The whole interview takes about five minutes and the reporter – Chelsea Chain, such a fake-arse name – says they’ll probably whittle it down into a quick soundbite for the section they are doing. Doesn’t matter to me. I finally feel like I’m behind something that could have legs.

“That was fucking hot,” Nicola whispers to me once the reporter moves on to someone else.

I glance down at her while she slides her dainty hands underneath the lapels of my tuxedo. “Was it now?”

“Oh yeah,” she says, looking hungry and not for food but for cock, the best kind of hungry.

I know it’s probably a risk in asking her this, lest it conjure up some bad memories, but I say to her, “How about we go back into the past and finish what we started?”

Hesitation washes over her brow for just a second, her glossy lips held in a pout, then a sly smile tugs them apart. “Sure.”

I grab her hand and lead her through the crowd, remembering the path that took us around the building and to the garden.

Sure enough, there is no one back here and the sounds of the gala are muffled, sounding far away. Fucking brilliant, the stone bench is still here too.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I tell her, sitting her down on the bench. “And by comfortable, I mean scootch over to the end here and get on all fours.”

“Wait,” she says, lifting a finger. “Did you screw that blonde chick here?”

“No,” I tell her, knowing she’d ask that. “It was in the bushes over there. And it wasn’t very fun to be honest. No one wants a thorn up their backside. At least, I don’t.” I pause, giving her a delicious grin. “But perhaps you’re game for something a lot bigger than a thorn.” I wiggle my thumb at her.

She rolls her eyes and I know she probably won’t graduate beyond my thumb for a long time.

She’s still not moving though, so I tell her again and she finally gets on all fours and backs up till she’s at the end of the bench. I stand behind her and flip up her dress so it’s gathered around her waist. Her arse looks so fucking amazing, I can’t help but cup her cheeks in my hands, my fingers digging into her soft flesh. My need is wanton, elicit, and real. I squeeze and kneed them for a bit before my dick starts to ache in my pants, begging for attention. Then I unzip myself free and bring out a condom from my jacket pocket.

“Always prepared,” she comments and wriggles that decadent arse in front of me.

“Stop teasing me,” I warn her, smacking her lightly on the cheek. “I’d rather not come all over your dress.” I see her shake her head slightly. “Okay, I would totally love to shoot my cum all over that expensive piece of fabric you’re wearing and cover you in it from head to toe. But I won’t.”

“Because you’re a gentleman.”

“Oh that’s right.” I smack her other cheek. “The best kind.”

So I have her right there on that stone bench, the way I should have had her last year at the wedding. I take her rough and hard and wild and we don’t care who the hell hears us because we can’t be filtered.

But the truth is, I’m glad that it didn’t happen that way, that we didn’t have sex at the wedding. I would have never gotten to know her and knowing me, she would have just been another shag. Sure, I would have seen something challenging in her, maybe I would have been compelled to let that wild child out. But it was her resistance to me, her devotion and dedication to her child, to everything but herself, that made me obsessed with her to begin with. It may have taken time for our paths to cross again, but I’m eternally glad they did.

“Everything in due time,” I say after we’ve both come and we’re catching our breath. I zip up my pants and dispose of the condom in the nearest trash can.

“What?” she asks, her voice dreamy as she straightens out her dress. She looks so unbelievably beautiful after sex that I often have to pinch myself. Or herself. And then pinching just leads to more sex and the circle continues.

I grin at her. “That’s my motto. I told you last time we were here that I didn’t have one, and well, now I do. Everything in due time.” I pause. “And yours is live with no regrets.”

She nods and walks toward me. “What do you mean, everything in due time?” There’s hope in her eyes, something that wasn’t there earlier.

“I mean,” I say as she wraps her arms around me. I gaze down at her, lost in her charm, in her very soul, “that if we had shagged back then, we wouldn’t be where we are now. That in some way, we were meant to be together. That we were meant to part and then come together again. Maybe we both had to change in the smallest of ways in order for this work.”

“Well, I got fired. I wouldn’t say that change was in my hands,” she says. Her tone is joking but there’s this depth to her stare, a wistfulness over her brow.

“In due time, it all works out,” I tell her. “This is working out, isn’t it?”

For one wee second I’m deathly afraid that she might tell me it’s not working out. My heart seems to rattle in my chest.

But then she smiles, so softly, and places her hands around my neck. She licks her lips, nervous. “It’s more than working out, Bram,” she whispers. She swallows and traces my face with her delicate fingertips. I close my eyes to her touch, to her, to everything she makes me feel.

“Bram,” she says, sounding hushed. “I’m in love with you.”

She’s in love with me.

In love.

With me.

My chest bloody aches. It’s not what she’s said. What she’s said makes my soul want to sing, maybe scream a little. Tell the whole world that for some fucking reason, Nicola Price is in love with me.

It’s so much, so heavy, so…bloody undeserved.

But my chest aches and my gut feels heavy, weighted, because I know I can’t say the words back. Because I’m just not there yet. I’m almost there, but I won’t lie to her. I wouldn’t lie about something so rare and complicated as love.

In due time, I want to say again, I will feel the same.

But I can’t say that either. Things are far, far too complex than she even knows and if she knew the things I’m keeping from her, the things I’ve kept from everyone, she’d probably take it all back.

“Bram?” she asks, studying my face. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

I clear my throat gently. “Do you believe it?”

She blinks, shocked. “Of course I believe it. I…I love you.”

I shake my head once. “Then you didn’t say the wrong thing. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Surprised but grateful. It’s an honor for you to say those words to me.”

“An honor?” she repeats, letting go of my neck. “Why are you talking like you need a sword and a horse?”

I shrug, trying to be playful but I can tell she’s hurt, rejected like nothing else.

“Listen,” I tell her, trying to bring her to me but she wriggles out of my grasp and walks a few steps away. I follow her, putting a strong grip on her arm and holding her in place. “Don’t walk away. This is nothing to get upset about.”

“I just told you I love you!” she cries out, her expression pained. “And you didn’t say anything in return.”

“Nicola, please.” I smooth her hair behind her ears and hold her face in my hands. “I adore you. I want to spend every minute with you. I want to spend my future with you. But I’m a man of a past I have yet to shake, even though I’m working on it. You’re bringing me out of the past and into the future, where I belong.”

I try to kiss her but she moves her face out of the way. “It’s that woman, Taylor,” she whispers and I try not to freeze at the mention of her name. “It’s her, isn’t it? The one you fucked everything up with.”

“Not really,” I tell her and I’m being honest here. “No. It’s not like that. Honestly, I’m not in love with her, I swear to you, and that was many, many years ago.”

The can of worms is tipping. I should just come clean now. Come clean and explain and if she loves me, if she really loves me, she’ll understand. It’s nothing we can’t overcome, not at all. If anything, she might relate to me even more.