Unless You're Sure

by Apollo888

Getting married can be quite an adventure, particularly when there are questions and pitfalls at every turn. A Mary and Matthew modern AU story that explores the difference between expectations and reality, and what really matters in a relationship. Part of the Live in My Memory series, the sequel to The First Noël.

Author's Note: Each time that I think I'm finished with a particular AU, another idea seems to come to me and refuses to be ignored. This one-shot story is the next instalment in the Live in My Memory modern AU series.

Many thanks to Lala Kate for the prompt that led to what has now become a collection of six stories. Continued thanks to all my readers for your reviews, follows and favourites. Writing Mary and Matthew modern AU has become surprisingly enjoyable for me because of your continued interest and encouragement.

This story continues from the last scene in The First Noël, with Mary and Matthew getting closer to their wedding, and go through all the stresses, responsibilities, questions, joys and pleasures of such an important event. They each deal with their own pressures and demons as the big day draws near, and think about where they've been, where they're going, and whether the life they ultimately want includes each other.

---

Unless You're Sure

Sunset Over Water Pool Villa, Anantara Kihavah Villas, Kihavah Huravalhi Island, Maldives, January 2016

Lady Mary Crawley took one last breaststroke, kicking her long legs and floating through the crystal blue seawater towards the partially submerged staircase. She grabbed hold of the railing and walked up the warm wooden stairs, out of the Indian Ocean and across the sunbathed deck of her private villa. There were plush towels folded neatly on her lounge chair and the hammocks overlooking the water, but she walked by them, allowing the seawater to drip down her long legs as she passed the large infinity pool and went through the bathroom to the outdoor shower. Though swimming in the ocean for the past week had been heavenly, she wasn't one for worshipping the sun, so as soon as she finished her swim, it was straight to the shower to rinse off.

The warm water cascaded down over her and she threw her head back, wringing out her dark brown tresses. She was growing her hair down past its usual shoulder length for the wedding, which presented some issues given the warm, dry weather here and all the swimming she'd been doing while on vacation. Stepping back and blinking the water out of her eyes, she reached over to the side shelf for the bottle of body wash.

"Allow me, my Lady," a deep voice called, gently pushing her hand away and squeezing a generous dollop of soap from the bottle. She smiled as strong arms wrapped around her, large hands lathering the soap into a froth and washing her front.

"You're putting on quite a show, aren't you?" her fiancé asked as his hands cupped her bare breasts and his lips kissed her neck. "You've been swimming topless for the past three days."

"Glad to see you've noticed," she replied cheekily. "We're quite isolated here, you know. Only you, the fish and the odd dolphin or turtle have seen me en déshabillé."

"Lucky us," he said, chuckling as he soaped her arms, drawing her back against him.

"Mmm," she smiled, her hands reaching back and feeling his firm thighs and his growing arousal. "I do hope that if you're having bad intentions towards me that this goes far better than your attempt to seduce me in the pool yesterday."

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" he grumbled, shaking his head.

She laughed as she rinsed the soap off, then turned around in his hold, reached up and put her arms across his shoulders.

"Darling, I'm only joking," she said, kissing him lightly as the water rained down over her back. "But you must admit that it was rather funny."

"I've been trying to forget about it entirely, actually," he complained, kissing her in return.

"Come on, Matthew," she teased him. "Considering all the times you've had me this trip, one unintentionally funny failed moment isn't so bad, is it?"

"You clearly know very little about a man's ego," he said, his hands reaching down and caressing her rear, barely covered by her flimsy bikini bottoms.

"Is that so? I beg to differ," she said, arching her eyebrow at him before she took him by surprise and pushed him backwards.

He grunted as his back hit the warm, sun drenched wall of their villa. His eyes went wide as she grinned at him and got down on her knees. A gasp flew from his lips when her hands reached up and pulled at his Speedo, a Christmas gift that she bought just for him to wear on this trip, and which was now leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination regarding his current reaction to her attentions.

"How does your ego feel about this, darling?" she asked, throwing his swimsuit down to his feet before taking him in hand and closing her lips around his hard length.

"Mary!" he groaned, his head falling back and hitting the wall as he felt her warm mouth take him in. "Oh God!"

She rubbed her free hand over his thigh as she worked on him, a familiar thrill filling her at how easy it was for her to reduce him to a babbling mess. This trip had been glorious, the weather hot and pleasant, the resort secluded and luxurious, and the water and scenery breathtaking. They'd barely left the villa since they arrived, eschewing eating in the restaurants and partaking in the organized tours in favour of having sumptuous meals brought over from room service whenever they got hungry and spending their days swimming in the Ocean, snorkelling, and taking afternoon kips on the outdoor hammock. Living over the water was wonderful. A gentle breeze and the lapping of the waves against the stilts lulled them to sleep each night and the call of seabirds and the bright sun woke them up each morning. With mere days left in their sojourn, neither of them wanted to leave and return to civilization.

"Mary, oh yes," he sighed, running his hand through her hair, keeping his eyes open to watch what she was doing to him. They had both acted quite bold and brazen during their vacation, something about being alone in their own oasis making them carefree and decadent. He loved his fiancée madly and escaping here with her had been delightful, but their behaviour was still a bit shocking to him. It was as though they didn't care who saw or heard them, the need for each other so strong that all restraint and reservation was abandoned.

Their days weren't all play, though. He had been writing during their stay, working on his novel, typing away on his laptop for a couple hours each morning, while she checked emails from work. By mutual agreement, all business stopped at lunch, as did all responsibilities, and they would spend the rest of each day swimming, reading, eating, and making love whenever and wherever the mood struck, which was often.

Not that he was complaining.

"Hmm, seems to me that your ego is doing just fine," she noted, arching her eyebrow and smirking up at him as she continued to stroke him with her hand. "In fact, I'd say you've got a rather swollen head."

"Argh," he grunted, his legs shaking as his head fell back to hit the wall again. Her smug laughter drew his eyes back down to her and he scoffed before reaching down and scooping her up in his arms.

"Swollen head. Holy fuck," he muttered tightly, kicking his Speedo away and carrying her over to the king size bed, her laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling of their bedroom.

---

"You do realize that we've been living in a dream these past two weeks, don't you? It'll soon be time to return to real life," he said lazily.

"Mmm, do we have to?" she mumbled, snuggling against his shoulder and neck as they relaxed together in the hammock. "These are our last days here. I thought I had reached the point of being refreshed and ready to return to London, but it seems that I'm not quite there yet."

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. "We could always come back here for our honeymoon if it suits you so much."

She blinked and opened her eyes at that.

"Oh, no, no, that's fine," she said, running her fingers idly over his bare chest.

"Have you thought about where you would like to spend our honeymoon, then?" he asked, closing his eyes and holding her close. "We can go anywhere you want."

"I haven't paid it much mind, actually," she replied casually. "There's so many places, and a lot will depend on the weather, as well."

"True," he agreed. "I wouldn't mind going to Asia, now that I think of it. We could even do a tour of multiple countries – Hong Kong, Singapore, Japan, Thailand, Vietnam. Plenty of tropical weather, history, culture, delicious food and amazing sights."

"Mmm, maybe," she said neutrally.

"Anyway, we had best enjoy our last moments here in paradise. We'll be back in dreary London soon enough," he remarked, nuzzling her hair and beginning to nod off.

"Mmm," she said quietly, looking out past the hammock to the crystal waters, her brow furrowed in thought.

Home of Lady Mary Crawley, Chelsea, London, England, March 2016

"Boo, another bottle finished," Gwen whinged, pouring the last drops of white wine into Anna's glass and putting the empty bottle down on the counter.

"There's plenty more where that came from," Mary laughed, grabbing another bottle and wrestling with the cork for a moment before succeeding in removing it. She passed it to Gwen triumphantly. "Voilà!"

"Grazie!" Gwen joked, laughing as she filled her glass and passed the bottle to Daisy. "You know, I'm going to miss nights like this."

"How's that?" Anna asked in amusement, expertly using chopsticks to grab several thick slices of salmon sashimi off the platter and bringing them to her plate. "Are you going somewhere?"

"No," Gwen retorted, reaching for a spicy tuna roll. "But with Mary getting married, there won't be nearly as many girls' nights anymore. It isn't as though we can kick Matthew out of his own house, now can we?"

"He won't be there all the time," Mary said, frowning. "And it'll be my house as well. I'll just send him down the pub, or tell him to stay upstairs in his study, or whatever."

"Oh, I don't think he'll appreciate that," Daisy said, giggling as she sipped her wine.

"What do you mean?" Mary asked.

"It's Matthew," Anna said kindly. "He hates being apart from you, even for a few hours."

"That's not true," Mary protested. "You make him sound like a puppy."

"I think it's adorable," Gwen agreed. "The second I even mention 'girls' night' to John, he's already planning something to do with his mates. He left the house tonight before I did."

"With William, it barely registers," Daisy admitted, shrugging her shoulders. "He just asks if he has to fend for himself for dinner or not."

They all laughed.

"Anyway, I refuse to let my pending marriage threaten girls' night!" Mary said firmly. "I won't have it! In fact, once we move into our new house, I expect to host even more of these nights, to prove that marriage doesn't mean having to give up such things."

"Cheers to that!" Gwen said, raising her wine glass.

"Have you decided on a place yet?" Daisy asked.

"We've got it down to three," Mary said, shaking her head. "They're all perfectly suitable, but we're having trouble deciding."

"She means she's having trouble deciding," Anna joked, sharing a knowing smile with the others. "I'm sure Matthew is perfectly fine with any of them."

"That's not true," Mary said defensively. "He's given me his ranking."

"And?" Gwen goaded her.

"And…I'm taking them into consideration," Mary replied.

They all laughed and sipped their drinks.

"How are you getting on with the rest of the planning?" Anna asked. "You've barely mentioned the wedding at all."

"It's going remarkably smoothly, actually," Mary said plainly. "We've got the venue booked. Invitations are going out next month. Fittings in a few weeks. It's all under control, really. Maybe if we were having a bigger wedding, then I'd be more worried, but we're not, so it's manageable, for now."

"Is Matthew helping out?" Daisy asked.

"He doesn't have much to do, really," Mary answered. "His hardest task is coordinating tuxes with Alex in New York, but it's not as if they don't have Armani over there, so even that's pretty easy. His mother has left things to me for the most part. She said to just tell her when and where to show up, and she'd have their side of the guests ready and organized."

"That's refreshing, isn't it?" Gwen noted.

"Well they're both quite laid back about things like this," Mary stated. "They don't have many relations and Isobel isn't nearly as bothered about pomp and ceremony as Mama would have been."

Mary frowned slightly at the inadvertent mention of her late mother. She took a long sip of wine, the other girls quickly changing the subject to distract her.

"How's John doing?" Daisy asked Anna quickly, glancing at Mary with a concerned look.

Mary didn't think about the past on purpose, but the closer her June wedding date came, the more the thoughts of what her wedding would have been, in her old life, seemed to jump into her head unbidden. A summer wedding at her grand family home in Yorkshire; her sisters, Edith and Sybil, serving as her bridesmaids; her Papa, dressed in black tie and tails, escorting her down the aisle of the Village Church; her Mama, Granny, Grandmama and Aunt Rosamund beaming from the pews; hundreds of guests gathered to see her, with a grand reception back at Downton Abbey to follow.

Picturing it used to make her smile, following in the footsteps of so many past Earls and Countesses of her House. All these years later, it now devastated her to think of how she would never have the experience.

"He's been quite busy at work, lately," Anna replied, filling the silence. "I've got a list of things for him to do around the house that's as long as my arm, but he's just knackered every night when he gets home."

Mary's wedding to Matthew was still going to be elegant and sophisticated, and the small guest list actually gave it an exclusivity that was turning it into one of the social events of the year. Matthew's celebrity had a small part to play in that. Though he was hardly a household name, his first book was an international bestseller, the film adaptation currently in the works drawing buzz already, and as such, most entertainment magazines and gossip websites were aware of his pending marriage to Lady Mary Crawley, last surviving member of the centuries old, venerable House of Grantham.

It was so like Matthew to not be concerned about any of the wedding planning. He was happy enough that they were getting married, the precise logistics of it all weren't important to him, and he couldn't care less about what some blogger would write about how he looked, the way the venue was decorated, and the dishes on the menu.

"What about weekends?" Gwen asked.

"What's a weekend?" Anna asked sarcastically. "Our weekends are always full running around with errands. I have no idea how we get so busy, but we're hardly ever home for him to get to my list."

