Author's note: Again, thank you to Elyelena and check out the pinterest page for pictures! And yes, I have been to Italy a few times and have visited the sites I've written about but not the restaurants, that is all Elyelena!
APOV
"Best breakfast ever. Ever!" Christian laughs and scoops another spoonful of vanilla gelato onto my freshly made crepe and tosses a few blueberries on top for good measure. Sleep came gently and sweetly last night, my mind high on the endorphins of the day but my wakeup call came as a jolt.
I couldn't tell you what I had been dreaming about but when I woke the blankets were off of the bed as were the pillows but I was definitely not cold. Between my legs, face down, tongue out was the single most gorgeous man to ever walk the planet. In between slow, languid licks he sang me 'Happy Birthday', the vibrations just strong enough to hurry me along to an explosive beginning to my day.
With the back of his hand he wiped his mouth and then licked his lips, leaning up to kiss me, my taste on his tongue proof that this was, in fact, not a dream. "Morning, baby. Happy birthday." Naked and clearly turned on he jumped up, threw on a robe and pulled me up by my hands before I could protest.
"Breakfast is waiting." He handed me a silk robe and then took it back with an eye roll and a chuckle when I just stood there half dazed and wobbly legged. With a bit more determination that I thought necessary he tied the sash tightly and then pulled on pants and a t-shirt, my foggy brain still trying to catch up with what had just happened.
"Why are you getting dressed?"
"I told you, breakfast is ready." Which still made no sense to me since naked is his preferred choice of attire until we reached the balcony where a woman in a chef's hat was waiting to make whatever the hell I wanted. Which leads me back to the best breakfast in history.
When Sawyer walks through the glass doors to the outdoor eating area he smiles, wishes me a happy birthday and then motions for the woman behind him to set up her table alongside the outdoor pool. Yes, outdoor pool. Because the indoor one wasn't enough.
Christian watches her thoughtfully, slowly chewing his strawberry crepe and then just as thoughtfully nods his head when she takes out a dozen smooth round rocks and puts them in a bucket of steaming hot water.
"So they just rub rocks on you? Actual rocks?" My laugh draws his attention back to me where he grins, looking so much like a young boy that it breaks my heart in two. "What?"
"What did you think a hot stone massage meant?" He shrugs and spears a strawberry.
"Hell if I know. I definitely didn't think it meant literally to rub you with a rock. That seems...counterproductive to relaxation if you ask me."
"You'll just have to try it and find out for yourself then," I smile back at him to which he snorts and shrugs.
"No thanks. If I want relaxation," his voice lowers as he leans in towards me, his lips grazing over my ear, "I'll rub you on me. Not a rock." Sitting back he motions for Sawyer and then stands to leave, kissing me on the top of my head before addressing the massage therapist waiting for me.
"If she wants more than an hour do it. However long she wants." She nods, eyes wide at his beauty and attempts a smile but it comes out more like a 'holy shit that man is so hot and I don't want to embarrass myself grimace'. At least she's not stripping for him.
"Man, you're never going to get me to leave Rome if you keep this up," I say happily, holding his hand in mine. "What are you going to do while I'm getting pampered?"
"Work. Andrea and Ros are flying back in three hours and I need to tie up a few loose ends with the team so that they can get moving first thing on Monday." I wish he'd get a massage with me but as far as he's come, he's nowhere near being able to let someone else touch him.
Ten minutes later I'm oiled up, face down in the Italian sun able to think clearly and without interruptions for the first time in a long time. I've given Missy the job of hiring someone to help me with the wedding preparations and Jose will choose the photographer based on the very small list Christian approved yesterday. The flowers are ordered, the musicians almost hired, the security taken care of. We won't be doing favors since Christian thinks they're stupid and the location has been locked down since day one. On Wednesday we'll stop at Cartier to design our wedding bands on the way to dinner with his parents where we'll finalize the menu.
Kate said I'm supposed to get Christian a wedding gift but what do you get the guy who either has everything or can buy everything? Inside I chuckle, I can't give him my virginity again. Which leaves me with no idea whatsoever on what I can give him. Kate says my ass, I say hellstotheno on that one.
I do my best to blank out my mind, to allow myself this one hour of total relaxation and peace but I'm too excited to see the city, to meet the locals, to see the history that I've read about. My own heritage is Northern European, Celtic to be exact, a fact hammered home every time I hear a bagpipe or Irish music. 'It plays to your ancestry' my mother used to say as an explanation, her own eyes wet as well. I wonder if she'll call me today.
Family. Ancestry. Connections. My one connection to the hundreds of family that came before me was severed in a sad and heartbreaking way but I still desire it. I still want to feel like a part of something, a part of history that goes on because of me. I hope she calls. But what would I say? What would we talk about?
With each swipe of the therapists hands I sink further into that subspace where the realities that are now my life don't seem so intense or all consuming. I've come to the conclusion that I need to stop teaching Pilates altogether and that I will never drive a car on my own again. I can live with both especially since Christian has encouraged me to set up a Pilates studio in the old sub room upstairs at Escala.
