#ebeness

She raised the box with a saucy wink, adding a pop of the hip for flourish.

A chuckle left him. "You're very welcome for all three. Anytime."

"I know you didn't drink tonight, but still be careful on your drive home, okay? And please text me when you arrive."

"Naturally," he said, as if there was even a slight chance he's forget to do so. As if she wouldn't be on his mind all night. An evening breeze whispered against his broad back. "Now, go on up, Brightness. It's late, and getting colder. I won't have you freezing on your own doorstep."

She rolled her eyes at his chivalry, but a blush still bloomed across her cheeks.

After adding another reluctant goodbye to the already decorated series they'd accumulated during their courtship, Ebenezar finally made his way back to the car. He paused at he door, glancing back to sure Bess was inside and had locked the door behind her. When he heard the antique tumblers fall into place, he finally stepped behind the wheel.

Knowing he had a moment before Bess went up to her bedroom, he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. It blazed to life, and again, an image of the woman he loved filled his view. His phone wallpaper was a candid photo he'd snapped the first time he'd ever taken her out on the yacht. They had intended to only stay out on the water for an hour or two, but the outing was so enjoyable that they'd sailed for almost the entire day. In the photo, her back was turned to the camera. Her lovely arms were splayed out like angel wings as she stared over the surf in delight. Against the orange sunset, her silhouette had been even more striking. Even against the undeniable splendor of the sky and sea, she reigned supreme in his eyes.

He opened his messages and scrolled through his contacts. On his personal cell, there were less then 15 of them. It made it easier to spot the name of the person he wanted to reach out to.

He tapped her name and typed the message with his thumb:

<<Addie, are you home?

The cottage lights were on, but Gal was working late at the restaurant and Constance was picking up her mother from the airport. She would be in London the next few days, and even though she'd begin visiting the city more often, the two always had a habit of catching up. Plus, carrying all of Theresea's luggage was a feat in itself that could take hours.

That left only Addie as the other lady home. Sure enough, a second later, a reply popped into his inbox.

>>Yessir! What's up?

<<Favor to ask. Can you please make sure Bess eats something tonight or early tomorrow? She seemed tired at dinner, and I'm worried she doesn't feel well.

He paused, then typed:

<<Please don't mention that I asked you, if you don't mind. I've already said something to her about it, and I'm worried I pestered her.

>>Aw. Of course, I'll keep watch. We're having a girl's night hot pot tomorrow! I bet she'll eat her fill then.

<<Excellent. Much obliged, Addie. Sorry to bother you so late. >>No problem! I had no idea Bess wasn't feeling well. I'll keep watch.

Feeling at ease, he slipped his phone away just in time to glance up at the second story of the cottage. Bess's bedroom was on the second floor and had a direct view of the front drive leading up to their home.

They had a ritual where, after Wolf dropped Bess off, he would wait until she entered her second-story room and step to the window to officially end the night. There, framed against the light of her bedroom and wreathed in the vines from the plants she nurtured on her crowded windowsill, he'd watch that familiar silhouette step into view.

It was her signal from above that she was safe, indoors, and ready to wind down.

Practically, he savored the security of the ritual. He never left the cottage without making sure she was safely inside and had made it to her room, especially if it was dark out.

Personally, his heart always did backflips at seeing her silhouette standing stridently against the rosy light of her bedroom. Whether she was in pajamas or a dress from their date, he relished seeing the sensual chiaroscuro of her womanly curves wearing the nighttime's shadows with the sensuality of lingerie.

He glanced up, and his normally sound heart started behind his ribcage at the sight.

Bess?

No. Wait ...Yes.

For a half-second, he'd thought another woman had stepped to the window and caught him spying on his girlfriend.

But, no.

Fingers flexed against the carbon fiber and wood paneling of the steering wheel.

...If he'd thought something was different about her when he'd put his arm around her earlier in the night, now he was certain of it.

The silhouette of the woman standing over him was lovely, but it was not the woman he knew.

He had expected a full, bright moon to manifest overhead, her glory lighting his path home through the cityscape ahead.

This night, her light was ... waning. Still lovely, but reduced in splendor to just enough for her to look unrecognizable for a split second in the over him.

It wasn't an issue that she looked different. Every living and non-living went through phases: flowers, fashion, tides, the moon. Everything experienced change.

Gradual, methodical change.

...He hoped he was imagining things. Maybe he was getting old like his twin brother and needed to surrender to the fact that he finally needed eyeglasses.

Yes, he conceded as he gave her a wave and backed out of the park. that was probably it.

Just a trick of the light. Nothing more.

The next time Bess opened the fridge was the second morning after the date.

The cheesecake was still inside, but now pushed to the very back, right next to the main chiller unit. She'd hid it behind a bowl of freshly harvested cucumbers from the garden and a carafe of Crystal Light for safe keeping.

The night before, Connie had mixed up a pitcher of the mango green tea blend for everyone to share. Bess had to admit, it was a nice change-up from all the water she'd been chugging. Plus, with the heat climbing every day, the beverage was definitely refreshing and much less salty in taste than an electrolyte-filled sports drink.

She'd also seen Constance mix the pink lemonade mix with a little vodka for a drink the night prior. Not a bad idea, Bess thought. The concoction was definitely lower calorie than anything you'd get in a bar. Maybe she'd try it next time she wanted a buzz. Why not?

After pouring herself a glass of the mango-tea variety, she slid the mostly filled right back in front of the takeaway container. Perfectly secret, she thought.

She would eat it in a day or two, she promised herself. She'd promised him as well, and she'd follow through.

But today was not that today.

Today, Bess, thought, was a pivotal day.

It was the hottest day of the season so far, and the dew point alone was a sticky 23 degrees Celsius.

"95 degrees, and with a 73 dew point. An absolute scorcher."

Instead of bemoaning the dreadful news, she smiled and began to gather her hair in a ponytail.

She was going to sweat off so much water weight, she thought. A good, body-cleansing sweat actually sounded like a delight, too. Sweating outdoors and under the sun felt infinitely more natural than inside a stuffy gym, which is what she'd been doing for most of the early spring season. Summer wasn't far off, after all, so she'd been hitting the gym daily. Her new diet and exercise routine was giving her results, but spending two hours in the aerobics room and on the treadmill was proving to be a time-sink. Add in long hours at the hospital on top of it all, she she was starting to feel like a zombie.

With the garden, she could multi-task and tend to some desperately needed maintenance that had been building up. Many of the bushes needed trimming, and the heat has caused some vines to already become heavy with spoils that needed to be harvested.

After changing into an oversized Bauhaus T-shirt (Wolf's, of course) she donned her headphones and raced outside to get started. She grabbed a watering can, but left her water bottle behind. She only had so many hands, after all.

Beside, if she needed water, the house was right there.

Stepping outdoors felt akin to stepping into a gym sauna, but she relished it. She always liked moving her body and being active, especially when it had a purpose. Perhaps the average gym rat would scoff at the idea of watering flowers being in the same category as a heavy-lifting session, but to Bess, the garden was her second home. It was infinitely more enjoyable to move organically doing something she loved, especially when it got a good sweat going.

A very, very good sweat.

The shirt was already stuck to her back after only tending to the hedges on the left side of their courtyard. When she lifted a hand to wipe her forehead, she found that her entire face was as slick as if she'd stepped from the shower. She felt equal parts victorious and sticky.

She didn't feel the same peace or stillness she usually felt when nurturing the brushes and blooms under her care, but that was likely due to the heat. Even the simple tilting of a watering can felt like a labored effort.

Well, Bess, thought, sucks, but it's working! Not only was she losing that pesky water weight by the gallon, but the sweat was also working wonders for keeping her cold. In fact, it worked so well that she could feel her skin starting to prickle with gooseflesh despite the mercury in their patio thermometer slithering higher and higher, like an asp toward an unaware target.

But ... the feeling didn't fade. A minute passed. Then another. Then five, and she was still cold to the touch.

It felt a little odd, she had to admit, but nothing too terrible.

Then, with the expediency of a lighting strike, a chill ran up her spine. Her headphones slipped from her ears, the headset clattering to the base of her neck.

A creeping, clammy cold that somehow resisted the exterior temperatures overtook her like a sudden high tide. In one limb-crippling crash, the cold she felt changed from a uncanny nippiness to an all-encompassing iciness.

That, Bess knew, was not good. Instinct kicked in, her previous elation forgotten. She needed to sit down, she realized.

Yet, with even a single step, she swayed dangerously on her feet. Her feet frantically sidestepped each other all the way to the yard's picket fence, where she hooked an elbow over one of the tall posts to catch herself. The impact of her elbow on the wood stung, but she was too weak to murmur a grunt of pain. She sank against the wood, head stooped sharply between her shoulders. Her lungs raced to control her shallow breaths, but to no avail.