Mary didn't truly care about any of the media attention, but she couldn't be completely indifferent either. She had been trained on the ways of Society from a very young age, and caring about her image and how she was perceived were lessons too ingrained in her to ignore completely. She had kept her old socialite friends from being in the bridal party, but they were still on the guest list, which only confirmed how high profile the event was. This heightened scrutiny required that she pay extra attention to certain details, because everything about her wedding would be picked over, by both the guests and the media. So, her wedding dress and two reception outfits were all custom-made Valentino originals, and though the reception was relatively small at around 120 guests, she was still having it at The Savoy Hotel. Everything was coming together, but each day she would go over her task list in her mind on the way to work, and it never seemed to get shorter.

"Well, perhaps you'll have to teach him a lesson and find a handsome handyman to do the job," Mary said, smiling bravely at the others as she rejoined the conversation.

They all laughed in relief.

"I wish," Anna laughed. "He doesn't even need to be handsome, as long as he can do the work."

"How illicit of you," Gwen teased.

"I haven't got time for that sort of thing," Anna said indifferently.

"Well, seems that John isn't too knackered for everything, then," Daisy noted.

Anna groaned as the rest of them cackled with laughter.

"Believe me, my sex life is good, but it's hardly as exciting as you lot seem to think it is," she said pointedly.

"Listen to her," Gwen giggled. "Brag much?"

"What? I said 'good' not 'great'" Anna countered. "We're not Mary and Matthew."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Here we go with this again," she grumbled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Anna said, delighted to not be the target of the group's jokes temporarily. "You were both studying turtles and dolphins and sleeping in separate beds in the Maldives, were you? If you weren't having sex at least twice a night, I'll be shocked."

Mary snorted ruefully and gave her a pointed look.

"She's got you there," Daisy said, shrugging her shoulders.

Mary frowned. "I have no idea what makes you think that Matthew and I are any different than any other couple."

"You're both rich, gorgeous, in fantastic shape, and when you're together you can't keep your hands off each other," Gwen listed easily.

"Don't forget the eye sex," Anna added.

"Yes, and there's that," Gwen agreed, smiling at Mary.

"I don't understand that at all," Mary protested. "We don't have eye sex. I'm just looking at him! It's no different than what any of you do!"

"When I give John bedroom eyes, it literally means I want to go to sleep," Gwen explained. "When Matthew looks at you, he's not thinking about sleep at all. Big difference."

"It's not as sordid as you make it seem!" Mary scoffed.

"Oh, I think it is. He's thinking about something when he looks at you, and it sure doesn't look like sleep," Daisy said.

"More like something wonderfully inappropriate, I'd say," Anna said.

"Enough," Mary said firmly.

"You don't have to pretend just to spare our feelings," Gwen said. "We get it. Soon you'll be married, and you'll be that perfect couple with successful, fulfilling careers, a beautiful house and who fuck like rabbits. It's all right. We're happy for you, really."

"That's hardly us at all," Mary muttered. "You make it sound like we're living a fairytale."

"Well, aren't you?" Anna said, laughing and shaking her head. "Your story is easily the most epic any of us have ever heard. Finding each other after 10 years apart? Come on."

"It's like something straight out of a movie," Daisy said.

"That doesn't make it any easier, believe me," Mary said, looking at the three of them seriously. "We have to work at it, just like any of you."

"Anyway, on to more important things," Gwen said, changing the subject. "Where are we taking you for your hen night?"

Mary rolled her eyes as the rest of the girls laughed.

"Just somewhere in the City," Mary said eventually. "I'm not doing some tacky weekend trip."

"What's Matthew doing for his stag?" Anna asked.

"Nothing," Mary replied. "He'll be in New York for meetings about the movie next month, so he says that he and Alex will grab a drink somewhere, but that's about it. He doesn't have many friends, really."

"How utterly boring," Gwen teased.

"I won't have many free evenings myself, if I'm honest," Mary admitted. "Our biggest fundraising campaigns at work all ramp up around May/June."

"We'll figure out something fun for you, don't worry," Daisy said.

"I'm hardly worried," Mary answered wryly. "As long as there's good drinks, I'm up for anything."

"For sure!" Gwen cheered as they all raised their glasses again.

Home of Matthew Crawley, NoLIta, Manhattan, New York City, USA, April 2016

"What are you up to this weekend?" Matthew asked, smiling at Mary's image on the large television screen.

"I barely managed to get through today. I'm not even thinking that far ahead," she replied, resting her head on her hand tiredly. "I've got meetings with staff and donors for the rest of the week, and I think Anna's coming with me to yoga on Saturday, if I survive until then."

He laughed and shook his head at her whinging. "Have you been eating?"

"Matthew," she scoffed, frowning at him through her phone camera.

"I'm just checking. You have a tendency to ignore such things when you're stressed out," he said gently.

"I do not, and yes, I have been eating, thank you. I am capable of taking care of myself without you around, you know," she replied.

"So you say," he retorted, grinning at her. "But soon enough you won't need to. It's my privilege to take care of you now."

"Until your next business trip takes you out of the country," she grumbled. "When are you meeting with the studio?"

"I'm seeing Lavinia tomorrow and she says there's casting and production meetings through the weekend. I'm hoping to fly out next Tuesday. I can't see why I couldn't do all of this over videoconference, to be honest."

"You say that now but when you're in the thick of it, you'll be glad to be there," she noted. "They're bringing your story to life, Matthew. You need to make sure it's exactly what you want it to be. If not, by the time it hits theatres, it'll be too late and you'll end up disappointed."

"You're right, you're right," he allowed.

She stifled a yawn, covering her mouth with her hand. "Excuse me," she sighed.

"Go to bed, darling, it's almost midnight over there," he said.

"All right, are you heading out tonight?" she asked lazily.

"Alex is coming over when he gets done work, but we'll just hang around here, I expect," he mused. "My apartment is far more suitable for entertaining since you redecorated it."

"Well, I had quite a lot of empty space to work with, considering what you had before, which was nothing," she said, smiling at him teasingly. "All right, I'll text you tomorrow when I'm done my day, whenever that is."

"Good night. Love you," he said warmly.

"Love you too, and love to Alex," she said, hanging up the call.

Matthew closed the call window and got up from his barstool, going over to the fridge and getting a Coke. He poured it into a glass and added a lime as a key rattled in the lock and the front door opened.

"Speak of the devil," he said, smiling as Alex came into the apartment. "Mary sends her love. I just got done Skypeing with her."

"Love to Mary," Alex replied, tapping fists with Matthew in greeting and going to the fridge to get his own Coke. "How was the flight?"

"Boring. I spent most of the time reading the stuff Lavinia sent over – bios, notes, schedules. Apparently we're meeting with Michael B. Jordan this week."

"The guy who was in Creed? He's good," Alex said. "What role is he up for?"

"The police investigator," Matthew replied, going back to his laptop sitting on the island bar.

"I didn't picture that character as being black," Alex said.

"I never pictured him as anything specific when I created him, if I'm honest," Matthew said, waving his hand. "Lavinia says that the film is getting more buzz, whatever that means, so more and more known actors are interested in it."

"Well, that's good," Alex said. "It bodes well for the box office."

"Hopefully," Matthew sighed. "That's a long way off, though. Did you go for your fitting, by the way?"

"Done," Alex confirmed. "Flight and hotel are booked. All I've got left to do is my speech."

Matthew smiled at him and took a sip of his drink. "Well, try not to make it too embarrassing."

"I make no promises," Alex said, shaking his head. "How's your house hunt going?"

"We put in an offer on the place in Highgate," Matthew stated. "In the end, Mary liked the area better than Chelsea. We should be hearing soon, I'd expect."

"Well, good luck," Alex said. "That will be one less thing to worry over."

"I'm not worried, but you're right, the less that's on Mary's plate, the better. She's running herself ragged at work, on top of everything else. She keeps saying she's got it all figured out, but I wonder. She's not the greatest at multitasking, really," Matthew noted, shaking his head.

"I thought she had her friends all helping out with the wedding?" Alex asked.

"She does, but her idea of delegating is to give out assignments, then monitor the progress. She just can't let go of anything. I've tried to talk to her about it, but it's useless," Matthew said resignedly.

"Trying to sway the mind of a bride is a losing proposition, I'd expect," Alex said, laughing at the thought.

"Trying to mess with Lady Mary Crawley when she's determined to do something is a fool's errand," Matthew said, smirking and taking another sip. "Now, what's for dinner?"

"I feel like Mexican," Alex said.

"Mexican it is," Matthew declared, opening a browser on his computer.

Office of Mary Crawley, Major Donor Program, Tate Modern Art Gallery, Bankside, London, England, April 2016

"Fuck!" Mary groaned, gritting her teeth in an effort to keep her voice down as she glared at her computer monitor. Her biggest challenge during this crucial time of the year was to keep everyone happy. Her donors all wanted publicity and promotion, to be recognized for their generosity to the Gallery. The Gallery administrators also wanted publicity and promotion, to claim credit for raising more money than previous campaigns and to brag about the impressive exhibitions that would now be coming as a result of their hard work. It was a balancing act to keep the competing interests of the two groups finely tuned, particularly when they were intent on one-upping each other. Sometimes Mary felt more like a nursery schoolteacher than an executive, spending most of her day putting out fires, answering whinging complaints and cajoling and massaging unreasonable people with massive egos.

And today the brats were winning and she was losing.

It was all rather idiotic, which is what incensed her more. Some of the donors wanted particular rooms in the Gallery named after them, to reflect their large gifts. The administrators usually bristled at this, or would ask for larger donations for such an honour. As usual, Mary was caught in the middle, having to either convince the administrators to stop being so petty and greedy, or go back to her donors and beg them for more money. When she took this job years ago, it was to help bring cutting edge modern art to London, to use her connections and her social skills for the worthy goal of improving the arts and culture in the City through the Gallery. She was very good at her job, donations had skyrocketed since she came on, but more and more she was dealing with bureaucracy and politics, rather than the promotion of art.

She turned away from the latest set of passive aggressive emails on her computer monitor at the sound of her smartphone ringing. Reaching over and staring at the screen, she blinked at the call display and answered quickly.

"Mary Crawley," she said brusquely.

"Mary, it's Brandon. How are you this morning?" the real estate agent said cheerfully.

"I've been better, though you're not the one to trouble with that," she replied crisply. "Tell me you have good news for me."

"I have good news for you," Brandon replied.

"They've accepted our offer?" she asked hopefully.

"No, actually, they countered, but the good news is you're still in talks and they haven't come back as high as I expected they would," he said.

"What did they come back at?" she asked suspiciously.

"6,25," he said.

"6,25! That's two hundred and fifty thousand higher than our last offer!" she spat.

"Yes, well, they were looking to split the difference between your previous positions," he said carefully. "It's not unreasonable, really."

"No, just insanely greedy. Brandon, we both know that house isn't even worth the 6 that we offered. I'm going to have to put at least half a million into the renovations alone. If it wasn't for the location, that house would be worth no more than 5," she protested.

"Yes, Mary, but we all know that location is everything," he said patiently. "Besides, you're well aware why they're pushing for every pound they can get."

She rolled her eyes and grunted in frustration. "Because they think they're dealing with a celebrity millionaire couple," she grumbled.

"Because they are dealing with a celebrity millionaire couple," he corrected her. "You can't really blame them. Your title and family name alone make ears perk up, and add Matthew's popularity to it, and people smell opportunity. You're both quite high profile at the moment. I'm sure the vendors saw the two of you were in the Daily Mail just on the weekend."

She frowned and looked up at the ceiling in disgust. She and Matthew had seen the paparazzi camped out at Heathrow when she dropped him off for his flight to New York. It wasn't as though they were there specifically for them. They hung out there looking for anyone to capture. While she and Matthew didn't enjoy being ambushed, she wasn't going to be apart from him for a week without giving him a proper goodbye kiss. They both hoped that the photographers wouldn't bother with them, but unfortunately, a well-placed camera and a sharp telephoto lens ensured their tender moment was captured in crystal clear high definition. The photo of their kiss was splashed all over the gossip pages of the Daily Mail and across the internet before Matthew's flight landed in New York. They actually did look quite sweet, Mary had to admit, but the sparkling diamond on her finger, her designer clothes, and the fact that she had driven Matthew's Porsche obviously gave the vendors of the house they wanted fresh resolve.

"The price of the home should have some semblance to its actual worth, not the size of my bank account," she said coldly.

