"Bro, are you sure that isn't you?" Elliot asked, his eyes glued to the painting that dominated the room, a feat for something sized thirty inches by twenty inches. The artwork was striking in its resemblance to Christian. He had called Elliot because who else could he turn to regarding Ana's actions and what they might mean? It had taken him ten minutes after picking up the phone to call Elliot, afraid his brother would refuse to help, not that he would blame him.

"I am unlikely to forget sitting for a painting dressed like a man from whatever period that is," Christian replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.

"Yeah, but not everyone remembers their previous life," Elliot countered, failing to keep the levity out of his voice.

"I should have called Mia," Christian muttered, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as he watched his brother continue to make light of a situation. Taylor and Welch weren't helping either, their laughter echoing around the room as they fed off Elliot's ridiculous jokes.

"Sorry, it's just that... I mean, everything about the dude in that painting is you. The hair, the eyes, the same damn cheekbones, lips, nose. If it's not you, it's certainly your brother," Elliot continued, his excitement building.

"Yes, we've established we look alike. But what does it mean that Ana sent it back restored… so beautifully?" Christian asked, his voice dropping to a reverent tone as he stared at the artwork.

Elliot looked up from the painting and locked eyes with his brother. "Wow, you really are clueless." He glanced back down at the painting still nestled in its crate on the floor. Christian had practically growled at him when he attempted to lift it for a better view. And you thought you'd win a game where romance plays a part with Ana. That is either some supreme confidence or…"

"Plain arrogance and a heavy dose of stupidity," Christian finished, the corners of his mouth twitching as he struggled to maintain his irritation.

"What did the note say?" Elliot asked, noticing the envelope stapled to the lid of the crate.

"I haven't opened it," Christian murmured, avoiding eye contact.

"You either open it, or I tackle you to the ground, handcuff you with your own shit, and open it myself," Elliot threatened, his voice booming with mock authority. Taylor and Welch burst into laughter, unable to contain their amusement.

"First of all, I don't own any handcuffs anymore. Second, Welch, thanks for coming. You can show yourself out. Taylor, you can return to your duties," Christian said, his voice firm. Both men's jaws dropped at the dismissal, but they complied and exited as instructed. Gail watched them with a smug expression, a flicker of triumph lighting her eyes.

"Whose laughing now?" Christian muttered, glancing at Gail, who beamed at him in response. To her astonishment, Christian high-fived her.

"Open the damn letter," Elliot bellowed. He would later reflect on his brother's banter with his staff.

With shaky hands, Christian opened the envelope, his heart racing.

'Welcome Back,

Christian.

By the way,

it's on the

house.

Ana.'

Inside was the check he had sent her when he received the invoice nearly a year ago, now ripped into two.

"Well, that answers our question," Elliot mumbled, a smile breaking through the shock etched on Christian's face.

"So, where are we hanging this?" Gail asked.

Carla Steele's love for flowers extended far beyond her own interests. Anyone who knew her inevitably found themselves inundated with knowledge about flowers and their meanings, often more than they wanted. As Ana stared at the colossal bouquet before her, she understood its significance: a heartfelt apology, a friendship request, and perhaps a touch of flattery. The purple rose was a bit too much, but it made her chuckle.

With a shrug, she grabbed her phone and dialed his new number. He picked up on the first ring, and it made her laugh. "Well, that was fast," she said, still giggling.

"I didn't want you to think about it and change your mind," he admitted. "I wanted to thank you for the painting. It was unexpected and looks more like me than I remembered. Elliot believes I sat for the painting in a past life and simply don't remember." His words elicited a chuckle from Ana.

"Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case," she quipped.

"I also wanted a chance to apologize and explain myself if you will allow me," he said, his voice unexpectedly shaking.

"Come to the studio on Saturday at ten and bring two of Gail's steak sandwiches." His laughter filled the air, relief evident in his tone.

"Saturday at ten. Thank you, Ana." She ended the call with a wry smile.

"At least he's not going to start with a defense of Elena Lincoln," Luke mumbled from the seat in front of her desk.

"Here's to hoping," Ana replied, her own reservations echoing in her mind. While she believed Christian had changed, a nagging concern lingered. He had detested Lincoln yet still kept her in his life, discarding his family. Such deep-seated needs were not easily overcome.

When Ana saw Christian walking through the door, she'd never witnessed him so unsure of himself, as if he expected her to change her mind at any moment. Her reaction surprised him; he froze in the middle of her spacious studio. Unable to contain herself, Ana burst into laughter. "Hello, Robinson Crusoe," she teased, earning a chuckle from him.

Despite his best efforts, he looked like he had been marooned on an island for years. "Yeah, I know," he mumbled, running a hand through his disheveled hair, an earnest sheepishness creeping into his demeanor. He'd attempted to run a comb through his hair and beard, but that hadn't helped.

"Is that for me?" Ana pointed to the small bag he was holding.

"Right, yes." He handed her the sandwich.

"Come, the apartment is much more comfortable," she invited, leading the way.

"Are you done for the day?" he asked, glancing over the large table cluttered with supplies he couldn't begin to explain. It was clear she had been in the middle of her work when he arrived.

