In the weeks following Beckett's death, the mourning of everyone in Oliver's house seemed to coalesce until it took on a presence all its own. Sadness followed me from room to room, and every time I saw Damien's grief-stricken face, my own pain grew even more wrenching.

Beneath our despair was a sense of expectation, almost as if we were all holding our breath. Everyone, but especially Phil, had an ear to the ground, and everyone was confident that Beckett's killer would soon be discovered. Bribes, threats, and favors were excellent ways of loosening tongues.

But when November arrived, and with it, the chillier days of fall, I could tell Oliver was seething with frustration. He spent hours on end in his office, often summoning Ted and Phil for updates. I understood how much he wanted to avenge Beckett's death, and to assure Damien that he'd meted out his own form of justice.

The fact that Oliver couldn't yet do so made him short-tempered. Though I tried to stay out of his way while he was working, I finally had to approach him about accessing more of my money. "I don't have any clothes suitable for the cooler weather," I told him as he sat behind his desk. "I need to buy some new outfits, along with a coat. I know everyone is busy, so I can drive myself into the city."

"You will not," he said firmly. "I don't want you leaving this property right now."

I tried to reason with him. "I'll be safe in broad daylight, with a lot of people around."

"No. Do your shopping online."

Instead of arguing, I sought out Damien. He'd insisted on continuing his work of managing the household. "I'll go crazy if I don't keep myself busy," he'd said when I urged him to rest. I made myself available to help him at all times, and he'd even taught me how to cook a few of Oliver's favorite dishes.

Now, I figured he could use a lighthearted distraction. "I need your help picking out some outfits for fall and winter," I told him.

His eyes brightened just a little, but that was enough to give me a surge of triumph. We sat next to each other at the dining room table, with his laptop open before us.

"Ooh, look at this sweater," he said. "It would be gorgeous on you."

I didn't comment on how expensive the sweater was. If Damien recommended something, it went into my shopping cart.

"And this black peacoat is stunning!" he exclaimed. The price was definitely stunning. As if reading my mind, he added, "A good coat will last you forever. May as well splurge on quality now."

When Oliver came upon us shopping, his expression softened at the sight of Damien smiling for the first time in weeks. I wondered if Oliver then realized that, like me, Damien could use some time outside of the house. Even a few hours spent away from this place with all its memories would make the grief a little more endurable.

It was during a weekday in mid-November when Oliver suggested that Damien and I go into the city for lunch. "Eddie will drive you," he said.

"Would you like to come with us?" I asked, hoping he'd say yes.

Oliver's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I have work to do here." It was as if he couldn't allow himself a moment's rest until he had a name and was able to act on the plans he'd made more than a month ago.

Damien required little persuading to accept my invitation, and Eddie seemed both surprised and mildly relieved at the opportunity to drive us. He was young, around Damien's age, but he approached his job duties with the utmost seriousness. I always felt safe in his presence.

Damien, as always, was nicely dressed, and I seized the chance to wear one of my new outfits, choosing a forest-green midi dress and knee-high black boots. The dress's long sleeves provided enough warmth for me to forgo a coat.

After numerous days of overcast skies, sunlight broke through the clouds and warmed our faces as we walked to the restaurant's entrance. The hectic lunch crowd had cleared out by this time, and I found that I enjoyed the quiet, relaxed atmosphere.

Damien didn't talk much during the meal, but he listened attentively while Eddie and I chatted. I discovered that Eddie liked talking about sports, especially football. Damien surprised me by piping up to complain about how poorly his favorite team was playing this season.

"I had no idea that you're a football fan!" I said to him.

He actually grinned. "Beckett got me into it. That man was a fanatic!" It was a rare occasion when Damien could speak about Beckett without fighting back tears, but he managed to do so now.

"I made the mistake of betting against Beckett's team one time," Eddie revealed. "When they won, I had to fork over a shitload of money, and Beckett never let me forget it!"