Choking a throatful of air, she slowly hoisted herself up on her legs, which suddenly felt as foreign as stilts.

The house was so, so close. All she had to do was make it inside, then she could collapse on the cold kitchen floor.

The thought was motivating enough to inspire another achingly slow step, moving as slowly as if she was under hostage. For a moment, she felt steady, but her hand was still clutching the fence post in a vice grip. The instant she found the courage to fully push herself up and away from the fence, a terrible nausea gripped her. A cloying bile rose in her throat.

All the while, the sun continued to beat down on her.

"You're in public! You can't pass out here! C'mon, GET UP!"

That pesky cheerleader of an inner voice now screamed into her ear like a drill sergeant.

Another step forward, and her vision stuttered, like a television losing signal in a storm.

She regained her sight just in time to throw out her hands and catch herself, her nose inches away from the grass.

"S-Shit..." Bess gasped. Droplets of sweat rolled down her face and onto the blades of grass below. For a moment, it almost looked as if it was raining.

There was no way she could walk, she realized. With no other option, she started to crawl. She moved slowly, hand over hand, dirt sticking beneath her nails. A few strides in, her arms began to quake.

She muttered a single plea before her elbows caved and she fell into the ground, smack dab in the middle of the yard and under the direct witness of the blazing summer sun. For a moment, the picturesque garden of the quaint cottage of Pip's Park was eerily quiet.

Then, as suddenly as the silence had fallen, it was interrupted by the frantic cry of another woman.

"Bess!"

Thankfully, the blazing star overhead wasn't the only one that had witnessed her fall.

Another sun, along with her blazing supernova of a mother, had rounded the corner of the cottage at just the right moment to watched their dear companion collapse into the grass.

Both women ran to her side, a small bag of groceries left in an abandoned scatter across the cobblestone walkway as they shifted focus to carrying the young woman to safety.

Once she was secure in their arms, with both supporting her to keep her upright, they made a beeline for the back kitchen door and into the cool, temperature-controlled domicile.

The destination was only five steps away.

When Bess came to, she no longer felt itchiness of the grass on her hands or the film of sweat on her back. Most noticeably at all, the searing heat from before was now replaced with a pleasant breeze and the distant aroma of sugared lemons.

As she cracked one eye open, nothing but murkiness greeted her at first. it was as if she was staring at the world through a dirty fish tank. For an achingly-slow minute, her vision was too blurry to make out the hard edges of anything around her. Slowly, in sync with her soft breathing, the blurry shapes and orbs of light began to coalesce into familiar objects. A shabby-chic coffee table. A Tiffany-style stained-glass lamp in the corner. A retro 1970s desk fan with cheddar-orange blades, pointed right at her.

The living room, Bess realized foggily. She was inside. Had she made it after all?

As she shifted gently in place, she felt her muscles scream in protest. Then, a soft shush quieted them.

"There she is," a voice, kind as a well-worn quilt, said. "There's my girl."

The New York accent was as distinct as it was smoky, its brusque edges now the ministrations of a familiar lullaby Bess knew all too well.

Theresea dropped a kiss on her forehead. If she cared about the sweat and grime on Bess's skin, she showed no sign of it.

"A ... an ..." Anise. The smell of gingerbread cooling on a wire rack, the sweetness as welcome as a kiss hello after coming in from a horrid storm.

"Oh, sweetheart," Theresea cooed, her lacquered nails as cold and smooth as beetle shells upon her cheek. "Are you back with us, baby? You gave us quite a scare."

"T...Te...Te?"

A third voice answered. "Bess?"

This woman's accent was lighter than Theresea's, but Bess knew her friend's voice, even when it was marred with concern. She also knew Constance's accent tended to flare in sync with her emotions, whether she was exceptionally happy ... or terribly worried.

As Constance rushed into view from the nearby kitchen, summoned by the sound of Bess's soft groans and her mother's comforting words, her wide-eyed expression conveyed her emotion wordlessly.

"C....Connie?" Bess asked, the name an echo in her throat.

The second the name fell from her lips, Connie lifted a hand and pressed something soft to Bess's face. As she bounced the cooling cloth from one freckled cheek to another, Bess's whole body sighed with relief. The sting of the cold was immediately sobering, and she felt her buzzing nerves finally become still beneath her skin. "T-Thank you..."

"Does that feel okay?" she asked her friend.

"It feels w-wonderful..." she said, but then shivered. "I-It's cold in here."

"Really?" Connie placed a bare hand to Bess's forehead and reeled in surprise. "Oh, honey, you're freezing! How is that possible?"

As Bess slowly came back to life, Theresea and Connie tended to her gently. They started with urging her to drink water, then switched to a electrolyte-filled sports drink. After a few gulps of that, they slowly urged her upright. The goal was to get her strong enough for her to get to her bedroom, change into fresh clothes, rinse her face, and get her tucked safely into bed. While it was still daylight outside, neither woman was keen to let Bess out of their sight.

Especially since they still didn't know why she collapsed ... but they were quite keen to find out.

"I just went out to water the plants, and I guess I lost track of time."

Bess muttered the excuse while sipping a glass of water, pointedly ignoring the full-calorie sports drink.

"That doesn't sound like you, my dear," Theresea said, still seated loyally at her side and rubbing soothing circles into Bess's shoulder. "You of all people know how dangerous the heat can be. Heat-related deaths in this country are terribly high, you know. I'm sure you see many terrible and preventable cases at the hospital."

Bess couldn't deny that. The temperatures in the UK weren't particularly horrid compared to other countries closer to the Equator, but the death tolls were monumental. Part of it was because many houses retained heat like quaint little brick ovens. Death tolls climbed horribly high in the summers because the heat was oppressive and essentially inescapable for many. At least their cottage in Pip's Park possessed air conditioning for days like this.

...Which made Bess's fainting spell make even less sense.

"I just wasn't careful," she repeated, her eyes landing everywhere except on the other who women who gazed at her so curiously. "I mean, o-obviously. I'm so sorry you two had to find me like that. And I'm sorry about the groceries."

TeTe waved a hand, brushing away the sentiment like a pesky cobweb. "Please. Everything ended up being perfectly salvageable. Even if that hadn't been the case, you are infinitely more important, my dear. Pay the groceries no mind."

Connie, who had been merely listening to and observing Bess for most of the time since bringing her inside, noticed her friend's flickering gaze and the nervous furrow of her brow. Such a pinched expression wasn't typically worn by someone coming back from the brink of exhaustion. She looked more like she was nervous.

"Bess, you can't just drink water," Connie said, scooting the sports drink closer. "Please. Or I can heat up some bone broth if you'd prefer that. It might take a little longer ... "

Bone broth, 40 kcals. Sports drink, 190 kcals.

"Maybe the bone broth would be better," Bess finally relented. "S-Sorry, that's probably more work for you."

"If I minded, I wouldn't have asked."

As Connie went to the stove to begin heating the broth, Theresea eased Bess upward. "Come on, darling. Can you stand? We must get you out of those clothes. They're soaked to the bone, and most definitely not helping with that chill you feel."

She nodded, obeying but not listening.

It had taken so much strength just to stand that even the idea of taking a step forward drained her. It would be a marathon for her to even climb the stairs to the bathroom.

There had been another side effect to standing upright that Bess hadn't anticipated. The new angle had caused TeTe to shift much closer to keep the weak woman aloft and balance her weight. As a result, her hands held her tighter.

That closeness gave way to confirmed suspicions that couldn't be denied. They'd shared far too many embraces for the changes to eclipse her observation.

Confusion catalyzed into concern. The eyes that had been so caring before immediately hardened. "Bess?"

"..."

"Elizabeth."

When she failed to move at all, TeTe eased her back down onto the couch. The second her body hit the sofa, she sighed in relief. It was almost enough to make her forget TeTe's disapproving presence lingering over her.

For the first time ever, Bess was on the other side of Theresea DoGoode's dagger-like stare. Oh, it felt horrid. Her stomach felt like it was coiling in on itself, like flower bud succumbing to rot.

There was no use in lying further, Bess knew. She'd been caught, and now her only hope was to spring into whatever damage control she could.

"...Elizabeth, please tell me I'm wrong," TeTe started. "Tell me that I'm misunderstanding."

Tears pricked her eyes. All Bess could murmur through a dry mouth was a watery, "I'm sorry."

Constance returned to the living room with a steaming cup of broth just in time to see TeTe lift a hand to her brow. She saw her mother scrunch her brow behind her slightly curled fist, dark purple lips pulled back into an unbecoming scowl.

She jumped into action quickly.

After delivering the broth to Bess's hands ("Careful, it's really hot"), Connie took a seat beside her soul-sister and took her hand.