The sub room. It hadn't ever really bothered me too much, the fact that I was living in the place he'd had so many other women in but then I stood at the stove a few nights ago and thought, 'did Lillian stand here? Did all of them?'. It snuck up on me, that feeling of insecurity and jealousy and it stayed with me long enough to bring me close to tears but then Gail came in and started chatting about her wedding and how she was so excited to be wearing a wedding band again and I was reminded that though they may have stood in this exact same spot, I was the one there now.
That's the crazy thing about relationships and love. I'm new at it, I admit that. But the things you thought you knew about yourself, the way you thought you'd handle things and the things you never thought would bother you? Well turns out you knew jack shit about it all. Because love makes you rethink everything. It makes everything more intense, more brilliant, more meaningful. Including those awful emotions you've never before had to deal with. Like jealousy.
If my...anger towards Isabella tells me anything, it's that when it comes to jealousy, both Christian and I need to learn how to cope better. If he feels the way I did yesterday when another man talks to me, then we need to work on that because this feeling festering inside, it sucks and frankly, it's messing up my massage.
"Where are we going? Am I dressed appropriately? Do I need sunscreen or will we be inside most of the time? I don't mind but I do want to walk around too. I should put on some sunscreen, shouldn't I?." He chuckles and takes my hand but I don't turn my head, afraid to miss even a street sign. Ramon and Sawyer speak quietly into their watches, ensuring that wherever it is we're heading to is secured before we get there.
"As it's still morning here and you are obsessed with coffee, our first stop is to Sant Eustachio Il Caffe and from there we'll walk over to the Pantheon." I can't help it, I clap my hands in excitement since the Pantheon is on my short list of places I had to see and sitting at a café is so...European.
I was expecting a grand café since everything Christian does is over the top but the Caffe Sant Eustachio is, by all accounts, what appears from the outside to be a basic coffee house. All of the tables on the outside patio are empty, unusual for this time of day until I notice the four men in each corner blocking entrance to anyone who dares come near. For us, the owner himself greets us and gives us a tour, along with an espresso to carry, of the premise. It's small but old, filled with a rich history much like the city it resides in. I'm thrilled when he speaks with me in Italian, allowing me to interpret for Christian as we go along.
Outside we sit with fresh pastries and cups of their signature Gran Caffe, sipping in silence and people watching. This is exactly how I envisioned my trip here. I'm still full from breakfast but I can't say no to the pistachio biscotti or the chocolate truffle with coffee inside the waiter places in front of us and neither can Christian. When the coffee is gone, we stand, say a lengthy goodbye to the owner and walk, ensconced by body guards or course, to the Pantheon where a young woman is waiting for us.
"Mr. Grey, Ms. Steele, I am Appollonia Ralphicci. A pleasure," she shakes Christian's hand and then mine, "and a happy birthday. If you'll follow me, we'll step inside and start our day."
"Appollonia? A very unsual if not beautiful name," I say to her in perfect Italian, excited to be able to speak another language if only for a few days. She laughs and rolls her eyes. I instantly like her.
"My father was a big fan of the Godfather movies. I had the good fortune of being born three days after he saw the second movie and was subsequently named after one of the women. God rest his soul." She finishes with the sign of the cross and then steps behind us to allow us to set the pace and to have some privacy. I was a bit unsure when Christian made mention of a personal tour guide but he assured me that not only was she fully vetted, but that she understood that her place was to fill in any questions we may have, not to lead our day.
A few times she approaches us to explain the significance of a statue or a shrine, her knowledge of the details so thorough that even Christian is impressed. He's been here before as a young teen but takes it all in as if this was his first time seeing the structure. My attention is split between watching him studiously reading a plaque or taking in a sculpture and being a tourist myself. Both things are just as interesting to me.
Hand in hand we move around the cavernous space, taking pictures like regular tourists and lighting candles to pray. Well, I do at least, Christian steps back to speak with Sawyer while I complete the ritual as old as time aware of his gaze on my back when I kneel on the red velvet bench.
"What did you pray for?" He asks casually when we step back into the bright sun, both of us dropping our sunglasses over our eyes.
"You."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. I prayed that you would always have inner peace and that you would always know that I love you." His feet pause on the cobblestone, his head cocked to the side. He looks…touched. When he starts to walk again he's slower, his arm around my waist, two fingers hooked into the thick brown belt cinching this long white dress I have on. "Where to next?"
"The Trevi Fountain."
"Can we walk there?" He turns to Appollonia who enthusiastically nods her head and then waits for Sawyer to make adjustments with our security team. It's not long before the narrow streets open up to an enormous fountain surrounded by people tossing change in for the chance at a wish. "Wow," is all I can muster but this beautiful sight in front of me deserves so much more.
Our team quietly secures a spot against the stone wall so that we can enjoy the sculptures up close. Christian hands me a Euro and tells me to make a wish, his own coin flipping between his fingers over and over. Eyes on him I kiss the coin and toss it, watching it's tiny splash before sinking below to join thousands just like it.
"Where's yours?"
"My what?" God he looks good in his Aviators, white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the starched cotton tucked into perfectly worn jeans. "My what, Ana?" Oh right, I asked him a question.
"Your wish." He sighs and turns me so that we're facing the fountain and rests his chin on my shoulder, my back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around my chest.
