APOV

"Kiss me." Christian looks at me quizzically with his head cocked to the side, hands in the pockets of his well-worn jeans.

"What?"

"Kiss me!" I all but whine and then reach up, pull him down by his neck and force his lips to mine. It may start off as a spiteful kiss but it quickly morphs when his brain catches up with his body. I'm vaguely aware of the stones scraping my back when he pushes me against the wall but I'm very aware of how quickly my body becomes slick with want.

He groans and lifts one of my legs, pressing himself against me in long grinds that are rapidly becoming obscene. I try, I really do try to stop him when he slides one hand up over my knee and then behind it so that I can lift my leg around his waist. I have no idea if those women are still watching but if they are, they probably want to kill me right now.

Serves them right, I think, a smile spreading across my face when his lips leave mine to kiss my jaw and neck. Hidden from view by my skirt his fingers skate over the wet fabric of my panties, molding to my lips.

"Always ready, baby. I like that. Do you want to come right now? Up against this wall where anyone can see you? Is that what you need?" He kisses me again and slides one finger along the band of my underwear, pushing it to the side as he does so. "How do you do this? Hmm? How do you get me so out of control for you that I'm willing to fuck you up against a public wall? What kind of magic are you weaving?"

That same finger slides inside and then wiggles forward until it finds what I now know is my g-spot. I hate hate hate this feeling but I love love love it too. "Stop, Christian…not this way…it's too much…" I gasp. Against my neck he chuckles and withdraws, circling the top of my slit as I pant against him.

"I want you to come right here, Ana." He looks around, satisfied that we're alone and presses harder, lifting me with his left hand so that he can sink the middle finger of his right hand inside me while he continues to torture me. "Now, baby, come now."

"I…there are people…" His head snaps around quickly, his finger pumping faster.

"Give it to me, now, Anastasia!"

"Oh fuuuuck…" He sucks my bottom lip out from between my teeth and bites it. And there, against a random semi-hidden stone wall in the small village of Radda I come on his hands, barely able to catch my breath before he stands me up, smooths my skirt down and deliberately licks his fingers in front of me.

"Mmm, better than any wine I've had this entire trip." Oh my god!

A minute later, my legs still a bit shaky beneath me we emerge from our private spot. The hand holding mine is steady and strong, attached to a man sporting a very triumphant smile. He's adjusted himself no less than four times in the last minute but I can still clearly make out the line of his hard on against the denim.

"Relax," he chides, "nobody saw that. Do you really think I'd let anyone see you come?" He turns, tips my chin up towards him with one finger and smiles. "That is for my eyes only. Only ever for me, nobody will ever get the pleasure of watching you come." He breathes deep, takes a step back and raises his face towards the setting sun. "Fuck that makes me so happy!"

"You're sure no one saw?"

"Of course. Just because you drive me out of my mind with lust doesn't mean I'm not going to protect you from prying eyes. What brought that on anyway?" I blush and even though we duck into a shop with at least fifty boar legs hanging from the ceiling he catches it anyway. "What is it? Why the blush?"

"You seriously didn't notice the two women blowing kisses at you back there?" By his expression, I can tell that he didn't.

"Blowing kisses at me? Were they old like the cooking instructor? Because she did it all night every time you weren't looking." An involuntary shiver runs down his spine and I laugh because I saw all of the affection she tossed his way last night, I just thought it was too funny to stop.

"No they weren't old. They were like, my age, maybe a little older. They've been following us for twenty minutes, giggling and making faces at me and then, just before I told you to kiss me they blew freaking kisses your way when you were looking in their direction!" He laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulder.

"I didn't even notice them let alone what they were doing. Did Sawyer see?" We both turn towards the door where Sawyer is standing, blocking entrance to anyone who dares shop in the same store as Christian Grey. He smiles and nods once to which Christian laughs again before lowering his voice so only I can hear him. "Sorry baby but if that's the way you respond every time a woman comes onto me, then you're going to get fucked a hundred times a day! Not that I'd mind."

At the counter the owner shaves us off a piece of the wild boar and offers it to us with a piece of parmesan cheese. I'm a bit reluctant to eat it, after all he literally just took it from one of the legs on the counter but I eat it to be polite.

"Wow," I say, reaching for more. "That is really good." The owner hands us each a small glass of chianti and another piece of cheese. His generosity isn't because he's hoping to make a sale, it's because he sees an appreciation for his passion and he wants us to enjoy it. I love the people here, everything is a simple pleasure that is to be savored and remembered. Nothing is rushed, nobody isn't family.

"Do you want to get some of this to take home? I bet Elliot and Jose would like this."

"How would we do that? It's literally the leg of a boar, hair and all." He shrugs. "Gail's great but if she comes home to the leg of a wild pig on her counter, she just may quit! We share a laugh at the visual. "And won't it go bad on the flight home?"

