A Grey Christmas

Breakfast at Tiffany's

"Christian," Ana says, beaming and a bit stunned as I pull out her chair at the small table I've had set up, next to the picture window that overlooks the city, on the fifth floor of Tiffany's. Although winter blankets the streets below, the sun is shining and dancing in her hair on this early New Year's Eve morning. And I'm reminded of what I told her on our honeymoon when we stood in that spot in Versailles—that I'd build a palace just like that one, if only to see the way the light burnished her hair. "You're unreal! You've actually arranged breakfast at Tiffany's!"

She sits and I push in her chair.

"Did you expect anything less?" I whisper in her ear and kiss her head, then make my way to my own seat. "After all, we despots do these things for the women we love," I say, unfolding my napkin and spreading it across my lap.

She dips her head and smiles and I'm rewarded with her infectious giggle.

"It's one of my favorite old movies," she says and she looks around, wistful almost. "I used to pretend I was Audrey Hepburn when l was younger... How did you know?"

"Ana, I knew your bank account number after the first time we met, I have my ways." Although, I didn't have to consult Welch this time. Ray may have told a story or two. And I saw the way her eyes lit up when we passed the window yesterday.

She giggles again and mouths "stalker."

"I hope you like it," the crack in my voice betraying my confidence.

"I love it and I love you! You know you make my dreams come true."

"Back at you, Mrs. Grey." Though, I never had dreams at all until I met Ana. But, the moment I first saw her, my whole being knew she was the answer to something I'd been born to find.

The table is like those we dined on in France all those years ago—just two young kids who didn't know a thing about marriage or family, but believed deeply that against all betting odds love could somehow make it all work. And you know what—they were right.

There's a selection of pastries and jams; scones with clotted cream and lemon curd; white chocolate covered strawberries; and of course a bag of English Breakfast that she opens and dunks once into the hot water in her teacup before placing on the saucer.

"Foregone conclusion, huh?" She smiles, regarding the bag of Twinings.

"No, I'm just a hopeful sap." I laugh.

"When did you become that?"

"When I told Gail to buy a box of tea I never drink."

She smiles and reaches across the table to touch my fingers.

"I'm surprised you can rent out Tiffany's!" she says.

"You'd be surprised at what I can do."

"Well, I hope you'll show me the full extent of your abilities later," she smiles seductively and nibbles on her lip. Naughty minx.

"I intend to," I say, holding her hand. I bring it to my lips and she inhales sharply as I delicately suck each tip clean of jam and cream, and finish with a nip of her pinkie. "But, there will be time for that later. First, I have other plans."

I motion to the waitstaff and a gentleman comes over with a silver tray.

"What's this?" she asks.

I nod to the man and he lifts the tray top to reveal three trademark blue Tiffany boxes. 

"Are these for me?"

"Of course they are." I have to laugh. Who would they be for—Chester? Although I promised Phoebe I'd get him and Boone sterling silver heart tags engraved with their names for them to wear on their macaroni necklaces she's made. "Start from left to right," I point and she picks up the first box and unwraps it.