Damien hooted with laughter at Eddie's anecdote, which made me start laughing as well. This was definitely good for us, I told myself. Lunch in the city provided a little bit of normalcy.

Later, when the three of us stepped onto the sidewalk outside the restaurant, we were still chatting like old friends. We hadn't walked far before I heard a familiar voice call my name.

Spinning around, I gasped to see my father standing less than ten feet away. Eddie immediately moved into a protective stance, shielding my body with his own.

"It's okay," I told him. "That's my dad."

My father hung back, clearly hesitant to approach us, but his face was full of blatant hope. I was struck by how different he looked; he appeared to have aged a decade in the last several months. His hair was thinner and had turned mostly gray. He'd also lost a lot of weight, so his clothes now hung loosely on his frame.

Despite all he'd put me through, I couldn't simply walk away. Looking up at Eddie, I said, "Can you give me just a minute to talk to him? I promise I won't be long."

Eddie appeared uncertain, but after studying my father for a few moments, he decided the man posed no threat. "I'll be waiting right here," he told me. Damien, who knew about my fraught relationship with my dad, gave my hand a squeeze.

As I closed the distance between me and my father, the heels of my boots clicked against the sidewalk. Dad stared at me with the same astonishment I'd felt upon seeing him again. "My God, you've changed!" he said once I stood before him. His smile was uneven. "What happened to my little girl?"

"She's all grown up," I replied, unable to keep the hard edge from my voice. "What are you doing here, Dad? Are you following me?"

"It's the only way I could see you." Dad's gaze traveled over my shoulder to the two men waiting for me. "Looks like you're under constant guard now."

Drawing my shoulders back, I took a deep breath. "Is that all you have to say? Because I think you should apologize for calling me a cunt."

His stare dropped to his feet. "I'm sorry for that," he said quietly. "I was hurt that you betrayed me."

"How did I betray you?" I demanded.

"By choosing him!" Despite Dad's aged appearance, I recognized the familiar anger in his eyes. "Do you know how humiliating that was for me?"

"I wasn't trying to humiliate you. I just wanted my own life."

"It was a slap in the face!" he hissed. "To see my only daughter become a whore for a man like Oliver."

"Go to hell." The words emerged from my lips as a growl. Dad started to reach for me, and I quickly pulled away. "If you lay a hand on me, Eddie will beat the shit out of you!"

"Wait," my father pleaded, his expression suddenly remorseful. "Dreama, I'm sorry. Don't leave."

In that moment, I almost felt pity for him. This man had always hated to be alone, and yet he'd managed to drive everyone away. 

"Come back home," he urged. "Things will be different, I swear."

Already, I was shaking my head. "No, Dad. I'm happy with Oliver."

"Don't be so fucking stupid!" His face twisted in fury. "I raised you to be smarter than that."

I let out a disgusted sigh. "Save the speech, because I've heard it from you before." I started to turn and walk away, knowing that Eddie wouldn't allow Dad to pursue me.

"Next time," my father said in a voice only I could hear, "I won't miss."

My eyes widened in horror as I whipped around to face him again. It felt impossible for me to breathe; it was as if I'd been punched in the stomach. "What did you say?" I finally managed to croak.

Dad's skin had taken on a sickly pallor, and I noticed him trembling. Yet he managed a sheepish smile. "I didn't used to be such a lousy shot."

"Oh, my God." I desperately wanted to sit down, for I didn't trust my legs to keep me upright. But more than that, I wanted to get far away from my father. His confession struck me like a palpable force, and now that I knew what he was capable of, I was terrified to turn my back on him.

Adrenaline's icy fingertips traveled along my spine, prompting me to move. Spinning on my heel, I fought the urge to sprint toward Eddie and Damien.

When my father spoke again, I kept walking, but I heard everything he said. "I won't stop until I have you back, Dreama! You've taken everything from me, and I don't have a goddamn thing left to lose."

Though I must have returned to Damien and Eddie at a rapid pace, I felt like I was in one of those nightmares where my feet were as heavy as lead. Damien grasped my shoulders, his eyes filled with concern.

