Eight months later

I park the car at the bottom of the hill, near the gate and climb out. In the back seat, he's fighting two plastic dinosaurs against each other; "raaaaaaaaar, baaaaaaaaaang, deaaaaaaaaaaaaad!!!!"

We'd talked about it at length, and for days, but I still don't know that it was a good idea bringing him here. I'd kept him away from the funeral - I didn't even want to be at the fucking thing — but he needs to say goodbye. I need him to know that she's gone. Properly gone. He'd never know the facts of how and why, but I need him to say his goodbyes.

"Alright buddy, let's go. Grab the flowers."

Unbuckling his seatbelt, I hook my hands under his arms and haul him out of the car, little legs swinging. "We have to walk up the hill a bit, you want your hat on?"

He shakes his head, but I grab it anyway and stuff it in the back pocket of my jeans. The sky looks like a water balloon about ready to burst; sagging, heavy, grey clouds. I crouch down to fasten up his raincoat, a bright-yellow, hooded number, the same colour as the daffodils he's holding. I pull up the hood, but he reaches up with his free hand and pushes back down again. When I do it again, he pushes it back down again and we do this until he bursts into a fit of giggles. Good sign that he's laughing. I smile at him and ruffle his mop of hair and take his hand to start pulling him up the hill.

About halfway up on the left-hand side, we pass a grave that has a collection of toys on it. My heart sinks and my stomach flips as I read the inscription on the white marble headstone: Jacob James Maxwell.

Our little angel - Gone to be with the rest of God's angels.

8th May 2010 - 1st May 2016.

Jesus fucking Christ. Six-years old. I try and tug Caleb past before he notices, but of course, I fail. Of course, he wants to stop and look at the toys. Buzz Lightyear. Purple soft toy dragon. Minion figures. He wasn't about to miss those. And given what he's about to have to look at, I decide to let him wander over to the well-tended grave and see it up close. There's a picture of little Jacob on it. A cute-looking kid with almost black hair, his most prominent feature being a triangular gap between his two front teeth. If he'd grown up he'd have gotten that fixed. But he'll never grow up. He'll have that gap in his teeth forever. I swallow hard and clutch Caleb's hand tighter.

"How did he die?" Cale asks, soft little voice cutting through pitch-dark thoughts.

"Not sure. Doesn't say. He might have been sick."

"What kind of sick?"

"The really bad kind."

"That's when you die? When you're really bad kind of sick?"

"Not always, no."

"His mummy and daddy must be sad."

My stomach lurches again. Fucking hell, I'm going to throw up. My forehead breaks out in sweat, my hands too, so that I feel my grip on his slip a little. I let go of his hand and wipe my palm on my thigh before retaking it.

"Am sure they are, buddy." I nod. "Let's keep going, yeah? Then we can go for ice-cream."

He nods and lets me pull him back to the path.

Her stone is black. Shiny gold engraving. No picture. There are some nice pink flowers around the side. Wonder who brought them. I fucking hate this place. I never wanted to set foot in this place again. This is the last time I'll come here - ever. I don't belong here. Caleb doesn't belong here either. If he wanted to come back when he was older, then that was his choice. But I'd plant a tree or something, and we could visit that instead in the meantime.

"Why is there no picture of her?" he asks.

"Um, cause she didn't want one." She probably would have wanted one. But then, she'd have liked a lot of things I wasn't ever going to give her.

"Why?"

"Not sure mate, she just didn't."

Fuck, I wish Alex was here with me. Alex was better at this. She'd always been better at explaining things to him in ways that made sense to his little head. She'd always been better at everything.

As he lets go of my hand and crouches in front of the grave, I think I might pass out. Guilt could do that I'd found. I'd never considered the amount of guilt I'd have to swallow after. Self-hatred I knew well. I wore it comfortably and always would. But guilt had never plagued me, not really, not even over Dan. So, this was unexpected.

Lifting off my cap, I drag a hand through my  hair and down over my face and take a deep breath. Get it together. For him. You owe him that much.

"They made us say a prayer at nursery," he says. "But I don't member the words." He reaches out and brushes his stubby little fingers over the orange crinkled leaves that are lying on the base of the stone, wiping them away.

"That's okay mate," I tell him. "Why don't you just say something else then? Tell her something."

"I'm going to live in 'merica," he says, after thinking about it hard. "Next to the beach. It's warm there and we have a swimming pool and dad says I can have a dog."

In the newly-cleared space, he sets the flowers down on their side, stems tied with a white elastic band covered with a pale blue ribbon. He'd picked them himself from the large buckets out the front.

Her stone doesn't say how she died. It also doesn't say she's with the angels now. Cause she isn't. That's some bullshit they tell children and grieving people and I'm neither of those things. My name was also nowhere to be seen - I didn't belong there either. I'd kept it simple. Factual.

Victoria Elizabeth Ward.

1984 - 2016

Mother, Daughter, Niece & Friend.

It was like a terrible fucking Facebook bio. 'Hairdresser, tea-drinker, vodka-lover, animal-hater.' The alternative, what I'd wanted to have written on the overpriced slab of polished stone, well that would have cost less and been far more fucking apt: Junkie Bitch - got what she deserved.

Not that he'd ever know that.  He'd never know who and what she really was. He'd never know how easy it had all been for me. How one call had written his mother's death warrant. How really she'd written it herself. How her knowing what was about to go down and keeping me from Alex wasn't about to go unpunished. I'd have killed her with my bare fucking hands. I almost had. In the end, she'd cracked, told me what should have been fucking obvious. But it was too late for forgiveness where Vicky was concerned. If Alex hadn't saved herself I'd have lost her.

