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

She sits and I push in her chair.

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

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

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

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

She giggles again and mouths "stalker."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"When did you become that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's this?" she asks.

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

"Are these for me?"

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

"Baby rattles," she says, lifting two sterling silver rattles from the first box. I'm not sure our children will ever really hold them, but they're a keepsake. "They're so beautiful!"

"For the twins," I say, although I'm not sure why I felt the need to clarify that. I suppose with the other silver items I've given her in the past, one can't be too explanatory. "I thought we could engrave them with names and such later. But, I've had a little something written... " I point to the handles.

"Blip Three and Blip Four," she reads from each.

"Whoever's out first gets dibs on the three."

"That's precious, Christian." she holds to my hand. "Thank you!"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Grey." I smile. And though I will try every day of my life, I can never express to her how truly thankful I am. To know the depth of that kind of gratitude, you'd have to know the pain.

"You're a wonderful father," she says.

"You told me once you wouldn't let me be anything else." I stroke her fingers and she leans across the table to give me a kiss.

"No, you're a good father all on your own."

"I love them," I say, simply put. "I didn't know I could, until I loved you."

She smiles and a teardrop falls off her lashes and onto her cheek and I brush it away with my thumb. I know that I'll never be good enough for any of them, but I will give them all of me, always.

"Now then, you have two more boxes, I say.

She sniffles a bit and smiles as she reaches for the next one and opens it, revealing a silver key.

"What's this for?"

"The new spa at the house."

"What new spa at the house?"

"Well, I know with four children you'll need a place of respite, so while we're away I'm having a room added on. It'll have a reading nook with a selection of your tea and music you like; a steam room; a yoga/meditation area; a massage set-up where a female masseuse can rub you down whenever you like..."

"Female, huh?" She giggles.

"I'm not letting a man get his hands all over my hot wife in a private room."

"Even a professional?"

"Yeah, one look at you coming out of that steam and he'll be a professional at something else."

She gets up and makes her way to my lap—she's much heavier now and I like it—and she leans over to give me a kiss.

"What's that for?"

"You are so sweet."

"It's not sweet, it's just what I do."

"Well I think you and what you do are incredibly sweet." She nibbles at my ear.

"So you're biting me?"

"I'm trying to taste your sweetness." She nips.

"Behave, Anastasia," I say, teasingly and she giggles against at my cheek. "You still have one more box before any other packages are unwrapped." I shoot an eyebrow up. "And this last one's the biggest."

"I'm sure not bigger than the one I want to unwrap." She wiggles her bottom against me and I'm immediately hard.

"Just open it," I say.

She leans over to lift the box top off the biggest, grandest one of all and finds absolutely nothing inside.

"It's empty," she says, at a loss.

"That's because I want you to fill it yourself."

"With what?" She looks around nervously at the waitstaff that are appropriately waiting for us at the wall. "Is this some kind of sex game?" she whispers, so they can't hear.

"No! You think I'm going to play sex games in front of these guys?" I roll my eyes. Honestly, she should know I'd never let anyone watch. I'll save all the games for when we're alone tonight. "We're in Tiffany. I want you to look around and find your heart's desire here." I motion my hands toward the aisles. "Anything you want, it's yours."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"I'll need to be careful in here. I could end up spending all your money."

"I hardly think that's possible and for the millionth time—our money." I give her a kiss on her nose.

I move us to standing and holding to her hand, I lead us through the aisles of precious gems.

"I feel like I'm cheating on Cartier," she laughs and she's almost skipping taking in all precious stones and ornate designs. There's a crown of sapphires and diamonds that would turn a Queen green with envy, that I'm tempted to buy her, but Ana's so humble, she'd never wear a crown around town.

"Well, what happens in New York..." I say.

"That's Vegas!" She laughs.

"Trust me, Cartier won't be crying after all I paid them at Christmas."

We walk through the entire store—all five floors—marveling at diamonds and emeralds and rubies as Ana gasps "oh my's." And though she's awed by the opulent jewel and precious metal creations, she's made no selection.

"Have you found anything yet?" I ask, as she looks through a small case at the far corner on the first floor. The kind they set up for the tourists with the more affordable items.

"Yes, I've found exactly what I want."

"Over there?" I walk over to see and she points to an alphabetic array of cursive style silver letters.

"Ana, there's a case full of emeralds over there. A ring worth more than some small countries and a bracelet to match. These are just little silver letters. Pick something more extravagant."

"But, this is what I want—an A and a C and a T and a P," she says. "They're my very favorite. I want them on a chain all together to wear around my neck and close to my heart. And later we can add two more, once we know their names." She moves a hand to her belly and strokes it.

I smile. That's my Ana. The same girl who fought me when I tried to give her a car; who said "yes" to me without a ring; and the same girl who found value in me when I believed I was worthless.

I give her a kiss and then make sure her gift is just as she likes. And though Ana is most happy with her simple silver letters on a simple silver chain, I make sure to tell the gentleman helping us, quietly, to wrap up the emeralds as well.

"Wait, there's one more thing," I say and pull her into my arms before we leave to start the last day before the first day of the year.

"What?" she asks looking up at me with the bluest eyes I've ever seen.

I nod to the gentleman and over the sound system, the music starts—Moon River.

"May I have this dance?" I ask.

"And every other one," she says.

She steps in my arms and starts to tear up.

"Why are you crying?" I ask.

"Because I used to dream of this, too."

She dips her head to my neck and rests her head on my shoulder as I hold her close and we move together amidst the diamonds. Though, I'm not looking at the stones beneath the glass. I'm watching the way the light burnishes her hair.