"I agree, but they've countered and there you have it," he replied patiently. "What do you want to do?"

She sighed in exasperation. "I have to talk to Matthew, and he's not in the country. Leave it with me over the weekend. I'll get back to you early next week."

"That's fine, Mary, but we may not be the only offer they have, you realize," he warned. "There's no promise of exclusivity between us, so the sooner we respond, the better."

"If they can find another purchaser to extort, more power to them," she fired back. "They're not the only home for sale in Highgate."

"Yes, Mary," he said. "Have a good weekend."

She gave him a curt goodbye and hung up the phone, resisting the urge to throw the phone against the wall in disgust. Looking back at her computer, her anger increased as she saw the list of emails and her calendar filled with appointments and to-do's. It seemed everywhere she turned, there was nothing but frustration staring back at her.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. It wasn't even noon yet and already she was ready to give up.

Blinking several times, she glanced at her monitor once more, checking the schedule for the day and mentally figuring out how to rearrange everything. She felt as though her office was closing in around her, growing small and cramped. She would go mad if she stayed here a moment longer. Opening a new browser window, she made a few quick searches, then grabbed her phone and her bag, and walked briskly out of the office.

"I'm out for the rest of the day and tomorrow," she announced as she passed her assistant's desk. "If you need me, just text. I'll be back on Monday."

"Yes, Mary," her assistant said, knowing better than to question her boss' sudden departure. "Have a good weekend."

"You too," Mary replied, glancing back over her shoulder as she left.

The Metropolitan Suite, Meeting Room Level, Four Seasons Hotel New York, Manhattan, New York City, USA, April 2016

"So what did we all think of Oscar?" the casting director asked, looking around the table.

"I like that he's versatile," the producer replied. "He pulled off brooding without being overly dramatic about it, and he did friendly and pleasant quite well, also. He would be on my short list."

Lavinia nodded in agreement

"What did you think, Matthew?" the casting director asked.

"I liked him," Matthew replied, nodding his head. "He didn't overplay the scene, and sounded quite natural."

"Good, so we'll bring him back," the casting director said, making a note on his tablet.

"We'll have to schedule him in with the actresses we're calling back," the producer mentioned to Lavinia. "Test them together and see if there's anything there."

Lavinia nodded at the idea.

"Sorry, what?" Matthew asked, looking at both of them. "His character doesn't have any scenes with the female lead."

"Well, we want to get a sense of the actors' chemistry with each other. They might surprise us and show something we hadn't expected," the producer explained.

"So if there is…something…then you'd consider him for the lead role?" Matthew asked in confusion.

"No, we're thinking more down the line to the second movie," the producer said patiently.

Matthew frowned.

"If the audience reacts well to the characters, and we know the actors have chemistry with each other, it sets up the possibility of having the characters get together in the next movie," Lavinia said.

"But they don't get together in the sequel," Matthew pointed out. "I think there's only one scene that they're both involved in for the entire story."

"At present, yes," the producer said. "But if we get test audiences and viewer polls telling us that they respond more favourably to these two characters, rather than the main couple, then it will give us something to think about."

Matthew frowned and shook his head, still at a loss as to what they were even talking about.

"What is there to think about?" he asked cautiously. "They don't get together. They don't get together in Epiphany. They're not getting together in the sequel, and if there's a sequel to that, I don't plan on them getting together in that story either."

"Stories can change, Matthew," the producer said plainly.

Matthew stared at him in bewilderment.

"Next we have Jack O'Connell, reading for the role of Michael," the production assistant called out.

"Send him in," Lavinia said cheerfully, looking over at Matthew.

Matthew blinked and looked back down at his pages, flipping to the appropriate scene and trying to forget about what he had just heard, and his growing sense of annoyance over it.

Crawley Family Plot, Village Church Cemetery, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, April 2016

Mary's hands shook as she stood before the row of marble tombstones. She linked her gloved fingers together in front of her, smiling sadly as she looked from left to right, the immaculately groomed grounds so serene and peaceful. A slight breeze came through, and the early afternoon sun was still shining overhead. Her flight from London had gotten into Leeds/Bradford early, and the airport shuttle had been quick. Her pulse had been racing since she reached the outskirts of the village. She was afraid of being recognized, even though she hadn't been here in so many years. When she was buying flowers at the local shop, she thought the store clerk was looking at her strangely, but she didn't say anything. Now standing alone after having placed her flowers and said a quiet prayer, she was much more at ease, albeit still nervous.

She was glad she decided to come.

"I expect I don't have to tell you why I'm here," she said softly. "I like to think you all know everything, that you've known all along, even over those ten years when I couldn't remember all that had happened."

She swallowed and took a deep breath, looking left at the graves of Edith and Sybil, then to her right at the headstones of her parents.

"I'm sure you're surprised to see me. It is rather unlike me, isn't it?" she said, laughing shakily. "I just wanted you all to know…I love him. I do. I so wish you could have met him, could know him. I think you all would have gotten along brilliantly. He's so kind and generous, like you, Sybil. He's smart and witty. And he's a good man, Papa."

Her lip quivered as she fought to hold back her tears.

"Mama, he treats me so well," she said, looking upon her mother's tombstone, finally unable to stop a sob from escaping her throat. The tears fell down her cheeks as she shook her head and went on. "He's so good to me. I sometimes don't understand why, but he is. I know you always wanted the best for me, but I don't think that even you could have conjured up a man better than Matthew. I dare say even Aunt Rosamund would admit that she was wrong about him if she were to see us now."

She looked down at the ground and smiled, unable to quite picture her Aunt Rosamund ever admitting she was wrong about anything. Wiping her cheeks, she paused to collect herself before speaking again.

"I know you'll all be with me for the wedding, and afterwards, once I finally have a proper house," she said. "I miss you so very much, even you, Edith. These past years have been…hard, I won't lie. But I know that I just need to get through this rather busy stretch and everything will be right again."

She kissed her hand and touched each of the tombstones, whispering her love and gratitude to her parents and sisters. The date of their deaths was etched on the stones, and seemed so strange to her even now, so many years later. She had spent the majority of her life without them, their loss having an effect on her so profound that she couldn't even begin to decipher it. Still, after straightening her posture and raising her chin, she turned away and walked down the path to the front of the Church with determination. Her wedding would have meant so much to her family, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham achieving such an important milestone. Even though they were now only with her in spirit, she was resolved to complete this vital step in honour of them.

She took out her phone and scanned her messages and emails as she walked. The flight had given her time to deal with the more urgent matters, and so far everyone seemed to be appeased. Her plan was to fly to Yorkshire and go back to London right away after visiting the cemetery, but she was now starving, having skipped lunch altogether. She scanned the numerous storefronts on the high street, trying to remember where the village pub had once stood when she was a child.

"My goodness! Mary! Is that you?" a voice called.

Mary's eyes widened in surprise and she turned in the direction of the call.

"Lady Shackleton," she said politely, nodding her head in acknowledgement to the older woman who quickly came over to her. "Hello."

"Oh, Mary," Lady Shackleton exclaimed, taking both her hands in hers and squeezing them lightly. "I can't believe it's you! You look absolutely stunning."

"Thank you, you're far too kind," Mary replied, looking down and shaking her head.

"What brings you to Yorkshire?" Lady Shackleton asked, releasing Mary's hands.

"Oh, I just happened to be in the area and wanted to stop in," Mary replied. "I was planning on grabbing a quick bite and heading back to London, actually."

"How splendid," Lady Shackleton said, beaming at her. "It's a shame you aren't staying longer. Have you been up to Downton?"

"Oh, no, no I haven't," Mary answered. "I wasn't planning on it. I wouldn't want to impose."

"But you must go and see. You've come all this way. The owners won't mind. They actually allow anyone to walk the grounds," Lady Shackleton said.

Mary smiled tightly, the thought of just anyone being allowed to traipse across her ancestral home making her stomach churn.

"Well, I must be off," Lady Shackleton declared. "I have meetings this afternoon, I'm afraid."

"Oh, please don't let me keep you," Mary said apologetically, grateful for the reprieve. "It was so very good to see you."

"It was wonderful to see you, Mary. Allow me to arrange for an escort for you," Lady Shackleton said, smiling cheerfully.

"Oh, that's really not…" Mary began.

"Henry!" Lady Shackleton called. "Come out here, please! Henry!"

Mary's eyes bulged.

A tall man with short brown hair and green eyes emerged from the shop that Lady Shackleton had apparently just come from. His familiar smirk turned into a wide grin as he took in the scene before him.

"Mary," he said warmly. "Hello."

"Henry," Mary replied, nodding politely to her ex, the man who had once proposed to her, and her last boyfriend before Matthew.

"Mary was in the area so she decided to stop in," Lady Shackleton informed him. "She's due to fly back later today. Be a dear and run her up to Downton, won't you? She ought to see it, and you can then take her to the airport."

Henry nodded to his aunt, then returned his smiling face to Mary.

"It would be my absolute pleasure," he declared.

Mary smiled tightly, her stomach falling as she knew no excuse would politely extricate her from the situation.

The Metropolitan Suite, Meeting Room Level, Four Seasons Hotel New York, Manhattan, New York City, USA, April 2016

"I always love Alicia," the producer gushed, flicking his pen between his fingers. "She's absolutely captivating. That was very well done."

"I like how she obviously studied the material," the casting director agreed. "I felt as though we could have asked her about any scene from the book and she would have a firm grasp of it."

"Matthew?" Lavinia asked.

"She's very talented, yes," Matthew replied.

"And?" the producer asked.

"I didn't think she had the measure of the character, actually. She was too smug, too arrogant with the tone of her lines. The character isn't that cold. She's actually rather vulnerable and hides her fears by being aggressive. I'm not sure she captured that as well as some of the others we've seen," he explained.

"You're saying she played the scene a bit too much on the bitchy side?" Lavinia asked.

"I suppose I am, yes," Matthew replied.

"I didn't think she was all that bad," the producer said. "The character is a bitch to begin with. That's the first impression that we get when we meet her."

"Yes, but this particular scene takes place well into the story," Matthew protested. "She's been through quite a lot by this point. She wouldn't be so flippant and dismissive. That's not who she is."

The casting director and producer exchanged perplexed glances.

"Well, the real question is whether we think she's capable of playing the role," Lavinia said patiently. "She may not have been entirely on point in this particular scene but I think we all agree she has the talent. With proper direction and guidance, I think she would do quite well."

Matthew weighed her words, and did not object.

"So we'll add her to the short list," the casting director said finally, flicking his finger across his tablet screen. "Let's see who's up next."

Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, April 2016

Mary didn't want to get in the car. In the years since she'd rejected his proposal, Henry had bought a new shiny sports car. She wasn't surprised. Henry loved his toys. This one was different from Matthew's Porsche, more sleek and low to the ground, all sharp angles and polished exterior. It even looked aggressive and dangerous parked at the kerb.

She ought to have just declined his invitation, called for a taxi and gone to Leeds on her own. Why should she care what Lady Shackleton thought of her? She didn't need an escort, and certainly not Henry, of all people. Though he had always professed to remain her friend and had sent her polite notes on her birthday and at Christmas, she didn't feel comfortable keeping in touch with him. It wasn't that he'd done anything wrong, really, but what was the point? She'd jilted him already. Why be cruel by reminding him of that constantly?

And yet, as he walked around the car and opened the door for her, she just nodded and took her seat on the passenger side, buckling her seatbelt as she waited for him to come around and get in.

"So funny that we run into each other here, of all places, isn't it?" he mused as he gunned the engine and took them out of the village at a rapid clip and on to the country road. "We both live in London, and yet it's in Yorkshire that I finally steal a moment of your time."

"Yes, quite funny," she said blandly.

Mary didn't want to go to Downton Abbey. She hadn't been back since her university days, and it wasn't for lack of opportunity. After losing her family, and the subsequent deaths of her Granny and Carson, there was no reason for her to come here. The house and lands had been sold by a trustee, the maintenance cost far too much for Aunt Rosamund and Mary alone to manage. Besides, why would she keep it? What was the point of living in a country estate by herself, surrounded by nothing but memories? She had long moved on from this place, with great pain and difficulty, but she'd done it. Why go back?

"I suppose you're looking forward to the wedding?" he asked, speeding down a deserted road that Mary had wandered as a child countless times walking from Downton Abbey to the village and back again.

"What do you think?" she replied quickly, looking out the tinted windows at the trees flying by.

He laughed. "I think it'll be the event of the year, and you'll be the centre of attention, just the way you like it."