She didn't ask what had her mother so tense.

"Did you ... know?" Bess asked, color draining from her face.

"No. I didn't know. But ... I did notice things. Odd choices you made, here and there. Nothing conclusive." Not until now.

"...And the other girls?"

Constance smiled sadly.

Oh, no.

Seeing her daughter's collected response inspired similar empathy in Theresea. To say the woman was angry would have been an incorrect assessment. In reality, the true emotion she felt was a vague beast carving a hovel somewhere between disappointment and frustration.

After a long breath, TeTe composed herself with a audible (albeit slightly dramatic) inhale. With a gentle gait, she reassumed her post beside Bess on the sofa. She also took the woman's hand and, after lacing their fingers, placed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles. "I'm sorry, my darling. That was unbecoming of me. I shouldn't have reacted so harshly."

Bess restrained a thankful chuckle. Sure, TeTe's icy glare and disapproval had filled her with momentary terror, but it was still nothing compared to the torment her biological mother could dish out. Not that she minded Theresea's at all. In fact, something about the quick and sincere apology caused the internal tide to turn ... and subsequently crash into and demolish the wall she'd put up to protect herself.

The pain and secrecy had grown tiresome. The fleeting high of feeling hipbones beneath her fingers were no longer worth it.

"Bess, sweetie, will you talk to us?" TeTe inquired, her voice returning to its usual soothing tone. At the same time, Constance eased the mug out of her hands and placed it on a coaster on the coffee table before them. Still within reach, but no longer perched precariously atop her shivering thighs.

She then replaced it with the berry-flavored sports drink.

That was all it took.

It was a tale as old as time, truly. A feeling as relatable as hunger or thirst, as horribly ironic as it was.

The feeling of inadequacy festering into addicting habits. Self-sabotage masquerading as self-care. The allure of non-sustainable habits becoming a comfortable norm.

"I knew I couldn't do it forever," Bess said. "I just ... I just got so excited that I was seeing changes. For the first time ever, I saw my body change in a way I wanted it to. I was succeeding, and thought maybe the idea I had in my head could become a reality."

She took a long drink, nearly draining half the bottle. The flavor of the drink was so intense she felt her jaw cramp as it slid down her throat, but she also couldn't stop.

"That was stupid of me."

Theresea and Constance listened attentively, not utterly a word of interruption until Bess had fully stated her piece.

"All of this is so, so stupid. I'm supposed to be an adult! I have the bills and job for it, but here I am inventing my own problems."

More silence. Not because they had nothing to say, but because they knew Bess had more to say.

With the anxious crinkling of the now empty plastic bottle as background ambience, she did eventually continue. The words were hay-soft, but chased with tears as big as pearls.

"...I really like him," Bess whispered, head drooping. "I want to look good for him."

As an embarrassed sob inched up her throat, Constance offered Bess a tissue pack that she's grabbed from her purse. After accepting it, she used one immediately to dry her eyes, cursing as traces of her waterproof mascara beaded on her lashes painfully. She cursed; the last straw on a towering bale of back-breaking grievances. The younger woman leaned in for an embrace, her shoulders cowing inward.

"Come here," Constance urged, and Bess followed willingly. The redhead was there to receive her as she allowed her friend to support her. Her head came to a rest over the slope of her chest.

As the tears flowed, Bess tried to jerk back. "Oh, Con! Your top! I'm sorry!"

Yet, Constance hugged her even closer. One hand carded through her inky curls while the other came to a rest on the small of her back. As she shushed her concerns, Bess resettled back into the hug, and even wrapped her own arms around her. After another snuffled, she repeated a series 'thank yous' into her friend's copper hair.

TeTe watched the two women embrace with the awe of someone witnessing an eclipse. They were a sight to behold together, that was certain. But seeing them side-by-side and in a moment of pure comfort? They truly did look like long-lost soul-sisters. Two heavenly entities stabilized by the other's light and gravitational pull.

TeTe discreetly stole the ruined tissue from Constance's hand and placed it in the wastebin beneath the coffee table.

She then prepared a fresh one for Bess, which she reached back to accept.

"I'm sorry for worrying you both," she said, her voice still muffled. "Ugh."

"Do you feel better?" Connie asked.

"...I don't know. Physically, yes."

"That's good. Step one, complete. Now, we move onto step two."

"Step two?"

"You said some pretty terrible things about yourself earlier, Bess. Things we need to address."

"N-No, really, it's not your guys' responsibility to ..."

Before she had the chance to argue, TeTe swooped in and picked up the baton seamlessly from her daughter.

"Darling, your handsome Wolf has eyes," TeTe offered. "Lovely eyes, as I'm sure you. know. Silvery and blue, yes?"

Not quite understanding but definitely agreeing, Bess nodded. "Yes."

"He uses those lovely eyes to answer emails, pick out flowers at the market, and drive that dashing motorcycle of his. Plus, he has a fabulous eye for suits and style."

Seeing the way her eyes lit up at the mere thought of him was nothing short of endearing. "He does. That's why I wanted to match that same standard of quality that he's used to. But what does that have to do with ... oh."

The light fizzled out as she caught on to TeTe's antics.

"I see what you'd doing," Bess sighed. "Very clever."

Too late, the older woman thought with a smirk. She'd bitten the lure, and TeTe was quick to reel her in. "So you agree! He has lovely eyes, which means he knows what you look like, my dear. He knows firsthand how lovely you are."

Bess nodded quickly this time. Dismissively.

"Not so fast." TeTe leaned in and caged Bess's face gently between her hands. Slowly, she guided her midnight-colored gaze to her deep umber one. "Really take a moment and ponder that for me. He sees you. He knows what you look like. What your body looks like. What your face looks like."

Bess tried to nod, but Theresea's grip held her steady.

"And he knew all that when he began courting you. He chose you, Bess."

"TeTe, I appreciate that, but ... Oliver had eyes, too. It doesn't mean much. And he definitely used his eyes to remind me of what I wanted to change, like my scars and this stupid, stubborn stomach fat. HE also saw all that! So ... so why would Wolf not notice?"

"My dear, that's the point. He does notice."

She blinked slowly.

"He notices, and finds you beautiful. Those two statements coexist here."

"Beautiful enough to break his spell of bachelorhood," Constance reminded her gently. "And you know Wolf. He's not interested in, um, a quick fix. He wants accountability. Long-term commitment."

Marriage.

"I seem to recall that the moment you two started courting, Wolf was quite eager to have you on his arm at events," TeTe suggested. "I don't believe he ever did that with other women. Or, if he asked, they never reciprocated."

"Not to mention that he keeps your picture as his phone wallpaper," Connie said, feigning a casual shrug. "In case you didn't know."

Bess hadn't known. How had she missed that? She must have been distracted.

"And like Mama said, he chose you. Out of all the fish in the vast London sea, he went right to you ... Well, that's not exactly true. He went right to you after finally gaining the confidence to realize he was good enough for a fine woman like you, which took some effort. He fought us for a long time about you deserving someone younger and more handsome than him."

TeTe rolled her eyes and gently elbowed her daughter. "These two really are the perfect match, n'est-ce pas?"

"C'est vrai," Constance added with a smirk. "Ce sont tourtereaux."

This time, Bess glanced between the two women with confused hope. "...Is that true?"

The warble in her voice broke their hearts.

"There is no man worthy of you, Bess," TeTe teased. "But your Wolf? He's as close as it gets."

"As close as it gets? H-He's a billionaire philanthropist! I can't be a catch for a man like that! Not in a million years!"

"No need to worry, love, because you already are."

She glanced down at her body, still donned in a sweaty shirt, and still a few sizes from her original goal. "B-But ... I look ..."

"You look like a grown, sexy woman," Connie said. "The perfect match for a grown, attractive gentleman, hm?"

Bess's cheeks flushed their signature shade of strawberry.

For the first time in a long time, she felt no desire to argue with the compliment. Instead of demurely denying it, she let it sink it. Let each word snake through her head and heart. She then tasted the words on her tongue, the mouthfeel sweet as honey.

It ... felt good.

So good that her lips formed a smile, and her stomach rumbled gently.

While TeTe whipped up a delicious dinner with the fresh tomatoes and Boursin from the market, Constance followed Bess upstairs to help her wash up.

Opting to skip a hot shower for the moment, Connie pulled the flexible showerhead down to her wash the dirt and dried sweat from Bess's gorgeous locks. The rest of her body was wipes down with a washcloth.

"I'm not used to doing this at home," Bess laughed as she toweled her hair. "Normally I do this at the hospital. Apparently it's called a whore's bath by some."

Connie chuckled as she handed Bess a fresh sweatshirt to change into. "Funny, I call it a hangover. Ah, I'll take the dirty towel."