"Dry ice. We're going on the plane in," he checks his watch and frowns, "two hours anyway."

"What about customs?" He just laughs and picks up a few bottles of wine from the table in the middle of the store, bringing them to the register.

"Ana, it's a private jet with my name on it. Customs doesn't give a shit what's on it so long as we leave the country richer than we found it. Now, tell the man what we want and Prescott will take care of the transport."

Our final dinner is at a tiny restaurant off of a small, nondescript street. I'm pretty sure we're in someone's living room but since there are two other tables here and both are occupied I'm assuming this really is a restaurant. Both of us order boar and root vegetables for dinner, stunned by how delicate and delicious it is.

This place is nothing like the five star dinners we've had over the course of our visit here. It's authentic though which makes it a thousand times better In my opinion. There's no pretense, just a man and woman who love to cook and love to share that passion with others.

"For someone who had never had chianti before you sure are making up for it," he teases, lifting his own ruby red glass to his mouth.

"It's so good. How many cases did you get?" Exasperated, he rolls his eyes and rests the goblet on the rustic wooden table.

"We get. How many cases did we get, Ana. There is no me or you, just ours. And we got six. I thought we could split one up amongst my family and give a case to your dad as well." He cuts into a turnip and studies it before popping it into his sexy as sin mouth, chewing thoughtfully, eyes focused on me. Something's coming, I can feel it.

"You need to get an attorney." Say what?

"Why?" I ask carefully, not sure what he's getting at.

"I want you to hire someone on your own to handle the estate and all of the legal shit that needs to happen before we leave for our honeymoon."

"What legal shit?" His lips purse as he tries not to smile.

"You really aren't marrying me for my money are you?"

"No," I deadpan, "I'm marrying you for your dick." He laughs loudly and then coughs into his wine glass, tipping it towards me with a smirk.

"Well I'd say you're getting a good return then."

"I'd say!" I laugh back, leaning forward to brush a few stray hairs from his face. The movement stills him and just like that, he's not joking or in any mood to be jovial. He's in full on love mode. "The attorney, Christian? Why do I need one?"

He swings back to CEO mode, eyes sharp, shoulders back. Keeping up with is mood swings is going to give me whiplash. "To protect yourself. I'll have my team draw everything up so that all you need to do is sign after we're officially married but you should have an attorney look things over first."

My stomach drops to the floor, my mouth going dry in an instant. "Like a pre-nup?" His head snaps back in shock.

"No, not a pre-nup. You'll become the executor on my estate, you'll own half of what is currently my investments, my properties, my cars, boats, helicopter. You'll own half of any asset I have." He stops and winks, "And I'll own half of your assets though I'm really only interested in one asset of yours in particular."

"Oh, like my Strawberry Shortcake collection at Rays? Or my cd collection from high school? Or, or how about you take half of the car you already gave me." I'm smiling but there are times I feel inadequate next to him despite the ridiculousness of the emotion. Telling me he's about to give me a little under six billion is a bit of a mind scramble.

"I just want your heart, Ana. You can keep your cd's and your doll collection." He laughs and sips, not at all catching the sarcasm I've just lobbed at him. How in the world does someone like him want to marry me? STOP! I yell in my head and then…I do. I just enjoy the moment and the man in front of me. Until he speaks again.

"You should hire someone who can handle the estate shit and who can also take care of the name change of your company, get it all done in one fell swoop." Come again?

"Uh, what?" Casually as he can he motions for the old woman in the corner and asks for more wine. He totally just set that entire conversation up.

"Your name change. You can't be Steele Translations if you're not a Steele anymore." And for reasons I can easily identify, that small sentence cuts me deep.

"I had no intention of changing my company name." He looks at me, smirks, smirks, and swirls his glass.

"No wife of mine is going to have a company with her maiden name on it. You're going to be a Grey therefore your company will be renamed to reflect that change."

"Are you telling me, Christian, or are you asking me?" With an arrogance I've not yet seen from him he leans back, swallows and crosses his legs.

"I'm telling you because it's the obvious thing to do." Where the hell is this animosity coming from?

"I don't quite know how to say this without sounding harsh so I'll just say it. No. I will not be changing my company name." His eyes flash with anger and then flick back to the woman who lays down the bill. Without another word he peels off far too many Euro, smiles politely at her and then holds his hand out for me.

When I take it he moves immediately, pulling me outside and walking with purposeful strides towards the car Ramon is waiting in. Around us Prescott, Sawyer and some other guy I don't know move into action, ensuring that nobody's lingering for us, which of course they're not. In the car he says nothing, just holds onto my hand, staring at me as if he were debating on how to kill me.

Neither of us speaks and even though I eventually move my gaze to the window so that I can enjoy the last few minutes of my time here in Italy. He continues to stare wordlessly. Well, let him. I'm not backing down on this.