Yeah. Twisted Junkie Bitch who got what she deserved is what she'd always be to me. Even if to Cale she'd be the first mother he'd ever had. I could only hope that over the years, bit by bit, memories of her would fade and wash away. Replaced by new ones: Alex. Sisters. Brothers. Dogs. Beaches. Sun. Happiness. Love. He was young enough that he didn't have too many memories that required washing away: not like I did.

I had new ones now, of course, lighter ones; but the darkest, blackest memories were always the hardest to wash away - I knew that better than most. And the memory of that night would never leave me. I'd walked my whole life through a hundred times on that drive the night I'd tried to get to her. Back, left turn, forward, back, right turn, a different choice this way, another one that way, back, forward, forward, back. Don't look up. That night, the first night I saw her, that's the only other option I could have made. Don't look up. Don't look up.

But what the fuck good was that? I'd waited my whole life for her. To feel the way she made me feel. She was the other half of me. Without her I was nothing. I'd known that long ago. The same way I'd known that all my choices had led me to her. She was the only choice open to me. Her. Just her. A laugh, a moan, a cry, French-talking in bed, strawberries, a smile. A photo album of moments that was far more than I deserved.

More memories now though, darker, harder to wash away: a bathroom floor, a battered face, an ambulance, a hospital bed, tubes, wires, plastic bags of air, needles in the pale white skin of her arm, insides explored. Doctors looking for life or death.

I did that to her. I did that, because I was looking forward and not back. Because since I met her, I was looking forward and not back. Because since I met her, I never wanted to look backwards. Only forward. Only her.

I'd been afforded a miracle that night, but for the rest of my life, in those quiet, dark moments, I know I'll watch her die over and over and over again, like I did on that night. Bleeding out in my arms on a cold bathroom floor. Perfect and unbroken. She was alive only because she was the bravest person I'd ever known. Because she did what she had to do. I hadn't saved her. She'd saved herself. Just like she'd saved me.

***

They give me a look, like they know me and what I've done and like maybe I've lost my fucking head coming here. Like maybe I won't be able to walk back out once they shut those reinforced doors behind me. Maybe I won't. A flicker of paranoia that makes me jumpy, makes my palms sweat, makes my heart thud. Then it's gone.

The fat one steps forward with a scowl that says he's used to dealing with human waste all day and so I better not mess with him. He'd happily throw me inside where I belonged.

"Hat off," he orders, then: "Arms."

I stick them up and out, mimicking a scarecrow and he kicks my legs apart. I'm certain then that he does know me. My name. What it still means. He saw my name on the sheet so he must. He skims his wide tattooed hands over the leg of my jeans and then up around my stomach and over my back.

"Turn your pockets out. All of them. Everything goes in the metal box. Keys, wallet, phone, the lot." There's an automated sound to his voice. Like he does this a lot. A few times a day, every day, for years. Fodder, that's what we are to him.

When I'm de-weaponised, he moves me along down a corridor painted the colour of a rain-heavy sky, with a wine-coloured rubber floor where another door buzzes and opens.

The folk behind me and in front are a mixture of nervous and bored. Some have been here a lot. Others not. A good-looking, older woman with a work dress on like Alex would wear, her hair pulled back from her head, looks like she's about to cry. She's got a teenage girl with her, who now looks lost without her mobile phone. A younger woman, tanned with a model figure gives me a loaded smile, licking her tongue over a pierced lip. She has a ring in her nose too. A bored woman sighs as the inner door opens a little, stops, opens some more, stops. The automatic motor is as bored as everyone else who works here.

We're led into a classroom-sized space and told to take a seat at one of the tables. Signs on the walls tell us what to do and what not to do. (Do not cross the yellow lines. No mobile phones, no kissing, no spitting — I'm certain there's an over-supply of no spitting signs and people just stick them up anywhere — no touching, no smoking.) There's a bookcase on the wall, inside the yellow line, with four books on it. Alex has more than that on her fucking bedside table. There's board-games too and I smile at the idea of that. Sitting here playing Connect Four with him until the bell rings. Yeah. Sure.

When the bell does ring, the sound of another automated door opens and at the far end of the room people start to file in. Uniformed, baton-carrying soldiers of Her Majesty come in first. Then those staying here at her pleasure follow. Grey jumpers, darker grey trousers, white just-out-the-box unbranded trainers that have barely had a sniff of the outside. Not that he'd mind the lack of design. Dan wasn't that into labels; he much preferred hiding his money. Hiding it in the Seychelles, or in legit-but-untraceable streams: laundrettes, bars, taxi companies.

He's last through the door; a gap between him and the wide Asian wearing the traditional dress in front of him. He scans the room slowly, still managing to look like he fucking owns the place, still managing to look too big for the room and like he might have to duck down to move about inside it.

When he sees me he stops walking, eyes absent of anything I can name — then he smiles. He takes his time getting to me, walking with a slight limp I notice, leaning to one side as he makes his way to the far right of the room where I'm sat waiting for him. I'd looked around before I'd chosen this seat. My back to the wall. Somewhere covered on one side. Somewhere I could see what was coming.  Not that I'm expecting to have to be alert - but you couldn't take any chances. He's the last to sit down and he keeps his eyes on mine as he pulls out the chair and drops down into it.

"You look good, son," he says, after a minute of silence, leaning back in the plastic chair that also looks too small for him.

"You too Dan." He does, in fact. The glasses and neat beard make him look like a professor from one of those history programmes Alex is mental about, instead of one of London's most wanted.

"Didn't think you'd come," he lies.

He knew I'd come. Because he knows me.

"I wasn't going to," I lie back, looking at my hands, my half-chewed nail, the table. Alex had asked me why I needed to come. She'd held it up under the magnifying glass and watched it squirm. Because I have to. I need to look him in the eye. He deserves that much. "But here I am."

"Here you are."

