And it is Friday once again! Sherry's birthday has officially arrived, and we all know Jim isn't one to be subtle... ;)

A few days had passed, and it was Saturday once again. I was scrambling to get a head start on grading so that Sunday's work wouldn't be too terrible. Today was when Richard and I were celebrating my birthday, and despite the fact that I was channeling both motivation and discipline, I still felt myself tingling at the excitement. He'd said that he was going to surprise me, make my birthday unlike any other. He seemed a little boastful of this, but not so much that it seemed untrue. So, I was left to my own devices until I figured out what he was planning.

I'd already called my mom, who made me open her gifts over the phone. She knew that I didn't want material things, as I'd just have to pack them up and lug them across the Atlantic Ocean, but she gave me two of the most helpful things you could give a person my age (twenty-eight now, by the way): money for rent, and money for a student loan payment. Thank the heavens. Now I had money to save and spend, and to take Richard out for dinner for once.

Shaking my head, I lifted my red pen, ready to make some marks. So, let's see here…this student had accurately identified the character speaking and the play, but had failed to—a knock on the door. And just as I was really feeling motivation course through me. But then, as I stood up, I realized that it might be Richard, so I made my way to the door a little faster. To my disappointment, I found not Richard, but a postal worker who needed my signature. I signed for a package, a little bemusedly, then he handed me a weighty box and left.

Huh. I didn't order anything. And I wasn't expecting any other gifts from abroad, either. But, my name was written on the package, so I opened it carefully with scissors. The box itself was the fanciest box I'd ever seen. It wasn't your typical brown cardboard from Amazon that had gotten squished in the mail, but white, with a thin layer of strong tape, and my name written in cursive. What in the world?

A note lay on top of some fabric dressed in plastic. I'll pick you up at 7. -RB. I set the note aside, and lifted the contents out of the box. A dress unfolded itself in my hands, a gorgeous one, something out of a dream. It was pure white, one of the colors of royalty back in Shakespeare's day. There were jewels on it, and the layers of fabric came together as though they'd make my body look better than it ever had in a dress. This was too much. I knew Richard could afford nice things, but this? It was breathtaking. Something I never thought I'd even be able to touch in this lifetime. How did I ever get so lucky?

I immediately hung it up to try to get some of the wrinkles out and did my best to get back to work. I relocated several times, trying to refresh my mind, but it still wandered to the expensive beauty hanging in my room. In the end though, I did end up grading quite a lot. More than expected, but I honestly thought that was partly because my nerves ended giving me more energy than taking.

By seven o' clock, I was showered, made up, and ready to go, and Richard was right on time. When I opened the door for him, he looked me up and down rather conspicuously before saying, "I'm glad I got the right size. You look beautiful, birthday girl."

"Hello to you too," I smiled. I locked the front door and took his arm, following him to his car, a pretty black Mercedes. He opened the front passenger seat for me, and I glanced at him, a little surprised. "No driver?"

"Not this time," he confirmed. "Tonight's going to be just you and me." He got in the driver's seat and set off confidently. I hadn't driven for nine months, so part of me thought that I'd forgotten how, even though I was sure it was like riding a bike (more or less) and that you never really forgot. He leaned back comfortably, but left his hands at ten and two. We made small talk for the first few minutes of our drive, but once we'd driven for what felt like a couple miles, he told me to close my eyes, and I obeyed. I was excited to see where we'd end up—we'd already gone to cafes and expensive restaurants, so I was wondering what else there was he could do to surprise me.

I felt the car slow, and then stop. I still had my eyes closed, waiting patiently. He hadn't said to open them yet, and I didn't want to ruin my surprise. Richard came around to my side of the car, helped me out, and put his right arm around my shoulder to guide me. The cold air hit my skin in a refreshing way after being in the car. A jingle of keys. A door opening. Definitely not a restaurant. We entered, and I was met with warm air, and what I assumed was a carpet under my feet. "You can open your eyes now." So I did. Richard shut the door behind us.

"Oh, wow," I breathed out. We were standing in a minimalistic and sophisticated foyer. Everything was fresh, white, and up to date. We were in the house of somebody who had money, power, and taste.

"Welcome to my home," Richard offered grandly, arms spread wide above him.

I balked. "This is yours?"

"Do you like it?" There was a strange mixture of smugness and a need to be validated in his voice.

I spun around in a full circle. "Like it? I'd do anything for a place like this." This place was everything I wanted. It was sleek, professional, organized—and once again I was wondering how I managed to find and date Richard, and why on earth he was interested in me. Surely there was somebody in the same class as him that he was interested in, or maybe he just wanted somebody to impress. Either way, these were things I didn't want to worry about now, so I shoved them from my mind: it was my birthday, after all.

He held out his hand. "Let me take you on a tour." We wandered throughout his house, which was a two-story delight. Each room seemed grander than the last. The bathrooms were unbelievable—I think my whole living room/kitchen combo in my apartment could fit in one of them. Everything was well-decorated (though I had to admit that the lack of family and friendly photos left me wondering about his past), and there wasn't a trace of dust anywhere. He soon introduced me to his favorite room: his office. I could see why. The bookshelves lining the walls, a Macbook set on the big mahogany desk, and a fireplace were the first things my eyes were drawn to. I could only imagine how beautiful this room looked with only the sunlight illuminating it.