"Thanks. Oh, Con? Do you have any make-up remover? This mascara is stubborn."

"You know I do. One sec."

They continued their routine in amicable silence until Bess was fresh-faced, cleaned, and fully dressed. By the time the steam had settled, the sound of olive oil and garlic had begun to waft up the cottage stairs.

TeTe was being extra diabolical with the dinner recipe, Bess thought with a smile. Who could resist olive oil, cheese, garlic and tomatoes?

"She's adding angel hair pasta, too," Connie added, reading her friend's mind as she loaded the hamper with the day's casualties.

"Of course she is."

A beat passed as Constance then fluttered away to retrieve the make-up remover. When she returned and slipped the tub into her friend's hand, Bess hesitated for a moment.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

The corner of Bess's lips quirked up in a sideways smile. "Really? You're sure you want more of them?

"Always."

"Ha! Well, I warned you ... um. So. Now that we're alone, please be honest. You really don't think I need to lose weight? At all?"

"Bess, if you really want to change your body, you're free to do so."

"Because I've always been told ... wait, what? Really?"

"Certainly." Her shoulders bobbed in a quick shrug. "It's your body, after all. It's nobody else's business ... except when your friend finds you passed out in the garden on a hot day. Then it most definitely becomes my business."

"Oh. Um, okay." Her hands came together in a nervous tangle over her belly. "So ... you think I should lose weight after all?"

"I didn't say that."

"So I shouldn't lose weight?"

"I didn't say that either."

"Con."

"Whatever you decide to do, whether it's a tattoo or losing weight or dyeing your hair, it should always be for you. And, as someone who cares for you, I only insist that you approach any choice you make as safely as possible."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much."

"So you're not mad?" Theresea definitely hadn't been pleased, though Bess knew that was probably more because of reckless execution rather than the actual end goal she wanted to achieve.

"Mad at you for what?" Connie asked, her laugh airy. "Wanting to change yourself? Darling, we're all guilty of that at some point."

Bess's brow arched in doubt. "We're all guilty?"

"Yes, I think so. At some point, at least."

"...Even you?"

It was the redhead's turn to return a look of perplexity. "Why do you sound so incredulous? I've told you."

Bess's eyes trailed down to glimpse her friend's legs. They were long and leanly muscled, but also adorned with long scars running up and down the outside of each. A separate scar ran perpendicular across the outside scar to right below both her knee caps. The lightning-colored lines were surgical scars left behind after the frantic operation she'd undergone after her ex-husband had shoved her down the stairs.

"Your scars?" Bess asked. They had discussed that at length, after all. That incident had been the starting point of Connie's pain med abuse, which had helped pose an intervention for.

"Well, yes," Constance said, "But just my legs in general."

"What could you possibly have to be self-conscious about?" The question wasn't terse, but rather, filled with genuine curiosity. "Cellulite? Everyone has that."

"Well, sure, but I notice it on me. Also, these."

She lifted the hem of her sundress to show the backs of her knees, where there were small sprawling pockets of blue veins just barely pressing up against the skin. Like organic tree roots left unchecked. Spider veins, Bess knew. It was something most women eventually experienced, especially as they aged.

Bess blinked. "I...never even noticed those."

"We are our own worst critics," she said, letting the hem flutter down. "Aren't we?"

" Hah. ... Alright, touché." She knew better than to argue with that.

"Just ... be safe, Bess. And know that, if you want to stay exactly as you are now, you are absolutely good enough for Wolf. Better than good, actually. I believe he'd heartily agree and would be more than willing to wax poetic about your beauty."

He would, Bess knew, and has. A smile crept to her face.

"Okay. Thanks, Con. For everything."

With that, the oven timer pinged on the floor below. Constance smiled and took Bess by the wrist gently.

"Perfect timing! Come on, let's go eat," she chimed merrily.

Then, she turned and gave her friend a knowing wink.

"And remember, there's a cheesecake in the fridge with your name on it for dessert."

That next weekend, the heat wave had broken just enough for a trip on the water to be refreshing.

Both couples packed light bags and embarked early in the morning to begin sailing atop the mica-tinted waters before they became over-saturated with tourists and traffic.

When they'd rolled up to the pier, they were all relieved to see that the only ones that had beat them out onto the water were the fishermen.

It would take about fifteen minutes to sail past the obsidian beaches along the Thames and into waters that would be safe for them to tread in leisurely. For that short period, Ebenezar had opted to take the steering wheel and handle the voyage while his brother checked the propellers and shaft for any dents or dings that had happened overnight since their last check.

Of course, both ladies were encouraged to start relaxing and not lift so much as a finger. A lovely sentiment, but not one Bess usually listened to.

"We'll take care of everything," Wolf said with an easy smile. He put an arm around her, fingers caressing her side slightly through the thick material of her swimsuit cover. "Relax and settle in, okay?"

Even in basic navy trousers, crisp linen shirt and sunglasses, he was as handsome as a supermodel. He had also made the blessedly wonderful decision to wear his hair down and loose. It looked like molten silver under the summer sun, and it was a battle to not swoon after every glance his way.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" Bess asked, keen to be helpful but also enjoying his proximity. Her fingertips doodled loose shapes over his heart. "I'm happy to lend a hand."

"Much obliged, my darling, but I'm alright for now," he assured. "We handled the maintenance last night, so we could jump right into sailing today. Besides, we came out here to relax. As soon as we sail out far enough, that's exactly what I intend to do. for as many hours as we have daylight."

"Haha, sounds like you've got a good plan."

"I always do. Well, I always try to."

"Well, you know where I'll be. Just holler if I can help."

A spritely laugh left his lips. "I think I'm incapable of 'hollering' at you, Brightness."

"Well, maybe you just need a little practice." She dared to shift her posture, and even popped a hip out flirtatiously.

Catching the gesture, he slowly tilted down his sunglasses to peer at her. His eyes were like embers behind the reflective glass panels.

"Well," he started again, voice now a distinct octave lower than before, "Once we're out a bit further, if you happen to find yourself in need of company, perhaps I could inquire - not holler - if a lovely lady such as yourself would be interested in joining me on the top deck for a drink or two?"

So that was why he'd packed red wine in the cooler, she realized. She'd noticed when loading ice at the pier's supply store before official setting sail.

"A drink? Is that all that's on your mind?"

His gaze flickered up and down her form. Even in her swimsuit cover-up and sandals, he ogled her like she was in a decadent silk gown.

"It's not all," he husked, "But considering we have company aboard, it will do nicely for the moment."

Heavens, his cadence and soft smirk made even the most lewd of statements somehow still sound virtuous.

"Well, I did see my favorite wine in the cooler."

"Naturally. Your favorite chocolate is also on ice." Can't have the woman I love going hungry, can I? "I say, we're about to put this cooler to quite the test."

"Aw, thank you. Wait, did you actually bring wine glasses?"

"Of course!" Wolf answered, as if it was ridiculous she'd even had to ask. "I'd never forget that. I brought the Riedel crystal. With coasters."

"Mm-hmm. And the two Indian pale ales I also saw in the cooler?"

At this, his suave facade faltered. "W-Well, I'm still a simple man at the end of the day, my dear."

It was a meager defense, but Bess tilted her head back and laughed richly.

"Well, how could I possibly resist charm like that?" she asked. "...Perhaps I will join you, Captain. If the mood moves me."

He smirked, then dipped his head to kiss her lips. The contact was long and languid, one arm wrapped about her shoulders with ease. He gathered her close, and so easily to boot. It made her feel safe; coveted.

When they broke for air, he lifted a hand and gently tapped her nose.

"It's a date."

Still walking on air after the kiss and banter, Bess drifted down to one of the many lacquered benches on the boat. After finding a spot for her beach bag and kicking off her sandals, she was left with one last hurdle to cross before she could enjoy the summer day head.

Her cover-up.

She couldn't wear it all day. In addition to it being too stuffy, it would highlight her insecurity with more intensity than a neon sign.

A few days had passed since her collapse, and after returning to a regular schedule of eating, she'd regained a few pounds. She could feel it in and out of her clothes. The clothing items that had previously gone slack now fit slightly better. Not as much as better, but close enough.

She would take it off, she said. All she needed was a moment.

She closed her eyes to savor the silence and break.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

The sound broke her trance. She opened her eyes and searched the deck for the source, thinking for a moment there was a mechanical issue that needed their attention.

Then, her eyes landed on the source of the sound, and ... nearly guffawed at the sight.

"Constance?"

There, walking down the deck straight-ahead, was her best friend and soul-sister. She strutted toward Bess easily, her figure accentuated by her heeled sandals (complete with adorable white bows fastened about her ankles) and an apple-red two-piece. Even with a semi-transparent scarf fastened about her hips as a scarf for added coverage while walking on deck, it was clear her suit fit her exceptionally. The skimpy cut hugged the hourglass curve of her waist perfectly and offered the perfect view of her Pilates-produced abs. Her belly-button piercing featured a matching red gem wreathed in gold.