I lift my eyes to his and hold them for as long as possible. You wouldn't know it to look at him; the calm, unbothered look he has was always one of his greatest assets, but I've no doubt his mind is swimming in depths of vengeful, violent depravity right now, the kind of which would make the plans I'd had for Kev look like a game of Connect Four.

"How was Victoria's service?" he asks after a moment, eyes heavy but without any emotion I recognise. "You did it proper I'm assuming?" I've no idea what he considers to be proper, so I look him in the eye with a question. "Church? Priest? Burial?" he clarifies.

I nod, unable to find any words. If he knows I put her in the ground in more ways than one, he doesn't let it show on his face. But Dan has always been able to see straight through me, right through to the other side. He nods back, apparently satisfied.

He's quiet for so long that I wonder if maybe this was all he wanted me here for, and now that I've filled him in, I should get off. But then his eyes turn from silver to ice blue and he gives me a look that would make any other person's blood run cold. Not me though. Cause I'd already experienced the most terrifying thing a human could experience. And she lived through it.

"So, you want an apology then?" I ask him to break the silence. "Want me to tell you I'm sorry? That why I'm here Dan?" Mouthy little prick, I can almost hear him say.

One beat. Two. Then he smiles, his eyes lighting up again with humour. "You even think about telling me you're sorry Jay and I'll cross this table and choke the fucking life out of you," he says, calmly. "Another 25 years ain't much to me at this point, son."

My throat heats up as I swallow back my response. The bored teenager across the other side of the room is playing with her hair, as her dad, I think, explains how it's all going to be all right. The mother is less convinced. She has her head in her hands and looks to be crying. They look well-off. Two holidays a year and a double garage, I'll bet. He's ripped some people off most likely. He ain't murdered anybody that's for sure. Doesn't look the type. Not like I did for example. When I bring my eyes back to Dan he's watching me carefully, eyes back to that same calm blue.

"So why am I here? You had something you wanted to say to me, that's what he said?"

When his lawyer had gotten in touch it was put to me like a polite invitation. But I knew what it really was. An order. Still taking orders from him, even now.

"What was it then?" he asks, conversationally, the tone and change of direction confusing me for a second. "What she have?"

I tense. I don't want him thinking about her or talking about her. I want her a million fucking miles away from him and his thoughts and his person and his reach. Which she would be soon. Two days and then we were out of here. Gone. The boxes were already there, filling up a huge fully-furnished stone and wood house next to the beach. A blue pool that looked cool and refreshing, even on the screen of her laptop. Her sister had organised everything. Two days. Dan urges me to answer with the whites of his eyes.

"A girl," I say, quietly.

His face softens and he nods. "She got a name?"

I think about not telling him, but then he gives me another look. A look that says "you stole everything from me you insolent traitorous little prick, so don't fucking tempt me, yeah?"

"Emilia," I tell him. The space over my chest where the name is marked in dark copperplate font next to Alex's burns and vibrates, as I say my daughter's name out loud.

"Emilia" He sighs. "Beautiful. Well, that's just fucking beautiful innit?" He sits forward and I have to try very fucking hard not to flinch. "She look like her mother or you?"

Wicker basket. Bright green unfocused eyes — her mothers. Full lips — mine. Button nose — Cale. Her hair is a small, circular patch of reddish gold that was more the shade of Alex's, but which was getting lighter every day. Alex thinks it will darken like hers, but I'm not so sure. Cale's darkened a little before going blonde. Daddy she sleeps a lot. Can I hold her? She drinks soo much milk. I don't like milk. Can I feed her? She was the most perfect thing I'd ever seen. Skin like strawberry milk and smooth like velvet, like Alex's. Smart alert eyes, like Alex's.

"She's more like her mother," I admit, proudly.

"Ahhh. A real little princess then." He nods, smiling. "Good for you son, happy for you. Happy for you both — I mean that."

Something sad flickers across his face then, but it's gone just as quickly.

My spine is itching. My arse is clenched. My legs numb. Tight everywhere. This was off. All of it. What the fuck am I doing here? This is what he had to tell me? That he was happy for me? I was only here because I felt like there might be something noble and honourable about coming. About looking him in the eye and owning up to what I'd done. Not the Vicky thing — no good could come of owning up to that — but for what I'd done to him personally. I could at least own up to that. Now I'm thinking: What the fuck was I on? Alex hadn't wanted me to come. I knew that. But she'd said nothing more on it once she knew my mind was made up. As I left, she'd just told me she loved me.

"Dan..." I shift in my chair, uncomfortable; too hot and leaden with a guilt that I'd just about convinced myself I didn't feel. I did what I had to do.

"I've had a lot of time to think in here, Jay." He cuts me off before I can say anything more. "More time than I ever had out there. Eight months is a long fucking time in a box with a portable TV and no window. But it calms the mind it does, never got a fucking minute to think out there. Always one thing needing sorted or another, always someone wanting one thing or another. Trying to take everything away from you. Shit you think you need. It's amazing not having anything else they can take away from you," he says, in a resigned kinda tone. "Been learning Italian as well. They got some Italian bit that comes in twice a week and teaches us how to ask for wine and bread and tell the time — like any of us will have the chance to use it — maybe they want to twist the knife in, sick fuckers." He laughs a soft laugh that reaches his eyes for a change.

"Dan..." I try again.

"A painting class too. Bloody painting; me." Another laugh, a shake of his head in disbelief. "Not bad at it either turns out. Maybe I shoulda been doing that all this blooming time? Coulda been making millions, selling it off to posh wankers with more money than sense."

"Dan, for fuck sake..."

"Just fucking shut up and let me speak will ya?" He darkens instantly.

I stiffen once more, but my mouth closes in its usual fashion. Obedient as always. We stare at each other over the nailed down metal table for a bit, silent, but thinking loud.

