"You look beautiful, Dawes." He hadn't been able to stop looking at her since they'd left. The floor length dress she wore was made of the softest looking satin and it somehow managed to cling and float over her curves at the same time. The colour, pale pink if he had to guess, complimented the lush creaminess of her skin and the cut left one shoulder tantalizingly exposed. He'd hired a Bentley limousine to take them to the gala which, unsurprisingly, Molly had described as "cheesy" and had gleefully reminded him of the time he'd asked her "who died and made you queen?" At one point she'd even flatly refused to get in. Perhaps it was over the top but his motivation was simple. The car gave them what they'd desperately needed over the last few days; privacy and some room to manoeuvre, both of which were in short supply at Molly's house in Newham. He'd been sleeping on the couch, with Molly's dad for bedtime company. That was a story in itself. Staying with Molly's family gave new meaning to the phrase "close quarters". He'd barely touched her for days and thanks to the sturdy looking partition between them and the chauffer, they were finally alone.
She'd gone to so much trouble with her appearance for tonight he didn't have the heart to disturb anything. So he kept this hands out of her hair, even though his fingers longed to bury themselves in its fragrant softness. He even managed to hold back from kissing her lips, despite the fact that he could practically taste them every time he looked at her face. But he wasn't strong enough to keep his hands off her altogether and as they drove through the lights and noise of London, the plush leather seats of the spacious limo provided a stimulating back drop.
So, as the car made its way towards the West End, his hands kept busy, caressing the soft skin of her thighs, paying particular attention to that spot at the back of her knees that made her whimper and grip his arm every time. His mouth blazed a trail starting from her perfumed wrist, moving up her arm and finding the plump flesh of her cleavage. It was when he reached her neck that his carefully laid plans to keep things from getting too heated between them nearly came undone. Molly loved having her neck kissed and he had made it, along with other parts of her body, an area of particular study. The second his mouth touched her there, she would throw her head back in an act of offering and lean into him. Each kiss he placed there was greeted with a contended sigh and each sigh was making him hard. It was taking superhuman effort to stop him from reaching further up her skirt and between her thighs and covering his fingers with her wetness.
"Oi! Behave!" Molly's smile was playful as she clamped her legs shut, halting the progress of his questing fingers. "There isn't time for that."
"Four days, Molly. It's been four days since we made love."
"Not that you've been counting," she laughed.
"…And not that you aren't worth the wait." He placed one last lingering kiss on her neck. "I just hoped the days of waiting out were behind us."
"It's not much better at you're parent's house," she countered. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep doing it on the floor so they don't hear the bed creak." He laughed. "I'm serious, Charles. It's not like they don't know what's going on and it's getting harder to look them in the eye over breakfast."
"Then there's only one thing for it." The laughter had disappeared from his voice. "We should move in together."
The words sounded reasonable enough when they were tumbling out of his mouth but the look of absolute shock on her face was sobering. Fuck! He'd been thinking about if for a while now, mostly while Molly's overcrowded bathroom forced him to brush his teeth in the kitchen sink; but he hadn't intended to mention it to her till they had both decided where they were going professionally. Her reaction was as heartening as a punch to the stomach.
"Who knew the prospect of living with me would be so unappealing." He forced himself to smile.
"Don't be daft. It's not that. I just…" she paused, clearly grasping for the right words. "I just think it's a little soon." At least she was trying to let him down easy. "I mean, we don't even technically live in the same city. How would it work?"
"You're right. I hadn't really given it much thought. Forget I said anything." It was wishful thinking to imagine she would forget. He had essentially let the proverbial genie out of the bottle. You couldn't take it back. It was a relief when the driver announced that they had arrived.
Dartmouth House was located right in the middle of Mayfair, but if it wasn't for the traffic and bustling sounds of the city around them, you could easily have imagined you were tucked away in a remote country house. Tonight it was hosting the lavish summer ball hosted by the British Forces Foundation, a charity that provided support to troops on the front line and their families. Every year they spared no expense to throwing and the proceeds for tonight's festivities would raise half the money they needed for the whole year. Once they arrived, they were treated to a champagne reception, giving them time to mingle and get slightly tipsy before being seated for dinner.