And on top of all that was a comically massive lifejacket strapped around her torso.

"There you are!" Connie said, tilting up her tortoiseshell Tiffany sunglasses. "I was looking for you."

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

A reflector pad on one of the jacket's shoulders caught the light and sent out a glare that could rival the beam from a lighthouse. Thank goodness for her Miu Miu shades, she thought. Wolf had been right about splurging on some serious shades for protecting her eyes.

For a moment, she was too distracted to remember to speak. "Oh, um, I was with Wolf asking him if there was anything we could do to help around on deck."

"Ah, that explains it." Squeak. "I did a whole lap and couldn't find you."

Constance reached the bench and plopped down beside her best friend casually. As she also set her beach bag aside and began to tie her long hair up for the day ahead, Bess watched her in anticipation.

"...Well?"

"Well, what?"

Bess wagged her finger up and down. "This look."

"Oh. You noticed?" A coy tilt of the shoulder punctuated the sentence.

Bess mirrored her friend's aware smirk. "I must say, the whole 'sexy rubber ducky' look is bold, but if anyone could pull it off, it's you."

"Aw, thank you! Buuut this wasn't my idea. Adonis bought it for me." She did a playful model's turn in her seat. "He said he would feel safer if i wore it. I think he's worried about me falling overboard."

Bess glanced down at the six-inch heeled sandals Connie wore.

"Wow. Why on Earth would he be worried about that?"

After a playful nudge, the two ladies got to work on lying up their hair and finishing up with one last application of sunscreen.

Bess misted her friend with one last coat (well, as much as she could) before handing the can to her friend for her turn. Well, no use putting it off any longer,

Then, with a deep breath, Bess pulled off her cover-up and placed it on her seat.

And ... nothing happened.

No studio laughter spun up to mock her. No vulgar paparazzi popped out of the waves in wet suits to snap pictures of her for tomorrow's tabloid.

Instead, Constance smiled and went about spraying her with the sunscreen, giving extra attention to the most freckled parts that would see the sun with the most regularity.

When she turned around to let Connie get to her back and bum, only then did she let out an appraising whistle.

"Well, look at you, good-lookin'! Excellent choice for today."

Bess's swimsuit was a two-piece with a lettuce-ruffled edge and ribbed texture. The color was a buttery yellow that accentuated her dark hair and blue eyes perfectly.

For the swimsuit bottom, she'd chosen something slightly more risqué than her usual fare. Rather than a full-coverage bottom, she'd opted for a cheeky cut that showed much more skin.

After all, she had wanted to surprise her boyfriend with a summer look that matched the hot temperatures. A peek at her womanly backside not only ticked the box, but doodled pink hearts around it in pink ink.

This wasn't a public beach, she reminded herself. She was on a boat with three trusted people, including her boyfriend. Nobody was going to clutch their pearls at half of her bum being on display, and nobody was going to side-eye a little tummy roll at her waist.

"It looks okay?" Bess asked.

"Let me phrase it like this: do not show Wolf until he's done driving. I'm worried he'd be too busy admiring you to notice steering us right into a rock."

She laughed at that, her hesitation fading more and more by the second. "Well, if he does, we don't need to worry. You can just grab onto the boat and float it back to shore."

Constance gave her friend a light spank, which made Bess yelp then erupt into more laughter. "Alright, alright! Sorry! But ... thank you, Con. For the sunscreen and, well, everything else."

"Aw, you're welcome," Connie said, her good humor persistent. "Anytime."

As the boat's engine slowly started to whir to a step, the ladies glanced around to see that the bustle of downtown had faded and was replaced by dense tree lines. Holm oaks and yucca trees blended into emerald fields that flanked them on either side. Further down, impressive London planes provided ample shade over a modest dock and beach, complete with picnic tables and patches of reed grass and purple loosestrife. It wasn't the summer scenery Bess or Connie was used to, but neither could deny the appear.

"Wow, I didn't even notice we'd gone so far!" Bess remarked. "We're upstream, right?"

She knew there were tidal and non-tidal parts of the Thames, and that the prevalent sailing culture had spearheaded a plethora of yacht clubs one could seek membership at. The furthest one north was in Oxford, she recalled Wolf mentioning, but there was no way they had traveled that far in such a short amount of time.

"I do not think so," Connie agreed, glancing about. A few brick cottages were alongside the waterline, but further back from the water's edge. The riverside aesthetic combined with a distinct chapel jutting proudly from a blanket of sun-yellowed leaves sealed her certainty.

"Oh, this is Marlow. I've never been before, but I recognize that chapel from the news and pictures."

Buckinghamshire, then. About 33 miles from central London. That made more sense, Bess thought.

As they made their way further from the city, the boat had slowed it's pace into a gentler amble. While there was some distance chatter from the nearby town and from some other boats that cruised by swiftly like mechanical swans, the solitude here was far more prevalent than what they'd felt closer to downtown.

Now, the actual relaxation could begin.

Which meant Bess had a drink date to meet.

The ladies agreed to part ways, with Connie opting to stay down below to read on a lounger and add a little color to her tan.

Just before she left, Bess noticed Constance undo the scarf-skirt around her own waist so that she was also donned in her swimsuit bottoms. Her cellulite and veins were still there, but hardly noticeable compared to the grandeur of the full picture.

Judging by the way Adonis (who had been finishing a phone call when he'd spotted his paramour) nearly dropped the device overboard and subsequently sped-walked to her side, she felt quite verified in her opinion.

The besotted look on his wizened face was not the look of a man micro-analyzing the alleged faults of his love's body.

It was clear: he did not see the flaws she did.

... Just like Wolf.

Whenever Bess had expressed concern about her body weight or sheepishly commented on the breadth of her shoulders or spottiness of her freckles, he'd dashed her doubts away each time.

Or at least, he'd tried to.

"Rubbish," he'd muttered into her ear, "You're a vision, Brightness. No caveats or asterisks."

"Wolf, please. I see how we look together in pictures. I-I'm not..." Mismatched. A worn cushion on a hand-crafted chair.

"Please. Have you ever taken a picture of the moon, Brightness? It never comes out, even with the so-called best lenses. Those cameras are so backwards that they make even the moon itself look underwhelming."

"T-That's different." I'm not the moon.

"Is it not, and you know it."

"Oh, come on. Look at you! Tall, handsome, perfect. Wouldn't you prefer a ... better version of me on your arm? Maybe a slimmer one? Less scarred?"

"...Do you really think I'd be so superficial?"

"No! No, that's not what I mean!" Then what did I want him to say?

"Good, because I would not. I want you. Not some mercurial, alternate version of you. This woman, living and breathing right in front of me, is the one who has my heart. I'm not interested in it being shared, even by another version of you."

He loved her, all of her, and no amount of insecurity on her end gave her the credibility to take that away from him.

...Before going up, she went to the cooler they'd brought.

"Promise me you're not just flattering me."

"I'm rotten at flattery, Brightness. But I can tell the truth to those who ask for it. But in return, I want you to try to believe it. Please."

Two drinks in hand, Bess grabbed the ladder and began her climb.

"It might take time for me to do that. I'm sorry."

"I'm a patient man, and you're worth waiting for."

"In the mood for that drink, Captain?" She lifted a can of Indian pale ale over her head. "I'd say you've definitely earned it."

She'd grabbed a beer for him and a lemonade for herself. The wine could wait, she thought impishly.

By the time she'd reached the top and rose to her full height, Wolf turned from his spot at the wheel to face her.

The shift in his expression was instant. Eyes widened. His jaw went slightly slack. A blush rose slowly to the high points of his high cheekbones. His sunglasses, which had previously been perched high atop his head to keep his swoop of hair at bay, fell forward and clattered onto the bridge of his nose.

The man didn't even notice.

The sigh he heaved practically deflated his chest, as if she'd taken all the air from his lungs.

"W-Wow. Look at ... ohhh, my. Look at you."

He reflexively reached out, then pulled back when his gentlemanly manners crashed back into his mind. He slowed the vessel to its idle speed with the tunable collar on the tiller. Once fully set, she had his undivided attention.

"Well, thank you for that," she teased, "Crashing into a rock would be a damper on the trip. And we don't want to make an enemy of the sailing clubs."

He wasn't listening. Once he'd bridged the distance between them, his gaze licked up and down the length. He appreciated every inch of her creamy thighs, every freckle on her perfect shoulders, and every curve of her tummy.

Like a fully-bloomed rose, she was full and lush. Blushing and enticing.

