Page 74 of Manhattan Heart

I’m going with the latter knowing my India.

Volatile creature that she is.

My lips twitch as I slide a hand around her back, leaving it on her hip.

She thinks we’re having a quiet dinner, before going home to watch one of her favorite movies.

We’ll still do that, eventually.

But I’ve made other plans for my girl’s birthday.

It started this morning with her favorite breakfast. Three of her best cereals mixed together in a bowl. I swear, I never tire of seeing her happy smile. She’s pleased with the simplest things. She sat at the breakfast bar in her pink yoga shorts, with the boys running around her legs, excited because I filled the living room with around 400 helium balloons. I had them delivered late last night once I knew she was asleep. The same with the vases upon vases of her favorite tulips and peonies.

For weeks now she’s insisted on a sedate birthday.

I beg to differ.

I love celebrating her and not even if she scowls will I dial back on spoiling her.

After the balloons and the flowers, came the piles of gifts.

I started off small, working my way into her good mood as she quietly opened them, smiling to herself and sending me sideways pleased glances.

The last gift was a 10 day trip to the Spice Island beach resort in Grenada.

Had I not been braced for it, her launching herself at me would have taken me down to the floor.

Making her happy is my reward, it’s that simple and what better day to make India happy than on her birthday. More so because I know she hasn’t always had the best birthdays, that about kills me to know. I’ve made it my mission to try and make up for the ones that weren’t so good to her.

I knew if I took her toFrost, one of her favorite nightspots owned by our friend Noah, she would have been suspicious straight away. That’s why I lead her intoStudio Sugar. Another of Noah’s clubs in midtown, but one she’s rarely been to at all. “I’m hungry,” she whines and I squeeze her hip, giving her a side smile as I open the door with my free hand for her to go inside first.

The music is loud. But there isn’t a soul around and I hope she doesn’t realize that. Pressing my lips to India’s neck I ask. “Should I be carrying candies in my pocket for these hungry emergencies?”

I lead her closer.

“And become an even dirtier old man?” She teases. “Maybe.” She curls into my side and the sense of bliss that pours down over me is immense.

I love this woman to distraction.

I will feed her and fuck her as often as she needs.

Take care of her, make her as happy as I can, give her whatever she wants …within reason, because not for all the eyelash batting from her will I allow that hockey winger from the Rangers into our bed.

She was joking.

But I still fucked the notion out of her head the night she teased me with it after we got home from a game. My minx knows how to push my buttons.

“Why couldn’t Noah come by the house for the documents? He’s being a lazy bum; doesn’t he know I have lobster waiting for me at the restaurant?”

I hide my smile, opening another door for her to walk through, my hand on her back. “I’ll feed you very soon.”

A hungry India is a moody India. Fuck, she is going to kill me in 3….2….

“SURPRISE!” The room I usher her into erupts in noise from family and friends gathered to celebrate my girl.

“Grayson…” she breaths and I do believe for the first time ever that my India is speechless. She stands there, before backing up into me. I curl an arm around her, resting my fingers to her belly. She’s wearing a short thigh length turquoise dress, utterly beautiful, and she chose a pair of Manolo Blahnik to go with it.

My mouth stretches into a smile pressed against her throat. People clapping and hollering. She’ll recognize every face. “Happy birthday, my sweetheart.”

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