"I get why you did it," he says, eventually. My eyes narrow a little. He smiles. "I know you inside and out Jay, always have."

He knows me inside and out yet he didn't know I was planning to sell him up the fucking river. Yeah, Dan, keep telling yourself that mate.

"You weren't cut out for all of that nonsense, not really. I tried to make you into something you weren't. Big Sal said you'd be worth something, and I agreed with him on that. So, for years I tried. But you weren't that. You were never that."

"Dan, let's not fuck about, I'm exactly that. You made me exactly that," I growl, angry myself now.

If I wasn't that, then how come I'd had to crawl my way out of our pile of shit by my fingernails? How come I'd only made it out by the skin of my teeth? How come I could still fucking smell it everywhere I went? I had to live every single day, knowing she could see right down into me at who I was and what I'd done. Because I was that. I didn't deserve her. Would never deserve her, because deep down I was coated in shit and it was the sort of shit that never wiped clean.

"Nah, you weren't." Dan sighs. It's not an impatient sigh, but the kind of sigh that says 'I'm not angry, just disappointed.' "Don't think you even wanted to be - talked a good game, made everyone believe you were" - a sly smile - "but deep down you weren't. That girl of yours saw right through the bullshit, didn't she?"

"Yeah well, that's because she sees what she wants to see..." I mutter quietly, looking down at my hands again.

"Don't we all?" he says, heavily. When I look up at him he's watching me hard, peeling away the layers of lies and shit and pretence like he's always done. Like Alex has always done. Dan and Alex were very alike in how they chose to look at me. "Anyway" - another sigh, another stroke of a weathered hand across his new beard - "what that piece of pikey scum did — tried to do to that girl — pregnant as well — well, that was uncalled for. You should have stopped that, you fucking know that right?" He informs me. "Your fault, Jay, that shit's on you son, no one else."

"Yeah I know that, Dan."

"You should have ended him when you had the chance, like we talked about, like you said you were going to..."

"Yeah I know that too, Dan, I know that."

I'll always fucking know that. I almost lost her. Almost killed her. Because I was trying to look forward and not back. Because I was still pretending I was something I wasn't. Because I let him walk when I should have killed him. Because I didn't want her to see me for what I really was.

"Now what the fuck am I doing here? What do you want with me? To tell me this isn't done? To warn me not to stop looking over my shoulder, over my family's shoulder? If that's it, then just fucking say it yeah, because I got places to be."

I hated being away from her for any length of time and this was just making me edgy now.

He says nothing. Just sits there looking relaxed as you like and watching me unravel.

With an impatient sigh I lean forward a little. "I gave them Tony Cartwright. Me. I walked right in there with his name and location and you know how it goes from there Dan.  He made the deal and he'll take the stand - you know he will - and that's going to put you away for a very long time. You aren't going to see the light of day for years and that's down to me. You're going to be taking Italian lessons and painting fruit on fucking canvas and looking out of a letterbox window in a door for the next fifteen to twenty, and it's down to me. So, fucking say it already. Just say it. Because like I said, I got a lot of shit on mate." I fire, sitting back in the chair.

I'm aware that I'm sitting exactly like the moody teenage girl two tables away: slouched back, head down, eyes filled with doubt as my father explains how it's all going to go from here on out.

Dan stares at me a long time. Calculating, planning, contemplating. Maybe he's imagining all the ways he'll kill me. Hurt Alex. Hurt the pink bundle of soft flesh that is my baby daughter. My fists curl. My spine stiffens with rage. My muscles flooding with blood and power. Never going to happen. Never again. Two days and we were out of here. I'd look back, I'd always look back now, but with the ocean on one side - like the wall in this room was right now - it was going to be a whole lot easier to protect them from what I could see coming.

"I wanted to tell you that we were done," he says, finally.

"What you on about? I know we're done." I frown, confused.

A flash of annoyance lights up his face. "No one knows what people are prepared to give up until it all comes right down to it. When there ain't nothing else clouding nothing else. One thing, that's all it takes."

"I've no clue what you're on about." My head hurts and there's a pounding behind my eyes that only Alex's hands could help get rid of now. She'd press deep circles on my temples, over my forehead, on the top of my head. Pads of her thumbs on my sinuses. Soft but firm. Like moulding clay.

"She was your one thing..." Dan says. "Not your mother. Or your brother. Or Cale. Her. Should have known that... I did know it. Just never saw it coming."

Never saw it coming, he says. Well, I never saw Alex coming either. "Yeah, she is. We done then?" I move to stand.

"Sit the fuck down." He growls quietly, fist banging slightly on the table. Again, chained by years of obedience, I do what he tells me to and lower my body back into the chair.

"I tried to give you a shot," he says, after a moment of staring dead into my eyes. "Tried to make you something. Fuck knows you never had much of a chance, did you? Sometimes, we're given a life we don't want, don't know what to do with, don't deserve - know what I mean?"

He sounds pissed now. Dan only spoke like this, deep and meaningful, what's-it-all-about shit when he was knee-deep in single malt. What life didn't I deserve? Alex? I know I didn't deserve Alex. That what he's getting at? I drop my eyes from his, focus on a scratch in the grainy plastic table. It reminds me of the kind you'd find in a greasy spoon place off Bromley High Street. When I don't answer him, he lets out a breath and shakes his head. "Oh, for fuck sake Jay, you really gonna make me say it?"

"You're gonna have to, Dan, because I don't have a clue what you're on about."

He rolls his eyes and looks about like he can't fucking believe I'm this dense. Then he looks me right in the eye once more. "I forgive you, alright."

I wait. Wait for him to laugh or smile or reach across the table to choke the life out me like he suggested earlier he might do. But he does nothing. Just stares at me. Calm. Controlled. At peace.