The drive to the private airport takes less than an hour but my nerves are frayed by the time we walk up the stairs, Nanette cheerily greeting us with warm towels and heated neck pillows. Regina emerges from the cabin, her father behind her and makes small talk until we're cleared for departure. With the flight crew Christian is polite, business like as usual but still polite. With me, he is cold, curt and angry.

It's nearly bed time by the time we can move about and when he makes no attempt at conversation I rise, walk to the bedroom and get changed into my yoga pants, tank top and zip up sweatshirt. I've just finished a ten minute meditation session to try to clear my mind when Nanette knocks to ask if I'd like anything before she retires for the evening. Yea, my fiancé to not be a jerk.

"If you change your mind, just ring the bell next to my door, other than that, I won't emerge until breakfast time. Mr. Sawyer has already retired in the office on the couch. Have a good evening, Ms. Steele."

Steele. My name. Ray's name to be precise. I was born Lambert but I was raised a Steele. The name means so much more to me than just the identifying marker. It means that a man who didn't birth me, who was left by my mother and had no rights to me wanted me and loved me. It represents so much of what I'm proud of, so much of what I've built my life on that the idea of severing that entirely is just not an option.

I had subconsciously known I'd change my name to Grey, that's the societal norm and one I've decided I'm fine with. But my company is Steele Translations. It represents my accomplishments, my hard work and perseverance. To change it to Grey takes away from that. It becomes just one more of GEH's companies. One more business with the Grey name and let's be real, Grey in Seattle is Christian. Not Anastasia.

Is it that he feels unloved? That to him I'm an acquisition that needs branding? Another way to mark me as his? Is that what this is? Another way for him to shout to the world that I'm his?

It's a dangerous thing, this singular thought process. The room is so tiny I can't even pace so instead I stretch, forcing myself to stay put until I've worked out a coherent debate to offer him. But instead, I get more and more angry, less and less willing to converse and find my heels dug in even deeper on the issue.

So when I stomp down the aisle to him, face pinched and angry I'm ready to unleash on him. But then I notice his slumped posture, the way his shoulders are slightly hunched, the way he stares blankly out the dark window. When he hears me he closes his eyes and pinches his nose, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"I hate fighting with you, Ana," he says softly into his hands. Damn, seeing him like this makes me rethink the entire thing. Is keeping my company name that important? I concede, internally to myself, that yes, it is. But that doesn't mean I can't soften my heart towards the issue and subsequently towards him.

"Christian," I start, getting on my knees in front of him and pressing my forehead to his, "I don't want to fight."

"It's not worth fighting about." He looks at me and wraps one hand around the back of my neck. "It really isn't."

"No, it's not. I don't want you to be upset, baby." He relaxes as I pepper him with kisses along his jaw and face and then stops me, pushes my hair back, holds my face in his and kisses me deeply igniting a fire I was definitely not expecting. Large hands slide down my back to grab at my butt while I unzip the sweatshirt, tossing it behind me, it's warmth suddenly suffocating.

"I want you," he growls, pushing the tank top down so that my breasts are free. While he twists and pulls on my nipples I unzip his pants, pull them down to his ankles and do the same to his boxers. He springs into my hand hard and ready. I don't need him to push my head down onto him but I let him do it anyway, his appreciative groan just the encouragement I need. "Fuck you've got an amazing mouth."

I'd thank him but…I can't speak right now. I don't know what it means that I like when he grabs my hair in both hands and starts to thrust upwards while pushing my head down at the same time but damn it if it doesn't turn me on. His breaths are hard and fast, each one puffed out with each thrust.

"You're going to make me come if you don't stop," he growls, eyes locked on mine as I continue my assault. "Ana…" he strains, his hips pumping faster but shallower, the muscles of his lower abdomen covered in a sheen of sweat. His hands tighten in my hair, the pain just this side of tolerable but I don't stop, not for a second. "Ana…" he says again, over and over and I watch with the glee of someone who just made the world's most beautiful man come undone as his eyes roll into the back of his head and he fills my mouth.

I catch it all, so intent on showing him that we're ok, that just because I'm not changing my company name, it doesn't mean I love him any less. He twitches and jerks beneath me, half laughing when he finally untangles his fingers and pulls me off of him. Boneless, his arms hang over the arms of the chair as I pull his pants back up, carefully zipping them before smoothing down the white button down he's wearing. It's such a shame to cover up that V though…

"So you're ok now?" I ask, curling up onto his lap where he kisses me chastely and leans his head back. The hand stroking my back continues to lull me into a sense of peace so that at first I don't notice the way he's looking at me.

"Of course I'm ok now, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, usually you don't let things go that quickly and I was expecting this to be the same thing. I just want to make sure you're not still upset."