"I already made a wish in this fountain when I was 13." He inhales deeply and looks up, exhaling into the air above my head. "It came true. I don't need to make another wish." I turn and look up, my finger running along the seam of his lips.
"What was it?" I can't see the gray of his eyes, only my own reflection in his sunglasses but I can feel the debate. He wants to forget about his life before me but there is so much good there too, so much he should celebrate. Getting him to see that what happened to him needs to be compartmentalized so that he can remember the good is going to be a struggle, I know it. "What did you wish for, baby?"
"To be fixed. To be able to have someone touch me without it hurting. To make my parents happy, to be able to think about my birth mom and not feel hatred and rage." Wow, talk about getting the wind knocked out of you.
"You said the wish came true. So you can do that now? Think of her?" He nods.
"I don't know that I'll ever forgive her or that I'll ever understand what happened but at some point, I've got to at least accept that if she hadn't been like that then I'd have never become a Grey and I'd have never had the life I have now. I'd never have been given the opportunities I was given, I'd never had met Elliot or Mia, I'd never know what it feels like to have parents, a dad especially. In some small way," he wags his finger in my face playfully, "a very small way, I'm almost grateful. Not that she died or that I was neglected but that somehow my life ended up being exactly what it was supposed to be."
Sometimes, just when I feel mature or at the very least worldly, he knocks me on my ass and reminds me just how incompetent I am to deal with certain things. My heart knows what to say but I have no idea how to translate that fierce, pounding, bursting feeling into words. The heart has it's own language and I hear it clearly but I can't seem to ever put words to it.
"I think," I say softly, just inches from his face, my hands gently rubbing his shoulders, "that no matter what life you lived you would have still wound up being wildly successful. You're the most driven person I've ever met in my entire life." He shakes his head.
"I meant my life. Not my work or my wealth. My life, the people in it. My parents, my siblings, my grandparents, hell even Barney who makes me happy every damn time I see him in one of those stupid ties." I laugh because that goofball makes everyone happy. "I'd have always found you, I'm sure of that now. You were made for me as much as I was made for you and even if I hadn't met you that day in your apartment, I would have searched for you anyway." He grins, "The heart knows when it's missing it's beat." God damn he's so much better at this than me.
"But my family...I'd always just seen them as humans who lived a parallel life with mine but now I know that they are my life. They're as much a part of me as if our blood was the same."
One hand runs through his thick copper hair, gleaming in the sun, a small laugh bubbling up from him. "Damn, this shit is way too heavy before lunch. Speaking of which, that pizza place my family discovered is coming up on our list so let's get moving."
It's always been surprising to me how quickly he can change from waxing poetic to barking demands. In the car he pulls out his phone, neglected for the entire morning, and calls someone in his new London office. I have no idea what's pissed him off because I have no idea what he's talking about but he says the word actuarial a hundred times, each one more venomous than the last.
I alternate between watching the stone buildings around me and the man next to me, both equally fascinating, both beautiful in their own right. As harsh as he is on the phone, as short and curt and cutting as he can be, the minute it slips back inside his pocket he's all sweet and gentle and back on vacation.
"Sorry, won't happen again."
"It's ok," I say because it is. He runs an empire, days off just don't happen for him no matter what the scenario. Today is Saturday but he's got no less than three thousand people worldwide working for him. On Monday that number balloons to forty two, when the Shinzu deal is signed it will be closer to fifty one thousand. I breathe out slowly when I imagine the pressure he must live with.
"It's your birthday, work can wait. Sawyer, drop us here, we'll walk through the Forum first."
"Sir."
Appollonia climbs out of the car in front of ours and walks us through the ancient city, explaining the significance of the crumbled structures so carefully excavated over the last hundred years. It's a head trip to be looking at the skeleton of a building older than Jesus and imagine that there was life here. Reading about history is one thing, being able to touch it is totally different.
"Wait, did you say Julius Caesar is buried here? As in, right here?" Christian chuckles and kisses my temple while motioning for Ramon to pay attention to a group of tourists who are less interested in the history of this place and more interested in me. I'm aware of the cameras clicking but the sound fades as she goes on to explain all about his life, so filled with links not only to the time in which he lived but even in present day that I whip out my phone and make a note to learn more about him on my own time. "Fascinating," I mumble, holding Christian's hand as we navigate our way through the crowds.
I know this part of the trip is hard for him and not only because he holds my hand in a death grip or stands as close as he can when we stop to look at something. Besides being amongst thousands of strangers there is always the threat of a security breach. Our detail is dressed in jeans and button down shirts, their communication devices well-disguised but they're all so big they stick out like sore thumbs anyway. The only person who actually looks like a tourist is Prescott but with her stern no-nonsense face she doesn't exactly blend. Somehow though, he's managed to provide us with a normal, well, Christian Grey normal, tour.
At the House of the Vestal Virgins he squints and studies each statue, his gaze exaggeratedly taking in their marble form. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for you. This is the house of virgins," he teases, biting the end of his sunglasses so that my womb flips.
"Well you aren't going to find me there anymore, you took pretty good care of that."
"Damn right I did," he boasts, once again tightening his arm over my shoulder while we make our way to the Colosseum entrance.