"No, but there isn't much I can do while the glue dries." They moved through her office to a door he hadn't noticed during his last visit. "Usually, I'd be working on something else, but for once, I have nothing in the wings," she added as they ascended a narrow staircase leading to a spacious loft-like apartment.

The apartment was as expansive as her studio below. A California king bed occupied one end, enclosed by glass walls. The kitchen spanned an entire wall, and a large L-shaped sofa faced a towering bookshelf that filled the opposite wall. To his right, in the corner were two easels, lights, and a cabinet Christian suspected was brimming with her artistic supplies. To his left, a glass door led to the bathroom.

"So, you do actually live here," he observed, taking in the surroundings.

"When I need to. It helped to be close, considering the workload I had. I still spend time here occasionally. If I'm honest, I'd rather most people think I live here than have them at my home," she admitted. Some emotion flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before he could think to decipher it. As much as Christian wished, he didn't understand exactly what she meant he did. Her dates often ended in this very space when she felt like it. He had no right to feel anything about it, but the gnawing sensation in his gut told him otherwise.

"Make yourself comfortable." She gestured toward the sofa before heading to the fridge. "Would you like a drink?"

"I'll take a beer if you have it," he replied, inspecting her bookshelf. He had quite the library himself, even though he wasn't much of a reader. He often wondered why he bothered building such a collection.

"Oh, three," she said cheerfully, and it put a smile on his face.

"You have a Gail, right? Elliot mentioned you have someone… a Mrs. S." Christian pried his eyes from her books and settled into the sofa.

"I do." Ana sat beside him, a sandwich, a glass of Coca-Cola, and a beer for him. "My mother insisted, even knowing I'm nowhere near as hopeless as she is at taking care of myself. I caved when I found out Mrs. Stevenson had lost her husband and was looking for something to occupy her time. If taking care of me gives her something to do…" Ana shrugged, taking a bite of her sandwich.

"And how does she feel about you salivating over Gail's sandwich?" Christian asked, amusement dancing in his eyes. Ana noticed that despite his humor, he appeared stiff as if bracing for the other shoe to drop.

"It's why I asked for two. The other one is for her. I realized no amount of words could explain it; she had to try it for herself. You'd think she'd understand, considering I behave the same way when it comes to her lasagna," she added with a playful grin.

"That good?" he inquired, eyebrow raised.

"Good is an insult," Ana replied as the intercom buzzed. "Give me a sec," she said, grabbing another sandwich and disappearing down the stairs.

With her gone, Christian took the opportunity to explore the apartment at his leisure. On closer inspection, he noticed the space lacked personal touches. Yes, it wasn't her home.

Before he could fully process how he felt about being there, Ana returned. "Don't tell me she came to pick up the sandwich. It's a sandwich," he joked, laughter bubbling up from within him.

"Yes, eating a soggy sandwich defeats the point I'm trying to make," she said, glaring at him playfully. Rolling her eyes, she took another bite as he continued to chuckle.

Ana sat with her feet under her, having finished her sandwich. "Honestly, I can't take you seriously looking like that," Ana grumbled, her tone teasing. "Come on." She sauntered toward a door he'd assumed led to the bathroom. "Hurry up! I haven't got all day."

"Do you know what you're doing?" Christian asked, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.

"What? I shave my legs. How hard can shaving your head and face be?" she shot back, halting him in his tracks.

"Shave," he bellowed, incredulous at the thought.

She cracked up laughing. "I'm joking! Yes, I know what I'm doing," she said, her gleeful expression making him feel both reassured and apprehensive.

She grabbed a swivel stool from the kitchen. "Sit down," she ordered, and despite Christian's reluctance, he did as he was told, hovering nervously by the door.

He watched as she grabbed a set of clippers, scissors, and a haircutting cape. While most people would have clippers and scissors at home, the cape surprised him. The question of why she had that lingered in his mind, but he didn't dare voice it. He wasn't sure he was brave enough to hear the answer.

Having already washed his hair that morning, Ana wet his hair. She began cutting it, and he couldn't help but mutter, "You actually know what you're doing."

"My grandfather had a personal groomer, and I loved watching him work. One weekend, he brought me a practice dummy head. I practiced so much that my grandfather let me cut his hair. You should have seen the look on my face; it was the best thing he could have given me. Mr. Hatton was practically family, so much so that I became an active investor when his son wanted to open a salon. Belle's is one of the few investments that isn't just about making money." It took Christian a moment to process her words, but then it clicked. Ana was behind the salon that had successfully poached Franco, Elena's best stylists, and her clients.

His head shot shot up then. "You didn't just bug her home. You're behind everything," he said, disbelief coursing through him.

"If you move that quickly again, and I leave you with a bald spot, it would be entirely your fault. Now, stay still," she warned, ignoring his statement.

"Are you going to answer my question?" he pressed after a moment of silence.

"You didn't ask me a question. You made a statement, looking for confirmation of what you already know," Ana replied, grabbing the clippers with a smirk in her eyes.

It was almost as if she was trying to silence him. He knew that shouting over the noise of the clippers wouldn't get him anywhere.

He had known for months that whatever game he was playing, he didn't stand a chance of winning. But sitting there, he wondered just how much she could have dismantled him if she had set her sights on him instead of Elena Lincoln.