I guess it could have been worse.

It could have been the bastard husband I caught her with. That's initially who I'd thought it was. So she leaves me for an appointment, which later turns out to be a romantic reunion in central park with someone from Harvard. I was a fucking fool. Back in the suite I open the fridge and grab a bottle of water, which I drink from in several large desperate gulps.

The banging on the suite door a few moments later is loud and insistent. I know exactly what I'm going to find behind it before I even open it. Despite this, I'm still not prepared for the wave of rage that blows over me when I pull it open. She's practically growling at me. Beautiful mouth in a hard red line, green eyes dark with anger.

No doubt she's fuming that I've interrupted her lovers' picnic. It further irritates me that she looks fucking divine in a white lace summer dress which is tight over her breasts and waist, which then flares out about her bare legs. She looks elegant and delicate and my cock roars at the sight of her. I want to rip it from her body before fucking her, hard. Just to show her that she's mine.

I don't invite her in. Instead, I leave the door open and walking back into the suite. I hear it slam closed behind me as I gulp down the last of the chilled water. Finally, I turn to face her, glowering.

"How dare you embarrass me like that?" She says finally.

"Oh, so you're the injured party here? Of course, you are Charlie. How could you not be." I nod sarcastically. She flinches and her eyes seem to change colour. Going from dark to light in an instant.

"I never took you for an idiot, Christian." She says.

"Well, I certainly feel like one, Charlie.

"He's a friend, from college."

I smirk. "What like I was a friend? Did you fuck all of your friends from Harvard after a night of strip poker and too much scotch? Or just me and him?" She steps forward and slaps me across the face. It's sharp and loud and totally deserved. Did I actually just ask her that?

"I'm leaving now. This is done." She says quietly, tears clearly shimmering behind her eyes. Her whole body seems to be vibrating with emotion. I watch her turn and walk away from me, and I allow her to get as far as the the door before I stride across the room and shove my foot against it, closing it again. "Christian, move. I don't want to do this. I need to go."

"Explain to me what I saw down there."

She looks up at me, pleading with her eyes. "That I even need to makes me feel sick. That you would say those things. Think those things. You. Now." She shakes her head.

"I was angry." I'm still angry.

"So was Matthew when he thought I was fucking Gideon." She snaps, pointedly. She brings her hand to her neck, which is yet again covered with a scarf. Floral this time. Pink and green flowers, which match her cheeks and her eyes.

I let go of the door immediately and take a step back away from her. "I'd never hurt you." My voice is bare. That she'd think I'd do that makes me feel sick.

"I shouldn't have hit you," She looks down. "I'm sorry."

"I deserved it."

She shakes her head in disagreement. "You really think I'd spend the night with you and then leave you in the morning to meet another man for the exact same reason." She sounds incredulous. "You really think that of me Christian?"

Laid out like that it sounds ridiculous. "It looked like.. He was so close to you. Touching you." I wanted to hurt him for that. "It's clear he wants you."

There's a moment of silence. Then: "Yes. He does." Her words take me utterly by surprise. "He always has. But he knows it's never going to happen. He knows I don't feel that way about him. I never have."

"Why is he in New York?" I ask suspiciously. Yet I feel stupid now. Her truth has taken the wind right out of my sails. Why would she admit something like that to me if my suspicions were even remotely legitimate? Of course, the rational part of my brain knows she didn't leave me this morning to go meet him for sex. Why did the sight of her with another man enrage me like that anyway? I'd spent one night with her for Christ sake. She was still married. She wasn't mine. I had no claim on her. None. The thought is sobering.

"Apart from the fact that he's a friend visiting a friend?" She says, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, and apart from the fact that he wants you. The way he was holding you. I didn't like it." I feel my mouth harden and my nostrils flare.

She rolls her eyes. "I was telling him about Matt, about the divorce. He's a good friend. He was comforting me. That's all."

"He knows about the tape?" I frown. "He knows what's been going on?"

"Of course not." She shakes her head. "I didn't tell him any of that. But he knows I left him. He's actually here to persuade me to take a job offer. In London." She says meeting my eye. "I'm going to."

Excuse me? What the fuck?