The line is long, very long but as per usual, we bypass it entirely walking into a roped off area where three Italian police officers greet us and usher us inside. Christian has no reaction to the special treatment but I'm floored. Not only are we not waiting in line, we're in an area clearly not allowed by the regular public.
"Are we allowed to be here?" I ask one of the police officers, Appollonia interpreting to Christian on my behalf. The officer furrows his brow and then nods twice, motioning for me to follow him.
"Babe," Christian starts, a hint of amusement in his voice, "relax. Enjoy."
"But all those people, they're…"
"Not us. Now follow the man, we're going to see the actual cells the gladiators were held in and from what I understand, nobody gets to come down here." He scoffs, "Except us of course."
Of course. Because why wouldn't we be allowed down here where the walls are covered with moss and the detail of the statues are still so sharp? The words 'no admittance' mean nothing to a billionaire a few times over. There are lights here but they run on a wire with bare bulbs, the need for artificial illumination unnecessary since this area is off limits. Even Appollonia is beside herself with excitement and asks if she can take photos with her phone, something I find amusing but the officers do not.
She gets swept up in the history of the building, using her hands as much as her mouth to share the wealth of information she has on the Colosseum and the men who fought here. Her words go from English to excited Italian until Christian holds up his hand and quiets her, a simple, "English only please," enough to calm her down. We spend almost two hours exploring this place, from the top to the bottom and every level in between before Sawyer gives us the 'wrap it up' signal.
"Do we have to go?"
"Yes, I've got a surprise waiting for you and we're already late." Normally I hate surprises but Christian Grey surprises are quickly becoming my favorite thing in the world. So when we pull up to a random hole in the wall restaurant with an ancient payphone by the front door I'm definitely not sure what to make of it.
"The pizza place?"
"Best you'll ever have!" He says, hopping out of the car and pulling me behind him. Inside the place is small, cramped actually but it doesn't matter a bit because there are only three other people inside. At first I blink as my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, offer a polite smile to the customers standing in the back and look away. Slowly my brain catches up with my sight and my head darts back to the three people standing ten feet away, bright smiles on their faces.
"Hemwatee? Jamodo? Samuel?" They clap their hands and rush to us, Jamodo reaching for Christian's hand just as Hem pulls me in for a hug, squeezing me against her breast and for reasons I can't explain, I burst into tears. Full on, chest heaving sobs. I'm happy to see them all, I really am but something about her embrace has just destroyed me. And she knows it because she doesn't cluck or rush me or say anything soothing. Instead she smooths my ponytail and sways gently with me until I pull back, face covered in tears and snot and say, "I'm getting married!"
She throws her head back and laughs, pulling me back in for another few seconds and then holds my hand while I say hello to the men standing next to her as if this is the most normal place to meet up and the most normal reception. Christian looks concerned, desperately concerned actually but I give him a beaming smile and wipe my nose with the tissue Samuel presses into my free hand.
"I…" I gasp back another sob and then reach for him, wrapping both arms around his neck.
"Are you alright?" On my back I feel the heavy warm weight of Hem's hand, soothing me like only a mother can do and only a woman can understand and pull back, kissing him, snot faced and all.
"Perfect. I'm perfect. You're perfect, this," I wave my hand around at the empty café, "is perfect. It's all perfect." For a few seconds he just holds me and looks at me as if he were dissecting me and then his lips part into a wide smile that fills that empty spot in my heart I was trying so hard to ignore today.
"So I did good?" And I laugh, reaching up on tippy toes to kiss his smiling face.
"You did good."
"Food, we need to eat, come and sit baby girl," Hem says to me and the tenderness of being called someone's baby girl just kills me. Absolutely, totally and effortlessly kills me. I can't tell if my heart is breaking or healing or even beating, all I know is that I never want to leave this little café again for as long as I live.
At the table the five of us speak as old friends, the men immediately sinking into the familiar conversation of distribution routes and militia training. Hem takes my hand in both of hers, occasionally tucking a stray hair behind my ear or fixing my skirt, clucking at the dirt along the bottom of it from the walking we've done today while I prattle on and on about everything.
It all rushes out, the way I proposed, the way he proposed later that night, the camping trip and telling our friends, the celebratory dinner that his family had thrown for us. She doesn't ask why my family wasn't there, she probably can tell there's something excrutiatingly painful lurking in that very obvious absence but she does ask about the wedding and all the details I didn't care about at all until this very minute.
Over seven different types of pizza she listens to every single word from the flowers to the band to the dress I still haven't decided on. Not once does she take her eyes off of me nor does she pay attention to anything going on around her. She is entirely focused on me and the immature babble that I can't seem to control. I want to tell her everything and I'm not sure how long I have to do it so it all just rushes out without any particular order or prioritization.
"You haven't settled on a dress yet?" I finish chewing the prociutto and fig pizza and swallow but the lump in my throat stays where it always does when my dress is brought up.
"No. I want simple but that's all I can seem to figure out."
"Baby girl you have two weeks! We'll go tomorrow then. In the morning, before our Vatican tour we'll go. Christian," she tosses over her shoulder, "can you have your people call a few dress makers in the area for private showings in the morning?"
I begin to cry, again. "You'll be here tomorrow?"