"Why would I be upset, Ana? Did you not just agree to change the name to Grey Translations?" His hand stills on my back, mine stills over his heart.

"No," I say slowly and carefully, the ringing in my ears starting to get louder with each passing second. "I'm asking if you're still upset since I'm not changing the name of my company."

His jawline sets, his eyes lose that spark and his mouth becomes a think line. "You just said, Anastasia, that it wasn't worth fighting about. Does that or does that not mean you're not fighting about it which begs the question does that or does that not mean you're going to do it?" Is he trying to confuse me?

"Well, Christian, I've already told you multiple times that I'm not changing the name and I said it wasn't worth fighting about because it's not. Keeping my company name doesn't make my love for you any different, it doesn't make us less married. It's a dumb argument when it's clearly something very important to me. And if memory serves me correctly, and even though I just took a bit of a battering I'm pretty sure I have my memory, you were the one who said it wasn't worth fighting about."

I swear, I think he was just going to push me off of him. I felt him tense, felt his hands go to my hips and then watched as he closed his eyes and relaxed.

"It's important to me that you change it. I can't, for the life of me, understand why once you become a Grey, you'd want to maintain the name Steele."

"Maybe it's because you haven't asked me why it's important to me. Why don't we start there?"

"I'm not in the mood to talk right now. I'm tired and I'm pissed and frankly, as important as you think this is to you, it's even more important to me."

"Think this is?" I shriek. I try not to but I do. If we weren't on a plane I'd march my little butt into my car and drive to the nearest candy store for an entire bag of Reece's right now. He just stares. Doesn't answer, doesn't move, just stares. "Holy fuck I can't believe you just said that." He shrugs. Shrugs!

"No reason to get all emotional about it. Have you gotten your period yet?" No he did not. No no no he did not.

"Did you just resort to the stereotypical male response to a woman when he has no idea what to say because he's so in over his head?"

"I just asked a question. It's a valid one considering we're getting married and your body is as much mine as it is yours." I didn't think my eyes could get any wider but they do. I may as well hand him a shovel because the hole he's digging is getting deeper by the second.

"I haven't gotten it and I won't since I'm on the shot. So your theory of PMS is bogus." He just sits and stares at me. "So when you're ready to act like an adult and have a conversation, come find me. Until then, I've got nothing else to say."

CPOV

I couldn't stop myself. I knew better than to say it, I remember the way Mia would freak out when Elliot and I teased her about it growing up but I couldn't stop myself. It was like I had to hurt her somehow and that made the most sense. Not changing her company name is a non-negotiable. I had expected somewhat of a fight but I was wholly unprepared for just how upset the demand made her.

So when she came to me and got on her knees I thought what any hot blooded male would think. She realized she was wrong and came to apologize. So imagine my surprise when after she finished me off, amazingly well I might add, she thought I had been the one to back down.

Even now I'm a bit off my game as I sit here in this leather chair, body still humming from one hell of a blowjob, alone. Listen to her reasons? Why? She's going to be a Grey. Her company should bear her legal name. Period. The end. But no, I need to fall in love with the one woman in the world who doesn't want to shout out the fact that she's married to me.

I wait for close to an hour for her to come back out and apologize but she never even opens the door. Instead I pour myself a scotch and settle back in the chair with what I'm pretty sure is going to be one hell of a head ache.

I was right. Seven hours later I've dozed in and out of sleep, have lain on the leather couch and have attempted to work, all to no avail. I could just go into the bedroom and lay down in the bed, it is my plane anyway. But instead I sit here and stare at the bedroom door, willing that stubborn woman to come out and come to her senses.

When Nanette comes around as the sun begins to set, yes, a mind fuck since technically we're going back in time, I order an omelet with fresh fruit and coffee.

"Shall I wake Ms. Steele?" She inquires, the name Steele suddenly making me cringe.

"I will, thank you." I've grown angrier over the last few hours as time and silence has ticked by without so much as word from her so my entry is less than soft, the door flinging open to slam against the wall. She's sitting in the bed, hair a mess from sleeping, reading a book. I don't know if she knew I was coming or if she's just that good but she doesn't startle at all.

"Nanette is preparing breakfast. If you would be so kind as to bestow upon me your company that would be lovely."

"I'm not hungry," she shrugs, flipping a page. Unacceptable.

"You need to eat, Anastasia. If nothing else, you need to drink something." She reaches next to her and pulls up a bottle of water without even looking.

"I'm all set, thanks."

"How long will you keep up your immature silent treatment?" Wrong thing to say, Grey. She looks at me then, eyes set in stone.

"I told you, when you were ready to have an adult conversation about me keeping my company's name, I would love to converse with you."

"I'll have Nanette bring you something then." Turning on my heel I shut the door, sit back down to a steaming mushroom omelet and ask Nanette to bring Ms. Steele the same.