"You forgive me?" I try a smile, but it doesn't get very far on my face before I'm shaking my head in disbelief. He forgives me. Fucking hilarious. Best thing I've ever heard. Why isn't he laughing? Why aren't I?

I try a laugh, but it fades out a second later when I realise his expression still hasn't changed. He isn't even smiling a little. He's as serious as I've ever fucking seen him. I stare at him, stunned, speechless. In the silence, I contemplate telling him how Vicky really died. Something. Anything to make him act like I need him to. Like I deserve.

"Dan, you're not ma—."

"You ever gonna learn when to stop fucking talking, son?" He cuts me off, flared nostrils about to breathe fire down on me. My mouth closes again as he stares me down. "Now, you got something more to tell me, Jay, or we done here? Cause if we're done here then good, because I got a half finished still-life to get back to before the colours set or I have to re-do the whole fucking thing from scratch. So, we done or are we done?"

One beat. Two beats. Three beats. Ten.  "We're done," I say.

A tiny whisper of a smile. Gone in a fraction of an instant.  "Hmph. Thought so." He nods. "Now, get the fuck out of my sight and don't ever let me set eyes on you again, yeah?"

***

Whenever she's late, I always try to remind myself that I waited 33 years for her and so ten more minutes won't fucking kill me.

But I was impatient when it came to her. When I wasn't with her, it was just a long empty wait until I was again. After watching her die over and over again in my head, that feeling of being away from her was now like a physical pain. And fear was painful. I'd forgotten that.

Where the fuck is she?

I pick my phone up again and contemplate ringing her. She's only five minutes late. I check my pocket again for the box, tapping my hand lightly against the fabric of my trouser pocket. I hope she likes it. Robyn said she would. Rob knew her tastes a bit better than me, and so I'd deferred to her on this one. I knew Alex's body and mind and soul, and I was learning her taste in other things over time - but I couldn't fuck this up. I'd waited too long already.  After my first stupid half-arsed proposal that night in the car, this had to be perfect. She deserved it to be perfect.

She thought this was a just a child free 'Goodbye London' dinner, but it was more than that. I wanted to ask her again before we left for California, and I'd brought her to this place as a half-joke, mainly because I knew she'd laugh that fucking laugh when she read my card telling her where to meet me. She was the mother of my daughter, she would be Caleb's mother in every way that mattered, and tonight when we left this place, she'd be something else.  I can't fuck this up. Her image, the one she'd probably carried with her her whole life, had to be delivered, by me, someone who'd fucked up everything their entire life.

Well, least the ring would be right.

I'm sweating. I contemplate taking the suit jacket off, but I'll wait until she gets here first. Thank fuck I hadn't worn a tie.

A noise slightly to my left disrupts my thoughts, the sound of a door opening behind the heavy, black velvet curtain. The sound of voices, one male and then female. The only female voice that has been capable of turning me into a nervous fucking wreck. I'd happily hear nothing else but that voice until the day I died - though the sound of our daughter's laughter was close. But as far as sounds go, Alex's voice ruined me in the best way.

"Oh, thank you - just through here?"

"Yes, just through the curtain on your right," the waiter says.

"Thanks so much."

I turn my head just as she steps through it. My heart stops, then starts thudding loudly in my ear. Fucking hell.

She stops moving. Then she smiles, her eyes widening as she casts a quick look around the space, before bringing her eyes back to me. I have no words to describe how she looks but I've a lot of thoughts. Filthy, depraved, disgusting thoughts that don't belong in a private dining room at The Dorchester.

She's wearing a long black dress which hits the floor, open-toed heels poking out from beneath. The front comes to a low V down almost to her stomach and I can see from here there's no way she's wearing a bra. Is she fucking kidding me?  The skin of her neck and chest and arms is pale creamy perfection and stands out against the black of the dress which looks like silk. Her hair is pulled up away from her face, a style she rarely wears, but it makes her neck look long and graceful. A pair of gold pearl earrings dangle against the skin there making my mouth water.

"What have you done?" she asks, a beautiful red-lipped smile on her face, earrings glittering as she shakes her head at me.

As she comes towards me, clutching hard to a small, silver bag which looks like it's made of metal, my cock hardens further. The top half of the dress leaves nothing to my imagination - nothing to anyone's imagination frankly - which is already thinking about peeling the straps down her arms and kissing and licking my way across her body. Can I fuck her here? I paid a lot of fucking money for this place, so I don't see why not.

It takes me a second to drag my eyes up to her face. "Told you I'd bring you here one day, didn't I?" I smile, standing up from the stool to pull her into me. In these heels, she's almost as tall as me, which I like.

Wrapping my arm around her I press my mouth against her throat first and lick my tongue up it, sucking it softly just below her ear. She smells bloody incredible - an exotic fragrant spice that sends my blood wild.  When she wraps her arm up and around my neck, I press my lips to hers and kiss her. She kisses me back, moaning softly as I slide my tongue deep into her mouth. She tastes of the champagne I'd had sent up to our room for her back at the hotel. I'm glad she'd drunk some. I'd ordered it along with the flowers and the card with the note about where and what time she was to meet me.

When I pull back from her mouth I lick the taste of her from my lips and move back to the small corner bar, where I pour us both a glass of champagne. The bartender wasn't an extra I'd paid for. Because I wanted to be alone with her when I asked her.

"Jake, this is far too bloody much," she says, taking the glass from me.

"What is?" I look about innocently.

"All of it. The suite at the hotel, a private dining room, The Dorchester." She giggles, but gives me a long loving look.

