DUTY

FIVE

I said yes without thinking, without breathing.

Maybe that was the problem. That's how it all started to go downhill. The not thinking, the not breathing. Me being totally, completely caught up in Tom. Ensnared in his net like a dumb happy fish.

The ring fit perfectly. Crafted explicitly for me, Tom said, none of that hand-me-down nonsense.

It caught on nearly everything, the massive diamond. My clothes, my hair, the threads of our sheets. Always a loose string tangled around the glittering edges. Still, I wouldn't take it off. The cool ring of love, I'd never part with it.

I showed Tom what the ring looked like in every kind of light, in every kind of position. The only adornment Tom never ripped of me. From dawn to dusk, we watched it sparkle and deemed it most beautiful when it was wrapped around his long hard length in broad daylight.

Call us romantics.

But as the days passed, as our friends sent flowers of congratulations, it became apparent that we couldn't get married.

Tom, The Don of Columbus, couldn't walk into a courthouse and proclaim his love like any common man. And Mila Scott - she was a mirage, someone formulated up in my mind, not someone who could get married.

My fiancé didn't even know. Never asked why sometimes I didn't answer to the name, why he never saw my ID, why I never mentioned family. I loved him for that. Because he loved me for me, regardless of name, background, or roots. He loved my soul, the parts of me that mattered.

I snuggled further into his body, tossing my leg over his. Tom's broad chest rose and fell, puffs of air falling between his soft full lips. He needed this rest. He'd been going and going. Working and working only to come home and ravish me until he left again.

I dropped a gentle kiss to his shoulder over a splotch of impossibly black ink shaped like a chrysanthemum. Why a man so beautiful felt he needed to add more was a mystery to me.

"Tom." I whispered, the sound barely making it to my own ears. Alone, settled on our freshly christened couch, the house felt too big. Wide open lengths of freshly polished floors bare and lonely. The harsh right angles of our furniture only aided in the coldness.

Babyproofing will be a nightmare.

And the thought, with all of its innocence, had me stir, my muscles tighten, jaw clench. "Tom." I repeated, a little louder.

His hand ran from the curve of my foot up, cradling the muscle of my calves chasing the smooth skin of my thigh to my bottom and then circling around. I clamped my legs together to block his wandering hand and smiled.

"Baby." He half spoke, half moaned. A flood of warmth skittered over me.

"Good morning." I smiled, curving my body deeper into his.

A low groan escaped him. "Is it morning already?" He sat up, sliding me off of him, our blanket falling into a soundless pool on the ground.

"Nearly." The house still bathed in darkness, dawn is just around the corner, the sun stretching before the morning dash. "Tom, we can't get married."

Tom chuckled and spun around so that he was lying on top of me. "Cold feet already Ms. Scott?" Giving me a soft smile, he ran his fingers through my hair, brushing the thick locks away from my face.

"No. Never." I let out a small sigh, "We just can't. You're a criminal, so am I."

His eyes widened, "I know. Did you just figure that out?"

I furrowed my brows, bracing two hands on his hard pecs. "Then why did you propose?"

"Do you think I care if the government says we're married or not. It's not about paper. It's you and me."

My fingers drifted up to thread in his dark hair. I supposed he had a point. I didn't care about the government. Didn't give a s**t what the law said about us. "Why even be fiancés then?"

He chuckled again, leaning down to place a kiss on my cheek. "Smart girl, you're right. Will you be my wife?"

"What?" I laughed, body freezing at the question, "just like that?"

He raised his brows and that familiar dimple shined on his left cheek. My fingers dove for it, brushing against it. The only softness on his body. "Yes." I said.

"Mrs. Preston." Tom purred, burying his head in my neck, dropping the weight of his body onto mine. All of last nights passion rampaged back through me at the words. I arched my back into him, a silent beg.

A peak, the thinnest sliver of light flooded into our house, the wall of windows appearing like a fire, with a soft glow of red and pink at their base. Looking down at me, he smiled. Genuine with teeth and dimple, even the smallest of laugh lines marring his stone hard face.

The moment passed when the glow transformed into a lovely amber casting long golden lines over the hard planes of his body. He pushed himself up, falling back onto his heels, hands on his knees. "I'll share the assets tonight. What's mine is yours."

I followed him, edging myself to sit, frowning. "I don't want any of that Tom. I want my husband." As satisfying as hearing him call me Mrs. Preston, claiming him as my husband awakened something deep in me, something primal. "Come to bed," I added, my heart racing.

He grin turned cocky.