"Mmm," she hummed, offering nothing further.

Her pulse jumped as Henry drove the car over the familiar rise and the majestic house rose on the horizon. She swallowed, her breath catching in her chest at the sight of the place, tall and imposing, a relic of a bygone era, standing stubbornly against time itself.

"Such a lovely sight, isn't it?" Henry said obliviously. "Truly there's nowhere else like it."

For once, she had to agree.

Lady Shackleton was right. The current owners of Downton Abbey not only didn't mind if the public used the grounds, they downright encouraged it. There were signs here and there pointing the way to visitor parking, public washrooms and picnic areas. The driveway and front courtyard had been repaved since Mary was last here, and ugly concrete kerbs and wooden fences separated the public spaces from the house and grounds. She frowned as she took it all in. This wasn't a simple matter of opening up the lands for locals to walk on. Downton Abbey was a veritable tourist attraction.

"The family who bought the place travel quite a bit, or so my Aunt says," Henry stated, parking the car in the empty lot. "They partnered with the Historic Houses Association shortly after moving in. There's tours given during the warm weather months and they rent out a space for weddings as well. Apparently it's quite popular."

"How opportunistic of them," she remarked, getting out of the car as he held her door open.

She walked over and took in the house up close, glancing up at the familiar spires, taking in the stone latticework along the terraces and bordering the windows. A frown crossed her brow as she noticed the red and blue flag flying in the wind against the cloudless sky.

"They kept my family crest, I see," she observed, narrowing her eyes.

"I expect they think it adds to the ambiance and charm of the place," Henry noted, coming to her side.

"Of course," she said, turning away. "They bought the contents with the house. They're allowed to do whatever they wish with it all."

She barely remembered any details of the sale. She was young, far too young, and still in mourning when it happened, for her parents and sisters, for Granny, even for Carson and some of the older servants who had retired with the death of the last Earl of Grantham. Aunt Rosamund dealt with all the details. Painswick House was already fully furnished, so there was no need or room to keep much of anything from Downton Abbey. The trustee had catalogued everything in the house, and Mary had reluctantly gone over it all from London, picking out items here and there that she wanted to keep – family heirlooms and jewellery, photo albums and portraits, old clothes of her Mama and sisters that she wanted to hang on to. The family silver, paintings and sculptures, the many books and the vintage furniture was worth a small fortune, but she didn't have the will to deal with any of it. Aunt Rosamund had wisely put some of the more valuable pieces in storage, and Mary now owned all of it, but the vast majority was sold with the house. She shuddered to think of just how the place would look were she to go inside now. It would be like going back in time, as if the rooms had remained untouched, still waiting for the family to return.

Henry offered her his arm and she took it without thinking, walking with him along the path and away from the house. The grounds weren't nearly as well kept as she remembered, but some of the azaleas and rhododendrons were still blooming, and the old trees remained. She breathed in the fresh air and looked out across the fields to the small lakes in the distance. Memories of riding her horse all over the place and playing with her sisters came flooding back. She smiled genuinely, almost hearing Sybil's beautiful laughter on the wind.

"Did I ever tell you that I came here once?" he asked, bringing her back to the present. "My aunt brought me for one of the Christmas parties. I must have been about fourteen. I remember the biggest Christmas tree I had ever seen in my life was standing in the Great Hall, and gathering around and singing carols with the rest of the guests. It was magical, really."

She smiled and nodded her head. "Christmas here was always magical, yes."

"I remember you from back then, you know," he said, smiling at her. "Your Mama had you sing a solo of Silent Night. You couldn't have been more than nine years old, and yet you had everyone's attention as though you were performing at Royal Albert."

"Stop, Henry," she said, laughing and rolling her eyes at him. "I'm sure I wasn't such a diva. I'm surprised you can remember any of that. It was so long ago."

"I've never forgotten," he said softly, holding her gaze. "Not one moment."

Her eyes fell upon a large oak tree towering above the rest. A worn bench sat beneath it, pointed towards the vast fields before it. She had spent countless hours on that bench, reading, eating ice cream with her sisters, even napping under the cool shade of the branches above. She pursed her lips looking at it now, determined not to cry in front of Henry.

"This way," he said gently, pulling her away. "Let's go and see if the stables are open."

The Garden Restaurant, Four Seasons Hotel New York, Manhattan, New York City, USA, April 2016

"I thought the morning session went rather well, don't you?" Lavinia asked, taking a delicate bite from her salad.

"It was all right," Matthew offered, sipping his Coke. "I'm still having a hard time picturing any of these actors as the actual characters themselves."

"That's normal. You're used to seeing them in other roles," she replied easily. "You'll get more comfortable with it as we go along. So far, the studio is very pleased, I can tell you. We're on schedule and there's a lot of interest. Jennifer Lawrence is quite eager for us to choose her for the lead, and she's not the only one we've heard from."

"Really?" he asked in surprise. "I didn't realize we'd become so popular."

"Yes, the news has spread about the project. A number of agents see it as a good vehicle for their clients, particularly since there's potential for a sequel," she noted. "It's a character driven piece and that stands out amongst all the big tent pole superhero movies and such."

"Ah," he said, nodding and starting on his soup.

"What we'll do is call back the short list to read over other scenes from the script. You'll get to see how they handle different emotions and lines, and figure out which one of them best represents your characters," she smiled.

"Fine," he said shortly.

"Now, I had some comments on the sequel actually," she continued.

"You did?" he asked, looking at her carefully.

"Yes. Have you considered perhaps adding more drama to the story?" she asked lightly.

"In what way?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know," she replied. "Perhaps you could put your main couple in jeopardy somehow. Have one of them stray, introduce another character to challenge their bond, that sort of thing."

"You want me to have one of them have an affair?" he asked, frowning at the suggestion.

"Well, you need to do something, Matthew. In the draft that I've read so far, they're just happy," she said.

"And what's wrong with that?" he demanded. "The plot itself has more than enough drama. It doesn't have to come from the characters."

"It's not wrong, in theory. It's just boring, is the thing," she said. "Audiences don't want to spend their money on watching a couple be happy. They want drama, angst, danger. You need to give them a reason to care about these two, to root for them, and if they're just happy all the time, then they're rather bland and forgettable."

"Yes, but that's the point," he stated. "They went through their trials in Epiphany. Now they get to go forward together and face challenges united as a couple."

"And that's fine, for an Act or so," she said. "But eventually, one of them is bound to be tempted. It's human nature."

"Do you honestly believe that?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course," she said, chuckling slightly. "Come on, Matthew. Why do we have Tinder, Ashley Madison, 'Netflix and chill'? It's easier than ever to hook up now, and yet finding a meaningful relationship has never been harder, it seems. You've got two good-looking people in a developing relationship. In Epiphany, necessity and danger brought them together. Keeping them together in the sequel is more of a challenge. They finally have time to evaluate what they want in a partner, and can properly think over whether they have a future together. During that process, they might wonder what it would be like to be with someone else. They might feel the need to experiment, try out a different person, or two."

"I wouldn't even know how to write something like that," he muttered. "There isn't really room in the story for casual dating."

"Oh, please," she said, laughing at him. "You know how to write women, Matthew. I'm sure you can come up with numerous reasons as to why your main character might cheat. She could be bored, feel unappreciated, insecure, be physically attracted to another man. You aren't inventing anything new here."

"I can't see any of that applying to her situation," he said, unconvinced. "She's being put through immense pressures in this book. It's not realistic to think that she'll suddenly be lusting after someone else. How would that even fit into the story?"

"Well, you're the writer," she joked. "I'm just suggesting it as a way to spice up your narrative a bit. Yes, she is going through the wars, and it's all quite compelling, but that may be exactly why her resolve may falter. They're both busy fighting their own battles, dealing with their own stresses. They aren't making time for each other. Now all the interested people around them that they didn't pay any mind to before suddenly become possibilities. Maybe they give them the attention they're missing in their relationship. Maybe the thought of forgetting themselves for a moment and enjoying a night of passion appeals to them. Maybe there's something primal, something animalistic about someone who's always fully in control surrendering to someone who is completely not her type."

"So you want to change my story as well," he noted suspiciously. "Will there be more revisions once the test screenings come in or should I just hold off on finishing the second book until I've heard from everyone?"

"Now, now, play nice," she chided him. "No one's trying to tell you what to do, Matthew. It's just that we all have a lot of experience with adapting books to film, and we know what works and what doesn't. I've read a lot of scripts in my time, you know," she explained, laughing before taking another sip of wine. "Anyway, just think about it. I know you don't like sullying the perfect image of your main couple, but audiences – whether they be readers or moviegoers – like seeing weakness in main characters. It makes them seem more human, more real, and far more interesting."

He took another spoonful of soup, looking up at the lush greenery of the tall trees set up throughout the restaurant, his mind mulling over Lavinia's words.

"It just seems rather gimmicky to me, clichéd," he mumbled eventually. "Writing relationship strife is perfectly fine if it is part of the overall narrative, but just breaking up a couple for the sake of shock value or to throw a nude scene into the mix feels quite cheap, just like tailoring the sequel to what we think people want to see. You end up doing more harm than good if you lose track of your vision, which is supposed to be a story that makes sense."

"Anything done haphazardly has the potential to be rubbish, yes," she agreed. "By the same token, though, keeping your couple together and just taking their happiness for granted is just as wrong. Relationships are organic, Matthew. They're always changing and evolving, and that process is what captivates people – all of it – the good, the bad and the ugly. Don't be close minded, that's all."

"What about what Sam said in there?" he asked. "He basically threatened to change my story regardless of whether I agreed or not."

"He's entitled to his opinion. He's a producer," she said firmly. "However, you're the writer. This is your book and your screenplay. I promised you that you would have authority, and you do. I'll fight for you, Matthew, but you must show me that you're not just rejecting ideas to be defensive or territorial. I know that you're fiercely protective of your characters, and so you should be. But my job is to make sure this movie gets made on budget and is the best it can be. I'm not here to watch you have a pissing match with anyone who dares to question your writing, particularly when the suggestion may be entirely valid."

She popped a cherry tomato into her mouth and went back to her salad. He struggled to lose his frown as he went back to his soup.

"Now, how is your wedding planning going?" she asked, drawing his attention again. "I'm so looking forward to it!"

M1 motorway, between Nottingham and Leicester, England, April 2016

The engine seemed to growl as the car sped along the highway, easily passing the few cars that they encountered. Henry rested both hands on the steering wheel, his fingers dancing across the paddle shifters, switching gears effortlessly as they went. Mary felt as though she was sitting in the cockpit of a fighter jet, the dashboard glowing with various electronic displays and gauges, relaying information that she couldn't completely decipher, but that Henry seemed quite interested in.

She looked out the window at the countryside, wondering how much time remained in the four-hour drive to London. When he suggested that she not bother getting a flight back and allow him to take her home, her instinct was to decline. She'd even said no out loud. But he argued that the next direct flight wasn't until 7:30 that evening, and he would have her back in Chelsea by nine with far less hassle. Too tired to protest, she just got in the car, looking wistfully outside as they zoomed past the signs for Leeds some time later.

Her phone occupied her for the first hour as she dealt with emails and gave instructions to her staff. Eventually though, staring at the small screen gave her a headache, so she switched it off and threw it into her bag. Sitting back, she had to admit that despite the car being quite low to the ground, her leather seat was rather comfortable. The constant noise of the engine and the slight vibrations from the road almost had her falling asleep.

"Mary," he called, his eyes still on the road ahead.

"Yes?" she asked lazily, turning her head to look at him.

"What did I do wrong, honestly?" he asked, glancing over at her for a second, then looking back at the road.

She blinked in surprise, trying to stir herself back to full attention.

"Henry, there's really no point in…" she began.

"I insist, Mary," he cut her off, his voice serious. "I'm a grown man. I can take it. I've spent the better part of two years now wondering. Just tell me. Tell me everything, please."

"I'm not sure that I even know everything," she mumbled, turning away to look out the window. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"I think you owe me at least that much," he said firmly. "All you've ever said was that we were never suited to be anything more than friends, but I want to know why, how you came to decide that?"

"Are you sure you aren't just asking because you want to know why I chose Matthew instead of you?" she asked, looking back at him.

"I want to know why we aren't already married, Mary," he said pointedly. "The fact that you're marrying another man in June isn't overly important. Besides, you ended things with me long before Matthew came back into your life."

"That's right," she said.

"Well, then, what was it?" he asked.