I shrug innocently, lifting the glass to my mouth. "I got a discount deal. It's a really quiet night." The champagne is cool and the bubbles fizz and pop on my tongue. It's really fucking good. "The hotel I got a discount on, cause I know the owner. Helped him out with something once so he owed me. I'm actually a cheapskate."

"New suit?" she asks, casting an appreciative eye down the Gucci two-piece. It was infact. With a price tag to make your fucking eyes water. But she liked me in a suit.  She runs her fingers down the lapel and lets out a soft sigh. "You look so bloody good in a suit, you know."

I nod. "I know."

She smiles wider and lifts her glass to her mouth and sips delicately. "Mmmm. Expensive champagne," she points out.

"Happy hour," I say and she laughs softly. My eyes dip down her body again. "Now, let's talk about this fucking dress..."

She glances down her body and then back up to my eyes. Smiling innocently. "What about it?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"You don't like it?"

"Like it? I've been hard since you walked through the fucking door. It's just as well this place is empty and no other guy is gonna see you in that."

"Actually, the waiter who took my coat just saw me in it." She raises her eyebrows playfully and sips her champagne again.

"Hmmmm, wonder if he can still serve us with a broken jaw...?" I suggest, looking towards the door she came in.

"Do you always have to solve everything with violence?"

"Sex and violence are my problem solvers - you know that. And I'm not about to fuck him so..."

"Why not? Is he not your type?" she asks, dead serious as I grab the bucket and move towards the table. "I think you'd make a cute couple."

"No, baby, he's not my type. Last time I checked he wasn't a hot auburn-haired doctor and the mother of my daughter so no, we wouldn't make any kind of a couple."

She giggles softly as she follows behind me across the dimly-lit room. When we reach the table, I sit the champagne bucket down and go to pull her chair out for her. As she sits, I kiss the back of her neck, liking the way it makes a shiver run down her partly-exposed spine. As I sit down, the waiter appears behind us through the curtain and I give him a small nod which he returns.

From this angle, the dress does even more damage. How it's sticking to her breasts I don't know - it seems to be defying gravity. I'll find out that secret later when I peel it off her. The menu was prepared as per my request, and as she glances down at it, she gasps and looks up at me in surprise.

"Jake," she whispers.

"Didn't want you coming here and not liking anything on the bloody thing, did I?"

"I love you. Have I said that today?"

"This morning. When I was fucking you," I say, quietly.

She blushes and turns her head to give an embarrassed look to the waiter who just then arrives by the table. He sets down a stand and lifts the champagne bucket and sits it on it, then lifts the bottle out and tops up our glasses.

"Good evening, Alex, happy to have you," he says, smiling at her.

She smiles back, and gives me a soft look. "Thank you, I'm a bit overwhelmed by all this."

"Just to let you know that the menu has been pre-set, but if there's anything not on here that you want, just let us know and your chef will arrange it for you - it's no problem at all." He smiles harder. He's smiling too fucking hard at her. Why didn't I arrange for a woman waiter? A waitress.

"That's very kind of you." She looks down at the menu. "But he knows me well. This looks spectacular. I'm starving."

"You want wine, baby, or is the champagne good?" I ask her.

"Champagne is good just now, I might have some red with my main though, if that's okay?" She looks at me and then to the waiter.

"I've left the list of our French varieties - as requested by Mr. Lawrence - just there by your elbow." He points to the black leather wine list under her napkin. She giggles and gives me a long look that steals some breath from my lungs.

"Okay, well, I'll leave you both to look over the menu for a few minutes and I'll be back." He gives me a look and I nod my thanks to him and he disappears back out through the curtain.

"You spoke to your mum?" I ask. She lifts her head from the menu and nods.

"She went down at about 6, mum said, no problem at all. Caleb was still helping dad with his jigsaw." She smiles. "But she'll call if she needs to - left plenty of milk so she should go back down, you know how good she is.

I nod. "Part-princess, part-cat."

Alex laughs. "Yes. Which means she's perfect - we made a perfect baby - thank you."

"Nah. It was my pleasure." I wink.

She thanked me for Em way too many times. Because I'd chosen the jigsaw piece apparently. But it was all her.  Carrying her in her body. Bringing her into the world. I'd been a bystander.  A hand holder.  A crier too. Who fucking knew.  Watching Alex with our daughter was something close to complete and utter fulfilment. She was a goddess. A mother like I never knew existed. Em was the only person on the planet I'd relinquish Alex's attention to. The only person I didn't mind losing out to.

"This haircut is really growing on me, you know." She smiles, reaching across the table to take my hand. She'd called it extreme at first. "You look so beautiful."

I look beautiful? I don't think I'll ever fully get to grips with how Alex saw me. Never. So, I smile, half-shrugging off the compliment. "So do you," I reply.

She lifts her glass, as I stroke the fingers of her left hand. I'd always had a thing for Alex's hands. Maybe it came from the night she stitched me back together. Calm, talented hands. Hands that had saved lives, including mine. And that was before I knew they could play piano, or burp children. Now I wanted a ring on one, to show the world that she belonged to me. In every other way, she already did, but this would finish it. Her parents might never accept it, not fully, but her dad had given me his blessing all the same. As I'd gone to drop Cale and Em off last night I'd been sick with nerves as I'd spoke to them about what I planned to do.

"So, I eh, wanted to tell you both something, or well..." I look at Tom and smile awkwardly. "Ask you something at least, Tom. You probably know what it is already."

Eve looks at Tom, Tom stares at me, Emilia cradled lovingly in his arms. His face is open and soft and it's all that gives me the balls to keep talking. "I'm going to ask Alex to marry me. Tomorrow night. I just wanted you both to know that. First."

I'm staring at her dad hoping he gets what I'm at least attempting to do here. I can't come right out and ask him, but he's a smart guy. He nods a few times, expression sort of unreadable and then he looks at Eve. A look passes between them and he turns back to me and nods again.