With my belly full and coffee in my system I feel a bit better physically but mentally I'm losing it. I've never had anyone defy me like this even in business and frankly, I'm not enjoying the challenge at all.

Ana emerges from the bedroom, book in hand, and sits across from me when Regina announces that we're preparing to land. With a heavy sigh she rests the book on the table, a battered copy of 'The Great Gatsby' and gives me a tired look.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"A bit here and there. You?"

"Yes. I kept waking up waiting for you to come in and when you didn't I almost came to get you but you've really got me mad, Christian."

"The feeling is mutual, Anastasia." She sighs again and covers her eyes.

"Would you consider changing Grey Holdings to Steele Holdings?" Has she lost her mind? "I'm not actually suggesting that you do that mind you, I'm just trying to get you to understand how big of a deal this is to me."

"First of all, you're changing your last name, not me since I'm the man. Second of all, if it was that important to you, then yes, I'd do it." She scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"I call bull shit on that," she bites out. I play nonchalant, crossing my legs to rest my ankle over my knee, prepared to take this all the way.

"Inflammatory words like that will get us nowhere, Anastasia." She huffs and tosses her hands up.

"Anastasia. Was asking if I'd gotten my period inflammatory, Christian?" I ignore the taunt, mostly because I can't answer it without lying, and reach for my coffee, now cold since Nanette has wisely read the mood and is staying away with Prescott in the cockpit.

"I don't see that there's anything to talk about. You're marrying me, you're changing your name to Grey, the logical step would be to change the company name as well." I raise my brow and even though I know I shouldn't I follow up with, "You are changing your married name or is that too much to ask as well?"

I regret it the minute it leaves my mouth but I've said it. It's out there to stay, the small and malicious dig that questions her love and dedication for me, something I know she holds dear. "I'm sorry," I say immediately but there's already tears pooling in those beautiful eyes. She holds her hand up and looks away quickly. "Ana. That was uncalled for. I apologize."

Her eyes blink rapidly and then close for the remainder of our time on the plane, only opening to smile at the crew and offer a small waive goodbye. In the car Sawyer drives stiffly, aware of the discourse between us even though he hid himself away in my office for the entire trip.

It's two am in Seattle, the city sleeping and dark except for the occasional street light that glitters off of the puddles in the street. I'm tired but determined to get my way on this issue so instead of following her to the bedroom I head right for my office, inhaling the familiar scent of my apartment on the way.

I realize then that of all the times I've travelled, I've always wanted to be back here but not because it was home. Just because it was mine. But on this trip, I wanted to be home, where my life was. Another pang of something akin to guilt stabs at me but I ignore it along with the raging desire I have to take my fiancée upstairs to fuck the ever loving shit out of her. Not punish, but fuck. Unless you call a very thorough spanking a punishment. Because damn if my palm hasn't been itching for hours now.

At four she knocks on the door and pushes it open. I can't tell if she's been crying or if she's just tired but she makes no move to come any closer and I don't ask her to. It's confusing to me. When she's in another room all I want is for her to come to me but the second she does, I want to be mean and push her away.

"Christian?" My name on her lips sounds so sweet, so sad, so unbearably soft that I have to force myself to not look up. I can't bend on this, she has to change the name.

"Hmm?"

"Are you coming to bed? You said you didn't sleep on the plane that well and we have the tasting with your parents tonight. I'll go to the guest room if you're more comfortable that way." At that my head snaps up.

"You will do no such thing. I'll be in later, I've got an eight am staff meeting at GEH I need to prepare for." And then, like the king of dick heads that I am, I look back down to dismiss her. Like an employee. When I raise my eyes to apologize, she's gone.

APOV

Forty minutes later I feel him in the room. I don't think he's done anything but stand in the doorway but I know he's there and I know it's me he's looking at through the dim moonlit room. Moments later he lifts the comforter and slides in, staying on his side of the bed but facing me. I keep my eyes open just enough to see him but not enough so that he knows I'm awake.

When he reaches out to touch me I inwardly beg but he stops himself short and drops his hand to the mattress between us where it stays until I fall asleep. In the morning when I wake he's already gone.

"A week in Italy and you come back looking like you didn't sleep at all while you were there. What the hell is that about?" By ten I've caught up on the office gossip, the building gossip, and any friend gossip. By eleven I've fallen asleep at my desk only to be woken up by Matt who never remembers to knock and by noon Missy's called in Devin for an intervention. He's got back to back patients all day though so I luck out on the interrogation that comes along with his friendship.

That's not to say he's not involved though. Oh no, quite the opposite. Every ten minutes either mine or Missy's phone goes off with a text asking a question, firing off advise or giving me instructions on what I need to be doing. When Mis walks over and takes a close up of my face, I know it was for his benefit when less than a minute later my own phone rings.

