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Anne slowly opened her eyes as sunlight streamed through the window, falling across her face like dappled leaves of gold.
“Good morning, my love,” Gilbert said, gently running a hand through Anne's hair, his opposite arm behind her neck. “Happy anniversary.”
She smiled tiredly, closing her eyes again. “And to you too.”
Gilbert tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I love you so much, Anne-girl.”
Anne didn't respond, so Gilbert nudged her slightly.
“Mhm?”
“Anne-girl,” Gilbert said in mock offence. “Were you sleeping while I was talking to you?”
“I may have dozed off . . .”
“How rude of you.”
“It isn't my fault that your arm is the ideal pillow,” she said, giving him a kiss.
Gilbert returned the gesture. “Well,” he said with a smirk, “as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by your ‘dozing off’, I love you very much.”
Anne grinned. “I love you very much too.” He gave her another kiss.
“I can't believe we've been married for a year,” Anne said, beaming at her husband. “It feels as if we've been married forever but also as though it were only yesterday you carried me out of Green Gables.”
She nestled closer to Gilbert under the covers, her head resting on his chest. She felt him laugh slightly.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said, clearly failing to smother a giggle.
Anne raised a brow, and Gilbert's grin widened.
“You look adorable with your head poking out of the blankets,” he said, unable to contain himself.
Anne gaped at him, trying in vain to not smile. “Gilbert Blythe,” she said. “I will have you know that I am a distinguished lady.”
Gilbert finally managed to assume something of a sober expression. “Why, yes—of course. How could I have forgotten? My sincerest apologies, milady.”
Anne sniffed at him. “Never have I been so offended in my life, Dr Blythe.”
“Not once?”
She shook her head.
“Not even when that foolish boy in your class called you carrots?”
Anne’s lips twitched. “Not even then.”
“Well, words cannot even begin to express how sorry I am, ma’am.”
Anne scoffed. “If you think a mere apology will contrive to cover such a transgression, you are sorely mistaken.”
“Please, Mrs Blythe,” Gilbert said dramatically. “What must I do to gain your favour once more?”
“Well, Dr Blythe, I have it on good authority that you'll have to kiss me.”
“Is that all?”
“I suppose, for a crime so heinous as this one, you may have to kiss me several times.”
Gilbert smiled and drew her into a long, gentle kiss, then another.
“Do I now possess even the slightest hope of redeeming myself in your eyes, Mrs Blythe?” Their faces were still bare centimetres apart, and it was getting increasingly difficult for Anne to not become lost in those soft hazel eyes.
“I believe you do,” she said, shaking herself out of her daze. “Although I may require further kisses later on. It's quite a severe insult . . .” Anne paused, trying to remember what had started them on this tangent, “. . . doing what you did.”
“Well,” Gilbert said. “I have something for you that may aid in the earning of your forgiveness.”
He reached over and pulled something out of his nightstand drawer, then handed it to her. It was a black box, small enough to fit in Anne's hand. The letters E.B. were engraved in the lid in an elegant, sweeping font.
“Open it,” Gilbert said excitedly.
Anne carefully took off the lid and gasped. Nestled in the box was a blue brooch bordered with gold. In the centre, gleaming pearls surrounded a twisting design of flowers formed by the same gem.
“Gilbert,” she said in breathless awe. “How much did you spend on this? It must have cost a fortune!”
“It's an antique,” Gilbert said, “and it has a few scratches on the back, so it wasn't nearly as expensive as if I'd bought it new, and I've been saving up for a long time now. Do you not like it? I'll buy you a different one if you don't.”
“No no no,” Anne said hurriedly, then went back to admiring the brooch. “It’s perfect . . . I love it so much . . .”
“Oh, thank goodness. I was so worried you wouldn't—”
Before Gilbert could finish his sentence, Anne tackled him into a hug, which he enthusiastically returned.
“It’s perfect,” Anne said again. “You're perfect. I can't believe . . .” She trailed off, feeling herself tear up.
“Anne?” Gilbert asked. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, but he pulled away from her to see her face anyway.
“Anne-girl,” he said, frowning—the little crease between his brows was so precious— “what's the matter?”
“Nothing,” Anne said, laughing slightly. “These are tears of happiness, Gilbert. Tears of the most delightful, pure happiness.”
Gilbert's anxious expression gave way to a smile and he wiped away some of her tears. “Good. I love you so much, my Annest-of-Annes.”
“I love you too, my darling Gil,” Anne said, “I love you more than I ever thought possible. You know, when I was young, I never could have imagined I'd marry anyone, let alone . . . someone like you.”
“I always figured I'd marry some boring farm girl and maybe fall in love with her if I was lucky,” Gilbert said. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze wandering over the freckled face of his beloved wife. “Oh, how wrong I was . . .”