"She's going to make an honest man of you then?" He smiles a little tightly I reckon.

"She already has. But I want to make it official, you know?"

"Have you bought a ring?" Eve pipes up.

"Of course, Rob helped me pick it out," I nod. "I think she'll like it."

Eve nods a few times, mouth in a curiously straight line. Giving fuck all away, like always.

"You and Robyn both know our daughter very well; I'm sure she will," Tom says generously.

I sigh and run a hand over my mouth. "Look, I know what you both think of me, and I agree with you. She's too good for me. I don't deserve her. I know that. But trust me when I say that I love her and will keep loving her for the rest of my life. Her and my children are my life and nothing will ever change that - I'll spend every day trying to deserve them. I'd like your blessing, but I'm gonna ask her to marry me whether you give me it or not. Because I can't live without her. I won't live without her."

The air temperature in the kitchen seems to drop a few degrees and all sets of eyes - including Caleb and Emilia's - stare back at me hard.

The silence stretches out a little longer than I'd like.

"You have it, Jake," Tom says, finally. "We know you'll take care of her, we know."

For some reason, I turn my eyes to Eve. She's watching me closely, her hand resting on Caleb's shoulder. I've no idea why I need the acceptance so much from her mum. The woman dislikes me, intensely I think. Less than she did to begin with I'm sure, but there will never be a second where she's happy I'm the guy Alex chose. Never.

"Well, you certainly know how to put your point across Jake," she says. There's respect in her tone, but whether it's grudged or not, I don't know. "Caleb sweetie, will you go and get my glasses from the big bedroom upstairs? They are by the bed in a very bright purple box?" She looks down at him with a warm genuine smile, more genuine than any smile she's ever given me. He nods eagerly and bolts past me and out of the room. "Don't run!" she shouts after him and the sound of his footsteps slow down.

Eve takes a few steps towards me and fixes me with a hard glare. "You make Alexandra very happy Jake, we all know that, we can all see that. But for weeks I listened to my daughter cry herself to sleep over you - and that's something I find very hard to forget. I wish I could but I can't. You have a daughter now and you'll learn soon enough how hard it is to watch their heart ache over a boy."

A boy. A boy is exactly how she sees me in fact.

"But yes. We give you our blessing, our congratulations, and our support in your marriage - but if you ever hurt our daughter again - even in the slightest of ways - then there will be no room for you in our home ever again. Your children will be loved and supported always, but you will not be welcome here. Do you understand me?"

All I can think about then is that if they knew how I almost got her killed that night, then this conversation would be going very fucking differently.

I swallow and nod slowly, turning to look at Tom and my daughter, who both stare at me expectantly. Then I turn back to Alex's mother. "I understand. But trust me when I say that I will never hurt her, never again, and I'll never let anyone or anything else hurt her either. I'm going to spend my life protecting her and our children." My voice is firm and my eyes serious and I want to ask her if she thinks I'm lying but I don't.

Eve considers my words carefully before she moves toward me, gliding around the kitchen like she's on ice skates. She comes around the counter and my body tenses slightly as she stops in front of me. Then, taking me by complete surprise, she moves forward and wraps her arms around me to pull me into a tight floral-scented hug.

"Good. Then welcome to our family, Jake," she says softly.

I'd already decided I'd do it before dinner. I wanted to enjoy the meal and I wouldn't be able to do that if I had to worry about making the speech I'd practiced in my head for months. A lot of what I'd told her parents last night is what I'd tell her. It was the truth, bare and straight up and there was no need to sugar-coat that shit. I love her. I'd die for her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Fuck, that sounds shit.

"So, how did the meeting with Nick and the hotel go?" she asks, sipping more of her champagne.

Her brother and I had met with some chancer this afternoon, who wanted to sell us his rundown building for double what it was currently worth. We had set him straight. Not too much of a loss, not for me. Since selling the club - the Russians had got a good deal, but I'd got a better one - I wanted an investment. Nick wanted a new career, so it was more of a blow for him.

I swallow the champagne and nod. "Could have been better. But he's reconsidering his offer. Said he'll call us on Monday. But I suspect it will be tomorrow."

"You and my brother working together, this should be very interesting indeed."

"I'm not planning on doing much working, to be honest. I have sunbathing to do and kids to look after. School run comes first."

She sighs. "Sexy house-husband fantasy comes to life. How lucky am I?"

"Speaking of which..." I clear my throat.

She giggles, completely oblivious to my point, and lifts her glass again to drain the last of it. Her cheeks are already starting to redden, her green eyes glittering with the effects of the expensive champagne. She looks insanely beautiful.

When I reach into my trouser pocket, her hand freezes in mid-air, a suspicious look coming over her face. She lowers the glass to the table and her other hand comes up to cover her mouth. She really didn't have a clue then. Some part of me thought Rob might have told her, but I guess not.

I stand and move around the table, dropping down to kneel in front of her.

"Jake... oh my god." She gasps, as I reach up to take her hand in mine. The tips of her fingers are cold like they always are, but the palm is hot as she curls it around my fingers and squeezes tight.

"Alex... baby." I smile nervously, my mouth drying up, nerves tightening over my stomach and chest. Okay, get it together, you fuckwit. You almost lost her. You stared down her mother in her own kitchen. Both of those are more terrifying than this. You know that. "Alex, I love you. Fucking hell, I love you, you know that. And I've waited too long to do this - I know that too, but better late than never." I chance a smile at her but my face feels weird. "Fuck I've ruined it already." I shake my head and laugh.

She squeezes my hand again. Encouragement this time. "Well technically, I ruined it, because I said no the first time."

"Yeah, took me fucking months to get over that."

