We gathered up our clothes after, and took a bath in the lovely, huge, jetted tub, availing ourselves of the bubble bath and bath salts, and opening the champagne we ordered up from room service.

Bathing together had taken on a kind of a ritualistic significance for us, for him. He was very careful always not to raise his voice in the tub, even when saying something funny or telling a joke. He touched me gently, softly, never moved quickly, and sex in the bath was never rough or fast, but always sweet and slow, emotional, always making love and never fucking.

Tonight we sat facing each other for a while, talking, laughing, drinking champagne, tickling each other. I washed my hair and put it up on my head so it might have a chance of being dry by bedtime, and he did the same; eventually he came over to my side, sitting behind me, putting me between his legs. He held me close, enjoying touching my skin.

"You know," I ruminated, lifting our hands, fingers intertwined, watching the water and bubbles run off, back into the bathwater, "my life has become much more tactile and, um, sensual, since I met you, Theodore Shelley."

"Well, I would hope so," he said, laughing. "We are making love multiple times every single day, you know."

"Yeah," I said dreamily, leaning back into him. "But besides that, even when we're not, we just, touch a lot, you know? We're constantly sitting together on the sofa, or holding hands, or kissing if we pass each other in the hall, or putting our feet on each other when we watch TV. Or like now, here, we're not making love or anything, we're just sitting here, in the tub, but nearly every part of me that can be touching you is touching you, and it's really nice, you know?"

"You sound like you're high," he laughed, kissing my temple. "I think it's a combination of jet lag and alcohol.

"No more of this for you, okay?" he said, taking the glass from me. He finished off what was left in it, and poured the little that was left in the bottle into the tub before I could grab it. "You can't drink like you used to yet, you're still underweight, remember."

He set the glasses aside, and he folded his arms over me, rubbing his cheek against the side of my head.

"God, I'm so fucking happy," he murmured. "Are you happy, hummingbird? Hmm?" he asked me. "Tell me you're happy, please."

I turned over in his arms, resting my chin on his chest. "I'm so, so happy," I said to him, smiling. "To quote Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice, the movie, not the book, I'm 'incandescently happy'," I told him.

"There's different dialogue between the book and the movie?" Teddy asked.

"Of course," I responded. "They couldn't squeeze all of Jane Austen's great early nineteenth century dialogue in the twenty-first century movie," I said. "Plus the fact that it would've sounded ridiculous," I added.

"You know," he said, changing the subject, "I could almost handle being naked in the bath with you as long as it was your back that was touching me, but you've gone and turned over, so now it's your lovely front, and it's bloody all over me, and that's much harder to deal with, so to speak." He pulled me up a little, so he could kiss me, making comfortable, happy sounds as he did so.

"Hold up a minute," I said. "Are you saying that my back is unattractive in some way?"

"No!" he said quickly. "Not at all. I love your beautiful back, honest. But, your front has an, um, appeal, that your back doesn't have," he said, looking down at my breasts, which were pressed against his chest.

"I see," I said, smiling. I slid down in the water, holding them so that they pressed against him. He moved up a little, so I could reach better. A little moan escaped his lips, and he tipped his head back, closing his eyes. I reached over and grabbed the bottle of bath oil, which we hadn't touched yet, and dripped a couple of drops on myself. Then I reached for his hands and put them on me. He leaned forward and kissed me while moving his hands, massaging the oil into my breasts, then leaned back, breathing heavily.

I pressed my breasts together on him, sliding smoothly up and down in the water.

"Feels fucking fantastic, you have no idea," he gasped, putting his hand on the back of my head. His brows drew together, features twisting with pleasure. The only sound was his breathing, which grew louder and faster.

"Going to come, okay?" he finally murmured . "Fuck—"

"Yes, come," I said, increasing pressure and speed. I felt his warmth spurting on my hands as he relaxed back into the water. He was breathing hard, his beautiful face still showing the intensity of what he'd just felt.

He pulled me up on his chest, kissing my forehead. "Oh my god, thank you for that, so much," he whispered. "It was incredible." We stayed that way for a few minutes, until his heart stopped beating like a triphammer.

"Don't you want to get out of this water?" he asked eventually.

"Why?" I asked. "The jets are circulating, they keep the water temperature constant, it's nice and warm..."

"Yeah, but now the water's got my, um, stuff in it..." He seemed embarrassed.

"Your 'stuff'?" I couldn't keep the amusement out of my voice. "I've had that 'stuff' in my mouth, in my body, do you think it bothers me to have a little of it on my skin?"