"Oh hell no. You can take your frightful little pout and get on your shoes, find a hat, and hit the spa. You cannot be looking like that a week before your wedding. Missy will make the arrangements, you just worry about getting rid of the ugly. What the hell did Italy do to you?" More like what did Christian do to me.

"I'm not going to a spa. I'm not going anywhere except here. I've got a ton of work to do and we're having dinner with Christian's parents tonight to finalize the menu for next Saturday."

"No duck. And definitely no mahi-mahi. You may as well do your colors in peach and sea green and call 1984 if you go with the mahi-mahi. You and your man fighting? Having words? Not getting along? Working out the kinks? What's with the pasty skin and sallow eyes?"

"Devin how many ways are you going to ask before you stop and listen?"

"I don't need to listen, I already know you're fighting. I can tell by those trifling circles under your eyes and don't even get me started on the fact that you're wearing a ponytail with a pant suit. Now, the question is, what are you wearing tonight to make him wish to Cher he'd never fought with you?"

"This?" I offer meekly, immediately met with a harsh 'No!' from both he and Missy.

"No you are not. You will leave here at four, 4:30 latest and you will get yourself a manicure, don't think I don't notice that French manicure you've got and you know what, call 1984 back, they want that too. You will get your nails done, you will shower, shave to within an inch of your life and you will wear the hottest dress you own that is still appropriate for dinner with the in-laws. Then you will be seductive all night, you will strut that fine Irish ass back home and you will have crazy wild make up sex. Now scoot."

The nails I can manage and is easy enough to arrange. Franco talks my ear off about business school and should he get braces and oh my god did I hear about Elena Lincoln?

"Yes, I heard." He leans in, wrist bent and pointed at me.

"And did you hear she was half dead? Hung up on a mother fucking cross like she was the Messiah? I bet she did it to herself to garner sympathy because the entire city hates her and now she's got these charges against her. Please. And not small charges, nope, she's looking at federal prison for a long time! Thank god Christian and I split with her when we did. That lady was selling tickets to crazy town."

"You know," he leans in further, shooing away the nail tech to apply the top coat himself, "there are rumors that she had her hand in," he looks around, "prostitution."

"I've heard."

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least. I can't even imagine the kind of secrets someone like her has and I did always say her friends were creeps. Well, except Christian of course."

At 5:30 I'm showered, shaved, lotioned, made up and dressed. When Christian came home I was naked in our closet. To say that had no effect on him would be a lie but he certainly didn't react the way I was hoping by falling to his knees to ask for forgiveness. Instead he gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek and hung up his tie, not even giving me a second glance.

At 5:45 we're both in the car, the uncomfortable silence around us permeating every pore so that I feel physically upset.

"You look lovely, Anastasia," he offers with a curt half smile.

"Thank you, you look handsome as usual."

Outside of Cartier he opens my door and places his hand on my lower back. I don't know if it's for my benefit, habit or the fact that there are a handful of photographers taking our picture but the contact feels good and like a pathetic puppy I lap it up.

"Mr. Grey, welcome back." The old man, introduced to me as Mr. Brindisi turns towards me and offers me his hand before kissing both of my cheeks. "Ms. Steele, a pleasure. I trust you are in love with your ring as much as I am. It was painful to part with a piece of work so stunning but you wear it much better than I could have." He's sweet, if not a bit of a kiss ass but Christian treats him with the same cold detachment he's been tossing my way all day.

"I trust you received our specifications."

"I have, my Fiona has been all over the place procuring the highest quality diamonds for your band, Ms. Steele. I've got a computer copy of the design in the back if you'll follow me please."

Behind a thick curtain and through another hidden door is a room outfitted for luxury. The chairs are gold leafed and heavy as if they were waiting for a king while from the ceiling a chandelier the size of my car hangs. There are two women in the room, one hands us champagne and offers us a selection of fresh fruits while the other smiles, nods at both Christian and myself and motions for us to sit.

"Mr. Grey, Ms. Steele, congratulations. I am Fiona Brindisi." We sit and watch as the design loads onto her tablet. I want to enjoy this moment but I can't. "We have been able to find diamonds that meet your specifications for almost the entire ring and have a seller flying in from New York tomorrow to hopefully provide us with the final three."

"How many are there going to be altogether?"

"Ten." My god. Ten more half carat diamonds on top of the huge one I already have on my finger.

"Mr. Grey you are still wanting a plain platinum band?"

"Yes," he answers curtly.

"I'd like to put an inscription inside his band."

"Of course. If you have it now, I can take it or you can email me when you've chosen it. To maintain the integrity of the settings, if you plan on putting an inscription in Ms. Steele's ring we'll need it before we set the stones. Monday at the latest."