The words rattle around my head. Hitting off everything, knocking everything over. Plans. Plans that I wasn't even aware I'd made. She was going to go to London. She was leaving me. She moves away from the door, and away from me and walks back into the suite.

"You're moving to London?" I ask incredulously, turning my head to her. She turns to face me and nods. A glimmer of hope pokes through at the uncertainty in her eyes.

"Yes. It's an amazing job. Curator of European Art at The Tate." She smiles. "The Tate Christian. My dream job. You remember?" She smiles.

"When?" I ask instead. Selfishly.

She meets my eye and swallows. " I leave in a week."

I feel my heart drop. Through my stomach and down. Then I think I hear it hit the floor. She was leaving me.

"Why?" I ask walking towards her.

She looks confused by the question. "Why not?" She shrugs. "There's nothing here for me anymore. I wasn't certain about it before today. Then last night happened and I was even less sure," She smiles at me. It's bright and warm and it makes my chest ache. I would never see it again. In five days, it would disappear from my life completely. Again. "But I'm not a child Christian. Fairy tales don't exist. We aren't going to live happily ever after. I get it. You're not what I need. I'm not what you need. Or if I am you haven't realised it yet." She smiles again, sad this time. How can a person smile when they're sad? Was that a skill you learned?

"I don't want you to go." I hear myself say.

"We haven't seen each other in 8 years, Christian. We spent one night together." She walks toward me and runs her hand through her hair. As she gets closer I smell her. Flowers and spring. Here I am standing in front of her smelling of sweat, and guilt and brokenness. I wasn't right for her. I wasn't what she needed. What the fuck could I offer her? Some weekends in my playroom? She turns to me and smiles again. "I spent the whole day thinking about it. Thinking about us. About you. What I realised is that perhaps that's it. Perhaps one night is all we get. And, to be honest, it's a whole lot more than I ever thought I'd have with you."

"I want more," I state simply. I literally have no idea what it even means, or if I'm capable of it, but I know that I want it with her. What was the alternative? Lose her again? No. The idea was inconceivable to me. "I need more," I affirm.

I go toward her and take her face in my hands. It's warm from the sun, and when I kiss her I can smell the heat of it too. I kiss her urgently, hoping to communicate the depth of my need, and that the idea of losing her again is not something I'm willing to consider. Can you communicate all of that with a kiss?

Closing my eyes, I lose myself in her necessary calming scent. When she wraps her arms around me, my body, like always, rejects the touch. Even hers. Even now. I grab her hands and pull them down away from my body. When I stop kissing her and pull back she looks dazed.

"I'm sorry," I say with a shake of my head. "I want you to touch me I just.."

"I guess I never have been great at doing what I'm told." She smiles.

"Ironically that's one of the things I like about you."

She smiles. "A dominant who wants a rebellious submissive. Yes... that's ironic alright." She laughs softly.

I smile at her and we are both silent for moments as we stare into each other's eyes. "I hated seeing you being touched by another man," I say as I run my hand down her face. "I thought it was Matthew. I thought..." I close my eyes and shake my head.

"Ah, I see." She nods. "You really didn't recognise Louis? He was one of my closest friends at Harvard." She asks. I don't remember paying much attention to anyone who was in Charlie's orbit quite frankly. She was the only thing I saw. I shake my head. "You must have met him a dozen times Christian. He's like some distant relative of the British royal family. People used to call him The Duke?"

"That's who that was?" I blurt. I did remember him. He used to trail after Charlie like a lost puppy even more than I did. He wore glasses then, and the same tweed jacket I think. How the hell did I not recognise him? I guess it was hard to recognise anything through the veil of misplaced rage and insecurity.

"Yes," She nods. "That was him. You terrified him downstairs by the way."

"Well, that was intentional. At the time anyway." I smirk. "I don't like people touching my things."

She frowns. "And I don't like people calling me their 'thing'." She says. I pull her into me and kiss the top of her head.

"I know you don't. That was intentional too." I squeeze her tight, already thinking about how I was going to convince her to stay with me. Not to leave me. We are silent for what feels like a long time as I hold her tight to me, nose in her hair breathing her deep.

"Christian?"

"Yes?"

"You're soaked with sweat. It's sort of turning me on right now."

I pull back to grin at her. "Hmmmm, well then let's go get you covered in it."