The ballroom looked like something out of an old Hollywood production. Each round table seated twelve people and boasted large white feather centre pieces conspired to draw the eye upwards, showcasing the ornate carvings and paintings on the ceiling. The lights were dimmed to perfection and the musicians seemed to have been transported from the 1940s so authentic was their replication of a swing band. All of this splendour was to honour people like Molly; service men and women who had worked hard and risked everything for the sake of Queen and country. It was a celebration of their heroism and Charles couldn't be more proud of the brilliant, beautiful woman at his side. The room was filled with officers and soldiers of every rank, Politicians, C-list celebrities and even a minor Royal or two. The table where they were seated was reserved for those who had been awarded the Military Cross. All evening long, Molly had glittered, her easy charm and ready wit on full display.
The food was delicious and the service impeccable. After dinner was served and cleared way, there seemed to be an unspoken consensus to drop all formality. People started mingling, abandoning their assigned seating and making good use of the open bar. Charles sipped on brandy while Molly favoured champagne which was freely flowing. The evening became heady mixture of tipsy and boisterous behaviour.
"Shall we risk it?" he tilted his head towards the dance floor which had started to fill up nicely.
"No chance," she quipped with a dismissive eye-roll. "It's entertainment enough sitting right here watching everyone make a tit of themselves."
Despite her protestations, her hips and shoulders were rolling in time to the beat of the music and Charles took real pleasure in just watching her. She was both adorable and sexy, an addictive combination and he wondered if he would ever get enough of her.
"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" He moved his chair closer, draping an arm behind her and caressing the exposed skin of her back.
"A couple of times," she replied playfully, "but it wouldn't hurt to hear it again."
He leaned in close enough to whisper, "You look incredible. I've been wanting to do unspeakable things to you since I saw you in that dress."
"I still can't believe you almost had me doing a Beyoncé earlier," she grinned happily, taking another sip of bubbly liquid.
"Doing a what?"
"You know, getting freaky in the back of the limo."
"That's not all that happened in the back of the limo." He watched panic flash over her face and he cursed himself for bringing it up. What the hell was wrong with him? This was her night and he didn't want anything to spoil it for her. He decided a quick change of subject would ease the awkward tension that was threatening to settle over them.
"Did I mention how proud I am of you, Dawes?" The truth was always a great segue. "First hobnobbing at Buckingham Palace and now this. Pretty soon I won't be able to keep up with you."
"As if," she chuckled, running a hand though his curls. "I know I said I don't do perfect, but I could get used to it."
"So could I." He leaned in for a kiss, the perfect way to punctuate what had been a near perfect evening.
"Dawes? Molly Dawes?"
She turned away before their lips met.
"Is that really you?" The man was studying her intently and Charles's eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"I don't Adam and Eve it!" Molly's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Yeah, it's definitely you" Charles watched a smile grow large across the man's face and his suspicion morphed into irritation. Who the fuck is this?
"Corporal Geddings!" Molly couldn't contain her joy. Less than two years had passed since they'd said goodbye but with everything that had happened, it seemed longer. Colonel Geddings had known her when she was her most downtrodden, her most disillusioned; when she was the Molly Dawes nobody outside the British army would have taken a chance on. Even though it wouldn't have been accurate to describe them as friends, what they had shared somehow seemed to surpass that. Seeing him now, dressed up to the nines in his official dress, was a welcome reminder of where her journey had begun. Whether he realized it or not, he had been instrumental in shaping who she was. She'd thrown her arms around him before she'd taken the time to think better of it.
"You can drop the 'Corporal', Dawes. Matthew will do just fine." He made no move to untangle her. It was a momentous thing to finally be able to express the affection that had always marked their relationship.
"Matthew," she repeated, pleased to finally know his name.
"Have a seat," Molly motioned to one of the empty seats at their table, "everyone's probably at the bar."
He cast a quick uncertain look at Charles before pulling a chair closer and sitting down.
"Charles, this is Corporal Geddings. He had the nightmare task of seeing me through basic. This is Charles." She tilted her head in his direction.
"Charles?" Matthew repeated quizzically. "You're not in the service?"
"No. Not anymore. Resigned my commission earlier this year." Molly was a little surprised by the curtness of his tone.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, giving the Corporal her full attention.
"I've been a member of the BFF for years now. I like to do my bit with fundraising. They always send me an invite; I just never bothered to turn up until tonight."
"Must be fate," she added jokingly.
"I'd like to think so."