He didn't always hold her like she was a delicate rose; he knew he could also hold her like a lover. Full embraces, pinching fingers, skin-on-skin friction that was more addicting than sugar or mead. He loved that he didn't have to worry about the woman in his arms breaking apart after a romp in bed (or elsewhere). He treated her delicately because it was what she deserved as a person, not because it was what she needed.

"Well, here I was feeling spoiled just seeing you in that cover-up of yours, your hair all tied up and bare legs showing," he said. "But this?"

The sound the left him was a mix of a sigh and a growl. No words were spoken, but they were felt.

One of his large hands, warm from clutching the sun-warmed steering wheel, came up to hover over the swell of her hip, his fingers practicing restraint as they skimmed the ties of her two-piece. He gave one bow a small tug, just to tease, before returning to course.

"I take it you're a fan of the suit?" Bess asked with a coquettish tilt of her head. She shook her curls over her shoulders so they spiraled down the length of her curved spine. The effect produced another low purr of appreciation.

"Mm, very much so," he burred from the back of his throat. His hand languidly moved upward to smooth a rogue strand of hair from her eyes, then cup her cheek and tilt her head upward. "But I'm even more partial to the vixen wearing it."

The words burned with a delicious heat as it coiled in her lower belly.

Deciding to stoke the flames further, Bess decided to teasingly sway away from him so she could walk his ale over to a nearby bistro set by the steering station. As she did so, she made a point to sway her hips and bend over just slightly as she placed the drinks on the sturdy surface.

"Oh, you are an evil, evil woman," he groaned. She laughed at his obvious plight, which warranted another mock-pout. "Ah! Gloating a bit, ar' ye luv?"

The little twang didn't slip past her. His Cumbrian accent was poking through, she noted with a smirk. A promising development.

"Whatever do you mean?" Bess asked innocently. "I just brought those nice cold drinks you mentioned us sharing before."

"Mmm. So I noticed." His eyes lingered shamelessly at her bum.

"Well, don't you want yours? I'm sure you've worked up a sweat already."

"I want you back over here," he said, pointing a finger down at the spot before him where she'd lingered before, "Or I'll come to you. Your choice."

"My! I thought you were a patient man."

"I am, but I'm also a simple man," he reminded her. "And a man who knows what he wants. Now, to me."

The next time Bess sashayed her way to her roguish captain, she was held captive for quite a bit longer.

Long enough that their lukewarm drinks had to eventually be returned to the cooler, which was where they'd remain for many hours as she assumed a spot in his lap. Even in the heat, nothing could have parted them.

"Are you sure I'm not too heavy?" Bess asked, unable to help herself as he positioned her over him. It was just good manners, she also figured. He still needed to steer, after all.

With another chuckle, he leaned in and covered her lips with his own. The tactic silenced her doubts effectively.

"I'm wholly certain of it," he said, "And just as certain that you are indisputably, inarguably, wholly perfect."

Post-credit scene: Connie definitely fell overboard at least once. ... Twice.

So, um ... we got a little carried away. As per usual, haha. But I had a ton of fun writing of a version of how I might see this scenario play out.

"A normal reaction," he agreed humbly, "Considering I'm many years your senior."

He hoped were clear enough not only for her to hear, but for the microphone pinned to his short collar to pick up clearly. he imagined they'd edit that out, but imagining their snarling faces at his difficult was at least somewhat amusing.

"Well, yes, but that's not the only reason," she said, tilting her head down coquettishly. To Wolf, she looked more like a minotaur eyeing him as a target. "I was more shocked that you were still a bachelor at your age, because ... well, look at you!"

Octavia sipped a skinny-sangria flirtatiously while she spoke, causing the diamond baubles around her neck and clipped to her ears to dance. "I mean, you're so accomplished, and so fit. To us single ladies, you're like a blue marlin of a catch."

He didn't know how it was possible to fake a charmed blush, but she managed it. Alas, to no effect on him.

"That is quite kind of you. I think."

He sipped plain water stiffly, not so much as eyeing a menu. He resisted the urge to search for a clock in the restaurant.

"Go on, don't be shy! Give me all the juicy details, Mr. Scrooge. How is a man like you still single?"

"The natural result of not finding the right company yet, I suppose."

"The right company?" Her laughter was dainty but strained, no doubt a result of much practice at keeping her scrutinizing banter at something of a ladylike volume. As if that would help.

"And what is it that you find so humorous?" he asked, though he didn't particularly care about hearing her answer. Nonetheless, she provided one.

"To say you haven't found the right company when you, a billionaire bachelor, could literally have any woman you wanted," she supplied. "You must know that. All you would need to do is snap your fingers, and she'd have no choice but to come running."

"A key difference between us, I suppose," he said. "I have no urge to summon a spouse. Especially in the same way one would call a bellhop."

"... Well, it's very charming," she said. "You really are a gentleman."

"How disappointing to know the bar is so low."

Sensing his waning patience, she played with the cherry from her drink, tongue worrying the stem before she bites down with her pearly teeth. He winced and looked away, already annoyed at the gratuitous display.

"Did you ride your motorcycle here?" she asked.

"No." The words took a second to kick in. "Wait, how did you...?"

When he looked back at her, he saw her eyes light up at his reaction.

"Oh, I saw it in that delicious magazine spread that Men's Vogue did on you in their March issue" she revealed, crossing one long leg over the other. "You. The bike. That lovely leather jacket that sold out in seconds after the article went live."

The flattery extinguished his curiosity quicker than ice water. "Ah."

"They gave you the high-gloss foldout," she said. "They don't just give that to anyone, you know. You're prime real estate, sir."

He sighed heavily, now wishing his glass was filled with something stronger than water. "Lucky me."

Despite his best effort at being as politely disinterested as possible, the editors and camera crew worked overtime to cancel out his endeavors.

With a little finesse and framing (which essentially boiled down to keeping the camera trained on her face and reactions), it appears to all tuning in that the longtime bachelor is having a lovely time with Miss Octavia.

All across London as the program airs live, people are going gaga over them. ("Such a handsome couple!", "If he's still up and kicking, if you know what I mean, those babies would have some lovely genetics.")

Sparks were flying to the delight of London's tabloids, and to the disbelief of many others.

And the misery of one.

"It ... it doesn't bother me. Not really."

With an utterance of less than 10 words, Theresea knew Bess was lying. Even over the phone, the weight of her words was as clear as if they had been stones lopped upon her shoulders.

When the sweet, young woman Theresea had come to adore as a daughter had first mentioned the peculiar set-up to her over the phone a few days prior, there had been the slightest tremble in her voice. A telltale warble that was almost concealed enough by the long-distance phone static and poor airport reception to mask it completely. Someone who knew Bess less keenly might have let the slip slide, or summed it up to a inconsequential stammer.

Theresea, however, knew better.

"Darling, I mean this with the utmost kindness, but I don't believe you."

"I'm fine, TeTe."

"Now, don't lie to me, Elizabeth."

"...I will be."

That settled it.

Right after hanging up, she'd strutted her way down the terminal to begin boarding the plane. Right on schedule and with timing that almost seemed divine, she thought.

Hours later, with maternal instant still pumping through her like red-hot blood, Theresea made a beeline to the cottage immediately after landing in London. The wealthy woman was a frequent flyer to the city since reconnecting with her daughter, Constance, almost a year prior.

Although she was already learning to navigate London with the same ease as Manhattan, she still liked to luxuriate in the routine of a slow arrival, both metaphorically and physically. In fact, she swore she moved slower once touching down in London, like the city's air was made of honey-sweet molasses. Something about the nipping chill and tea time traditions, especially compared to the bustle of New York in its over-caffeinated and over-drugged business channels, inspired a sort of tepid laissez-faire attitude that Theresea would have found unbecoming of herself on most days.

Had this been a routine visit to the other side of the pond, Theresea would have checked in to her hotel immediately after landing. Her usual routine was for her to drop off her luggage, grab an espresso, touch up her manicure, and call her girls to let them know she had landed safely. In hotter months, she'd sometimes even enjoy a siesta or a massage. Or both.

Yet, the schedule at hand did not lend itself to a leisurely transition.

Less then two high-heeled steps out of the airport, she hailed an overpriced cab the airport and went right to the cottage. The inflated fair didn't bother her.

Less than half an hour later, the car rolled up to the well-traveled pavement in front of Pip's Park, a quaint neighborhood of cottages tucked away amidst London's more upscale and modern areas. It was practically a scene from a Kincaid; a haven amidst the modern additions that had popped up across the English metropolis. When facing the cluster of delightfully overgrown lawns and brick houses (complete with charmingly crooked chimneys that puffed cinnamon-scented smoke), she felt like she stepped behind a painting.

After paying the driver quickly, the wheeled her suitcase to the door of the cottage and knocked without any decorum.