"It's not that you did anything wrong, Henry," she said, looking out the window again. "It's just that we're very different people. I enjoyed our time together, but when you proposed, I thought about what our future would be like, and came to the conclusion that we don't have very much in common to build a lasting union upon. It doesn't mean there's anything the matter with you, or that you're at fault. It's simply that we don't belong together in that way."

She stole a glance at him when he didn't reply. His hands were still tight on the wheel, his eyes staring straight ahead. Shaking her head slightly, she went back to looking out her side of the car.

"Are we so different, though?" he asked finally. "We come from similar backgrounds. I'm not an aristocrat, of course, but we move in the same circles. I thought that was what you found appealing about me. I'm not Tony, or Evelyn, or Charles, and I didn't treat you the way they did."

"No, you didn't," she admitted. "But it isn't as though any of them mistreated me, either. Henry, when we were together, I always felt that your priorities were elsewhere. Your business. Your cars. When we went to parties and events, we would often split up and spend the evening with our separate circles, you with the men and I with the women. Again, there's nothing wrong with any of that, but that wasn't the life that I wanted for myself for the long term."

"You never told me any of that," he complained, looking over at her briefly. "Did you honestly believe that I cared more about my work and cars than I did about you?"

"That was the impression that I got from you, on more than one occasion," she retorted. "I'm not saying that I was perfect. I certainly wasn't. But the fact that neither of us made an effort to put the other first is telling, don't you think?"

"The way Matthew does, you mean?" he asked tightly.

She frowned at the mention of his name, not wanting to get into a comparison between the two men. That wouldn't do any good.

"He does, yes," she confirmed after a pause. "But perhaps more importantly, he makes me want to put him first, as well."

"Mary, my focus on the business and all the rest of it was so that I could give you the life you deserve," he said. "Maintaining my connections, building my business so I could properly provide for you, helping you keep up your profile in Society, I did all of that out of devotion to you."

"I don't doubt that you believe that," she said softly. "However, a relationship isn't built upon accumulating wealth and contacts. I never questioned your dedication and ambition. But where Tony was looking for a trophy to show off, and Evelyn wanted someone to worship, my view of my life with you was as someone supporting your career, standing in the background and looking pretty, rather than building anything of substance."

She swallowed as she feared she'd gone too far. Though Henry had demanded she be honest with him, she knew his ego was more fragile than he let on.

"Fine," he grunted. "The past is the past. What matters is that you must know that I've always considered you my equal, my partner. I don't need you to stand behind me. We can be side-by-side. I may not have said it explicitly before, but I'm saying it now."

"To what end?" she demanded, frowning at him. "I'm only telling you this because you asked, not to suggest that you could do anything about it now."

"Mary, we belong together," he declared. "Surely you must see it? If the only thing that prevented you from accepting my proposal before was that you were afraid of what your life would become, I assure you I will do everything in my power to give you the life that you want."

"Henry, how dare you?! I'm getting married in less than two months!" she exclaimed.

"Mary, I'm sorry, but I cannot stand idly by," he said, accelerating as they passed another car. "You're making a huge mistake. You don't belong with Matthew."

"This is preposterous!" she sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you think that I'm going to come back to you just because you promise to treat me better…Henry, I love Matthew! Have you no shame?"

"You don't want to marry him, not truly," he said. "You're only doing it out of obligation."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she scoffed. "You don't even know him, Henry!"

"I don't need to. This is about you. I know that you're marrying him to fulfil a duty," he said, undeterred by her anger. "You may not consciously realize it, or you may not have admitted it to yourself, but you're giving in to a fantasy, Mary. The man yearned for you for ten years after your accident and he came back into your life as if brought by Fate. It makes for an incredibly romantic legend, and that's what is binding you to him. You feel that you must match the same level of commitment and sacrifice that he's shown you. Your self-image demands it. To not marry Matthew is to admit that he was wrong to keep faith with you for so long. You're forcing yourself into marrying him to prove that you are capable of loving as deeply as he does, but you don't need to."

"I love Matthew," she repeated. "I want to marry him. I'm not having to be convinced to do so, and you're wrong to even suggest it. This is exactly the type of attitude that you constantly showed me when we were together. You think you know what's best for me and completely ignore my own views! That's why we aren't married, Henry. It has nothing at all to do with Matthew. It has everything to do with you."

He scowled as he continued to look straight ahead.

They didn't speak again until reaching the outer limits of London.

La Birreria Rooftop Patio at Eataly, Fifth Avenue, Manhattan, New York City, USA, April 2016

Matthew frowned at his phone, then typed and sent a text message before putting it down on the wooden high-top table and picking up his beer.

"Something wrong?" Alex asked, taking a swig from his own bottle.

"Mary's phone keeps going straight to voicemail," Matthew said. "She probably forgot to charge it or something. Anyway, it's almost 2 in the morning over there so I'll just talk to her tomorrow."

"Did you send her a sweet goodnight text?" Alex teased. "Something like 'Sweet dreams, baby. Love, Matthew'?"

"Haha," Matthew said sarcastically. "You're talking about my future wife, you know."

"I adore her," Alex said easily. "It's you that's hopeless."

They both laughed.

"How was your day with the Hollywood crew?" Alex asked.

"Remarkably inefficient," Matthew said dismissively. "Everything moves so slowly with them. For every audition, there's half a dozen opinions that you have to wade through and everyone wants to get a word in. It's not surprising that it takes months to shoot a film. The casting alone is taking forever."

"I suspect you're hardly helping them move any faster," Alex said, chuckling to himself.

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked. "You know I hate waiting around."

"Yes, that's true, but in this case, we're talking about something near and dear to your heart," Alex explained. "Your first bestseller, your first film script; I assume you're being very meticulous about the entire process, overanalysing everything to the point of nit-picking."

"I'm not nit-picking," Matthew retorted. "I'm only doing what's necessary to protect my work. They'd turn it into something entirely unrecognizable if I let them."

"Fair enough, but are you sure that you aren't being just a little bit paranoid given that you're dealing with a main character that's based on your fiancée?" Alex asked.

"What? No!" Matthew protested. "I don't want them to wreck what I worked my ass off to create, is all. The fact that the lead role is based loosely on Mary doesn't matter."

"If you say so," Alex said lightly. "Where do things stand at the moment?"

"Lavinia says that Jennifer Lawrence is supposedly rather eager for the part," Matthew said.

"Very nice. I like her a lot. If she does end up getting it, you'll have to let me know when she's on set so I can stop by," Alex said cheerfully.

"First of all, I expect we'll be filming in London or Toronto, one of those places. New York is too expensive," Matthew said.

Alex snorted and sipped his beer.

"Second, she wouldn't even look at you if you were to bump into her on the street," Matthew joked.

"Maybe," Alex allowed. "But at least I'm not prevented from chatting her up like some fools I know."

"Funny how the people who joke about marriage are invariably the ones with no prospects of having one," Matthew shot back.

"Ouch," Alex said with mock hurt. "J-Law isn't going to like how you insulted our love like that."

Matthew laughed.

"I still don't understand your attitude," Matthew continued. "Are you certain that you're never going to get married?"

"I never said that," Alex noted. "All I've ever said is that to be monogamous to one partner seems rather counterintuitive. Relationships evolve over time. You may have many years of wedded bliss, then wake up one day and realize you want someone different. It doesn't mean your marriage was a waste, or even that it was a mistake. It just means your relationship ran its course, is all."

"So you think adultery is inevitable, then," Matthew challenged.

"It's not adultery if you separate before you have sex with the other person," Alex replied. "I'm just not convinced that we're meant to spend the rest of our lives with one person, is all. Call it the damage of being a child of a broken home, but there you have it."

"I don't think you're being fair. Marriage isn't an end. It's a beginning of its own. One's wedding vows aren't God's decree that you'll spend the rest of your life with your spouse. You have to work at your marriage if you want to keep it and be happy," Matthew said.

"That's cute," Alex commented. "Look, I'm overjoyed for you and Mary, really. You're two of my favourite people. You belong together, and I wish you nothing but decades of happiness. I'm not against getting married, but I won't just assume that by getting married, I'm going to be with my wife forever, because the likelihood is actually that I won't be. I expect that my attitude if I get married will be the same as it now – to enjoy the time that I have with my wife and live in the present, because it can all fall apart at any time."

"You really are a ray of sunshine, you know that?" Matthew said wryly, sipping his beer.

Home of Lady Mary Crawley, Chelsea, London, England, April 2016

Mary groaned as she sat down on the sofa, placing her mug of chamomile tea on the coffee table. She still had a headache from last night. After giving Henry a terse goodbye, she went up and changed, grabbed her wireless earphones, put her phone on 'do not disturb' and took off on an angry run. Returning home two hours later, she was exhausted, but still furious. A shower and a glass of wine hadn't helped, and this morning, after a night of fitful sleep, she was still annoyed, and her head was pounding, to boot.

She blinked and picked up her phone, having thrown it aside when she got home last night. Skimming over the list of emails and texts that had come in since last night, she sighed as she saw Matthew's missed call.

"Damn," she muttered, quickly replying to his text.

'Sorry, darling. I crashed when I got home last night. Hope you're having a great day. Call me later. Love you.'

She rolled her eyes as she put her phone down and picked up her mug of tea. Getting up off the sofa, she went to the window, looking out at the busy street below, a frown across her brow.

Boom Boom Room, Manhattan, New York City, USA, April 2016

Matthew sipped his vodka, surveying the room as music thumped from the speakers. Immaculately dressed bartenders prepared cocktails under a towering floor-to-ceiling pillar designed to resemble a metal tree that dominated the bar. Lavinia had dragged him out to the Tribeca film festival premiere and now to this after-party, to 'increase his visibility' she said. He was rather surprised that the paparazzi knew him by name when he walked the red carpet at the theatre and outside the club. His apartment was a half-hour walk from here, and he rarely got any attention at all when he went out. Yet, put on a designer suit and get in front of the cameras, and suddenly he was a celebrity that everyone wanted a shot of.

"You could at least try and make it seem like you aren't entirely bored being here," Lavinia joked, coming over to him, Martini glass balanced in one hand.

He gave her an apologetic smile.

"Have you met anyone?" she asked. "I told Sienna that I would introduce you. She loves your book."

"I did meet her, briefly," he said, nodding and taking another sip. "And Tom Hiddleston? He was quite nice. He actually knows Mary through common friends, from when he was at Eton and later at Cambridge."

"He's a darling," she said sweetly, sipping her drink. "As loathsome as you likely find events like tonight, it does serve a purpose. Your photograph will be all over the place tomorrow, and it won't be just for snogging Mary at the airport."

He rolled his eyes at her joke.

"Further," she continued. "There's numerous industry people here, in for the festival. Everyone knows that Epiphany is in pre-production, so the more buzz we can generate for you, the better. It'll help when it comes time to deal with financing and distribution for the sequel."

"That makes sense," he allowed.

"We can't all just get by on our looks and charm, Matthew," she said, rubbing his cheek playfully. "Some of us have to work. Now come on."

He scoffed and followed her as she led him through the crowd, stopping to mingle with this director and that producer. He met a publicist, an editor from Vanity Fair and actor Luke Evans all in the span of five minutes. By the time Lavinia brought him over to a corner booth, his head was spinning and he could barely remember any faces of the people he'd met, let alone names.

"How do you do this?" he asked, sitting down and looking at her curiously. "The mingling and socializing – laughing one minute and being completely serious the next? It's exhausting."

"I've had lots of practice," she said, laughing and putting her empty glass down on the table. "I thought you handled it all quite well, actually."

"I know how to mingle. I did plenty of it when I was at NYU and in the years since. Plus, Mary always has an event of some sort for us to go to, whether it be for the Gallery, or this charity or that cause. I don't mind it all, it just doesn't come as naturally as it does for you," he said.

"Well, by the time our premiere rolls around, you'll be an old hand at it," she promised. "The other thing I was going to mention is that it's important you get out more for your own good. It helps your writing."

"How so?" he asked.

"I imagine that part of your research is to observe other people," she said. "You watch how they behave in different settings, and you use that when crafting your characters. The only way to get inspired is to get out and observe."

"That's true, though I hardly think I'll ever be writing about people who live in this world," he said, smirking in amusement.

"That's not fair, Matthew," she scolded him lightly. "For every millionaire in here there's dozens of normal folk just getting by. You yourself should know that the glamour aspect of the industry is just a gloss. The public doesn't see the 16-hour days, the training for six months to become a different person, the hell we go through to organize a small army to carry out a production. The film industry is full of a diverse range of people and personalities."