He gave her one of his half smiles and Molly was transported back to a time when a smile from him was considered a well-earned trophy. It seemed silly now but most of the girls had been half in love with the Corporal during basic. Molly could include herself in those ranks. She knew he'd taken a special interest in her. If time and circumstances had allowed, maybe the tension that had brewed between them over that fourteen week period would have found some sort of resolution. But that was then and this was another life.
"I've kept tabs on you since you left for Keogh. I heard good things about your time in Afghanistan…but the Military Cross? I always knew you'd do well."
"No you didn't," she laughed, but she could see sincerity etched across his face,
"Have you kept in touch with any of the other girls you started with?" His hands were tapping awkwardly on the table so Molly poured him a glass of champagne which he accepted with a smile. He tipped his glass towards her in a silent toast and downed the whole thing in a couple of sips, his eyes never leaving her.
"You know what I'm like." She replied ruefully. "I've been a bit lax about keeping in touch."
"Well you've been busy." He looked over at Charles for a heartbeat before resting his eyes back on her. "You're looking well."
"Thank you." Molly smiled brightly, pretending not to notice the intimate tone his voice had taken on and she hoped with all her might Charles hadn't picked up on it either. They carried on talking in the same light-hearted vein. Yes, he was still working with new recruits…No, he didn't think he would be signing up for active service anytime soon. Throughout the exchange, Charles remained frustratingly silent and Molly didn't have to try hard to guess what that silence was about. One of her favourite thing about him was how transparent he was; that he didn't hide…couldn't hide. Even when he was Captain Don't-get-emotionally-involved James, there was something in his face, his eyes, that gave away who he was and how he felt. Now he was jealous. She could feel the jealousy coming off him in pulsating waves. The way his fingers were practically choking the whisky glass and the way his stubbled jaw clenched. He was still polite to Matthew. A well brought up boy like him would never act anything less than proper under the circumstances. But the anger was there, rumbling under the surface
The atmosphere was becoming increasingly strained and Molly had no idea how to diffuse it.
"Would you like a dance, Dawes?" Molly was grateful for his quick thinking. "If that's alright with you?" He threw Charles a questioning glance.
"Of course. Molly does whatever she likes," Charles replied, his face a picture of civility.
"Molly?" the Colonel offered her his hand and Molly allowed him to lead her towards the chequered dance floor.
"This kind of dancing ain't exactly the thing where I'm from." She watched the other dancers twirling effortlessly to the big band music.
"You always struck me as the type who'd be up for anything." He opened his arms in invitation and Molly stepped reluctantly into his grasp.
He let her set the pace, which she appreciated. Anything more than rhythmic side step felt too advanced and she hoped to god he wouldn't get ideas and try twirling her around.
"Don't take this the wrong way Molly, but you've changed," he paused, searching for the right words, "yet you're still the same."
"I know I didn't exactly pass English with flying colours, but I'm pretty sure that's one of them 'oxymorons'".
"I just meant that you've matured but you're still…you." The tenderness in his expression caused a flurry of nerves in the pit of her stomach and before she could stop herself she cast a look over at Charles. Thank god he wasn't looking.
"I don't blame him for being jealous." Matthew had obviously noticed the direction of her glance. "I would be too." He gave another one of his smiles. "In fact, I could get all territorial and claim that I found you first but that would be…"
"Petty…ridiculous…completely untrue?" she interrupted with a challenging tilt of the head.
"You do know how to put a man in his place, don't you Dawes." He threw his head back in laughter and Molly realized she had never really heard him laugh before.
"I won't lie," he continued, his usually demeanour restored, "seeing you here…with him…It makes me wonder what would have happened if I…"
"…hadn't been such a jobs-worth?" she finished for him.
"I wouldn't put it quite like that, but yeah. I didn't want to distract you. Staying professional seemed like the right thing to do."
"It was."
"Ouch," he clutched his heart, feigning injury, "shoot me down gently, Dawes."
"Sorry," she shrugged, "I'm too good a shot for that." A thought suddenly occurred to here. "Wait, you didn't come to this thing alone did you?"
"No, I'm here with a friend."
"Let's have a look at her?" Molly asked, suddenly burning with curiosity.
He tilted his head over his right shoulder and nodded. "That's her with green dress and the red hair."
Molly tried to give a subtle look. "You mean the one getting her stuff and leaving?"