"Dreama, what's wrong? What did that asshole say to you?"

"Did he threaten you?" Eddie asked, his expression darkening.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I kept repeating. "I need to go home. Right now."

As Eddie helped me into the SUV's front passenger seat, I began hyperventilating. I could see tears spilling down my cheeks, but for some reason, I couldn't feel them on my skin.

"Dreama, I need you to take some deep breaths for me," Eddie said in a soothing voice. Damien hovered behind him, the alarm evident in his eyes.

Once I'd managed to calm down a little, we started back home. No one spoke during the drive; it was as if my dread was contagious. As soon as we reached Oliver's house, I bolted from the vehicle, ignoring Damien's worried voice calling after me. My focus narrowed to a painfully sharp point: I had to find Oliver.

He was in his office with Phil. They appeared to be in deep discussion, but all it took was one glimpse of my face for Oliver to quickly stand. "Dreama, what's wrong? What happened?"

I collapsed into a chair in front of his desk. When he started toward me, I held up a hand to stop him. I feared if anyone touched me, I'd shatter like delicate glass. Phil rushed to close the office door before returning to the chair beside mine. Oliver sank back into his seat as well.

Several times, I tried to speak but made no sound at all. To his credit, Oliver was patient and didn't rush me. "I saw my father in the city today," I finally choked out.

Oliver and Phil exchanged glances. "If this is about my men paying him a visit after you arrived here—" Oliver began.

I shook my head while wiping away more tears. A sob escaped me, and my shoulders heaved from the force of my crying.

As much as Phil disliked me, he was decent enough to offer me a clean handkerchief. I took it, making another effort to regain my composure, but I felt like my heart was trying to wrench itself free of my chest.

In a quavering voice, I told Oliver, "My father tried to kill you. He's the one who shot Beckett."

Oliver's eyes widened. For several seconds, he was completely still, and an unnerving silence fell upon the room. "Your father told you this?" he finally asked.

I nodded, unable to suppress a whimper. "He said that next time, he won't miss."

As Oliver looked from me to Phil, the fury in his face rendered him almost unrecognizable.

"Fucking hell!" Phil suddenly shouted. With a hand pressed to his forehead, he looked like someone had hit him. "Jesus Christ, how did I not guess this? The man was enraged over his daughter shacking up with you, Oliver. But I figured he'd let it go. I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to retaliate." Phil fell back in his seat. "He was just waiting for the right time to strike. And, of course, he knows your associates because they're also his associates. It wouldn't have taken too much digging for him to find out about your meeting last month."

When Oliver looked at me again, it wasn't fury that I saw in his eyes, but something like sorrow. I didn't understand why at first.

Then Phil turned in his chair to face me. "Do you know what this means, Dreama? Do you understand what you've just done to your father?"

I shivered like I was freezing. "I had to make a choice." Locking eyes with Oliver, I told him, "I chose you. My dad said he won't stop."

"Sweetheart," Oliver murmured, "I'm so sorry."

I looked down at my hands. "After today, I don't ever want to hear mention of him again." It took a few more moments before I trusted myself to stand. I was desperate to leave that room.

Before I could, Phil spoke again. "I'll be damned." Tilting his head back, he stared up at me, incredulous. "All this time, I worried about the harm that might come to you at the hands of Oliver's enemies. But it turns out, you were the dangerous one."

I drew in a sharp breath, actually staggering a little at his cruel words. Then I slapped his face as hard as I could. "Fuck you!" I shouted. "You asshole! You fucking prick!"

He made a move to stand, but Oliver was on his feet even faster. "You keep your ass in that chair, Phil!" His eyes flashed a warning that Phil was smart enough to heed.

I threw Phil's handkerchief at him before storming out of the office. It was only when I found Damien waiting for me at the foot of the stairs that I burst into tears again.

Now, it was his turn to comfort me. With an arm around my shoulders, he led me upstairs and to my room. Sinking onto the edge of the bed, I released an anguished wail. Most other people would have fled at the first opportunity, but not Damien. He sat beside me and took my hand.