Christian nods and stands, buttoning up his jacket before smoothing his tie down. "Thank you, Ms. Brindisi." He turns, nods at the old man and holds out his hand to me. "Mr. Brindisi. I'll have a member of my security team pick up the bands by Wednesday next week." We leave hand in hand to face the paparazzi outside and though our hands are joined, I've never felt further away from him.

"Anastasia is it true that the wedding is this weekend? Or did you get married in Italy? There are reports of you renting out the Pantheon for a private ceremony. Are you now married? Have you signed a prenup? Did you have an infidelity clause put in? When's your due date?"

"Fuckers," Christian mumbles, shoving me into the backseat while Prescott holds the asshole back who just rapid fired questions at me as if he thought I would answer.

"Wow," I breathe out, thinking maybe that picking out our bands would have softened his mood but I'm wrong. He's just as angry as he was when we got into the car at Escala and now he's agitated by the reporter who has already been identified and is, without question, about to get fired because of the massive influence of the man brooding next to me.

Mercifully the drive to Florent Catering is short and Grace and Carrick are waiting for us at the entrance because one more minute of that and I was going to go insane. I can do silence, I can even do angry. But I can't do unreasonable on top of it.

"Ana, you look beautiful," Carrick greets me with a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze to my shoulders while Grace hugs Christian before turning her attention to me.

"Christian said you found a dress you liked." Her excitement helps to loosen the band around my chest.

"I did, I brought the sketch with me if you'd like to see it." Her face lights up as she nods enthusiastically, taking my arm to steer me into the tasting room. The men give us a bit of space so that we can ooh and ahh over the drawing Dona Cidalia gave to me but I'm pretty sure Christian would be across the room regardless of what I was doing.

"I was thinking I'd wear a deep purple since your colors are complimentary, is that alright with you?"

"Of course, whatever you want to wear is fine with me!" Am I supposed to have an opinion on her dress? Is that traditional?

"Has your mother chosen a color?" She gets quiet when I don't immediately answer. I'm not sure exactly what Christian has shared with them but obviously he's kept a few things to himself. While I internally debate how to answer her Christian appears next to me and slides his arm around my waist, kissing my temple.

"Carla isn't coming." Grace looks momentarily stunned but recovers quickly, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear before reaching for my hand.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Ana." She squeezes and offers me a sad smile. Christian kisses my hair again giving me the fortitude that I need. "Elliot and Kate were over on Sunday and showed us a few videos of the string quartet you've hired. Absolutely amazing. Carrick and I are just so excited for the wedding, aren't we, Cary?"

"We are. Now let's eat."

As we're served tiny plates of every dish we've shown any interest in, Grace and Carrick, well, mostly Grace, goes on about their own wedding 37 years ago. The only interruptions are when we dismiss or agree on a dish. For each yes there are three no's until we've settled on nine passed appetizers and a choice of two main entrée's. When I question whether or not we should have something besides seafood Christian answers with a sharp no.

"Plateau de fruits de mer and a grilled swordfish are fine." It's at that point, his sharp tone mixed with his unwillingness to think that maybe someone won't want seafood, that clue Grace into his mood. She watches him carefully and then looks at me out of the corner of her eye. Wisely she says nothing but claps her hands together to keep the conversation moving along and light.

"What still needs to be done? You've ordered your wedding bands?" I nod as does Christian. "I know the band and the flowers are in place and Elliot said he and Kate have the bachelor and bachelorette parties all planned out. Oh! And your friend Devin came with Kate on Sunday and showed me the tablescapes and some of the decorations you've settled on. What's the guest list up to now?"

"Fifty seven. No regrets." Of course, who would say no to Christian Grey's wedding? "I think outside of my tux fitting and some final tweaks on security we're all set." Four waiters appear then, each with a plate of desserts that they lay in front of the four of us simultaneously. I immediately nix the chocolate shell heart with chocolate ganache and Christian pushes the tiramisu away without trying it. "I hate soggy bread," he says when the director of catering raises her brow, pencil posed over her note pad.

In between bites of decadent cakes, sugared fruits and intricate woven sugars Grace continues to prattle on, delighting in finding out the details nobody else has been made aware of.

"What about your vows? Are you keeping them traditional or are you writing your own?" The question was innocuous, casually asked and seeking just as casual an answer but I know, just know, this is going to make the company name change seem like a minor disagreement.

Why do I know this? Because when I say, "We'll write our own," he answers with a firm, "Traditional." And when we make eye contact across the table, both a bit taken back by the very different answers I know exactly what part of traditional he's thinking about. Obey. Well he can go fuck off if he thinks I'm going to vow to obey anyone.

"Obviously that's a conversation Anastasia and I need to still have," he offers tightly, eyes set firmly on mine. Challenge accepted, Mr. Grey.

"No matter, I'm sure they'll be wonderful either way. Shame Ray couldn't join us tonight but Carrick said he was deep sea fishing with a friend?"