"I suppose," he acknowledged. "Seeing them at a fancy party isn't really helpful though."

"Why not? Perhaps you should consider a scene like this for your book," she said, smiling as a server took away their empty glasses and left them with fresh drinks. "A lively party full of beautiful people, your heroine comes in and gets swept up in the decadence of it all, maybe meets a rogue or two."

"A rogue?" he questioned, looking at her in disbelief.

"A suave, take-charge type, yes," she said, smiling at him as she sipped her Martini. "Someone she would never picture herself being attracted to. That's what makes a memorable couple – the contrast and conflict between them."

"Again with the need to cheat to make a couple feel real," he said, still unconvinced. "I can see her fitting in well in a place like this, but I don't know how impressed she would be, or how likely it is she'd be impressed with some rogue."

She laughed and shook her head as she sipped her drink. "You know, Matthew, for someone who is such a brilliant writer, you are rather daft."

"Thanks," he said, looking at her in annoyance.

"What I mean is that you've written this wonderful novel with a strong, complex, memorable female lead character, you've clearly shown a willingness to take chances and throw your audience for a loop, and yet whenever anyone suggests the slightest change to your heroine, you bristle," she said, smiling at him.

He frowned and took a sip of his vodka.

"Don't misunderstand me. I get it. She's Mary, as far as you're concerned, so putting her in peril or making her do something that you can't, or don't want to picture Mary doing is difficult for you," she continued.

"That's not true," he said defensively. "She's not entirely Mary, and I'm not afraid of putting my characters in peril. I've done that quite a lot already. It's just that I don't believe in doing it for the sake of shock or a plot twist. It has to flow from the narrative. It has to be built on a real foundation within the story, not just thrown in."

"Yes, but you do tend to be set in your ways," she noted.

"I'm open to change, so long as it makes sense to me," he corrected her.

She laughed.

"Oh, Matthew," she said, shaking her head. "Open to change? You stayed faithful to Mary for over ten years, even though there was a strong possibility she would never remember you again, that you would even meet again. I'd say that's outright obsessive compulsive behaviour."

"I wasn't obsessed," he grumbled.

"Did you ever even allow yourself to consider another woman?" she asked lightly. "I think it was easier for you to use Mary as an excuse. Hanging on to her memory meant you didn't have to open yourself up to someone new."

"I didn't realize you were a psychiatrist in addition to being a studio executive," he said drily.

"I must wear many hats in this job," she said smoothly. "Have you ever actually thought about why you did what you did, Matthew? Explaining it all with a simple 'because you love her' is rather lazy, don't you think?"

"Does it matter?" he asked. "We're together. We're getting married. I prefer to look to our future."

"Well, then," she said, smiling at him and raising her glass. "To the future."

He clinked glasses with her and took a sip, his eyes looking out across the room again.

Lancaster Ballroom, The Savoy Hotel, Covent Garden, London, England, May 2016

"We were very lucky to source these dahlias and peonies to go with the roses," the florist exclaimed, sweeping her hand across the flowers on the table. "We'll have a series of pillars of varying heights around the perimeter of the room, with further arrangements on the ceiling and in the small pool. When your guests walk in, they will feel as though they've been transported to a fantasyland. They'll barely see anything to even suggest they're in a hotel ballroom."

"That's sounds beautiful," Anna said, nodding her head as she looked over the elegant flowers, trying to picture the ballroom fully decorated.

She and the florist both paused, waiting for Mary to comment. After several seconds, Anna finally dared to look over at the bride, who seemed to not be paying attention to the flowers at all.

"Mary?" Anna asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes," Mary said hurriedly, looking over the flowers. "They're perfect, yes. Exactly what I was looking for. Carry on."

"Very good, Lady Mary," the florist said.

After going over the table layout with the hotel manager and the menu with one of the chefs, Mary and Anna left the ballroom. Walking through the lobby, they came out on to The Strand and made their way under the brilliant sunshine towards Charing Cross.

"It's all coming together quite nicely," Anna noted.

"Mmm," Mary replied, her eyes shielded by dark sunglasses.

"With the reception taken care of and all the dresses and tuxedos finished, that just leaves your hen night, the rehearsal at the Church and your pre-wedding presents," Anna said.

"Mmm hmm," Mary said, nodding her head.

Anna looked at her curiously as they kept walking.

"You all right?" she asked carefully.

"Of course," Mary said, shrugging her shoulders. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You're usually more enthusiastic. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were almost indifferent back there, as though you didn't even care about the flowers and the food and all the rest of it," Anna said, frowning with concern.

"Obviously I care," Mary said. "But I've been planning for months now. I already know how everything is supposed to look, so all of this is just confirming that we're on track, is all. It's good progress but it isn't anything to get excited about."

"That sounds rather…pragmatic," Anna said.

"That's me. Pragmatic and practical," Mary declared.

"You're sure that everything is good? Nothing's the matter?" Anna asked.

"Absolutely sure. Everything's fine," Mary said.

Home of Mary Crawley, Chelsea, London, England, May 2016

Mary frowned as she typed away on her laptop, glancing over at her notes, then back to the monitor, and back and forth again. She sighed and adjusted her glasses and took a sip of tea before resuming her work, her back straight as she sat tall in her chair, the computer sitting on her desk before her.

She closed her eyes as she felt strong hands move across her shoulders and knowing fingers massage her tight muscles.

"Still at it?" Matthew asked, bending down and kissing her neck.

"And I will be for quite a while longer," she grumbled. "Mmm."

"Good?" he asked, smiling as she turned her head, allowing him to kiss up to her ear.

"Mmm, very good, yes," she said. "I don't have time for this, though, darling."

"You're literally a bundle of knots," he said, pushing deeper into her skin. "Come and take a break."

"No, I really can't," she whinged, the annoyance obvious in her voice.

"You work too hard," he said. "Surely this can all wait?"

"These reports need to be ready to send out in the morning and I'm barely half done," she said, opening her eyes and sitting up rigidly once more.

"You're sure I can't convince you?" he teased, kissing her again and tugging her top off her shoulder.

"No! Stop, Matthew!" she growled, shaking him off her and pulling her shirt back on straight. "Just leave me alone, please!"

He sighed and straightened up. "All right. Don't stay up too late. Good night."

"Good night," she said tightly, focusing on her computer again. After a while, she stopped and looked up at the empty hallway leading to the bedroom. Cringing, she closed her eyes and shook her head, then steeled herself and went back to work.

The Bulgari Spa, Bulgari Hotel London, Knightsbridge, June 2016

"Hmm, I think I'll get a Brazilian," Elisabeth mused, looking over the menu of available waxing treatments.

Anna's mouth fell open, then she quickly composed herself and closed her mouth so as not to disrupt her facial mask.

"She's only joking," Mary said reassuringly, smirking as she lay back on the bed, her face covered with a special caviar mask and a slice of cucumber over each eye.

"I am not," Elisabeth protested. "We are here for a few hours aren't we?"

"Just lie back and let them do their work. We'll miss dinner if you keep trying to tack on additional treatments," Mary ordered.

"Fine," Elisabeth said, sighing dramatically as she held out her arms so the staff sitting on either side of her bed could rub cream into her skin.

Gwen and Daisy were receiving skin treatments on their own beds further down the row. For her hen party, Mary chose to spend a day at the spa, to be followed by a custom tasting menu dinner and drinks. She was in no mood to go to a nightclub, and a day of pampering sounded much more to her taste. Elisabeth had just flown in from New York the day before. Mary was glad she could make it. Next to Anna and the other girls, Elisabeth was a good friend, someone Mary could always count on to be direct and to the point. For better or worse, Elisabeth had practically no filter when it came to making comments and dishing out advice. On top of that, she was good friends with Matthew, and had remained close to him during the ten-year span after Mary had left New York as a result of her amnesia. This gave Elisabeth a rather unique perspective, being one of the few people, along with Alex, who knew their entire story.

"Where are you going for the honeymoon?" Elisabeth asked. "Matthew didn't mention it."

"Spain, but not until July. I have too much work this month," Mary replied. "We're starting in Madrid, then going down to the Med, Valencia, Mallorca, and finishing up in Barcelona. We'll be gone for three weeks."

"Ooh, that sounds lovely," Elisabeth said. "And it should be nice and hot too."

"It'll be fun," Mary agreed. "We've been to Madrid before, apparently, but that was before."

"Ah, so you don't remember," Elisabeth replied. "By the way, will there be any hot guys at the wedding?"

"What would you say, Anna?" Mary asked, laughing lightly.

"Not many eligible ones, anyway," Anna replied with a giggle. "There's Henry."

"Yes, Henry is quite eligible, though it's probably best that you don't bother with him," Mary said drily.

"Why? Is he ugly?" Elisabeth asked.

"No, he's quite attractive. He's my ex. He proposed to me a few years ago, before Matthew found me again," Mary explained.

"Ah, so he's thirsty, is what you're saying," Elisabeth stated.

"Something like that, yes," Mary said, laughing.

"Why bother inviting him, then?" Elisabeth asked.

"He's not Mary's only ex who will be there," Anna noted.

"We're all still friends, some more than others. In some cases, like with Tony and Evelyn, our families have been friends for years, so it's out of obligation, partly," Mary said. "They're all married now anyway, except for Henry."

"And Charles," Anna added.

"Yes, and him," Mary said dismissively. "He's definitely not your type."

"Interesting," Elisabeth said, smiling as the attendants worked on her feet. "So, if you could create the perfect man, taking the best features of each of your past boyfriends, what would he be like?"

"Now that is an interesting question," Mary remarked.

Anna turned to watch as Mary seemed to be thinking over the matter. It was hard to tell given that her face and eyes were covered.

"From Evelyn, it would be his manners and etiquette. He's a perfect gentlemen, very old fashioned," Mary began. "Tony…hmm…well, he actually is a very good dancer. That's always a useful skill. Whenever we went to balls and parties, we drew a lot of attention."

Anna and Elisabeth both smiled at that.

"Charles can sing, I'll give him that. He has a lovely baritone, though it was rare that I got to hear it," Mary continued. "Henry…I don't know…he's different from the others, but nothing about him particularly stands out. He's quite ambitious, driven. There's that."

"So we have a polite, ambitious man who is a talented dancer and singer," Elisabeth said. "Sounds more like a gay best friend than a husband."

Anna, Gwen and Daisy all laughed at that.

"Well, I haven't gotten to Matthew yet," Mary reminded her.

"Okay, then out with it," Elisabeth said encouragingly. "What parts of your perfect man come from him?"

"First, I would say his sense of humour and wit, for sure," Mary remarked. "His intelligence as well. He's very clever."

"Just don't tell him that," Elisabeth warned.

"Don't worry," Mary replied in understanding, the two of them laughing together.

"His compassion and devotion," she listed. "He makes me feel as though I'm more important to him than his career or anything else. It can be quite shocking sometimes, but I never feel as though I'm second to anything with him."

Anna and Gwen shared a knowing smile at Mary's comment.

"What about body?" Elisabeth asked cheekily.

"Oh, that's easy. Matthew's, by far," Mary replied.

They all laughed heartily.

"The entire body?" Elisabeth pressed.

"Oooh!" the other women shouted.

Mary rolled her eyes behind her closed, cucumber-covered lids.

"His entire body, yes," she said finally.

Their laughter echoed across the pool and off the marble-tiled walls.

---

"Mmm," Mary sighed happily as one attendant massaged her feet while another gave her left hand a manicure. She and Elisabeth had moved from the poolside beds to soft lounge chairs in another part of the spa for their hand and foot treatments. Anna, Gwen and Daisy were in another room getting their massages.

"I really can't get over how funny it is that we're here," Elisabeth said, laughing softly. "Back in New York all those years ago, we would go to Chinatown for mani-pedi's from these old Vietnamese women who couldn't speak English. We couldn't afford a place like this. We would make fun of women we saw on Fifth Avenue who spent hundreds on spa treatments."

"Well, it wasn't as though I wasn't one of them," Mary replied. "I just didn't have access to my money because my aunt froze my trust fund. You know I was never a starving artist like Matthew was."

"But you were, or at least you were forced to live that life," Elisabeth said. "And you enjoyed it. We had a blast."

"From what I've been told about my time there, I doubt I enjoyed waiting tables and living in a tiny apartment," Mary joked.

"The waiting tables part, no, you hated that," Elisabeth confirmed. "But life was simple back then, and so much fun, too. Yeah, we were broke, but we never worried about that. You, especially. You were always up for anything."