It was eerily quiet on the doorstep, which was unusual. Usually when she rolled up to the cottage and readied herself to knock, there was always the thrum of at least a few chipper voices from the other side of the door, the sound like blood coursing through the home's beating heart.

Without it, the home seemed ... too quiet. Like an corpse, laying unattended and unmoving.

Theresea tapped out a 'shave and a haircut' couplet on the door. "Bess, dear? Are you home?"

When the door did finally creak open, Theresea observed a cautious Bess slowly drift into view.

The signs were clear. Red, watery eyes. Tissue clutched in a trembling hand. Still wearing her pajamas at 1 p.m.

"T-TeTe?" Bess' eyes flicked up and down the woman's form multiple times after squawking out the nickname in shock. "Y-You're, um, early."

"I'm afraid I'm right on time," Theresea replied softly.

After a millisecond of processing the appearance of the abroad visitor, Bess rushed to undo the locks. She pushed the front door open its full breadth, not caring if the woman saw her loungewear or ruddy cheeks. "I-I'm so sorry. Y-You usually call when you're on the way, so I ... I thought i had more time to ..."

Bess' words trailed off as she watched the woman release her designer luggage from her grip, causing it to topple over from the weight.

Instead of bending to retrieve it, Theresea took a step forward and opened her arms.

The gesture, and meaning behind it, was clear.

"Come here."

Bess needed no further invitation.

A sob tore itself from her throat as Bess rushed forward and wrapped her arms around the woman. An immediate feeling of cashmere warmth and the aroma of sandalwood musk enveloped her as she sank into the embrace, the comfort only magnified as Theresea's manicured nails began to carve soft trails in her curls.

They stood together in wordless union for a minute or two, Bess shuddering as tears flooded from her eyes. Apologies leaked out almost as frequently as the tears, but were shooed away by gentle coos.

"I'll hear none of that, darling," TeTe whispered softly. "Not a word."

While comforting Bess was her priority, a public stoop was no place for a tearful confrontation. Gingerly, TeTe peeled herself back to briefly to grab her suitcase and follow Bess inside.

Inside the safety of the cottage, TeTe walked Bess to the sofa and encouraged her to sit. Before she followed suit, she fished something out of her Longchamp tote before also placing it down on the ground and off to the side.

She then extended that same hand to slip Bess a package of colorful, Juunihitoe tissues. Bess blinked at the absurd gift.

"I adore you too much to sit idly by and watch you scrub that lovely face of yours with Tesco tissues, dear," she said, sneering at the word. "Ghastly."

The comment earned a soft bark of laughter, but the mirth was almost immediately swallowed by the reminder of her tears. As another surge of emotion swept over her, Bess froze as another sob threatened to take her. When it did seize her with its horrible grip, she curled in on herself like a wilting rose.

"Oh TeTe..." she shuddered, her curls drooping like a curtain as her head fell back into her hands. "I-I don't know why I'm like this."

All she thought she wanted in that moment to retreat into guilty solace, treating her body like some splintered, wounded shell.

She barely registered TeTe's gentle hands reach over and guide her into her lap. When the feeling reached her, she gasped sharply, as if awakening from a trance.

This time, Bess allowed herself to surrender to it. To being held through the sorrow she felt. Unlike the calcifying stillness she'd craved before, she still felt that retreat into an inner shell, but now she was a nautilus being guided by the surf to a new home. As TeTe's arms resettled around her, Bess' sobs softened into mewling cries.

"I-I'm sorry..."

"Whatever for, love?"

"F-For crying all over you, and acting so ... bloody stupid!"

Theresea chuckled at the word choice. Specifically, choices. "You do not make a habit of acting stupid, Elizabeth, let alone bloody stupid. Now or ever."

She shook her head in almost vicious denial, pressing her face further into the crook of TeTe's neck. "No, I'm an idiot, TeTe! Crying like a child over something so humiliating."

This time, the word choice struck her as more confusing than troubling. "My dear, nothing about this scenario is humiliating. Well, not for you. In fact, your emotions are quite understandable."

Bess remained silent, so Theresea patted her back and continued, "I must say, if I was on a televised date and they kept the camera trained on my face but didn't mention my name? I'd take that personally."

Bess gripped TeTe's arm as she remained still in the woman's arms. "H-Her name is Octavia."

"Is it? Well, I have no idea. Though they repeated Mr. Scrooge's name over and over. Despite not showing his face."

Another sniffle.

"It makes sense, does it not?" TeTe asked. "After all, since they're not showing his face, they need to repeat his name over and over again for viewers just tuning in to know that it's him."

"T-The narrator said they were..."

"Talking? Yes. But hardly anything else." Then, she laughed musically, patting Bess' back in sync with her mirth. "You know how your sweet Charlie gets when he's stressed? His shoulders get all tense and raise a few inches?"

"Y-Yes," Bess admitted. A few times, she'd playfully massaged them, basking in the breath and strength of them, all while tempering her expectations.

"Darling, they were up to his ears," she said.

The comment hurt her heart, because she desperately hoped it was true. "A-Are you sure?"

"I don't need glasses quite yet, love."

Bess laughed, despite herself. "I-I'm sorry, TeTe. You didn't come here to nurse my emotions."

"On the contrary, I did," she said, the pivoted. "Well, it's true I was already planning a trip here to see you lovely ladies, of course. But I came here straight from the airport, my darling. To see you, and to see what was wrong."

"Y-you did?" she asked, then paused. "How did you know I would be here...?"

Was she so pitifully predictable that TeTe knew Bess would be curled up at home, sobbing like a child?

"Because you didn't sound like yourself over the phone." TeTe leaned in, her hand cupping Bess' cheek. It was warm and wet to the touch. "So I knew that this 'Octavia' was making one of my girls deeply sad, and I simply could not have that."

To have a motherly force of nature like Theresea not only come to her aid, but also know her well enough to understand her emotions? It rendered Bess speechless. Not knowing what it was like to have such a tender maternal figure, the young woman was unsure how to react. So, at first, she said nothing.

Then, before she could raise her voice, a sound interrupted her.

A ping on Bess' cell phone. But not just any ping, TeTe knew.

While Bess had never explicitly revealed the fact that she had assigned each close contact of hers a specific tone to accompany their text alerts, she had hardly concealed the fact. Plus, it wasn't hard to discern whose tone was whose.

For example, her tone for Gal Cutlass was a ship's bell, perfect for a swashbuckler like her. Addie Shaw's was a soft twinkle effect, like one might expect to hear in an animated film or musical as the camera panned over a starry nightscape.

The tone for Constance DoGoode was, humorously enough, the sound from slapstick movies the accompanied someone slipping on a banana peel. Even Theresea couldn't argue that it was fitting (she'd been the one to teach Connie to walk in heels, after all.)

Wolf's tone?

A single, strong heartbeat. Tha-thump.

Her suspicion was confirmed when Bess' head snapped up at the sound.

"That's him,"Theresea said, smiling at Bess' shock. Her eyes arced from the surprised woman's visage and back to the phone on the table. "Well? Don't be shy."

After wiping her eyes with her sleeve, Bess reached for her phone. She turned it over so the screen faces her. There, glowing beneath her wet gaze, was a notification for a text message.

>>Finally had the chance to check my messages. I'm sorry if you're watching this. If you can believe it, she's worse in-person.

>>Also, she ordered a 'skinny sangria.' Ridiculous. How is that even possible?

TeTe watched in affectionate silence as Bess leaned across their coffee table and grabbed the smart TV remote. The screen barely had time to blare to life as she navigated to open YouTube. It took minimal effort to find a channel featuring a livestream of the event.

As the feed filled the screen, she and TeTe were greeted with a split-screen perspective of the date. One camera man had followed Octavia inside the restaurant, where she'd found a mirror to freshen up. As she dabbed on powder with a foundation-caked sponge, she prattled on about how wonderful the date was, and how she felt 'instant chemistry with Mr. Scrooge.'

"I've never had a man make my heart beat so fast," she told the camera, her voice oddly breathy. "I can't wait to tell my father all about him. We have such a positive relationship, you know."

TeTe rolled her eyes. She stood from the sofa and took a brief leave, but Bess was too focused on the television to notice.

Meanwhile, the other camera remained trained on Wolf, who was seated at the restaurant's outdoor bistro table. His posture was straight, and he looked dashingly handsome, as always.

He was looking down at his phone and texting.

Texting her.

The dichotomy between the two feeds must have also been noticeable to the editors, as one of the co-hosts broke the silence by stepping over the brush and up to the table, microphone in hand. He said in a joking tone, "Typical woman, eh? Leaving you all on your lonesome to touch up her face."

Wolf flicked his gaze upward, all his muscles completely still except the ones in his eyes. It was one of the first glimpses audience members had gotten of his visage through the entire event.