"Are you laughing at me?" He tried to look at my face, but I wouldn't lift my head.

"Come to think of it, I've had quite a bit of it on my skin, too," I said. Then I heard the first word in my sentence and I started laughing. He realized what had made me laugh, and he started laughing, too.

"Let's get out, Theodore," I finally said, pushing myself off of him and rising. We dried off, and I put on one of his old flannel shirts and some socks. I stood at the window, looking out at the city while I brushed my hair with the brush Geth had given me for Christmas.

Teddy came to stand behind me and took the brush from my hand. He brushed my hair, in soft, even, sure strokes, humming something under his breath. When he finished, he swept my hair off to the side and kissed my neck. "I love you, Birdie. You make me so happy, so happy. Always remember that, hmm?"

I nodded, turning around, but instead of putting my arms around him, I tucked them in, under my chin. He wrapped me up in his arms, rubbing his cheek against my clean hair.

"You make me happy, too, more than happy; you gave me a life," I said quietly.

"What did you have before, then?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. It's like I was sleeping, and you woke me up or something."

We continued to stand, next to the window, me in his arms, for who knows how long? It was lovely to feel him all around me, his chest moving with his breaths.

"What are you thinking about now?" he asked softly.

"That I might be hungry," I said.

This made him laugh. "You want some food?" he asked. "Should we order up?"

I shook my head. "No, not unless you want something too, don't bother."

"You sure? We still need to fatten you up," he said, kissing the top of my head.

"Let's just get in bed and look at funny stuff on the Internet," I said.

"Fine," he said, patting my bottom. "Spit spot, then."

We climbed into bed with the laptop, and looked at social media, to read the latest rumors about ourselves. There was a new article about a drug addiction causing my weight loss, while yet another article said that the boys' management company was unhappy with the way I looked before and had given me an ultimatum to either lose the weight or Teddy would give me the heave-ho.

And apparently the "Wendy Darling" thing had really taken off. The website, "Neverland", had gained traction and was getting mentioned even on regular media sites as the latest craziness in the world of the UK Crush fandom fringe. Teddy wouldn't let me click on the link to take us to the actual site, saying he didn't want to give it another view or whatever, but there was plenty to read without going there.

"No one with eyes or a brain can fail to see how concocted this whole Tinker Bell nonsense is," someone had written. "She's not pretty, not his type, based on what we know (and we know a lot), and she's apparently not even very nice. Who in their right mind would believe for one second that Theo would go for her?"

And there were side by side photographs of me and various other women he'd dated in the past, including, of course, Jennifer Jordan. I definitely was the one who didn't fit in.

Teddy was disgusted. "You want to keep reading this tripe?" he asked me.

"Why do you let it bother you?" I asked him. "We know the truth, what else matters?"

"'Theo Shelley's girlfriend might have massive drug abuse problem'," he read aloud. "'Theo's new girlfriend is such a hoax—' doesn't that piss you off?"

I shook my head.

"Actually, you know what bothers me most about those sentences?" he continued. I looked at him. "The word 'girlfriend'," he said.

I continued to look at him. "What would you rather it say?" I finally asked. "There aren't many alternatives for that word, unfortunately. Would you prefer 'steady lay'?" He looked at me, smiling. "Or how about 'piece of ass'?" I grinned. "Um, 'fuck buddy'?" He laughed out loud at that one. "Or we could go romantic. How about 'paramour'?" He put his head back, laughing. "Or the classic 'lady friend'?" I put the laptop aside and climbed on his lap, facing him. "Seriously, what's wrong with 'girlfriend'? I've never been anyone's girlfriend before, I was sort of reveling in the title, especially knowing that literally millions of girls and women all over the world were coveting it, and men, too, for that matter; It made me feel special," I confessed with a little smile.

He cupped my face in his hands. "You are special, my god, you are so special to me. I just want a more special title for you."

"Like what, then?" I asked. "I really think I covered them all. Unless you really liked one of those? Oh my god, did you like 'steady lay'? Please tell me you didn't like 'steady lay', that would be so embarrassing," I laughed.

He took my hands in his. "Dear god, no," He laughed. "No, I was thinking of something more traditional." He looked at me, still holding my hands.

He took a deep breath, looked away, then looked back at me. "Wife," he finally said. "I was thinking it would be nice if you could be called my wife," he said, softly.

Amazingly, I didn't pull my hands away. I was unable to move. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not asking you to marry me right at this moment. I'm just asking you to think about what you would say if I were to ask you at some point in the future, so you'd have an answer ready, one way or the other, if and when it happened, so I wouldn't be left hanging, yeah?" He looked at me, a very soft expression in his lovely gray eyes. I just stared at him. He looked back, unblinking, waiting. I took a deep breath, and I nodded.