"I was 22 and in love, living in a new country with no one telling me what to do," Mary said, shrugging her shoulders. "It was my rebel phase. I'm sure it was a lot of fun, but that's all in the past. I'm a responsible adult now."

"I guess I should be grateful that I met you when I did, then," Elisabeth teased. "Who knows if we would have been friends if I met the real you instead?"

"Probably not. I hated poor people," Mary said, smirking at her.

Elisabeth laughed.

"So how are you, really?" she asked. "And don't give me any bullshit about how everything's fine. You're stressed."

"There's just a lot going on, that's all," Mary said, looking down at her lap. "The wedding, of course, plus work has been hell lately, and we're closing on our new house in a few weeks. It's just all happening at the same time and I feel as though I'm being pulled in a dozen different directions."

"And what does Matthew think of all that?" Elisabeth asked.

"He's trying his best, but there isn't much he can do, really, besides chauffeuring me around and picking things up when I tell him to," Mary sighed. "He's made dinner every night, but then I'll end up working late or being delayed at a meeting or something and by the time I get home, I just end up going to bed and passing out."

"That can't be going over well, the going straight to sleep part," Elisabeth said knowingly.

"Don't joke about it," Mary scoffed. "He thinks that snuggling with him in bed or showering together will make me feel better, but honestly I just can't be bothered. He's really been wonderfully patient with me. I don't mean to be such a bitch to him, but if he's going to stay over, he's going to get the brunt of my terrible moods."

"Have you told him that?" Elisabeth asked.

"Not really," Mary replied. "He knows I'm stressed and he knows why, but you know Matthew. His answer to everything is to just disconnect and shutdown until you feel better. I can't do that. There's too many people relying upon me. I just have to keep pushing. I've got no other choice."

"Yeah, okay, but he does know that you're stressed because of everything that's going on, and not that you're stressed about marrying him, right?" Elisabeth asked.

"Of course," Mary said. "Why would I be stressed about marrying him? That's the easy part. It's getting through the ceremony and reception and all the rest of it that's the problem."

"I don't know," Elisabeth said. "But if he doesn't know that it has nothing to do with him, then his mind will run wild."

"We're fine," Mary stated. "Come July, we'll be married and in Spain on our honeymoon. I'll make it up to him then."

"You're probably going to have to," Elisabeth said plainly.

"We're fine," Mary repeated, frowning slightly.

Hermès, Sloane Street, Knightsbridge, London, England, June 2016

"I thought Mary already had a Hermès bag," Alex noted, glancing around the luxury store.

"She does, several, in fact," Matthew replied, looking cursorily over the men's ties as he waited for the store clerk to return.

"So why are we here?" Alex asked. "And how can you be certain that what you're getting is something she actually wants?"

"I'm getting her a travel bag to match the suitcase that I bought her," Matthew explained. "It just needs to be a similar colour. She'll take it to Spain, and if she doesn't like it or whatever after that, then fine."

"The suitcase, right," Alex recalled. "From Rhombus."

"Rimowa, yes," Matthew corrected him, smiling at his friend. "You knew that. You've got one of your own."

"Just checking that you remembered," Alex joked.

"Lady Mary Crawley is going to be my wife," Matthew said pointedly. "Believe me, I know about different brands. Ignorance to fashion is a crime punishable by death, as far as she's concerned."

Alex laughed.

"How are you holding up?" he asked. "You seemed a bit overwhelmed during the rehearsal."

"I guess it's all sort of becoming more real, is all," Matthew admitted. "When I saw her coming down the aisle, even though it was just for practice, it felt crazy, like something out of a dream. I haven't been as involved in all the details and planning as she has, so everything is kind of taking me by surprise this week."

"Just another week and a half to go," Alex said encouragingly.

"It can't get here soon enough," Matthew said firmly.

Alex looked at him curiously.

"What?" Matthew asked.

"Something on your mind?" Alex asked.

Matthew frowned as he looked back at the rack of ties.

"Remember what we talked about in New York? How marriage is the beginning of a journey, not the end of it?" he asked.

"Yeah," Alex said, nodding his head.

"I do believe that, but marriage is the changing from one phase of your life to another," Matthew elaborated. "I know that not much will change – we're already practically living together and what not. But, once we're married, we can finally put our past behind us. We'll be husband and wife, and whatever we did before will no longer matter."

"In what way?" Alex asked. "If you're worried that she might leave you for whatever reason, that could still happen. It'll just be messier, is all."

"No, no, not that," Matthew said, shaking his head. "It's just…everything we've been through, everything we've had to fight against to be together will have all paid off, in a way."

"Do you feel as though it hasn't paid off already?" Alex asked.

"No, that's not what I mean," Matthew said, grunting in frustration. "I'm just looking forward to being married, finally, is all."

Before Alex could say anything further, the store clerk came back out carrying numerous boxes. She grinned and dramatically laid them out on top of the glass display case before unveiling each one.

"Here we are, Mr. Crawley," she said, presenting the bags as though they were the Crown Jewels. "Our largest Birkin in the very rare Mykonos blue with Palladium hardware. I've also pulled three matching handkerchiefs that would look absolutely brilliant with it, and the travel tote that you asked for, as well."

Alex surveyed the scene with a strange sense of confusion. While it wasn't surprising to see Matthew buying expensive gifts for Mary, this seemed rather extreme, even for him. The pre-wedding present was supposed to be a small token exchanged between bride and groom, a more personal and intimate gift that was to have some meaning behind it. Matthew usually excelled at such things. It wasn't like him to just splash out tens of thousands of pounds on designer luggage and bags. Even though the pieces all looked gorgeous, there was something impersonal about it all, something decidedly un-Matthew-like.

"I'll take the lot, thank you," Matthew said, nodding his head as he passed his Black Card to the jubilant store clerk.

Office of Mary Crawley, Major Donor Program, Tate Modern Art Gallery, Bankside, London, England, April 2016

"All right, so if we move Tony and Mabel to table 8, that will put them closer to his parents and at the opposite end of the room from Henry," Mary said, staring at the seating plan on her computer screen.

"That works," Anna said from the other end of the telephone. "Henry isn't bringing anyone, you know."

"I don't care. If he tries to ask me for a dance I might punch him in the face, depending on how many drinks I've had by then," Mary sneered. "I know he'll be angry that I've placed him far away from the head table, but better that than give him a chance to embarrass himself."

Anna laughed.

"Now, if we place the Tate table and the HarperCollins table near the bar on the north side, that should appease them, which leaves Isobel's table near the front where she belongs," Mary said, scrolling through the guest list. "God, I'll be glad when this is over."

"Just hang on. You're almost there," Anna said.

"I know, but I feel as if I'm struggling to get past the finish line," Mary groaned. "Do you know that Harry Stoke called me at work yesterday and asked me if I was doing a video montage for Papa? Can you imagine? He said it would be a 'fitting tribute'. The absolute nerve!"

"Your guest list is 128 people and I can barely understand why you've invited half of them," Anna admitted.

"Because," Mary said, sighing in exasperation. "My family's friends have been waiting for my wedding all my life. Even though I've had very little to do with them, they all feel connected to me, as if coming to the wedding is their way of honouring my parents. If you took away them and our work tables, we'd probably have a reception of 30 people."

"Sounds good to me," Anna half-joked.

"You're not helping," Mary retorted. "Now, did you confirm that The Savoy has the updated list of dietary restrictions and special meals?"

"I went over it with them guest-by-guest," Anna said. "I was surprised that they were able to accommodate everyone. Between the gluten-free and the vegan options, they're making a dozen different meals."

"They'd serve fish and chips and pasties if you paid them enough," Mary replied. "It's such a waste. Half of these so-called vegans will be on to the next fad diet this time next year."

"I think that takes care of it, for now," Anna said. "Did you have anything else?"

"No, I think that's it. Oh, wait, the limos," Mary said. "Did you call the company to confirm?"

"I did, but Matthew already spoke to them, actually," Anna informed her. "He changed it from the one large one to three separate smaller ones – one for the two of you, another for his mother and her people and one for Alex and the bridesmaids. They say that's smarter, actually. With three, it's easier to maneuver and park."

"That makes sense," Mary said, nodding her head. "I would have never thought of that."

"Thank God for your fiancé, then," Anna said.

"Yes. Yes, indeed," Mary said, frowning at her screen. "All right, thanks, Anna. I'll talk to you later."

Mary hung up the call and put her headset down on the desk. Looking thoughtfully at the revised seating plan on her screen, she glanced at the clock, then grabbed her bag and got up from her desk.

The Huntley Pub, University College London, Camden, London, England, June 2016

Matthew frowned as he deleted the last paragraph that he'd been working on and went back to his previous page. He took a deep breath and reached for his Coke, looking idly around the near empty bar from his corner booth. This place had been far different when he was a student here, the pub itself didn't even exist. Over the years, whenever he came back to London he would stop in at campus, either to visit with old professors or just hang around the commons, observing the students going about their lives and getting inspiration. The libraries were always crowded during term and getting any space to work was rather impossible. There were study spaces and lounges open to alumni that he could use, but they tended to be deserted and almost too quiet. When this place opened several years ago, it was a nice sanctuary for him – just the right mix of crowd noise, music, food and drink to stir his creative juices.

Except this afternoon, apparently.

It wasn't entirely unexpected. With term being over, the place wasn't nearly as busy. That allowed him both anonymity and peace, however, with more time to himself, he became shackled by his own loose thoughts.

He was trying to give Lavinia's idea an honest go – try and write a scenario where his main couple might consider breaking up and dating other people, or even get themselves in a predicament where they might cheat on each other. It still made no sense to him in the context of his story. Why would he spend all of Epiphany getting the characters together, only to break them up in the sequel? However, he did want to play around with the situation, if only to see whether he could write something so difficult. It took him a while just to reconcile the motivations for why a person involved in a relationship would want to cheat to begin with. Not that he was naïve to the idea, but Matthew was having great difficulty imagining his characters looking outside of their relationship for anything, be it intimacy, sex, or even companionship.

He drummed his fingers on the table, staring at the blinking cursor vacantly. He had seen both men and women stray beyond their relationships before. There were lads he knew in college who were almost pathological about it. In New York he had been hit on by numerous women who were obviously attached to someone else, and from time to time the fan mail sent to his publisher would include rather risqué photos and letters from complete strangers. He imagined that all of that was in the realm of fantasy though – people just looking for a cheap thrill without any real consequence. What he was debating was something far more dramatic – where another person made one call a commitment into question.

In the early years when he and Mary first started dating, he was rather paranoid about just how long they might last. Mary was beautiful, popular, young and rich. She couldn't walk across campus without drawing stares and sometimes a come on or two from whoever was bold enough to try. When they became official, he would go with her to parties and out to clubs, always having to endure the unimpressed and dismissive glances of her Society friends, and the random pick-up lines from boys made courageous by alcohol. He never let on that it bothered him. Mary would have been turned off by such insecurity. It wasn't much better when they moved to New York. Though they had escaped her Society friends, Mary had to work as a waitress to try and make some money so they could get by. The regulars at her bar were all harmless, but they would still often hug her and call her all sorts of names, and she would have to put up with it to both keep her job and earn tips. That was the hardest part for him – knowing the privileged life she had left behind in London to shack up with him in a miniscule apartment. She never complained, or even acted as though she wasn't enjoying herself, but he would wonder from time to time just how far her tolerance would go. It didn't help that the few times they did go out with Alex, Elisabeth and their other friends back then, they would run into fancy stockbrokers and real estate agents in their designer suits and expensive watches, all too eager to buy Mary and her girlfriends drinks just to chat them up.

When he and Mary would stroll Fifth Avenue at night, thinking about the future as they looked in the windows of the expensive boutiques, he wondered just how he would ever be able to afford a lifestyle like that. While they were young and he was an NYU grad student, it was easy to put off thoughts of tomorrow. Money, and where it would come from didn't need to be thought about. He would be a successful author. She would be fashion designer to the stars. They could use that dream to hold them together without having to contemplate whether it was realistic or not. They had their entire lives ahead of them, seemingly endless years to chase their happily ever after.

Then came Mary's accident, and they lost ten years in the blink of an eye.

It didn't really matter to him that they were getting married now, over a decade after they were supposed to. When Mary was taken back to London without him, he didn't know if he would ever see her again, let alone one day call her his wife. Truly, though he knew everyone enjoyed thinking of them as star-crossed lovers because of their story, he was glad to distance their past for good. There was too much pain, sorrow and regret in their past, and he would much rather focus on their future.