"What?" He turned his head abruptly and Molly burst out laughing.
"You make it far too easy." She tried to look apologetic but her shoulders were still shaking with mirth.
"I'm going to miss this, Dawes."
"Miss what? My piss taking ways?"
"And the rest." He pulled her in closer, placing a small kiss on her cheek. "But I'll always have this. I'll always have the fact that I got to dance with you at least once."
"You soft Northern bastard." Molly groaned but again, she found herself winding her arms around his neck, holding him with all the affection of two old friends.
Twice he had watched her throw her arms around his neck, which seemed strange considering her usual idea of affection was a punch on the arm and a string of expletives punctuated by the word "numpty". His eyes followed them as they moved on the dance floor. While he should have been comforted by their awkward shuffling, the ease they clearly felt in each other's company left him feeling disconcerted. He'd felt a twinge of jealousy over Smurf, back when they were still in Afghan. It wasn't so much that he thought anything noteworthy had really happened between them; it wasn't even knowing that they'd had sex; it was the openness of their friendship that had hurt him. Duty and protocol had meant that they could interact with a freedom that was denied him due to his position as their commanding officer. But he had loved Smurf, and in the end friendship was all he and Molly would ever share.
This was different, Molly and this Geddings character had obviously never been friends and yet he'd picked up on…something. Something had happened between them although he couldn't pin point exactly what that something was. It didn't help either that Molly looked absolutely incredible tonight. He'd have to be blind or oblivious not to notice the appreciative looks she was getting from other men, not least the one who was using a dance as an excuse to touch her. It didn't take a trained eye to know that Gedding's had been interested in her; watching them dance was ample confirmation of that. He loathed the sight of another man's hands on her body. How fucking long was this fucking song going to last?
Charles took in the Corporals well turned out uniform and felt a pang of something else. Something he'd denied for months now, but was becoming more apparent. He missed his old life; he missed being on tour. The excitement of that life had been a large part of the attraction between him and Molly. He missed hearing her call him "Boss man". At this point in their relationship it had turned into a nick name, something she enjoyed calling him for a laugh. Lately she'd even started using the name when they were in bed. But he longed for the role; the role of leading a platoon and being an active part of a section.
As they walked back to the table, he watched the Colonel's hand linger on the small of Molly's back and Molly was smiling. The smile hadn't left her face since they'd been interrupted. His mood plummeted even further. Suddenly the music seemed too loud and the laughter of the party goers was clawing at the inside of his head. He stood up, ready to leave, but good manners forced him to wait and at least tell her where he was going. She looked a little shell shocked as he walked away but she seemed to accept his excuse that he needed fresh air. No doubt she needed more time to catch up with Colonel what's-his-face. He needed to walk, to get the blood pumping through his veins. Who was he kidding? He needed to sulk and he was going to find a place to fume in private.
He hadn't counted on her following him.
Molly followed him out of a side door of the ballroom that gave access to the rest of the house. She'd assumed he would head outside but she found him strolling leisurely up the marble staircase that dominated the entire hallway. She lifted up the flowing hem of her skirt off the floor and followed him. At the loud clacking her heels made, he turned.
"I don't think we're supposed to be up here," she called after him, unable to keep the petulance out of her voice.
"Then go back," he replied flatly, and continued his ascent to the top floor. "Besides, I think I'd rather be left alone.
Molly considered turning back, heeding his request to be left alone. But she'd never listened to him before, so why start now. She'd only seen this side of him once before. When he heard she'd travelled to Newport to spend time with Smurf, he'd thrown the Charles version of a strop which meant short, curt answers and needing to be alone. It meant that instead of telling her what was bothering him, he would rather pull away from her.
"You're a real pain, you know that?" She announced, as soon as she caught up with him. She watched a small reluctant smile pull at the sides of his mouth but he kept it in check and continued to walk away from her. They would eventually have it out, and Molly knew it just a matter of waiting and picking her moment.
They walked through the empty hallways, glancing occasionally at the artwork that graced the walls. Molly didn't recognise any of the paintings but found it strange that almost every single one was a portrait of some old guy in a suit. "D'you reckon this old geezer owns this house?" she asked stopping in from of one the pictures and looking at Charles over her soldier. All she got in response was a shrug of the shoulders. He was simply watching her. The intensity of his gaze and the slow predatory walk that accompanied it made her feel both cornered and aroused. She'd only seen glimpses of it in the past, times when she would catch him watcher her, his face a picture of raw lust. But now, that's all there was. She kept walking, pretending to more interested in the intricate cravings on the panels and closed doors than she really was. If she stopped, he would stop, moving just close enough for her to feel his tux brushing against her.