"And Monday!" She beams. "We have big plans on Monday but I think we should look tomorrow as well and then if we don't like anything, we can take some time on Monday as well." And right in that moment I don't care about the Vatican or anything else, I just want to go dress shopping with Hemwatee. Christian watches this and rests his free hand on mine.
"Sound good to you, baby?" He understands. Of course he does.
"Yes. Perfect."
Hemwatee's hand is rough and calloused and weather worn and the most comforting thing I have ever had the pleasure to hold. After lunch and a few glasses of wine, I feel much better than I should after bawling my eyes out like a baby but I also feel…freed. I don't entirely understand it but I know that my heart feels lighter and even though I'm a year older today, I feel like a kid again in so many ways.
The rest of the afternoon we wander through the parts of Rome I had mentioned having an interest in. Christian steers me and encourages me to shop, stopping at jewelry stores, clothing boutiques and art galleries but I don't spend a dime until we find ourselves in a store selling nothing but olive oils and vinegars. I go crazy. Well, Anastasia crazy, not Christian crazy because I only spend $260 but I do so without guilt. It is my birthday and judging by the look on his face, he really does enjoy buying me things.
After that, Christian catches on to what I'm willing to blow cash on and has Ramon look up every kitchen and home good store in the city, settling on the ones we can safely secure. I know he doesn't give a shit about which spatula's or salad servers I get but I consult with him anyway and to his credit, he gives some things careful consideration before handing whatever it was I was holding to Sawyer to ring up.
"My dogs are barking," I whine to him after a few hours. When he looks at me like I'm crazy I laugh and stand on my tippy toes to kiss his confused mouth. "It means my feet hurt. Ray used to say it all the time when I was a kid."
"You want to head back?" He glances at his watch and pushes his sunglasses back down. "We really should start making our way back to the hotel anyway, we've got dinner reservations in a few hours and the stylist is supposed to be at the suite in an hour."
"Stylist?" He smiles, runs his hand down my back, over my butt and to the top of my thigh.
"What? You didn't think we were just going to dine in tonight did you? I've got a big surprise for later."
"Well nothing can top bringing them here." I point, smiling stupidly at the three friends who are so much like family even though I've only really just met them.
"I figured that out when you started crying." His face falls as he runs his thumb over my cheek bone. "Are you alright, Ana?"
"I am. Sometimes…it just…I don't know, creeps up on me. The mom thing, you know?" And he nods slowly, a sad expression flashing across his face.
"Yes, I do. But I didn't want you sad today. That was the last thing I wanted for today."
"Oh! No! I'm not sad! I was surprised but I'm not sad. I'm insanely, stupidly, contentedly happy right now." Between each word I kiss his face, smothering him in full view of the small crowd that has gathered to take pictures of the people with body guards. "Oh my god," I whisper, his eyes widening with excitement, "A book store."
His head turns to look behind him and then he laughs freely until I start to run across the narrow alley, his sharp voice calling my name so that I turn and almost collide with Ramon and Sawyer who are right behind me. "Security!" He yells, and then waves me off, following me into the store that smells like paper and ink and coffee and home.
Back at the hotel, we part with the Fredericks in the lobby and head up to the suite. In the shower the water turns a mottled brown before it flows down the drain, a testimony to the hours I spent walking in leather flip flops. I seriously love this city, love it. I have no ancestral connection to it but it still feels like mine.
Christian gets out first, his erection jutting out proudly but unattended to. It's got to suck to be a guy sometimes. I could be on the verge of an orgasm in church and nobody would know but a man, he so much as thinks of sex and everybody knows it. Once I'm rinsed off I stroll naked to the sink where he's shaving and pull on his towel but he presses his hips against the counter to keep it wrapped around him.
"I want to, trust me, I want to." His gaze rakes over my naked wetness, a soft, "Man do I want to," whispered against the rasp of the razor, "but the stylist is waiting in the guest room and we're already behind schedule." He rinses the razor and winks, "We'll make up for it later."
"She's here? Who let her in?" Quick as lightening I lotion myself up and throw on a robe, feeling guilty that I've made her wait.
"Sawyer. I'm going to work a bit while you get ready so if you need me, I'll be in the office. Prescott will stay with you in the guest room."
"Why? Are you afraid the stylist will assault me with her blow dryer?" He scrapes the razor up his neck one more time and shoots me a sneer. "Or worse, use green eye shadow?"
"You and your smart mouth."
The dress I'm wearing tonight was chosen by Carolyn Acton since I have no idea where I'm going and even if I did, I'd have no real idea what to dress like anyway. I'm getting better with the idea of fashion, I just am taking the slow route to applying that knowledge. I've been given instructions, again by Carolyn, to request that my hair be put up so after I greet the stylist, a woman named Stephania I let her know and ask if she'd like to see the dress.
"No need, Ms. Steele, I was sent a photo two weeks ago and have the color palate for your makeup and hair style chosen already. Would you like a glass of ice water before we get started?" For the next forty minutes she blow dries, brushes, pulls and pins my long curly hair into submission. Throughout the ordeal she's alternated dabbing eye creams, lip balms and moisturizer all over my face and neck which is lovely but the most enjoyable thing about the experience is the fact that we do nothing but speak in Italian.