"Have you ever thought about being married to me, or about being my 'fancy'?" he asked with a smile. I nodded again.

"It's just that I'm not in a position to ask you," I said, practically in a whisper. "I have nothing to offer, financially, materially, nothing to bring to a marriage. And I won't, for years and years, I'm sorry." He waved away my words as inconsequential.

"I love you, so much," he said, "and I remember everything you said about the difference between the words 'I love you' and 'I want to marry you'. I understand that difference, I agree with that difference, I've thought about that difference, and I think that, maybe, in a few months, or years, or whatever, I might want to ask you, yeah?" He leaned forward and kissed me, very slowly, very emphatically. He leaned back. "Yeah?" he repeated softly, squeezing my hands. "I just hate hearing you called my 'girlfriend'. I want you to be my 'wife'. I can't wait for that. I can't wait for that, my love." And he pulled me, so we were lying down, and he was unbuttoning my shirt, laying it open, taking me to him, spreading my legs, opening me up, holding me tightly to him, curling his tongue into my mouth as he rolled his hips into me, filling me, moaning, telling me softly that I was his, that I belonged to him.

"Love you, Birdie, my forever girl, you make me so happy," he murmured, and made me come, over and over, until my legs were trembling, until I was too weak to breathe, until I could only hang onto him and whimper, and I could feel his warmth spreading deep inside me and between my legs as I gripped him tightly with my thighs. We collapsed into each other finally, a hot sweaty, tangled mess.

"Love you, love you, love you," he whispered...

I awoke in the night when Teddy nearly leapt out of bed next to me.

He fell back, trembling.

I sat up, turning to him. "Hey, what's wrong?" I asked softly. I leaned across him and turned on the lamp on his side.

He looked terrible, clammy, white, covered in perspiration. He turned wide eyes on me. "Bad dream," he replied in a strange voice.

I got out of bed and went to the bathroom for a towel. I wiped his forehead with it, then got him a fresh shirt.

"Sit up, you need to get out of that, it's soaked," I said to him. He sat up obediently and I helped him get it off, and get the new one on. I switched out his pillows, putting the bottom one on top, and got him some water from the mini-fridge. I asked him if he wanted some tea or something stronger, but he shook his head. His eyes looked sleepy, so I turned off the lamp and got him tucked in again, and got back in on my side. I took him in my arms and asked him if he wanted to tell me about it.

He hugged me tightly. "It was horrible. You were on a little raft. It wasn't even a raft, it was just boards, bound together, and you were sat on it, in the middle of a raging river or ocean or something, wearing my sweater, the one you made for me, the blue and purple one with the hummingbird?" I nodded. "You were screaming for me to help you, rescue you, just screaming, I've never heard you sound like that, but I couldn't, I was trying to jump in and swim to you, which was ridiculous, I would've drowned, the water was that choppy and dangerous, and the boys were holding me back, and your raft was heading for a drop off, a cliff or a waterfall or something, and you were going to die, and all I could do was stand there and watch—" He stopped to draw another breath. "And all the boys were crying, and I couldn't even do that, all I could do was try to get free and jump in after you, knowing all the time that I couldn't save you..." He couldn't stop shaking and grabbing at me.

Jesus, maybe asking him about it had been a mistake.

"Okay, okay, shh, shh, it was just a dream. I'm right here, look, see?" I put my hands on either side of his face, forcing eye contact. "Hear that honking? Those are cars on 59th Street and Fifth Avenue. We're in New York. We arrived last night. We're at the Plaza Hotel. We walked into the city across the Brooklyn Bridge, and it was very cold, and very romantic." I smiled and kissed him. "We had great sex in bed, then we had a lovely bath, where we had more great sex, then we got out, you brushed my hair, and we got in bed and had even more great sex, remember? Hmm?" I smiled again. "I'm fine, maybe a little sore from all the sex, but I'm not on a raft and I'm definitely not dying." I hugged him again.

"Just a dream, just a dream," I whispered in his ear. "Go back to sleep."

"I don't know what I would do if anything were to happen to you, Birdie," he murmured.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, go to sleep," I whispered back. I stroked his damp hair, I rubbed his back, I continued to reassure him that it had just been a dream. I remembered how he had calmed me when I'd had my nightmare in Japan last summer, how he'd held me and whispered to me...eventually we both fell asleep, and I didn't wake up until close to noon.