward to hearing from you.