Grey Hearts and Flowers

Happy Birthday Mr. Grey: Part One

I'm trying to get a lot of context out to you this weekend. Keep an eye out for updates. Hope you enjoy! xox

"8.25 flawless carats," Donald, my jeweler at Cartier, says as he hands me the ring I've had intricately and painstakingly designed for Ana. The clarity and brilliance are astounding. And the platinum and diamond basket setting are breathtaking. Eight carats for eight glorious years of "yes" and a little bit more.

"It's perfect," I say as I take it from his hand, hold it up to the light and examine it. "Now, you've made it a size-and-a-half larger, right?" Ana's fingers have swelled considerably during this last trimester of pregnancy. She's had to take off her wedding rings and wear them around her neck on a chain, which drives me absolutely insane. Any man can use her naked finger as an excuse to sexualize her. She says being eight months along with twins is some sort of a deterrent. Ha! It's like peach pie to the ants at the picnic. What's she going to do when they strike—shake her chain? Though, none of that is the reason I'm buying her the ring. Having one that could signal ships and blind dicks is just icing on the cake. I wanted to do this for her. Ana deserves diamonds, always. And tonight is special.

"Yes, just like you asked," he says. "We can re-size it later."

"Good, it'll be perfect for tonight."

"Are you giving Mrs. Grey her push present already?" He's such a nosey little bastard. Although every time Ana gets pregnant, he gets a new Ferrari. Coincidence, I think not. Perhaps he and Dr. Greene are in cahoots.

"This isn't her push present. She's not due until next month. I'll be back for that." The dollar signs immediately flash in his eyes.

"But, your anniversary isn't until the end of July." Of course he remembers my wedding day off the top of his money soaked head.

"This isn't an anniversary gift either," I say. "It's in celebration of the other most romantic, monumentally important day of our lives."

"What's that?" he asks.

"My birthday," I smile.

#######

"Christian, what have you got planned out in the boathouse tonight?" Grace asks as I talk to her on the phone in my study. I peek out the door to make sure Ana is nowhere in earshot. The coast is clear. She and the kids have been working on something in the kitchen that I suspect is for me. I have to laugh, she thinks we're celebrating my birthday with a simple dinner at my parents and then coming straight home. But, I've got a surprise up my sleeve—or rather in a red box in my pocket—that's going to knock her Manolos off.

"Just let the men I've hired do their work, Mom," I whisper, closing the door and heading back to my desk. "It's just a little surprise for Ana."

"For your birthday?"

"As you are well aware, my birthday isn't just my birthday. In fact, eight years ago today my birth slipped to a distant second place in celebratory importance."

"Oh Christian, I remember so well." She starts to sniffle.

"Mom, don't cry. Please."

"I can't help it. I'm so happy." She sobs.

"It's been eight years."

"The feeling lasts."

I smile. "Tell me about it."

"Can I take a peek out there?" she asks.

"Just a small one. But, don't tell Mia, for heaven's sake." Hell, she'll call Kate and Kate will blab all over creation and the next thing you know the photographer will have his lens so far up in my boathouse he can smell the flowers.