It’s staggering how fast and how much I’ve grown used to his presence and affection. It’s scary how off-kilter I’ve felt without them. Within our relationship we’ve developed a beautiful and deep reliance on one another, at least, it’s beautiful most of the time. Today it’s kicked our asses. Today we’ve been grounded, humbled, and reminded of the enormity of the choice that we made a few nights ago. I didn’t just say yes to marrying Logan’s sex appeal and flattery, I said yes to marrying all of him, wild conclusions and misunderstandings included. We’ve learned a lot about taking one another into consideration more, and it’s a good thing, I think, that we’ve learned this whilst our relationship is in its infancy.

I take in the sight of his beautiful face, lit up in mirth the way it’s designed to be, and as I let my hands fall back onto my lap, I’ve no clue where we go from here. What happens now, I wonder. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. In fact I’ve never been in any version of a functioning relationship. Anytime that Jerry was mad at me, he’d remain irritable and huffy for a week, before acting as though nothing had ever been wrong. He’d never open up to me, never communicate, never try and resolve his anger, not like Logan just has.

Logan upstages Jerry for the millionth time by cutting right through the remainder of the red tape between us. “Are we OK?” he asks me, his voice soft.

I feel lighter and more carefree than I have all day. “Yeah, baby, we’re OK,” I sigh, relieved and grateful. We stare at each other for a long moment before a broad smile spreads across my face. So this is what a functioning relationship feels like.

Logan grins back at me, telling me, “I’ve missed that smile, Gemima.” His own fades slowly until he’s gazing at me once more with familiar, adoring eyes.

We cautiously, respectfully move closer to one another, until our lips meet. They stay pressed together as I urge Logan backwards and he pulls me forwards, so that we end up lying side-by-side on the long sofa. He tangles his legs with mine and then ending our kiss, he buries his face into my neck.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he says again.

I tighten my grip on him and snuggle even further into his embrace. Not today.

He takes a deep breath and releases it in sheer relief that everything today has panned out in our favour. “I just want to hold you,” he murmurs into my hair.

I nod into his shoulder and we lie for a long time, breathing as one in the absolute silence. I suspect that we could stay like this all night if it weren’t for Logan’s mobile phone, which starts ringing loudly from inside his pants pocket.

He groans. “It’s one of the guys in Marseille,” he mutters, clearly expecting their call. He leans up and pulls the phone out, giving the caller ID a quick once over, before saying to me, almost ruefully, “I should probably get this.”

“Of course,” I nod up at him, stroking his cheek; he’s already missed his whole day in Marseille, he shouldn’t miss any more.

He looks at me for a split second longer before suddenly shaking his head at something. He taps the Answer Call button. “Pascal, je suis désolé pour l’interruption aujourd’hui. Je peux tout expliquer et compenser le temps perdu demain. Est-ce que je peux vous appeler le matin?” he says rapidly, and then waits for a response. Pascal, I’m sorry for the disruption today. I can explain everything and make up for lost time tomorrow. Can I call you in the morning? “J’apprécie votre patience, mon ami. Passez une bonne nuit,” he smiles into his phone and then hangs up. I appreciate your patience, my friend. Have a good night.

He throws his phone onto the sofa somewhere and then lies back down once more, moving so that our faces are only inches apart. “No long phone calls,” he says quietly. “I’ve missed enough time with you today,” he explains.

“Baby, if you have to, I don’t mind. You’ve missed time at work too,” I say, wanting him to know that it’s perfectly OK if he has to work for a while.

But Logan is adamant. “I don’t care,” he reaches forwards to press his lips against mine. “You come first. You will always come first,” he whispers against my lips.

I know his words are sweet and meaningful and endearing, but I can’t not hear the double entendre in them. He’s got a point, usually I do come first.

I try hard to keep myself composed, I really do, but I’m completely unable to keep a straight face. Seeing this, and instinctively knowing the reason why, Logan smirks and playfully rolls his eyes at me as I burst into giggles. Now this feels more like us, I think happily as a well known passion and playfulness explodes between us. He starts tickling me, teasing me, and I squirm so much that I inadvertently roll out of his embrace, tumbling off the edge of the sofa with a shriek and landing on the floor with a thud. Nice one, Gem!

“Oh, shit!” Logan’s startled face appears a moment later, though I can barely see it, my eyes are watering from laughing so hard. He joins me on the floor a second later, squeezing himself in between me and sofa, and saying in faux-dramatics, “Where does it hurt?”

“Are you going to kiss it better?” Oh, I could so take advantage of that, I think coyly. But I don’t, instead I behave myself. Sort of. “Just here,” I tap my lips.

Chuckling, Logan says, “Somehow I doubt that.” He leans closer and smiles against my lips.

“They’re really very sore,” I mutter, and I can say no more.

Logan kisses me with ardour, our first proper kiss of the day. He slips his tongue into my mouth, and I accept him readily, allowing our kiss to deepen in both passion and meaning. He shifts his body so that he’s straddling me and I wrap my arms around his neck, my hands loose in his hair. We don’t let-up. It’s the longest kiss that we’ve ever shared, but that seems appropriate after the day we’ve had.

“Gemima?” Logan murmurs many intoxicating minutes later.

“Mmm?”

“I love you,” he tells me.

I smile into his mouth. “I love you, too, Logan. More than anyone, more than anything,” I steal his line.

“Good,” he whispers, before kissing me once more. More delicious minutes pass, until

he says, “Gemima?” again.

“Yes?” I grin.

“Do you think that you could be pregnant?” he asks me out of the blue, pushing up on his hands so that our faces are now a foot apart.

Huh? “Uh…no,” I say slowly. “Why?” I ask back, looking up at him with wide eyes. How long has he been pondering that, I wonder, and then I remember him questioning me in the bathroom about how many times I’ve thrown up today. I also realise that it was after that enquiry that he became less hostile. Perhaps in an effort to avoid upsetting his potentially pregnant fiancé? Except I’m not pregnant, I’m sure I’m not, and yet despite this certainty, I can’t stop the memory of Amber’s phone call last night — she’d be over the fucking moon!

“Just a hunch,” Logan says. “You threw up yesterday as well as today, remember?”

“A coincidence,” I try to convince him.

“Maybe,” he allows, “but we do have a lot of sex,” he tells me needlessly, making me grin, “and with that comes the chance. Can you take a test?” he asks.

“I’m getting my period in a few days,” I remind him. “If it doesn’t come, then I’ll pee on a stick for you,” I promise. “Alright?”

He starts chuckling. “Alright,” he nods, lowering himself back down to me.

“But I really don’t think I am,” I add, my arms sliding over his shoulders once more. I’d feel different if I were, wouldn’t I?

“Just in case. We can’t have you falling off sofas if you are,” he says earnestly.

It’s my turn to roll my eyes, making him laugh. “I’m not,” I whisper against his lips with confidence. “But if you want to place a bet on it, I’m more than happy to take your money, Leary,” I smile, and he looks intrigued by the prospect of another bet. “How does one hundred million euros sound?” I jest.