We walked through the lobby unaccosted, which was a good sign, a sign that nice people existed in New York City, on the Brooklyn Bridge, at least. We held each other in the elevator up to our floor, and finally, finally, the door was closed with us on one side and the world on the other.

I turned into his arms and kissed him, letting loose the flood of everything I'd been holding in since the morning, since before the boys had come for breakfast.

He stopped me, looking into my eyes. He was crying again.

"Why?" I asked.

He took a deep breath. "Honestly?"

I nodded. "Of course, please be honest."

He took another deep breath. "I never, ever, thought that anyone who truly knew me would want to marry me," he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "You're the first person who's ever known me this well to not look at me with disgust and loathing."

What? "That's just not true," I said, looking at him. "You're, like, the most worshipped and adored person in the world. You have how many million Twitter followers?"

"No, you need to stop bringing up the Twitter thing," he said, with a little more bitterness than I would have expected. "None of those people really know me. They know my image, who they think I am, who they want me to be." He sat down on the bed. "The women I've dated, the women you met at the New Year's party, at the club, they're the ones who know me, and they all hate me."

I pushed him back on the bed, so there was room for me to sit on his lap. "Well, mister, I believe that I know you better than any of those people, don't you?" I looked at him, waiting for a response.

He finally nodded, smiling. "Yeah, you do, I suppose, don't you?"

I nodded along with him. "Yeah. I've lived with you for the past six months, I've been on tour with you, I've shared your bed, both as a friend and as a lover, I mean, if I don't know you, who does?" I sighed.

"And I do want to marry you. More than anything. And for what it's worth, I never thought anyone would want to marry me, either." I put my forehead against his. "I certainly never thought anyone would want to marry me enough to propose to me in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge, that's for damn sure." I smiled.

I kissed him again, with considerable energy, and he kissed me back, hands in motion on me. "Face it, Shelley, we were made for each other," I murmured happily against his mouth.

He put his hands up to my face, holding it, nodding. "I suppose so," he said, smiling at me. He kissed me. "I love you, darling Birdie," he said. "That will never change.

"Now, before we tear our clothes off and go at it, there's something I'd like to do," he said, looking at me for permission.

"Okay," I said amiably. "I'm all about the delayed gratification, you know that, right?" We laughed.

He held me against himself as he leaned to grab his phone. He scrolled through various sites, where there was nary a whisper of what we'd done on the bridge. "Wow, I'm impressed," I said. "It's been over an hour. I really wish I could thank those people somehow."

He looked at me. "Well, you kind of can. Watch." He went to his messages and found the photograph we'd sent the boys. It was my hand held in his, in front of us, a kind of hand-selfie, the bridge looming huge in the background. It was obviously us, smiling, even though we were blurry. Our clasped hands looked beautiful, IMHO, and you could see our rings perfectly. It was a gorgeous photograph, considering he'd just snapped it off at the base of the Brooklyn Bridge. He posted it simultaneously to Twitter and Instagram with the caption "She said yes. My heart is overflowing. A massive thanks to everyone on the Brooklyn Bridge for keeping mum!" He looked at me for approval.

I kissed his cheek. "It's so, so perfect." I looked at him. "My heart is overflowing, too," I whispered.

"And send." He hit the button with a flourish. He gripped my hand. "For better or worse, it's out there now."

"Yup." I put my chin on his shoulder.

"And now I'm turning this sodding thing off, because everyone who's ever been on my team will be calling, emailing, texting, whatever, in a royal strop, because I didn't let them know first—no—beforehand, probably." He turned to look at me as he set his phone down. "Isn't there anyone you need to tell?"

I shrugged. "I'm an orphan, so there's no family. And the Prof already knew somehow," I said with a smile. "I'm not kidding. He might not know the details and stuff, but that's why he's been talking to us the way he has." I pulled my sweater over my head. "And I called Ben from the cab. So I'm covered."

I pulled my purple shirt over my head so I faced him in my bra and jeggings. "Now, you need to run out there and hang the little sign on the door, because if anyone interrupts us while we're getting it on in here, I'll kill someone, and it might be you, I swear," I said with my brightest smile.

He looked at me and jumped off the bed, hanging the little placard on the door to our suite and running back into our room, leaping on the bed. He took his sweater off, kissing me before and after. Under it he was wearing a plain white T-shirt, which looked so good on him, so sexy, the way it fit around his bicep.

Yum.

"What?" He saw me looking at him the way I looked at chocolate, and smiled, which just multiplied his sexiness by a factor of about a hundred.

"Oh, fuck, Teddy," I sighed. I leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "'As a fucking river', as you like to say." I fell backwards on the bed. "Touch me, please," I moaned, rolling my hips in my jeggings.

He watched me, pupils dilating, exhaling deeply. He reached out, peeling my flowered gift from Ronan off in one smooth motion, seeing my pink lace underwear. "So, so hot," he murmured, taking his pants off as he continued to stare at me.

He sat me up, popping the hooks on my bra and using both hands to pull it off me. He grabbed my torso, just under by breasts, and brought his mouth down to first one, then another, making me gasp at the warmth, the feel of his tongue, the suction. My head fell back as I put my hand in his hair, my chest heaving.

"Feels so good," I whispered, arching my back, pulling my knees up. He laid me down on the bed, pulling my hands above my head, his favorite position for admiring my body. He smiled.

"So gorgeous, my god," he said lowering his head to kiss my stomach. He let go of my hands so he could use both of his to pull my undies off. I lifted my hips and pointed my toes as he tossed them off the bed.

He spread my legs, rubbing my thighs, exhaling warm air on me. I moaned again, drawing my knees up helplessly. "You make me feel so good, so good..." I closed my eyes, touching my breasts.

He stared at me. "Love when you do that," he breathed. "So fucking sexy."

I opened my eyes. "You like it? You want me to do it some more?" I asked, smiling. I slowly massaged them, squeezing, pulling at the nipples, loving his hooded eyes on me as I felt my hands on myself.

He moved up the bed, so he could reach me. "Maybe later," he whispered, kissing me. "Right now I just really want to fuck."

"Yes, please," I said, wild with relief.

I spread my legs even wider for him as he positioned himself and slowly entered me, filling me, the most delicious feeling in the world. "I love making love with you," I murmured, looking into his eyes. "Love feeling so close to you, love knowing that I'm making you feel as good as you're making me feel--" He gave a very small push, and I gasped with pleasure. He gathered my bent knees under his arms, giving everything even more friction.

Then the only sound was of him moving in me, slippery, wet noises as he drove his hips, over and over. I flexed up off the bed, into his body, feeling him hit something inside me with each roll of his pelvis. I squeezed him as I felt preliminary flutters inside.

"Ah," he exhaled sharply, almost groaning, dropping his head. "Feels so fucking good," he muttered. He stayed motionless for long moments. "Don't want to come yet, not yet," he moaned. He released my legs, lessening the tension.

He looked at me with intense concentration. "Always so good to me," he said, smoothing my hair from my face as he moved within me. "Mmm, fuck, love how you feel on me." He pulled on my hair as he rolled his hips into me.

"Again, Teddy, please, please," I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. He pushed, harder, longer, kissing me, tongue pushing into me, moaning, making me moan, making me come, my legs wrapping around him as the powerful spasm surged through me.

Feeling me and mine brought him to his. "Oh god, yeah—" strong exhalations of effort, rhythmic breath and gentle grip, pushing that just went on and on, before finally, the relaxing, the perspiration at the hairline, the refocusing of the beloved eyes, the hot, moist kisses, the murmured I love yous, the smiles.