At the end of the corridor, she found herself in front of a door that had been roped off, clearly to discourage guests from wandering in. When she turned to look at him, he arched an eyebrow and Molly he was baiting her with that challenge. She pulled the heavy bronze handle down and opened the door to reveal…a library. She let out a disappointed groan but Charles moved in close, urging her to enter. The understated décor, which was in stark contrast to the rest of the house, gave the impression that the library was separate from the rest of the house. The only lighting was provided by a few reading lamps that were dotted sporadically around the room and the moonlight flooding in from a large bay window. The muted sounds of laughter drew her attention and she strolled over to the window, hoping for a bird's eye view of whatever shenanigans were going on down below. The window looked out over a courtyard that was covered by a blanket of fairy lights and few table that were laid out had been commandeered by couples seeking out a little privacy.
Charles stood beside her, studying the view below them and Molly was struck by how handsome he looked with the moonlight casting shadows over his face. Who knew a man could be so beautifully made? But his refusal to speak to her was becoming frustrating and as Molly was berating herself for indulging the brooding side of his, Charles made a sudden move, backing her against the heavy bookshelf at her side. Any attempt at confrontation was going to have to wait.
His hands moulded over her hips, the sway of which had tormented him all night and pulled her flush against the front of his body. They worked their way up towards her breasts, pushing them up and testing their weight. He could feel the tight buds of her nipples through the straining bodice of her dress and his thumbs made a game out of teasing them. He yearned to free them from the confines of her dress, but instead contented himself with the acquiescing moan that slipped from her throat. He brushed his lips lightly over the side of her neck he could feel the steady throb of her pulse quicken. She was getting excited. He watched as her head fell back against the row of books behind her noting the slight part of her lips and the way her breathing deepened and quickened. She was waiting for him to kiss her, but he couldn't…not until he cleared the fog that had been clouding his judgement all night.
"Did you fuck him?" His brown eyes glittered sharply as they searched hers.
"I can't believe you just asked me that." Molly's voice was a harsh whisper and she pushed against his chest for emphasis forcing him to take a step backwards.
"Really Molly? What exactly is so hard to believe?" He clenched his jaw. "Every second that you were away from me and dancing with him was fucking torture." He moved closer again, pressing her back against the bookshelf. "I have never wanted anyone or anything more than I want you and it's a hopeless condition. Smurf suffered from it. I know the symptoms well and that poor bastard in there is suffering too."
"You aren't Smurf or Matthew. You have no reason to be jealous." She cupped his face in her hands, drawing him in even closer. "You don't have to impress me…not with limos and expensive presents. You don't have to keep seducing me."
"I just want to make you happy," he insisted.
"You do make me happy. I thought you knew…I thought you understood."
"Understood what?" he demanded, emotion raw in his voice.
"That I'm yours!" She was practically shouting now. "That I love you so much sometimes I have to hold myself back in case I suffocate you with it."
He let the weight over her words wash over him. He realized now why he applied himself so thoroughly to their lovemaking, spending hours drowning her senses in pleasure; making her come once, twice even, before letting himself go because she still hadn't given him the one thing he truly wanted. He never heard her say she loved him. He didn't doubt she felt it. He knew it by the way she looked at him, the way she trusted him. But nothing, it seemed, had been able to compel her to actually say the words…until now.
"I thought you liked it when I seduced you."
"Course I do, you numpty," she laughed, giving his arm a playful punch.
With his hands braced on the wall behind her, he brushed his lips over hers, soft and teasing. He could taste the sharp, playful fizz of the champagne she'd been drinking and savoured the connection, determined to take his time. He'd been waiting all night to do this.
But when he felt the first lick of her tongue against his, the kiss exploded and his greedy mouth feasted on hers, sucking eagerly on her tongue. He wrapped his arms around her. He loved her body; loved the lazy way she would arch her back pressing the lush globes of her breasts into against him. She knew just how to feed his hunger.