Then, with telling flatness in his tone, he said:

"Rest assured, I don't mind."

Bess wouldn't help but guffaw at how quickly the co-host cut the feed to his side, and how Octavia's POV took up the entire screen. She had switched topics into giving a sales pitch about the lip-gloss she was applying for the second half of her date, and how viewers could get a discount of her signature 'Berry Me' flavor by using her unique promo code.

By the time the feed had cut to commercial, TeTe had returned, but not empty-handed. She whistled for Bess' attention, then slipped her a goblet of red wine. "I brought it from home, dear. To cheer you up. I believe this is an appropriate occasion."

Bess had to fight to keep tears of joy down. With her phone still tucked safely in one hand, she accepted the Riedel glass from Theresea.

They toasted the victory with a clink of the glasses. Each took a long sip afterward, the television now muted. After all, there was nothing more to see.

"By the way, I've tried that lip-gloss," TeTe said after a soft swallow. "That 'Berry Me' one, though I had no idea she was connected to it."

"Yeah?" Bess asked, smiling behind her own glass. "Is it bad?"

"It's sickeningly sweet, and terribly artificial."

It was a request Ebenezer had never been asked before; one he never thought to encounter. He wasn't what anyone would particularly call a "praying man", even now after he'd turned his life around for the good. But he'd be damned if he wouldn't become one: Because how could he possibly deny a woman as sweet and lovely as his Bess when she shyly asked him if he would pray over her that night before bed?

"Pray over you?" Ebenezer asked. Not in a condescending way, but certainly in a slightly confused way. He'd never heard that phrase for it before. Praying for someone, yes, but over someone? That was new to him.

Bess stood before him in her gauzy summer nightgown, the neckline slipped tantalizingly down to expose one speckled shoulder. She looked a little embarrassed, a slightly rosy tint in her cheeks making her freckles pop sharply--something her husband adored. "I-I know it sounds silly," she commented with a small, beseeching smile. She ducked her head and lowered her gaze in instinctive supplication, as her hands fiddling together at her waist. "But it's... it's something George used to do with Mama every night when he was home and... well... it's kind of something I've always hoped the man I love would do for me, too."

She looked back up at him, trying to judge his reaction to it. "Y-You don't have to if you don't want to," she assured him in a bit of a rush. "I just thought I'd ask. Doesn't hurt to ask, right?" She bit her bottom lip, hoping she hadn't just made herself look foolish in her husband's eyes.

She hadn't. And as far as Ebenezer was concerned, she never could.

Smiling softly at the woman, the Englishman stood from his seat beside the small fire, closing and placing his journal upon the mantelshelf as he did. Then he approached his wife, opening his arms to her. "It doesn't sound silly," he murmured softly, taking her into his embrace. He snuggled the American close, nuzzling into her thick, inky curls and kissing her crown. A satisfied purr nearly rumbled from his chest as Bess folded him into her arms and snuffled into the soft fabric of his nightshirt over his heart. "And, no, it never hurts to ask. I'd be happy to pray over you."

Bess looked up at him, eyes sparkling with happiness? "You would?" she asked, sounding rather relieved. "Truly?"

Her husband nodded as he kissed her hairline. "Of course." He touched his brow to hers and gave her a sheepish smile. "You might have to tell me how," he muttered. "I've never prayed over someone. Come to think, I can't recall when I last prayed for someone either. Not really. Not like you would in church."

Bess giggled as she nudged her nose along his. "This isn't exactly like that," she assured him. "It's not a big production full of show-boating piety the Bishop likes to make. This is more genuine and from the heart."

"I'm not even sure I know how to pray, to tell you the truth."

"George always told me that prayer is just talking to God. And the best way to talk to God is to talk to him as though He were a good friend."

He knew that was true. Still, Ebenezer felt a little out of his depth as he watched his beloved sink to her knees on the plush rug beneath their bed. Regardless, he knelt beside her. "H-How did George used to do this?"

Snorting, Bess gently pulled out of Ebenezer's embrace. She grabbed his hand and pulled him after her as she moved towards their marital bed. "Don't worry, I won't judge," she stated with a smirk and wink over her shoulder.

"I only caught him doing it a few times," Bess answered as she scooted into the man's side, ever desiring to be close as possible. She manages to twine her legs and feet with his. "But the few times I did, he always had his hands on Mama. On her shoulders, around her waist, hugging her--he was always touching her."

"Well, I certainly like the sound of that," Ebenezer remarked. Without a moment's hesitation, he stretched an arm across his wife's shoulders and pulled her close again. He pressed his lips to her brow. "Mmm, I love you," he murmured, the sentiment leaving him automatically.

Bess hummed as she leaned into his touch. "That love you feel--let that be what guides what you say," she quietly instructed.

In many ways, that didn't give Ebenezer a clue as to what to do at all. Yet in many others, it did.

The couple knelt there at their bedside in silence for a moment, the man absently stroking the woman's arms as she pressed into him. His mind, for a moment, felt like a wheel stuck in muddy clay. What should he say? How should he begin? He supposed the best way was just to start.

"Dear Lord, first and foremost, I would like to thank You for the wonderful woman beside me. I'm... not always certain what my convictions are in terms of faith and religion; one thing I do believe with certainty, however, is that You have placed my wonderful Bess beside me."

Bess dared to open her eyes and lift her gaze just enough to see her husband's down-turned face just above hers. She smiled in adoration at the man, marking how his long eyelashes brushed his cheekbones. Somehow, she managed to press a little closer to the man, nudging her head under his chin.

Ebenezer tightened his grip on her. "I come to You now, to pray for my Bess, Lord," he continued on, voice quiet but steady. He still didn't really know what he was doing, but that didn't seem to matter: He was focusing on his adoration for his wife, letting that guide him through what he wanted to say, and it was doing the trick. He was feeling much more confident in every passing moment. And, amazingly enough, even more in love with his mate.

"I pray that You watch over my beloved Bess, Lord. That you take her into Your arms and keep her safe throughout her life. I pray, if she can't find comfort and happiness in this world, that she is able to find it in You. I place her ultimate well-being in You, Lord, for I know there are things that I, as a mere man, cannot do to protect and comfort her."

Bess pressed her face into the open neck of Ebenezer's nightshirt and nuzzled at the hairy swathe of chest bared to her. On instinct she fluttered kisses to over sternum. "Oh, Darling...."

A slight heat bloomed across Ebenezer's face, but he didn't falter. "I ask You to continue to bless this woman with goodness you have granted to be in her life, Lord. And should it ever come to an end, I repay You grant her the strength to overcome challenges, just as You have granted her before. I ask You to continue healing and soothing the wounds and scars of Bess' past, and that You might bring her to realize that she is so much more than them--that they do not define her. I pray that she continues to discover herself in You, oh, Lord, and that she might draw great satisfaction and peace from that.

A lump suddenly formed in the man's throat and tears bit at his closed eyes. "I also pray that-" he cleared his throat as it croaked, "-that You might allow my lovely Bess to remain in my life, Lord. To remain by my side and help me continue to bear the burden of life. She is my greatest strength, my greatest happiness, my Brightness. And I ask with all my heart and soul that she might remain so, Lord. I promise to strive each day to be a better man, to be stronger and more virtuous, and to make this world a better, kinder place if You might allow Bess to remain in my life. I promise to cherish her with my entire being and do my best to care for her and make her happy all the days of my life."

Bess felt something warm and wet drip onto her cheek. Looking up again, she saw a single trickle of tears dripping down Ebenezer's cheek. Moved to wet eyes herself at the sight (her kind, sweet, tenderhearted man), the Yank reached up and gently dried them away. Then she kissed his stubbly chin. "Amen," she whispered. "That was beautiful. Thank you, my dearest moonlight."

Ebenezer gazed down at her with a trembling chuckle. "Not as beautiful at George's though, yes?" he rasped, looking a little shy.

Bess shook her head with a doting smile. "Better," she answered honestly. "Because it's my prayer. And it came from you and your heart. And I'll cherish it and carry it with me, until the day I die."

Genuine relief flooded through the gentleman. Bowing his head, he lifted a hand to his love's face and held her tenderly as he pulled her into a lingering kiss, one she eagerly returned.

"I'll do this again every night if you'll, please, just stay with me forever, Bess," Ebenezer whispered against her lips. His eyes were beseeching as he gazed deeply into hers. "Please."

Bess couldn't help the little smile that curled her lips, nor the little chuckle that left her in response to that promise. "Well, then, you're about to become a praying man, Ebenezer Charles. Because, while I can't speak for our Heavenly Father, I have no intentions of leaving your side. Not ever. Now, please, kiss me again."

And her husband, ever faithful and giving, did just that.