Those feelings though, the fear that he might lose her to someone richer, more successful, more from her High Society world; those were easy to recall. As he began typing again, he tried to bring his characters to that place. The man, insecure and terrified, assuming he would never be good enough, ending up sabotaging his relationship in a resigned effort to not fight the inevitable. The woman, striving to prove over and over that she wasn't so superficial to care only about money and position, but being worn down by her life being far harder than she imagined, giving in to a vulnerable moment when a convenient rogue came along to take advantage.

The words flowed, the scenes flying on to the screen.

"Fuck," he grumbled, sitting back and rubbing his hand over his eyes. "This is rubbish."

His eyes were still closed when he was jolted by a strange voice with a rather exaggerated California Valley Girl accent.

"Oh my God! Are you Matthew Crawley? You're, like, so hot! Can I take a selfie with you? That would totally make my life!"

He frowned and turned his head, his confused stare changing to a wry smile as he shook his head at his smiling fiancée.

"You're hilarious, you know that?" he said as she leaned over and kissed him.

"What?" she asked, resuming her normal voice and accent. "It wasn't completely an act. You are hot."

He laughed and made room for her. She sat down next to him, reaching over and taking a sip of his Coke.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders. "How did you even know where to find me?"

"Just a hunch," she replied. "I got sick of being at the office, and was hoping to find you back at mine, but when I saw that you weren't, I decided to track you down."

"You could have just texted me. It would have been far easier," he said.

"Yes, but this was much more fun," she said, smiling smugly. "I didn't find you at yours, and Alex said he wasn't with you, so that left your various writing haunts."

"And that led you here?" he asked.

"Eventually, yes. I remembered you mentioned this place before. I'm glad you're here. I wasn't looking forward to looking in every Starbucks in London," she said.

"When's the last time you were even on campus?" he enquired.

"Ages ago, it must have been," she mused. "I usually went to The Phineas."

"Right," he said. "That place was always too loud for me. Too full of first years."

"Such a loser," she joked, shaking her head at him.

"Do you want to go and grab a bite somewhere?" he asked.

"No," she answered lightly. "I just want to stop and relax, and talk. God, it feels like I haven't even had proper time with you in forever."

"Well, you've been busy," he offered.

"Yes, and you have been very understanding, darling. Thank you. Thank you so much," she said earnestly. "Now, what genius have you been creating here?"

He glanced at his laptop. "Oh, that? It's quite terrible, actually. Just trying something new and failing miserably."

"Now that doesn't sound like you at all," she said, smiling at him. "What is it, exactly?"

"Well," he began, taking a deep breath. "Lavinia read my last draft of the sequel and she made some suggestions, to liven things up a bit in case they make it into a film."

"Ah, well that's cool that she's optimistic about the prospects. I never imagined that your books would turn into movies," she noted.

"Neither did I, and I'll believe it when I see it," he said. "If Epiphany tanks, then no one will care about filming a sequel."

"So what did she say?" she asked.

"Just that I should consider writing some relationship drama for the main couple, have one of them have an affair, or something. She says that audiences love angst and find happy couples boring," he muttered.

"Hmm, and what did you come up with?"

"Just a few ideas, none of which seem believable," he answered. "I've been wrestling with it for the entire afternoon and keep coming up with variations on a cliché – one of them gets bored, or neglected and succumbs to lust and the need for excitement."

"That does sound terrible," she said, laughing at him. "Although I suppose I am rather comforted by the fact that you're having difficulty thinking of a plausible cheating scenario."

He laughed ruefully. "I can imagine all manner of scenarios. Where it falls apart is when I reach the moment of truth. I wrote these characters and this relationship to be meaningful. They aren't without their flaws, but I just can't see them cheating."

"That's because you are a strong believer in love," she said, smiling at him.

"That's probably part of it, yes," he agreed.

"Matthew, I want to talk to you about the wedding, and everything that's been going on. I've been thinking," she stated.

"All right," he said, looking at her intently.

"Anna and I were going over some details this morning and she mentioned how you took care of things with the limo company," she said.

"Yeah, I was going to mention it tonight," he said.

"It's quite a brilliant idea, and something I would have never thought to do," she declared. "It got me thinking that I've been spending so much time trying to make sure everything about this wedding is absolutely perfect, while also trying to be perfect at work and dealing with the house, and I've basically forgotten about the entire reason I'm doing all this in the first place."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, darling," he said.

"No, it's not that. This is supposed to be the happiest moment of my life, finally getting to marry you, to be your wife, and I have sort of been too obsessed with pleasing people that I really don't care about," she admitted.

"It happens. You want everything to go well. So do I," he said.

"Yes, but I think it speaks to something far deeper than that," she said quietly, looking down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "I think I've been driving myself crazy because deep down, I'm actually scared, terrified, even."

"Of people criticizing you? You can't please everyone, Mary, you have to accept that," he said sympathetically.

"No, no, I'm not afraid of any of that," she protested. "It's you, Matthew."

He blinked in surprise. "What? You're scared of me?"

"Yes, in a way," she said. "You came back into my life at a time when I had no one, when Aunt Rosamund had just died and I felt lost and alone, and meeting you again felt like you were sent to save me, like we were meant to be together."

He nodded, watching her carefully.

"Lately I've been wondering if I'm going into this marriage for the right reasons, or not," she continued. "I've been scared that I'm marrying you because it ties a neat bow on our story, or that I'm just doing what I'm supposed to do, finally fulfilling what my family wanted for me. Maybe I'm just rewarding you for being so faithful to me for so long, or accepting you now because you're rich and successful."

His mouth fell open as his pulse jumped.

"However," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "What I've come to realize is that while all of those reasons are not enough, in and of themselves, upon which to form a successful union, when combined together, and when you add on the fact that I am desperately in love with you, marrying you feels like the most natural thing in the world."

His mouth opened and closed like a fish as he considered her words, then finally curled into a wide grin as he absorbed what she said.

She laughed and kissed him lightly.

"I like our story, Matthew," she said softly. "I wish we hadn't been separated, but it is romantic to think of all we've gone through to be together now. None of that matters, though, ultimately. I want to be with you. I want to build a life with you, not because of our past, but because of what I know from these last few years. I know that we belong together, and and the fact that you've been so supportive while I've been an absolute nightmare these past few weeks just shows me yet again that I'm the luckiest woman in the world."

"You must really be sleep deprived," he said, laughing shakily. "I don't think I've ever heard you be so sentimental."

"Enjoy it while you can," she said, giving him a pointed glare. "I don't gush. You know that."

"Yes, yes, I know, and I will savour this rare unicorn," he replied, kissing her again.

"So, still want to marry me, then?" she asked, smirking at him.

"Absolutely," he said. "Mary, I've been scared too. I know I don't show it, but I sometimes wonder if I'm being fair to you, if I've chased after you for so long and whether I'm with you now because I feel so guilty about what happened in New York, about how I didn't stand by you, didn't fight for us."

"Oh, Matthew," she said, shaking her head. "You must get over that. I've forgiven you, not that you needed my forgiveness."

"Thank you," he said warmly. "The truth is that whatever brought us together, first at this very school, and again after so many years apart, I'm grateful for it, but relying on Fate won't keep us together. I love you, Mary, and that means making sure you always know that, that you always feel that. Who knows what's coming, but I never, ever want to take you for granted."

"We must never take us for granted," she corrected him. "Well, that settles it, Mr. Crawley. We're stuck with each other, so we may as well make a go of it."

"For as long as we both shall live, my Lady," he chuckled, kissing her firmly.

Home of Mary Crawley, Chelsea, London, England, June 2016

Mary laughed as she played with her phone, taking photos of her new luggage and bags from different angles and sending them out to her friends.

"It's rude to flaunt, you know," Matthew said, smirking at her from the sofa. "Most of your friends can't even afford these. You shouldn't rub it in."

"Elisabeth says they're absolutely gorgeous," Mary replied, waving her phone at him.

He snorted and shook his head ruefully, going back to looking at his own phone.

"Darling, you need to get going in a bit," Mary said, putting her phone down and coming over to sit down next to him. "It's bad luck to see me the night before the wedding."

"Really?" he said, looking at her in disbelief. "We're honestly doing that?"

"Yes, we are. It's tradition," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "Get a good night's sleep and I will see you bright and early at the Church tomorrow."

"Unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head. He turned and kissed her soundly, then rose from the sofa. "All right, then."

"Hang on, I didn't mean you had to leave right this second," Mary said, tugging him to sit back down. "Besides, I haven't given you your groom's present yet."

"Ah," he said, smiling at her. "Well, I assumed that you would just have Alex give it to me tomorrow at the Church."

"I could do that, yes," she said. "Though that would be rather counterproductive."

He frowned as she got up from the sofa and crossed over to the kitchen, giving him a mysterious smile. She rummaged around for a bit, then returned with a rather large box with a red ribbon wrapped around it. Sitting back down next to him, she passed the gift over to him.

"There you are," she said.

He smirked at her, then tugged open the ribbon and lifted the lid.

"It's a…whiteboard…" he said slowly, taking out the flat board and finding a pack of dry erase markers packed underneath.

"There is a purpose to this whiteboard," she said, smiling at him. "This board will be hung prominently in our new home. Every night, or as often as we can manage, we will sit together and write on this board what we appreciate about each other. It can be as mundane as thanking the other for washing the dishes, or something far more profound. The point is that we will each promise to actively think about why we love each other each day."

He grinned at the suggestion. "And in this way, we will guard against becoming bored or feeling neglected."

"Or taking each other for granted, at least not too much," she said, nodding her head.

"That's brilliant, darling, thank you," he said, leaning over and kissing her.

"Don't thank me yet. We may end up just writing down the grocery list on it, or forgetting it completely," she said.

"Maybe, but it will help us make an effort, and I think it's perfect," he said. "Even if it encourages us to talk more and we don't even bother writing anything down, that's fine too. It's a nice reminder. I like the idea of having a set appointment with you each night."

He smiled happily and went to put the lid back on the box.

"Wait," Mary said, taking the lid out of his hands. "That's not all there is, darling."

He looked at her in confusion, then turned back and pulled the tissue paper out of the box.

"What?" he exclaimed, taking out a black vest, followed by a cap with a checkered band and short brim, and finally, a pair of handcuffs.

He took in the items, speechless for a second before he turned to look at Mary's smiling face.

"It's a policeman's uniform," she said crisply, arching her eyebrow. "Or part of one, anyway."

"I can see that, yes," he said, turning the vest over and seeing the word "Police" emblazoned on the front. "Is this for a costume party that we're going to, or something?"

"You could say that, yes," she said, nodding and averting her eyes momentarily. "It's a bit of a joint costume. This is your part. You'll be the police officer."

"And what will you be, then?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"Your prisoner," she said, boldy holding his gaze.

He blinked in realization. "Crikey," he blurted out. "Erm, and when is this party, exactly?"

"Right about now," she said, smirking as she saw his face light up. "Shall we go to the bedroom and change?"

"Lead the way," he said thickly, nodding his head.

She grinned and took his hand, pulling him up from the sofa, his uniform tucked under his arm. Heading down the hall to the bedroom, her pulse raced delightfully. Tomorrow they would be married, and she would be spending the rest of her life with this man, having all manner of adventures. For the first time in weeks she felt completely at ease. It could rain all day tomorrow, she didn't care. She would be Matthew's wife, and no matter what happened, the day would be perfect as far as she was concerned.

Matthew swallowed as they neared Mary's bedroom. He felt strangely giddy and lightheaded. She had never mentioned any policeman fantasy to him before, but his imagination was running rampant. It reminded him of when they first started dating, when they were both far more carefree and fearless, less weighed down by responsibilities and obligations. As they crossed the threshold of her bedroom door, he grinned stupidly. Yes, they were older now, but he much preferred it this way. He was far more confident, in both the love they shared, and their future. He was looking forward to the wedding tomorrow, but he didn't need it to know that he would be spending the rest of his life with this woman, and he could not be happier.

"I have a rather special outfit for you," she announced, looking at him sultrily as she released his hand. "Remember, you do have to go back to yours tonight. You can't stay here. It's bad luck."

"All right," he agreed, nodding his head and looking at her hungrily.

"And you must promise to uncuff me when we're done," she added, tilting her head and giving him a cheeky smile.

"We'll see," he teased.

She laughed and turned for her walk-in closet as he put his uniform on the bed and hurriedly undid his shirt.

fin