"I bet you're about done with these tasteless meals," Aidan jokes from his place by the hearth. He's referring to the dull array of colors in front of me, a plate of breakfast foods that he could conjure up without electricity. Brightened by the weightless ambiance in the room and his presence, still wrapped in a robe out of bed, the taste of his food is a secondary thought. I hardly taste the imperfections.

I've happily lost count to how many days I've been trapped in this glowering mansion. There's no desire for me to look. I hold a steaming cup of tea between my hands, wrapped in a blanket from the bed, and stare at him from my bench. He smirks at my lack of answer, and deposits the mittens onto the table.

"What would you like to do today?" he asks, curiously, brightly. "This is the first time you've felt able to be up and about."

He sits before his food and his smile grows to an insurmountable size at my continued, telling silence. "More of the same, then?"

I pull on my lip, teeth dragging along the skin to hide my bliss, failing miserably. I saw myself in the mirror this morning. Despite my run in with death a few days ago, my skin is glowing. His is too.

There's suddenly a disruption to the calm. The sound of the door opening with a loud, bellowing groan of resistance. We've barely stood out of our chairs before Bud enters with Victoria close behind, both bundled to keep the chill out.

They stop in their tracks at the disheveled sight of us—me in the bedding, Aidan's knotted, sex-crazed mane—taking in the sight with wonder. I pull the sheet in closer to conceal any skin, and try to fix my hair absentmindedly, giving Aidan a look of mortification.

"Bud," Aidan says, winded. "Victoria. Good morning."

"Morning," Bud says, averting his gaze to the flames within the fireplace. Victoria isn't so modest, and looks between us as if we were caught performing a séance to the dead rather than dining in the bliss of the morning after. In this case, multiple morning afters.

"I'm sorry, Aidan. We're intruding."

It gives me comfort that she's used to entering his home to find him without another partner, reminding me that this is rare—our days here have been rare. It's after I've excused myself, and escaped out the door that I hear him answer.

"No, we were having breakfast. There's more. Serve yourselves."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, Victoria," Aidan says. "I'll get dressed."

I scurry to the staircase, flying up to the guest room for the first time in days. The moment the door is closed behind me, it dawns that every article I have in my possession is downstairs in his bedroom, and I chuckle darkly, feeling our first intrusion with the real world like a blow to the ribs. I chuckle and open the door, coming face to face with Aidan, who is holding my things.

I smile, tittering at the threshold as he approaches, looking equally amused.

"I'm sorry. They don't usually knock when they come here. I wasn't thinking."

"Well, they know."

He nods, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. "Yes, they do."

We both search for more to that statement, but I've past the point of denial.

Let Victoria know.

"Okay," I say, with acceptance. He smiles softly.

"Okay."

He turns, and I watch him disappear down the stairs mindlessly, light on my feet. I rush through dressing, making myself presentable, shoving up pants onto my legs, tucking in one of Aidan's shirts into them. I skip down the steps hurriedly, my breath minty cool in the hollow hallways, needing the hairbrush from Aidan's room.

I pass the kitchen, where I hear Bud and Victoria talking low, noticing Aidan turning the corner way down at the end of the hallway, leaving his bedroom. He's dressed in a turtleneck sweater and jeans. My feet, bare and accustomed to the frigid ground, pick up faster at the widening of his smile, which is proving to be contagious.

We meet halfway and without a bit of hesitation, he's lifted me off the ground and spun me toward the wall. Like wild teenagers, he shoves me into the sturdiness and takes my mouth with the wild eagerness of secret lovers. He moans into my mouth at my frantic hands which love to touch him, and his hands descend from the nape of my neck, scouring my skin over my clothes. My breath hitches when his palms cover my breasts, sliding down and around me until he's gathered my ass in them, tugging my hips closer to his groin.

When the desire hits peak is when he knows he must pull away, quickly so he won't turn back. Gasping against the wall, I watch him walk, grinning when he has to turn, taking one last glance as he fixes himself up, wiping his lips, flattening his mussed waves of chocolate hair.

I exhale as soon as he's entered the kitchen and regard the ceiling with disbelief.

Holy hell.

***

"I've read from The Chronicle before," Bud says conversationally as we gather up the tea sets from the parlor. He's made more of an effort to speak and welcome me here than Victoria has, and I'm grateful for it.

"Really?"

He nods, depositing plates into the tray I'm holding. "Yes. I wonder how many articles I've read by you. Do you like it? Journalism?"

"I love it. I don't remember a time when it wasn't at the forefront of my every decision."

"A born journalist. It's impressive. That's not an easy gig."

I shake my head. "No, it isn't."

"When should we expect to see Aidan's article in the magazine? We'll...um...have to get a copy."

Aidan's article. Right. I feel my cheeks drain of color, wondering what he and Victoria think of me.

"I'm not sure. I...I haven't spoken to my boss."

He's expecting something. And while I promised Aidan I'd exclude his family from the interview and fully intend to keep that promise, my boss will expect this visit to come to some type of fruition.

To report on Aidan in anyway feels like a betrayal. I don't want anyone to know about him. I'm sure my affections would seep into my words, and give my weaknesses away.