And as surely as we entered the office, we left it. We slowly made our way to the kitchen (which had more appliances than I'd ever seen in my life), and then to the dining room. In the middle of the room, there lay a table with candles, and platters upon platters of covered dishes. I turned to him, smiling in amazement. "Did you do all this?"

"Well…I have to admit, I did hire some help. Come now, sit, sit." He pulled a chair out for me, so I followed suit and sat down. He poured wine for the both of us, but before he sat down, he looked at me as though he was thinking hard about something. "Do you want your gift now, or after dinner?"

I stared at him blankly. "I…I thought my dress was my gift," I confessed. There was something else? When it was his birthday, how would I ever begin to compete? Maybe I really was a sort of charity case, someone to help remind him of his roots, or something. No, no. Save those thoughts for later.

"Oh," he smiled, "it was a gift, but not your birthday gift. Here." He brought out a box that had been hidden from my sight. It was square, flat, and thin. Definitely jewelry.

I looked between him and the box before opening the top. "Richard," I breathed out, and brought a hand to my chest. "This is—it's beautiful." A necklace decorated with gold, diamonds, and rubies.

"Fit for a queen," he decided. He took the necklace from the box, and walked behind me, clasping it on my neck. "I was going to get you the first folio," he mused, hands resting on my shoulders, "but my contacts were having a hard time obtaining one of them down in time for your birthday."

Laughter escaped my lips. The first folio? There were only so many copies in the world. Most were kept in a high-security library, and the others sold for millions of dollars. Surely, he was joking. But something in his eyes told me that he was serious, even if there was a smile resting on his face. "Thank you, mister."

He leaned down and gave me a kiss. "You're welcome, Sherry-like-the-drink."

"Now, let's get started on this meal, shall we?" I offered, and he sat down on the other end of the table. We began digging in, and a question had risen in my mind. "So, I'm curious. All of this is well-thought out, as things usually are with you. How did you land upon rubies?" I brought my hand to the necklace, feeling the intricacies of the work. I couldn't wait to look at myself in the mirror and admire what he had adorned me with.

He wiped his face with a napkin before speaking. "Like I said, I've been brushing up on my Shakespeare. Rubies were mentioned in a very interesting quote. The mental image was so…" Richard look as though he was looking for the word, "scandalous."

"Was it from Measure for Measure?" That play was one I'd only briefly mentioned in my thesis, but it was an interesting one in the canon nonetheless. A nun's brother is imprisoned for having impregnated his fiancée before their marriage. His imprisonment is thanks to a new religious ruler in town, who is very strict when it comes to interpreting the bible. But, this new ruler listens to the nun's attempt to save her brother from death, and falls in lust with her. He ends up becoming so torn between his love for the bible and his lust for this nun that he gives her an ultimatum: he'll let her brother go, so long as she sleeps with him.

He nodded. "Yes, I figured that I'd get started with some of the lesser well-known ones first."

"I'm impressed," I laughed. "Normally, people would go straight for Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet." Measure was respected, but definitely not well-known by any means. It did mark a pivotal point in Shakespeare's thinking process and plays, however, so it's not without its dues. And this, I felt, marked a pivotal point in our relationship, though I couldn't exactly say why. "Let me guess—The impression of keen whips I'ld wear as rubies, and strip myself to death, as to a bed that longing have been sick for, ere I'ld yield my body up to shame." The nun, Isabella, is discussing the religious ruler's, Angelo's, proposition. She intertwines the beautiful language of intimacy with the horrific image of her whipped back, therefore telling him that offering her body in such a way would be the most painful thing she'd ever do, that she'd bear the scars and shame for the rest of her life. The ultimatum Angelo proposes to her is an impossible choice. Refuse and let her brother literally die instantly, or accept and she dies figuratively for the rest of her life. If that was the quote that he was referring to, then, this game between us was something that went deeper than I thought it did.

"Exactly," Richard confirmed. "You have a good memory for peculiar quotes."

I was correct, and found myself not knowing quite how to react. "Well, Shakespeare was a peculiar playwright. It's hard to find someone whose beauty in language matches the bard's." I thought our games had been at least parallel for the past two months. I wanted to know why he was so interested in me, and I figured that that was because of what I assumed his game was: I was hard to get into bed with, a challenge, and he liked challenges. So did I. But I also wasn't a threat, probably unlike women of his status: I had no money, no contacts, no power. I was a safe person to play this game with. Maybe he wanted to feel humble. But slowly and surely, I wasn't sure the game he was playing was even safe to begin with.

"Tell me, how did the case with Sherlock go? I bet it was incredible," he leaned in, resting his chin on his hand.

The talk about the case I'd helped with pushed my current worries aside. I could worry about them later. I was positive that nothing menacing was going to happen tonight—it was just a feeling that I needed to unpack later, when I was alone, and not under the scrutiny of somebody as smart as Sherlock. Besides, all I found myself wanting to do was talk about how cool it had been to finally pretend to be a detective, how one of my childhood dreams had come true.

Richard listened intently, and I saw something in his form soften as I continued rambling on. It was a subtle difference, but it was difference enough to make me realize that he hadn't exactly been soft before. A pivotal point in our relationship, indeed.

So, I'll let y'all in on a secret...this is actually a two part chapter since it was too long to put in as one. I know what you're really wondering-will Sherry ever get her grading done? Just kidding, of course ;)

And as always, I hope you all have a great weekend!