I learn everything there is to know about her from her alcoholic father to her gay brother to her priest uncle all the way down to her bratty niece. If I've learned anything from being a fiancée to Christian Grey, it's that my life and the day to day interactions are to be kept private. So the conversation stays safely on Stephania and her life, her sing song voice filling the room until she stops mid-sentence, her mouth dropping open, her finger stilled on my cheek. Christian must have walked in.
"Good evening. We need to leave shortly to make our reservations." She nods dumbly and pats the place on my cheek she had just applied a bronzer to. "I'll be in our room to help with your dress, Ana."
"Santa Madre di Dio," she whispers, shaking her head and then looking at me straight on. "How do you say in America? Holy fucking shit! You are lucky girl!" And I laugh because that is exactly the way I feel when I see him too.
Sawyer escorts her to the door while I go to put on the cream mermaid dress with red flower stitching. It is, without question, the most fancy, beautiful dress I have ever worn in my life. I feel elegant and mature in it but it's Christian's reaction that I enjoy the most.
"Magnificent. You look…resplendent." I turn slowly to show him the back and end with a shy smile.
"I feel like an adult in this." He blows out slowly, his hands creeping into the pockets of his black tuxedo as he rocks back on his heels.
"You are all woman, Anastasia." He shakes his head, his eyes settling on my hips. "My woman."
"Yes, your woman. God, Christian," my hand smooths down one side of his arm, "you are seriously stunning in a tux." He smiles. "So unfairly handsome. So fairly mine." That mouth splits into a wide beam, his perfect white teeth as white as his perfectly pressed shirt.
"All yours. Ready?" He asks, his arm bent for me to take.
"For anything."
CPOV
I had debated, seriously debated inviting the Fredericks to join us for her birthday but watching her, her face glowing in the candle light, her hands moving as she speaks in excited sentences over her forgotten appetizer, I know I've made the right choice. At first, when she broke down in the café I wanted to beat myself. Had I ruined her birthday? Had she been upset that I had invited others to join our vacation? But then Samuel patted my hand and said, "They are good tears," and I knew, even though my heart was breaking watching her, that he was right.
"What's wrong with them?" Jamodo had asked, all three of us watching as Hemwatee rocked Ana tightly against her.
"They are women," was all Samuel said in answer. It took me a little while but eventually my mind caught up with my heart and while it hurt a bit more to see just how much Ana was craving a mother, it was good to see some of that emotion get out. Ana, usually so stoic and self contained didn't shy away from Hemwatee's constant fussing but instead seemed happy to let her dote over every detail of the wedding and when Hem would pat her hand or push a stray hair away Ana only smiled contentedly. She leaned into every embrace, shared with her every detail, asked her opinion on a hundred different things.
It was hard to share her affection. I'll be the first to admit that I want to be the end all be all for her and to see her so excited, so over the top giddy to spend time with someone else was a bit of a kick in the gut. But little by little it became a joy to see her trip over her words as she tried to explain a certain flower for her bouquet or how many types of font there was to choose from at the stationers. So when Hem suggested taking the morning to look for a dress I paused before immediately saying no. I wanted the morning to sleep in and have another leisurely breakfast but the look of pure excitement and if I'm not mistaken, freedom on Ana's face was enough to agree to anything.
At dinner the women continue to ramble on about centerpieces and tablescapes while I get caught up on the business side of Feed the Nations. The men in front of me speak with lighthearted animation and while I'm interested in everything Jamodo has to say, I can't take my eyes off of Ana, so bright and happy next to me. Tonight is all about her and for the first time, she isn't the least bit shy about that. There's a sparkle in her eyes that blows away the flash coming off of the diamond earrings or the candlelight reflected in the crystal chandeliers. Joy. She exudes joy.
She orders a safe lobster tortellini dish but surprises me when she asks to try my grilled octopus. Demure, unbelievably feminine and way past beautiful she leans in and wraps her lips around the fork, playfully batting her lashes at me when she begins to pull back. Oh yea, baby, I like that kind of teasing.
"Delicious," she purrs, my cock standing at attention. Little by little my resolve to not push her up against a wall in an empty closet is waning, a man can only take so much.
The private dining room at Il Pagliaccio is the perfect size for our small group but her charisma could have filled the Colosseum. I had fun today. Normal, touristy fun. I've travelled the world and while I thought it was cool as a kid, I never really appreciated it. As an adult, I travel constantly but I have never, ever, taken the time to sightsee on a business trip. If my clients didn't show it to me, I didn't see it.
So to walk around Rome and learn the history here, to watch as Ana bit her bottom lip, one finger twirling her long hair while she took it all in was a totally new experience for me. I had originally bucked up against the idea entirely. There are way too many factors at play that make security all but impossible but between Welch and Taylor we came up with a plan that appeased both the fiancé in me and the protector.
Around us at all times were four guards with another in front to do sweeps before our party arrived but what Ana doesn't know and won't be told is that there were also four more plain clothed CPO's in our midst from the second we stepped foot outside of the hotel. In the dining room they are currently sitting at a table, pretending to enjoy a casual meal and later they'll follow us to the opera house. While there aren't any direct threats while we're here, I'm still unwilling to take any risks when it comes to her safety.