"Yes, his military buddies get together every few months and do something thrill seeking. Last time they went bungee jumping up at Whistler Mountain."

"Ray? Interesting," Carrick muses, frowning at the glass of ice water in front of him. I don't know that I've ever seen him not drinking scotch but since the catering hall doesn't have a liquor license we're all stuck with waters or iced teas. I could use a scotch myself right now if for no other reason than to help me ignore my fiancé who is staring at me with daggers shooting out of his eyes from across the table.

"He was special forces so he's used to that high adrenaline stuff. When he met my mom he had just gotten out but they kept him on for some training exercises until we went back to Iraq and then they required that he reenlist or get out entirely. I was just moving back in so he opted to retire." My voice drifts off as familiar guilt washes over me at the sacrifices he's made for me.

"He's very important to you," Grace offers.

"He wanted me when nobody else did. He gave me his name, a home, an education, a lifeline." I will not cry.

"Steele Translations," Christian states quietly, eyes locked on mine.

"Yes." His face softens slightly but everyone's silence gives me an opportunity to get this out so I do. "I was born a Lambert but Ray is the only father I've ever known. Until you he was the only man who had chosen to protect me and did so without asking for anything in return. Having his last name has meant everything to me since I was a little girl. My identity is wrapped up in that name because it was a gift to me." I swallow past the lump and reach for a wine glass that's not there.

"How beautiful, Ana. Just beautiful." Grace dabs at her eyes and looks at Christian who is still staring at me. "It just occurred to me that you and my children have that in common, you were born in your parent's hearts."

"Yes, like Grey was a gift to your children, Steele was a gift to me even though I'm sure Ray sees it as an honor on his part." At that Christian's jaw relaxes and he blinks, the anger clearing from those heavily lashed gray eyes.

"Point well made, Ms. Steele. I understand."

"Do you?" I fight back more tears, the day long frustration threatening to spill over any second now. His hand reaches across the white tablecloth and I watch as his fingers intertwine with mine, his thumb mindlessly twirling my engagement ring around.

"I do," he says softly as Grace and Carrick look at each other but remain still, clearly aware that there is an entirely separate conversation happening right now. We stay like that through the second round of desserts, the coffees and the teas and the final run through with the catering director.

At ten we rise to leave, his parents ahead of us so that when we're alone he pulls me to him, presses me against his chest and kisses me firmly on my forehead. "I get it. I'm not happy about it, but I get it."

"So you understand that I'll be keeping Steele Translations name?" I do not want to get into another mix up of words.

"I understand. I'll deal with it." He pauses, closes his eyes and then cups my face. "And I'm sorry I was unwilling to listen to you. I just...reacted."

"Forgiven," I say as I stretch my face up to kiss him. Maybe the vows won't be such an issue...

"And you'll sleep in our bed tonight?" He throws back his head and laughs, steering me towards the door.

"Ana, it's been over 24 hours, wild horses couldn't keep me away from you tonight."

In the car Sawyer puts the privacy barrier up. I don't know if he knows we made up or if he doesn't want to hear us fight but it occurs to me then that I will never truly have a private life so long as we have security with us. Even the matters of the heart will be exposed unless they're kept to our bedroom.

"We're writing our vows?" He asks me with one hand on my breast, the other on my hip where he's doing his best to grind against me as we kiss each other like teenagers. "What's wrong with the traditional ones?"

"I don't know, they're not ours. I want something that's wholly ours. I mean, we can use the traditional ones as a template I guess. I like the idea of richer or poorer, sickness and health and death do us part but the rest of it, I'm just not into it."

And just like that he shifts back into the Christian from earlier today.

"Obey. You want to omit obey." I fix my dress, wrinkled from his attempt to push it out of the way and sigh. Here we go.

"I will omit obey, yes. You didn't think I'd be vowing to obey you did you?" I try to keep the incredulity out of my question but it's there nonetheless. "Christian, I'm surprised anyone"

"You're going to be my wife, Anastasia. My wife. Not my girlfriend, not my lover, not my fiancée. My wife. I will be your husband. Those vows were written because as a man, it's my job to protect you and care for you and provide for you. In order to do that, you need to let me be the one to make decisions that will affect our life together." He is out of his damn mind.

"You expect me…me…to let you just make decisions without my input? You expect that once I'm married I'm going to change my personality and become a Stepford Wife? Because if you think I'm going to be like that, then you're in for a rude awakening."

"It's a word, Anastasia." He has the audacity to downplay the significance of the one thing he demands from everyone in his life.

"If it's just a word, then you shouldn't care that I won't be saying it. Or living it for that matter." At that his jaw sets itself tight again and his entire body tenses. "Christian," I reach for him, touching his face softly but his blank look says one thing.

Conversation over.