Anne smiled, more tears overcoming her. “I still can't believe that out of all the girls in Avonlea, Queens, and Redmond, you chose me.”
“I did as any intelligent man would have done,” Gilbert said matter-of-factly, “and married the most delightful woman in the world, because—contrary to popular belief—I have more than half a brain.”
Anne raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Really? You do? When did that happen? I hadn't noticed.”
Gilbert laughed. “You're vicious, my darling. Absolutely vicious.”
“You love me,” said Anne with a wicked smile.
“How could I not?” said Gilbert as he gave her another kiss.
Anne reached up and brushed a dark curl out of his face, running her fingers along his cheek. Gilbert really was very handsome. How it had taken Anne so many years to notice was beyond her.
Gilbert turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. “I'm quite certain I could stay like this forever, Anne-girl.”
“But alas,” Anne said, pulled from her thoughts, “I do need to get up to get your gift.”
“That can wait a few minutes, can't it?”
“If I don't do it now I'll forget.”
Gilbert sighed but let her get up. When she found his gift, tucked away in her dresser drawer, the tiny piece of paper felt painfully simple compared to what he'd gotten her.
“I'm sorry it's so small,” she said as she got back into bed beside him. “It’s just a little poem.”
“A little poem sounds absolutely delightful,” Gilbert said as she handed him the rolled-up paper. He opened it gingerly and began to read it aloud:
“With you I shall ever be;
Over land and sea
My thoughts will companion you;
With yours shall my laughter chime,
And my step keep time
In the dusk and dew
With yours in blithesome rhyme;
In all of your joy shall I rejoice,
On my lips your sorrow shall find a voice,
And when your tears in bitterness fall
Mine shall mingle with them all;
With you in waking and dream I shall be,
In the place of shadow and memory,
Under young springtime moons,
And on harvest noons,
And when the stars are withdrawn
From the white pathway of the dawn.”
“I know it hardly rivals the brooch,” Anne said when he had finished. “I would have gotten you more if I had known you were going to get me something like that.”
“It's lovely,” he assured her with a smile. “Who is it by?”
Anne blushed slightly. “Me.”
Something in Gilbert's expression changed, and he looked away.
“What do you mean it ‘hardly rivals’ the brooch?” he asked with a slight laugh. “It—You’re . . .”
“Gilbert?” Anne asked. He turned towards to her, and she realized he was starting to cry.
“Sorry,” he said. “I—I love you so much, Anne. This is so much better than some nice piece of jewelry. That brooch pales in comparison to this.” He wiped his cheek. “Thank you, Anne.”
He pulled her into a hug, which she gladly returned. His arms around her felt so right. How had they already been married a year? It still felt surreal. She imagined her and Gilbert, many years from now, when they were both old and grey, laying in bed together like they did now, made so divinely happy just by the other's presence. How had she managed to marry a man so brilliant and wonderful and spectacular as Gilbert Blythe?
“I love you, Gil,” she said softly. “I always will.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I have no doubt about it,” Gilbert said. She could hear the grin in his voice as he spoke. “I feel much the same about you, my Queen Anne.”
Before Anne could shower him with kisses, someone knocked on the bedroom door.
“Yes?” Gilbert called, making no attempt to move out of their somewhat compromising position.
“Will you and Mrs Dr dear be coming down for breakfast,” Susan's voice asked from the hall, “or will you take it in bed today?”
“We’ll be down soon,” Anne answered.
“I'll have pancakes made for the two of you once you come out,” Susan said, “and some pie if you want it.”
The couple thanked her, and her footsteps soon faded down the hallway.
Anne made a move to get up, but Gilbert stopped her.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
Anne raised a brow. “To get breakfast?”
Gilbert shook his head. “You said we’d be down soon, not immediately.”
“Well, we have to get dressed,” Anne said, trying again to move. Gilbert pulled her back to him, kissing her cheek.
“Gilbert!” she laughed. “What on earth are you doing?”
“You can't leave yet,” he said.
“There's pie,” she said.
“My love for pie is greatly overshadowed by my love for you.”
“Regardless, Susan will be expecting us.”
“‘Man meddle not with me,’” Gilbert said determinedly. “‘I have her, and will hold her!’”
Anne grinned at the quotation, and then at the fact that she was married to a man who could quote Jane Eyre. “I suppose I can be held for a little bit longer.” She raised an eyebrow. “So long as you promise me you don't have a secret wife locked in the attic.”
Gilbert smiled. “I assure you I do not.”
“Then we can stay for a few more minutes.”
“Good,” Gilbert said, kissing the top of her head. “I could spend eternity with you, my sweetest Anne-girl.”
“And I with you, my darling Gil.”