My paranoia when it comes to keeping her safe is in direct battle with my desire to be left entirely alone on our honeymoon. I know what our married life will be like and as much as I appreciate my staff and the way they respect our privacy, I also know that there will almost always be someone with us. So for this three week trip, for the trip we will take to celebrate our marriage I want nobody around. If I want to fuck my wife against a tree while we take an afternoon stroll, then I don't want to worry someone might hear her. If I want to pull over to the side of the road so that I can taste the paradise between her legs on a whim I don't want to think that there is another car 100 yards away waiting for us to finish.
It's an issue Taylor and I have gone back and forth on and while he understands my position, he also was hired to keep us safe and he can't do that from miles away. So keeping our honeymoon location private from everyone except the pilot, two CPO's and Andrea is paramount. If we can ensure that nobody knows where we're going and then keep a low profile while we're there, then the privacy and unguarded intimacy I crave will be much easier to attain. My thoughts of security, honeymoons, back seat screwing and plane sex are interrupted, yet again, by my ever buzzing phone.
Throughout the day I've fielded calls from her father, a distant cousin who has no business calling her, her friends and my family. Between the calls and the company, I'm beginning to feel an urgency for some alone time where the only people around are me and her. I don't care if we're watching TV or staring at a wall, I'm finished sharing her for the day. But then I catch her smile, thrown my way so effortlessly as she listens to Hem go on about the traditional wedding garb she plans on wearing to the wedding and she looks so happy, so very content that my own need slips behind my joy at enjoying her like this.
"This is wonderful, Christian, thank you," she whispers into my ear as desert is served. When we rise she smooths her dress down over her flat stomach and blindly reaches for my hand. The move is nothing really. Habit if you really break it down but it ignites a satisfaction in my chest so great that my lungs hurt. We've reached that point in our relationship where we just expect the other person to be there. We have routines and rituals, little pieces of our life that are so unique to us that we do them now without even thinking about it. To the rest of the world, holding hands is nothing but to me, it's everything.
"You're buzzing."
"What?" Ana looks at me with mirth and points to my pocket.
"You're buzzing." If I had known, I would have never pulled out my phone but as luck would have it, I do and Ana's watching. So when I see the name Carla Adams appear on the screen I can't hit ignore because she's already made her presence known. The Fredericks climb into the Mercedes in front of us and I move to our own car but she stands still on the sidewalk, eyes wide and reaches for my phone.
"Ana. Do you want to answer it? You don't have to." She nods slowly.
"I know." By the time she takes it from me the call has gone to voice mail so I usher her into the car and watch with a sinking feeling as she hits the call button.
"Mom?" I could demand that she put it on speaker, I could lean forward and listen to the exchange myself but I don't do any of those things. Instead I let the fury and rage of Ana's pain from earlier creep into my body until I'm all but shaking with it.
"Thank you…We're in Rome…well, no, it was for business but he extended it for my birthday…I know, you're getting old!" She laughs, her eyes filled with tears. "Olive oil and vinegars and homemade pastas and books…I know!...like, 20 of them…" Her perfectly manicured hand covers her mouth to stifle her cries and I'd reach over and throw the phone out of the window if she weren't smiling at the same time.
"The end of the month…I know, but I think this is for the better for now…yes Ray will be there…well the aisle is really short but he'll walk me down it anyway...No, no single Grey ladies for him…" She laughs again, the sound the only thing keeping me from splintering in two. "Crepes with gelato, pizza, and lobster…Of course! Lots of coffee but here it's different, it tastes nothing like it does in America…no just Paris…Honeymoon?" She looks at me and shoots me a half smile half smirk.
"No, don't know where he's taking me but I trust him so I'm just going to enjoy the ride…yes, I am…I promise mom, I'm happier than I have ever been in my entire life…No, no idea where but I'll send you a post card…does he have your address?" She looks at me and I nod once, my lips so tightly pressed they hurt. She cocks her head to the side and swipes her thumb over them gently. "I'm ok," she mouths.
"I love you too…the opera!...I know…I'd say once in a lifetime but with Christian you just never know…I will…I do love you…and…we'll figure this out…" She smiles sadly and then breathes in deep. "Love you too…bye…I will…bye."
The phone drops from her hand to mine and then to the seat when my fingers brush it away so that I can entwine my fingers with hers. "You ok?"
"Other than my makeup getting smeared from stupid tears again, I'm fine."
"You look perfect, Ana. Absolutely perfect." She closes her eyes and rests her head back, careful not to let her hair touch the leather. For the entire seven minute drive she's quiet and as much as I want to bombard her with questions and demands that she never speak to her mother again I remain silent, planning out how best to eliminate that from ever happening again. Ramon pulls the car to a stop in front of the Teatro dell'Opera di Roma and steps out to give us a few moments of privacy. She makes no move to get out or do anything.
"It would have crushed me if she hadn't called. I know you're mad but if she hadn't called," her voice catches, "it would have killed me." So I offer up a silent, 'thank you' to whoever is watching out because had Ana not seen her name on the screen, I'd have answered it and told Carla Adams to fuck off.
Inside we're greeted by the manager of the house, an elderly man named Enzo who speaks English so well Ana asks him how long he's lived in Italy.