With agonising slowness, his hands lifted up the flowing fabric of her skirt, his eyes never leaving hers.
They were in a public place and when the shock of what he meant to do registered with her, she squirmed, trying to free herself from his towering presence. But he wedged his leg between hers, pushing it against her centre and gently kneading the soft flesh of her bottom.
"Someone might see," she whispered, unconvincingly.
"Don't worry," he countered, "this won't take long." His hands made light work of her knickers, ripping them from her body in one forceful tug.
"Oh god," she moaned, biting her lip. His grin was almost devilish as tucked the lacy scrap into his pocket.
Before she could utter another word, he had dropped to his knees in front of her and his mop of brown hair had disappeared under the hem of her skirt. She gripped the wood of the shelves behind her, needing something to steady her. He lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, giving him all the access he needed. His mouth moved over her with the same eagerness as it did when he kissed her. His hunger, combined with where they were, the fact that anyone could have walked in at any minute had them both teetering on the edge. His fingers took over, stroking her rhythmically and bringing back memories of the first time they had made love. Molly almost lost control of her own tongue, longing to ask him to put his tongue or anything inside her…but she didn't. Instead she placed all her concentration on keeping as quiet as possible; she didn't want to arouse curiosity and cause someone to come and investigate. But when he pushed his fingers deep inside her, it became near impossible.
The tension from supressing her cries found its way into her fingers, which were now gripping his hair ferociously, and her foot, which was twisting and bowing, causing the heel of her shoe to dig into the flexed muscles of his back. If it hurt, he didn't say. He simply pushed his tongue back and forth over the nub where her pleasure was the sweetest and Molly grabbed blindly behind her, sending several hardback and leather bound books crashing to the floor. She was so close and bracing herself for orgasm when he stopped.
"What? No…what are you…don't stop." Molly wailed, mourning the loss of his mouth and fingers; thoroughly confused and raw with unsatisfied need. But he was already back on his feet.
"I want to be inside you when you come."
As Molly watched his fingers work diligently to undo the buttons and zip on his trousers her legs almost gave way under her. She really shouldn't let him see how eager she was to have him between her legs but she couldn't help it and was biting her lip in anticipation. She didn't care how he did it; whether he pushed her onto the floor, spreading her wide with his knees or he lifted her clean off the ground, fucking her into the hard covers of the books behind them. She wanted him however he wanted to take her. She gasped when he hooked his hands behind her thighs and hoisted her up.
He thrust up into her with almost brutal urgency causing them to moan in unison. Then he paused, giving her a moment to adjust. She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by her need to cling blindly to him. His voice was a hot whisper against her mouth.
"Open your eyes, Molly. Look at me."
She'd always avoided this kind of prolonged eye-contact; she felt too exposed as though he were trying to reach too deep inside her. But she couldn't moan and cry out the way she would have done had they been at home and the need to pour out her pleasure nearly overwhelmed her. Looking into his eyes was an incredible outlet. It seemed to intensify their lovemaking, to heighten their awareness of each and every sensation.
"Say it again," he asked, and without having to ask she knew exactly what he wanted to hear.
"I love you," she whispered over and over again and he covered her mouth with his as though drinking in her words, relishing the taste of them, spurring him to drive harder and deeper into her until her voice was sobbing moan. The steady rhythm they had set became frantic. They were both past caring what might happen if someone were to discover them entangled like this. So tightly bound together, it was impossible to know where one ended and the other began. Every muscle in his body stained for release but he held back, waiting for the tell-tale clutching of her core. He knew when she was close. Guided by passion and instinct, her hips began to rock, grinding down onto the tremble in his legs, he held himself steady, heightening her pleasure as she came apart in his arms.
They stood for long moments, staring dumbfounded at each other and then both gave in to stunned laughter at the unexpected intensity of their lovemaking. Unthinkingly he kissed the bare skin of her shoulder, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Her hands were weaving mindlessly through his hair, cradling him in the warmth of her arms.
"London," she whispered, still breathless from their torrid coupling.
"What?" Charles tried to get his eyes to focus.
"It seemed as good a time as any to tell you you're moving to London. We'll need at least two bedrooms somewhere near a tube station…can't be doing with living out in the sticks…and I hope to God you can cook."
"You certainly know how to pick your moments."
"Well you better get used to it," she replied, placing feather light kisses on this mouth. "You're stuck with me for life."