David smiled to himself—his secret smile. “He loves you, you know.”

“No.” I shook my head. “He wants me.”

“And you want him,” he stated.

“We’ve been through this, David.”

“I know, I just—” He took a breath of hesitation.

“You don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that. Look, I…I have to ask you something, and I need you to answer me truthfully.”

Uh-oh. “Okay,” I squeaked.

“I’ve been here for a while now, Ara, and in that time—” He readjusted his position. “In that time, you’ve not...well...are you pregnant?”

“What?” I pressed up off the bed with my palms. “Why would you think that? I—I’m a virgin. You know that.”

“So you say, but I know your cycles, and, in the entire time I’ve been here, Ara, you’ve not had even one…er…well, you haven’t had a…”

“A period?” My lip curled; I slumped back on the pillow, covering my face with my hands.

“Yes, one of those.”

Oh, my God! “Okay. First of all, I’m not even going to ask how you know that, and second?” I sat up and looked at him. “Why on earth would your first conclusion for my lack of menstruation be that I’d had sex with some other guy and was now carrying his child?”

“It’s not,” he said. “I mean, it wasn’t—it just—it’s my fear, Ara. Okay? I was afraid you might have let your humanistic weakness’ get in the way of how you feel for me.”

I slammed my hands down beside me. “David!”

“So—” he leaned around and looked at my probably very red face, “—you’re not pregnant?”

“God! No!”

“Then why…”

“Because I’m stressed, okay?” I rolled away from him. “I don’t get that when I’m stressed.”

“Stressed?”

“Yes—you know that—you know I’ve been stressed.”

“No, sweetheart, I didn’t.” He ran his fingers gently over my back. “I don’t hear your thoughts, remember? And you act so happy around me. I really didn’t notice.”

I rolled my shoulder, twisting at the waist to look at him. “I can’t believe you thought I’d—”

“I’m sorry. It was silly. I do know you better than that. I just—I’d normally read your thoughts instead of asking you, but I can’t, and I feel incredibly uncomfortable—unstable sort of—like I can’t protect you, and, Ara?” He rolled me onto my back. “You are extraordinarily young and naïve. You see the good in everything. It would be so easy for someone to take advantage of that.”

“So, you weren’t scared I’d cheated on you—only that someone had taken advantage of me?”

“No. I was scared of both.” He laughed. “But more afraid that if you had found yourself in the arms of another man, you’d never tell me, because you’d be too afraid I’d hate you.”

“You would hate me.”

“I’d try my hardest not to.”

“I’d hate you—if you did it.”

“Then, I promise—” he held up three fingers, a Scout’s Honour, “—I will, for the rest of eternity, never lay a hand on another girl.”

“Don’t be silly, David. I’ll be dead one day, what then?”

“I won’t stop loving you just because you’re dead, Ara.” He frowned down at me. “I will never touch another girl—not now that I’ve touched you. Nothing could compare.”

“But we haven’t even had sex.”

“Exactly. It took one caress of your flawlessly soft skin, one taste of your perfect lips and I was hooked. For the rest of forever, no other girl will ever be enough for me.”

“What about me, then, David? I can’t promise you the same.”

David swallowed. “That, my love, is something I came to accept a long time ago.”

“So, you think I’m a slut, too?”

“What? Ara? I never said that.”

“You implied it.” I folded my arms.

David took a breath to speak, but paused as thought flooded his eyes. “Hang on, you said too. Who said you’re a slut?”

Jason—in a roundabout way. “No one. I just...I feel like one, because of what I did with Mike.”

“Oh, Ara.” He rested his forehead against mine. “Sweetheart, you’re not a slut—you’re just a very confused girl. And you should be confused; you’ve been through hell. I would never think you’re a slut, my love, not even if you had slept with Mike.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“But, would you be mad if I had?”

He drew a long, deep breath. “You and I aren’t even together, Ara. I have no official claim to you.”

“But, would you be mad?”

His fingers tightened around my cheeks. “Seething.”

I smiled. “Good.”

David sat, his back to where I stood, my blue guitar securely against his chest, his arm moving softly, effortlessly as he strummed. He knew I was watching, I was sure, but he would’ve just smiled—his secret smile—and continued to play, wishing he could hear my thoughts.

“And I move my life, I’m hypnotised.” He strummed twice, slapping the strings, giving the song a soulful, bluesy feel. “But I give my life up, keep the fight up, want to know if you would go...”

I loved this song. I moved over and sat beside him, wishing he were singing it to me—the meaning being one of two people fighting to stay together against all odds.

His hand shot rigidly in the pattern of his strum, up and down over the strings, his shoulder moving with the flow, the joy of singing radiant in his smiling eyes. I was suddenly so much more in love with him than I was a minute ago.

When his voice hit a high note, the strumming stopped, his song floating into every corner of the room and my heart, bringing fire and rain with it. I touched my chest and he started strumming again, louder, the song coming to a magnificent end.

“And I won’t...no, I won’t...” He smiled so warmly. “Let you go.”