Somehow, I found the strength to tell him that my father was the one who had destroyed his entire world. It was my father who killed the man Damien loved.

He was quiet for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he said, "I started to figure it out during the drive home, and after you rushed inside to find Oliver, I was almost sure of it."

I stared at him in disbelief. "And you don't hate me?"

Damien stroked my cheek. "Dreama, why would I hate you? You're the most innocent person of all here. My heart breaks that you had to tell Oliver what your father did. You were in a horrible position." Taking me in his arms, he held me close. "None of us suspected your father would be desperate enough to do that. Not even Phil, and Phil is fucking paranoid."

"And a fucking asshole," I muttered.

"That, too. But he's loyal to Oliver and has always looked out for him. And because he knows how much you mean to Oliver, he'll do the same for you." Damien let out a heavy sigh before continuing. "It was your father who forced you to come here for the first time, and it was Oliver who persuaded you to stay. And Beckett?" His voice grew softer at the mention of the man he'd lost. "He knew the danger of his work. As much as I loved him, I understood that his job of protecting Oliver would always come before any relationship."

I slumped against Damien and began sobbing again. I was overwhelmed with despair, and also with relief that he didn't hold me responsible for my father's horrific actions. Still, I said, "I'm so sorry for what my father did."

"I am, too," Damien whispered.

He stayed with me for a while longer, simply holding me in silence. I was exhausted, I realized, and I longed for the oblivion sleep could provide. "I think I'd like to lie down for a bit," I said quietly.

"Of course. Can I get you anything at all, sweetheart?"

"I'll be okay," I assured him.

Before leaving the room, Damien pressed his lips against my forehead. "I promise we're going to get through this."

I managed to give him a smile. "Thank you, Damien. For everything."

Once I was alone, I went into the bathroom to wash my face. All the while, I tried to avoid looking at myself in the mirror. A glimpse at my reflection revealed that I was alarmingly pale, and my eyes and lips were swollen from all my crying.

The bed offered a comfort I could no longer resist. I was quick to undress and slip beneath the warm covers. It took several minutes, but my trembling eventually subsided. Outside, clouds had appeared over the hills once more, veiling the sun with their gray gauze.

Every time I managed to doze off, nightmares startled me awake. I was about to give up on sleep altogether when my bedroom door opened. Lifting my head, I saw Oliver in the doorway. He lingered there for a moment before stepping inside. I noticed his movements were strangely tentative, as if he expected me to order him out. After he realized I had no intention of doing so, he closed the door behind him and then approached my bed.

Without speaking, he stripped naked. His dress shirt and pants joined my outfit on the floor. I watched as he removed his undershirt and briefs. Already, my body craved his nearness.

Oliver climbed into the bed beside me, and I let him draw me into his arms. Through fresh tears, I again apologized for what my father had done. I would have apologized every hour of every day for the rest of my life if it could have changed the outcome.

"None of this is your fault, darling." His lips were gentle on my hair. "Do you know how much I admire you for coming to me today? You could have kept that information about your father to yourself."

I stared at him in confusion. "No, I couldn't. He tried to kill you, Oliver. There was never a question in my mind about telling you what I knew." Nestling against him, I breathed in his comforting scent.

"I love you," he said.

Those words ignited a delicious warmth inside my chest. When I lifted my head, Oliver kissed me, and I eagerly kissed him back before whispering, "I love you, too."

His mouth grew fervent as he made his way down my body. I moaned at the feel of his lips circling my nipple. His erection was hard between us, and I ached to have him deep inside me.

Once he settled between my thighs, I surrendered to his mouth and fingers completely. All the while, he was gentle, his tongue sweeping over my clit at a tantalizing pace. When he began languidly thrusting two fingers inside my pussy, I grabbed handfuls of his hair. Our eyes locked, and the desire I saw in his gaze made me cry out.

