Benedict's POV

3 HOURS LATER

The doorbell rings. I need to get her a set of keys.

I open the door, and pull her in, kick the door shut with my foot and simultaneously bring her lips to mine.

"Hello again," she whispers in a break.

"Hello." She yawns, and I lift her legs and carry her in my arms, walking up the stairs. She buries her head inbetween my chin and my shoulder, kissing my neck. Her scent is so concentrated now that I get butterflies in the bottom of my stomach.

"I'm sorry for leaving you this morning,"

"What are you talking about… it wasn't your fault." If her head wasn't adjacent to my ear right now, I probably wouldn't be able to make out what she was saying.

"The first night you were home, and I left you,"

"I would've had to leave early anyway. Stop blaming yourself for things that weren't your fault." I smile, and I start to walk up another flight of stairs.

"Stop." I stop, mid-step. "I want to hear you play," she says, referring to the grand piano in the musicroom.

"Are you sure?"

"Please." I turn around, and I can hear her lips curl up into a smile against my neck. I lay her down on the brown leather sofa, but she's having none of it. She stands up and walks right past me, and elegantly sits on the right side of the piano stool. I follow after her, not so elegantly sitting down next to her.

"What's your favourite?" she asks.

"I love so many."

"Pick any piece then," and my hands automatically find their way to the keys.

Ayla's POV

I watch his face in concentration mode, his teeth biting down on his lips. He's so perfect I want to prance about the room. He sets his fingers upon the keys, and I hear the soles of his shoes upon the pedals.

He plays a glissando so elegantly; I could have thought it was played on a harp. And then he enters into Tchaikovsky. How perfect can this man be? I ask him to play, and he plays my favourite composer of all time. Meditation, by Tchaikovsky. I have no words. His fingers touch the keys so gently, so precisely. I don't deserve him. A multi-talented, intelligent, beautiful, kind man. Life has blessed me, to even spend a weekend with him. I should be more than grateful, but I just want to have him for the rest of my life.

I just don't believe that he's in love. With me, of all people.

He finishes, and smiles, the creases in the corners of his eyes deep and beautiful. I find tears falling down my cheek and my neck. He kisses them away, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

I take his hand, and lead him to the sofa. I sit on his lap, my legs around his waist, and take his hair in my hands, pulling my head towards his.

Our lips meet, and a thousand glissandos play at once.

In the morning, we find ourselves lying together on the sofa, our faces just inches apart.

His eyes look into mine, darting from side to side. He takes a section of my hair and wraps it around his finger, looking at all of the little strands. I examine his face, smooth and tight around his bones.

"Your hair's golden,"

"No, it's brown with little blonde highlights,"

"No, it's golden. When I first met you, I called it dirty blonde in my mind. But the light's shining on it now, and it's golden."

Silence fills the room for a moment.

"What did you do yesterday?"

"I had a photoshoot and an interview. And the my agent came over."

"And… What did you talk about?"

"How to tell the world about you." I look down. "I want to be able to take you places, travel the globe with you. I need to tell the world in the right way, the best way."

"I understand. So… what does he think is the best way?" I want to protect him. I feel like I need to protect him.

"In an interview or something resembling that. My agent will ask the interviewer to ask that specific question, and I'll answer it honestly, but conservatively. Then the world can burst. We can hide away for a few days until it all blows over." I nod, and touch his hand, and he holds onto it. "When are we going to meet your sister?"

"Sunday. Does that mean we're going to tell them this week?"

"It depends on you. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Me?" He nods. "You're the one that has to live with it."

"You don't understand what some fans can be like. I have friends who never dare to set foot outside without security, it's that bad."

"I have faith in your fans," I interject. "They seem happy for you. But I agree, we still need to be careful. This week."

"Okay. I better phone him." He begins to get up, but stops and stays sat down. "Do you have any opinion on this? A radio or television interview, I mean?"

"Maybe radio. The word will be spread out slowly, amongst less people at first. I guess that seems like a better way to do it."

"You don't stop surprising me."