But how much am I willing to lose to keep my time here a secret?

It will be great, of that I'm sure.

I blink, coming back from my uncertainties with a dazed glance. Bud is still clearing the table.

"I'm not sure there is going to be one," I blurt out, awkwardly. "At all."

He turns. "The story you mean? I thought that was why you came here in the first place."

I nod, shuffling toe to toe. "I know it was. As you can see, things have changed here since you saw us a few days ago."

He smirks softly. "I daresay they were already changed then too."

I blush, avoiding his gaze, wanting to disappear.

"I'm glad to hear it, Josephine. Truly. Unlike Victoria, I'm over the moon to see Aidan get a bit of joy in his life."

"Why is she so against it?"

"She means well," he says, shrugging. He sets the last of the clean-up onto my tray. "She really does. She loves that kid like a son. She just wants him to do this for the right reasons...the right way. It's nothing against you."

The right reasons?

I spin, full of curiosity. The kitchen isn't far, and I can hear voices and the sound of plates clinking. I hover by the open door, nosy enough to eavesdrop, sure it's the only way I'll be provided with answers.

"Victoria, let me clean—"

I hear food hitting a trash bag and a heavy sigh. "Aidan, what are you thinking? Honestly? She's a reporter."

"She's a journalist."

"She's here for information," she presses. "She came to get information like any of the other reporters. At the end of the day, she's going to leave and go write about you."

"She's not writing about Nora, or Lily. She already told me that."

"And you believe her?"

"I do."

It's quiet for a few moments, and I hold my breath, hands stiff on the tray so I don't make a single noise to disrupt them.

"Look, I understand. She's gorgeous. She's gorgeous and smart and charming. It's her job to be those things. And even if she's being genuine, Aidan, at the end of the day, you've let her in. She's not going to let you keep her in the dark forever. If you keep this up, she's going to want the truth. And I'm not sure you'll have it in you to resist her."

"Josephine wouldn't say anything. I know she wouldn't."

"You made a promise to Mel. It's important the truth doesn't fall into the public's hands."

"I'm tired of hiding in this. Nora was who she was. I was who I was. I made mistakes, so did she. I'm haunted by these secrets, Victoria. You know that."

"So, what? You're going to tell Josephine? Is it that serious? What you have with her?"

"You know this is unusual. Stop jumping down my damn throat because I decided to let in a little light into my life."

"I found you nearly drowning in your own blood six months ago, Aidan, all right? I'm completely aware how hard it is for you to be here, and I don't blame you in the slightest. I loved Nora. And I loved Lily, that beautiful little girl. I loved them both, and I want them to be in peace."

"There is no peace, Victoria!" Aidan snaps. "There is no such thing. Not here."

"Then why in God's name are you inviting that girl into this? If you are going to do it, do it. Tell her the story and pray she doesn't run to the big men. Pray she actually gives a damn. If you have no intention to, as you've reiterated over and over, you're only going to break her heart and that's something I want to spare you the guilt from."

A lump the size of a state has formed in my throat, cutting off my air supply. My skin is aflame, my blood simmering at her efforts to dissuade Aidan from pursuing me.

"Why are you doing this?" Aidan whispers, bleakly.

"Because I see you falling into a trap. She's not a small town girl like Nora. Josephine's seen the world. She knows she's beautiful. She's confident, and educated. She knows how to work a crowd."

"You've seen us together! You actually think she's capable of pretending this well? I may be inexperienced in the aspects of infatuation, Victoria, but she and I don't look at each other like Nora and I did. We don't touch or speak like she and I did back then. Josephine wants me. She wants me, as fucked up as I am."

"She likes you, yes, yes, I get that. Aidan, you are a beautiful, caring man. Of course she likes you. But at the end of the day—"

"No, stop right there," he growls angrily, and I flinch, praying they don't hear the items on the tray tremble. "I appreciate your concern, as whish-washy as it is. I can't tell whether you are concerned for her well-being, or mine, but either way, it's none of your concern. I've allowed you to voice your worries, because I respect your opinions and because you are one of the few people in my life I trust, but you've overstepped. If I want to pursue Josephine, if I want to tell her a goddamn thing, it will be on my terms, not because you pressure me into it. I've stopped living, Vic. You out of all people know how badly I don't want to be here."

"Aidan—"

"No. You called the cops. You brought the ambulance and you made sure I didn't die in that tub, despite knowing how desperately I wanted it. Maybe it was an impulse, the sight of it that made you call or maybe it was selfish reasons, but you brought me back to a life I didn't want. And now, after years feeling insurmountable darkness, you tell me to turn away the only light I've been able to reach. I don't really give a shit if she's here for the story. I don't give a shit if it doesn't work out. I'm soaking up every bit of affection she gives me while I can because someday, it may be the only thing I have to live on!"

I could drop this entire tray. My hands have become weak enough.

My chest is rising and falling with painful speed, overwhelmed by his candor, his despairing confessions. I hesitate where I am, gaping to no one, panicked.

"Are you all right?"

I turn, dazed and cold, finding Bud walking up to me, worriedly. I hear the noise in the kitchen come to a full stop as my presence is made known—to everyone.