His tongue applied the perfect amount of pressure against my swollen bud. Soon, that exquisite sensation coaxed my hips into rocking. "Oh, my God!" I wailed. "Don't stop!"

The first orgasm drove me into a frenzy, and I shamelessly worked my wet cunt against his face. I had little time to recover before he curled his fingers inside me, massaging the spot that gave me such intense pleasure. "Ah, fuck!" My thighs shook as I came hard yet again.

Oliver kept a hold on me while remaining between my legs. My clit was sensitive, throbbing in time with my pulse, but it readily responded to his tongue. I writhed on the bed, trying to suppress a scream. He was merciless in licking and sucking my flesh, and before long, he had my entire body quaking. When another fierce wave of bliss inundated me, I cupped a hand over my mouth and bit into my palm.

By the time Oliver kissed his way back up to my lips, I was desperate for his cock. He eased me onto my side and then lay on his side behind me so we were spooning. I couldn't hide my smile, for this was one of my favorite positions. His erection prodded my skin, letting me know he was hard and ready. Still, he took a moment to embrace me again.

"Beautiful girl," he murmured. "I owe you my life."

"And I owe you mine."

As I lay in his arms, with my upper body turned halfway toward him, he slowly entered me. My eyes drifted closed from the ecstasy of being taken; I couldn't imagine ever losing my fierce longing to have him claim my pussy. His satisfied groan made my smile widen, and I begged for every inch of his cock.

Oliver thrust his hips with a gentle rhythm, driving himself all the way inside me. While we made love, I lifted my head, hungry for his mouth again. He fervently kissed me, and I was reminded of our first time in this bed, when I gave him my virginity. He was so careful then. More than his words, it was his tenderness that convinced me I'd always be safe with him.

As he fondled my breast with one hand, his other hand sought out my clit. Gazing up at him, I realized he was holding nothing back; all his love for me was right there in his eyes. Again, he kissed me, muffling my pleasured cries.

Even after I came around his cock, his hips continued their insistent pumping. I was still dripping wet, my body revealing its eagerness for more. As he gave it to me, his stare grew hot and determined. I sensed that he wanted to chase away all my anguish, and while we were joined, he did so, for I thought only of him.

My fifth orgasm left me limp in his arms. "Give me your cum!" I begged. I craved his climax almost as much as I'd yearned for my own.

Oliver made a guttural sound, delighting in my filthy plea. His fucking grew powerful enough to make my small tits bounce, and when I finally felt those spurts deep inside my pussy, I released another wail. He moaned at the feel of my flesh tightening around him again and again.

"I love the way you come so hard for me, Dreama!" Oliver remained inside me, his cock slowly softening as he whispered sweet words in my ear.

I had no doubt that this man was the love of my life, and in the coming years, I would steadfastly remain by his side. When he eased out of me, I turned in his arms so I could caress his cheek. "I know I'm young and still have a lot to learn," I said quietly, "but I've proven you can trust me. I've proven that I'm loyal."

"You have," he agreed before planting a tender kiss on my mouth.

"From now on, you can't keep me in the dark about all your business dealings," I continued, my voice gentle but insistent. "This won't work if we try to keep secrets from each other."

Oliver searched my face, and when he spoke again, I expected him to protest that it wasn't safe for me to know more. Instead, he told me, "You're right." My shock at his response rendered me momentarily silent. Before I could utter another word, he added, "So we'll need to get married. Right away."

I let out a surprised shriek. At this point, I was reeling, trying to make sense of what was happening. "Why so soon?" I managed to ask.

Oliver flashed a sly smile. "Because of a little thing called spousal privilege, which prevents a husband and wife from being forced to testify against each other if they ever find themselves in court."

Understanding immediately washed away the muddle of my confusion. "Ah, I see." It was then that I realized Oliver had already thought all of this out. Even in love, there were calculations to be made.

He guided my mouth to his for another kiss. "And what's your answer, Dreama?"

My answer? It was the same as it had been since the day we first met: "My answer's yes."