"That poor ego of yours took a right dent that night. You still look heartbroken actually."

"Cause I am. Now can you let me finish this, yeah?"

She giggles again and nods. "Okay. You can finish. Go on."

I nod. I can't breathe. Seriously has she ever looked more fucking beautiful than she does right now? Her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed with champagne and excitement. A fucking goddess. Beyond Perfection. She's going to be my wife.  I notice then that the tips of her nipples poke temptingly through the thin black silk of her dress and my mind is gone momentarily from what it's trying to do.  I need to concentrate. Head in the fucking game, Lawrence.

"Alexandra Marlowe, I love you. You make me happier than I ever thought I could be, happier than I deserve to be, trust me I know that. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you make me. I want to wake up every day and get to call you my wife. I want you to have my name and my children - reams of them, four at least: two boys and two girls" - I wink - "and I never ever want to imagine my life without you in it." I don't say 'again' because we don't talk about that anymore. After it happened, she refused to even mention his name, but slowly, gradually, she had opened up to me. "I want to spend the rest of my life protecting you and loving you and trying to be the man you deserve... if you'll let me."

Reluctantly I let go of her hand, only so I can open the small, navy velvet box. The square cut diamond set in an antique style ring seems to glow as I uncover it, sharp and bright, so that it sparkles under the soft light of the candles above our heads. Alex makes a small shocked noise and I feel her start to tremble slightly as she grips onto my hand tighter.

"Please baby, will you marry me?" I manage, looking back up at her. Her mouth is open. Her eyes glittering with tears. My heart is about to explode.

Do I take the ring out of the box now and put it on her finger or do I wait until she answers? Why don't I know this?

She bites down on her lip and very slowly lifts her eyes to mine. The look in her face makes me want to get up and wrap my arms around her, but my knee is pressed so hard into the stone floor that I honestly think I might struggle to get all the way up there.

"Your dad gave his blessing by the way," I add.  "Asked him last night. Your mum was a harder sell, but she came around in the end."

She half-sobs, half-laughs. "You really do have a way with Marlowe women, don't you?" She laughs, wiping the tear away that has just escaped.

"You know it, in three days I'll have your sister eating out of my fucking hand..." I smirk.

"She's not a Marlowe any more, actually," she points out.

"Good point. Well, I'd rather you weren't a Marlowe anymore either, if I'm honest baby... So...?"

She beams at me, before a serious look comes into her eyes and she reaches out to touch me, stroking her fingers over the hair on my face. "I love you so much, you know that, don't you?"

"I know that."

"So then you know my answer."

"Gonna need to hear you say it though, that's how it works." I smile.

"Oh is it?"She laughs and I nod, trying hard to keep the shit eating grin from my face. "Yes. Yes. Yes! I'll marry you. Of course I'll bloody marry you. I thought you'd never ask me again!"

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding, before extracting the 4.35 carat diamond from its box. The second I slide it onto her finger, something settles inside me, something slots into place.

Mine.

She launches herself at me, perching on the edge of my knee as she grips my face in her hands and kisses me hard. Strawberries. Always fucking strawberries. How is that possible? I moan as I wrap my arms around her and sink my tongue deep into her mouth again, and she sucks softly at my lip. When she lets go of my mouth she slowly sits back up on her seat and lifts her hand to inspect the ring under the light.

"It's perfect. How did you know? This is the ring, I mean, it's the ring. It's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen. I love it."

"I have really good taste." I shrug as I stand up from the concrete floor, gritting my teeth hard so as not to groan out loud.

She smiles, looking slightly suspicious. "Hmmmm yes, that you do." She looks at the ring again, holding out her hand to dangle it directly under the candlelight. "I can't believe you asked my dad, that's the most adorable thing ever. You're adorable."

"Adorable. Yeah, a word I've never been able to get away from no matter how hard I fucking try." I nod as I down the rest of my champagne.

"And strong and powerful, and very sexy in a suit and..." She leans over the table and lowers her voice to a thick rich whisper that makes my balls ache. "... you could have someone's eye out with your cock." Her eyes glimmer with heat and it causes a deep rumble to move through my body, hardening it.

I grin at her and nod. "Wait, what? Powerful?" I screw my face up in confusion. "What, like a fucking wizard?"

She throws her head back and laughs. "No, not like a wizard." She shakes her head. "How you command every space you're in and how confident you are and how people are afraid of you... it's always turned me on a little." She looks embarrassed by this fact, but then a look comes over her face that makes me wonder if we could get them to pack up this food and champagne to go.

I frown again. "But you've never been afraid of me?" Never. Not once. That's always turned me on a little. Bravest woman I've ever known.

She shakes her head. "No, but..." She lifts her hand and glances at the ring again, holding it up, looking at me, shaking her head again. Thought gone. Mind somewhere else. "It's honestly perfect. You're perfect."

I shake my head and reach across to lift the champagne from the bucket to top up our glasses. "I'm alright." I smile, half-shrugging. "You're perfect."

Something sad dims the bright look in her eyes and she drops them from me for an instant. "Still?" she says, very very quietly.

I dump the champagne back in the bucket and reach across to grab hold of her hand. Then I pull at her to get her attention.  When I have it I fix her with the most powerful, commanding look that I own. "Always. You'll always be fucking perfect, yeah? Nothing touches that, ever. Okay?"

"Okay..." She nods.

"Good," I nod back.  "And I love you, tell me you know that," I say.

She smiles: bone-numbing, paralysing, heart-stopping.

My wife.

"I know that, I know," she nods, gripping hold of my hand harder. "And I love you back, tell me you know that."

I lift her hand to my mouth and brush my lips over her knuckles, kissing the ring, kissing down the lengths of her fingers, promising her everything I have with my eyes.

"I know you do, baby. I know you do."