"My entire life, but the opera is a language that is always changing. I have found great pride in learning to speak the language of the music that I love. That," he counters, offering her his hand to assist her to the stairs leading to our box, "and my daughter married a guy from Queens."
Ana laughs as do I, the lightness of the night returning in full force. In the box she takes it all in, the huge theatre, the hundreds of people dressed in tuxedos and gowns milling about below us, the stage covered in a heavy maroon velvet. "Wow," she says to Jamodo who peers over the side.
"Is this a sad opera?" He asks, "Because that is a long way down and I don't want any more tears today."
Ana grins and blushes, "No more tears, I promise." Except that she will cry again because the opera, much to my dismay is Nabucco. While the ending is a happy one, the plight of the Jews escaping slavery and persecution isn't exactly a feel good story and my sweet girl doesn't just hear other's pain, she feels it.
"Do we get those glasses things?" I look at her, brows knit and watch as she simulates flicking down opera glasses. "Like in Pretty Woman? You know, opera glasses?" Enzo chuckles and hands Hemwatee and her a pair of gold rimmed opera binoculars. "I am so excited," she squeals, gripping my knee. Fucking hell I love this woman.
Not once during the production does she sit back or relax. Instead she scoots to the edge of her chair and watches intently, sometimes with the binoculars, sometimes without but always without blinking. With each swell of the music her chest fills, with each crash of the cymbals she deflates. She doesn't move, she doesn't look over at me or at anyone else, she just feels.
At the end, she stands, clapping wildly, the binoculars forgotten on the chair behind her and wipes stray tears from her cheek. Beautiful.
"Oh, look! It's Enzo!" I purse my lips, very much looking forward to the next minute and take her hand in mine, my eyes not once leaving her face.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you so much for coming tonight," his rapid Italian quickly interpreted by Ana for myself and our guests but we all know exactly what he's about to say. Behind him the entire cast assembles, still in full costume and make up and waves up at us. "With us tonight is a very special woman attending for the first time in her life, an opera!" The crowd applauds and Ana goes as white as a ghost.
"You didn't," she whispers, her eyes glued on the small man on stage grinning up at her. Oh baby, I did.
"It also happens to be her birthday, so please, won't you all join our cast and sing a very Happy Birthday to Anastasia!" Her hand is clammy in mine, her breath frozen in her lungs but her face is on fire. Redder than I've ever seen it, she stares ahead, again unblinking and watches as the entire theater sings to her. At the last line, just when I begin to worry she hates it she covers her mouth and laughs, more tears falling over her hand and onto her dress.
"I'm…I'm speechless," she laughs and then leans forward, waves to everyone quickly and then buries her face in my shirt. "When did you…how did you…I can't believe you did that!"
"A few weeks ago, I have my ways, and neither can I. I was going to just buy the theatre for you but Devin said that was a bit over the top and not something you'd really like." She giggles against my chest and wipes her nose with my hand kerchief.
"I never thought I'd come to rely on you carrying these things around." We both laugh then, my arm around her waist holding her against me through the crowds in the lobby. In the car she sits on my lap, neither of us really caring about seat belts or driving laws. Ramon drives us to the front entrance of the hotel where Sawyer and Prescott are waiting.
"Come, I can't take one more second of not being inside you. I want you all to myself, just me and the birthday girl."
"Yes," she pants against my mouth, the simple word creating a burn inside so deep it feels like I could go up in flames.
The dress unzips and slides off easily, a $4k pile of fabric on the floor, forgotten and ignored. Before me stands the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on in nothing but a pair of lace thongs that I'm dying to rip off but I know that tonight, tenderness is required.
I let her take off my clothes, her small hands shaking with each button and then help her take out the pins in her hair one by one until it's wild down her smooth back. She's weightless, soft and warm in my arms as I carry her to the bed, her legs parting to allow me entrance.
"I love you," is all I can manage, our hands gliding over each other's body's with greedy abandon, our lips and tongues never stopping their worship of each other. And when she opens her body to me and pulls me close, there's a desperate need to connect, to push our bodies together so tightly that our hearts touch.
I need her as much as she needs me. I need to be with her, just be. Every breath against my cheek, every moan that escapes her mouth and echoes in mine, every undulation of her hips beneath me I covet, greedily taking all I can from her. Closer, I need to be closer.
Her hair tickles the back of my hand when I pull her up so that we're sitting, my cock buried deep inside her, chests pressed tightly together, noses touching, eyes staring. Behind me her feet wedge themselves against me, bringing us impossibly closer. We barely move, it's not easy in this position but we don't need to. This closeness is enough. Around me she clenches, inside her I grind up until she finally quivers and cries out, her hands pulling at my hair so harshly I have to grind my teeth to keep from growling. In an instant my arms band around her, my fingers digging into the toned flesh of her waist as I come, my face buried in her hair, my teeth biting into her shoulder.
We stay like that for a long time; tired, sweaty, needy. I don't want to let her go. I don't want to pull myself away from her. I don't want to lose the connection that fills my every need. I want this. Forever. And it's not until she leans back and brushes my hair from my forehead that I see the diamond on her finger and smile.
Because forever is exactly what I'm getting.