A/N: Hello readers! It's 91 degrees here with humidity out the wazoo, and I'm braving my laptop to write and post an update. Love me? I actually like weather like this, but it's a whole different story to hold a veritable oven on my legs. :p Also, just to let you know, there is no flashback in this part, but it'll be obvious to you as to why I didn't include one once you've read it. Anyway, enjoy!

Charlynn

Part Ten

XXXVI.

Adjectives were tricky words. Oftentimes, there were underlying meanings behind them, special connotations, and even double entendres that a person had to consider before ascribing a certain description to either a thing or another individual. For example, while the dictionary said that 'nice' was a good, pleasant adjective, all artists knew that it was the kiss of death. It was the same way with the word 'handsome.' Men knew to never illustrate their significant others with that word, and women knew it was one of the few adjectives most men wouldn't protest. Certain descriptions fit better with certain genders, and there seemed to be unspoken rules about such things in relationships.

However, occasionally, if someone was truly lucky in their lifetime, they came across either a man or a woman who didn't fit the social norm. Words otherwise used for people of their class, of their sex, wouldn't work for them, or they were those extremely rare individuals who could support any and every adjective no matter what the implications behind that word may be. For the first twenty-three years of Elizabeth Webber's life, she had been completely oblivious to this fact. For her, men were in one category, and women were in another, but, as she entered the kitchen she shared with Jason Morgan that early winter morning, she realized she had been wrong.

Because her husband broke every single rule and mold.

He wasn't just handsome; he was beautiful. It was in the gracefulness of his movements, in his quiet, restrained, peaceful nature, in the knowing light that tinged the corners of his breathtakingly clear blue eyes. It was in the very contradictions his body embraced – his rough, work calloused hands that were gentler than even a first time mother's, in his comforting, protective aura despite his otherwise intimidating stature. And Elizabeth knew that she loved him all the more because of those things.

However, she was not ready to confess such a secret to the man she lived with, despite the fact that his recent behavior made her pause in consideration. Finally, after several months' time, she had come to accept the fact that the former enforcer at least cared about her, but she wasn't quite sure what exactly that word meant. Care was such an ambiguous expression. While you could care for your spouse, you could also care about what happened to the stray cat that lived on your block, and, in a man so emotionally guarded… or, perhaps, it was simply because she was a woman foreign to the intimate workings of a sexual relationship, she was incapable of reading the signs supposedly there that could tell her exactly what her blonde roommate felt for her.

He was certainly kind to her – always doing small, seemingly unimportant things to make her feel special or even appreciated. As more time passed, he seemed to smile more in her company, laugh, but that could have just been because she herself was beginning to loosen up around him. After all, Jason put her at ease, made her feel comfortable in her own skin, so, when they were together, she seemed to blossom open like a day lily. She knew they were friends, that the onetime hitman was not simply watching out for her because he had to anymore, but she had no idea if he could ever possibly want something more from her, with her, and, if he did, would it just be sex? After all, while she might not have been on the dating scene herself when they were both still living in Port Charles, she had certainly heard the rumors about the man she lived with, and they gave her pause.

Not only was Jason Morgan a known womanizer, but he had also been in two unsuccessful 

relationships, so she feared there would be nothing about her that could make him want to try a third time. But, then, there were moments… like that morning… when he would do or say something and make her feel so special, so wanted, that even all her insecurities had a hard time being logical. The fact was that she wanted him to want her the same way that she wanted him, and, wishful thinking or not, she was starting to believe she might have a chance. It could have just been a symptom of his cabin fever, of his restlessness from being forced to live a normal, suburban life, but, at that point, Elizabeth was prepared to take whatever she could get.

Already having been up early, it was obvious that her husband had planned something for them. There were two piles of winter clothes folded neatly on the kitchen table – long johns, coveralls, down jackets, hats, scarves, gloves, boots, one for her and one for him, and he had even prepared them breakfast, seemingly going about his actions in an effortless, thoughtful manner as he made coffee, boiled hot chocolate, and baked her favorite chocolate muffins, all the while talking on the phone. Leaning against the door jam, she listened as the blonde several yards away from her called them both of work for various, different reasons and then placed a mysterious call to someone to make sure that whatever it was he had ordered would be delivered on time. She smiled to herself, a warm, delicious smile that curled her very toes comfortably confined in her furry slippers, the happy expression in response to the fact that, whatever it was her roommate was up to, he was doing it for her. Also, it didn't hurt matters either that he was planning on them spending the entire day together.

As he hung up the phone, the retired enforcer turned to the oven, removing the muffin pan with his potholder encased hands, bumping the door closed with his hip, and then, with a swift flick of his wrist, turning the appliance off. "You know," Jason spoke up for the first time, his deep, baritone of a voice causing her to jump slightly in surprise, for she had believed her surveying of him had been done in secret, "you could actually come in and sit down."

And she did. With pink tinged cheeks, she took her seat at the kitchen table, sliding the new, winter clothes he had set out for her to the side so that there was an empty place setting before her. Silently, her husband continued to work, pouring them both mugs of their respective morning beverages and then plucking a still steaming muffin onto a small dish for her. Taking the chair across from her, he followed suit, sliding his own clothes to the right before taking a hearty gulp of his strong, black coffee. Even as she slowly tore off a piece of her breakfast, their gazes never once left each other.

"So, how long exactly were you standing there, spying on me?"

She protested, feebly, balking in mock indignation. "I was not spying."

"You weren't?"

"It does not count as spying if you happen to just wander down into your own kitchen to find the man you live with already there and busy," the young artist defended fiercely. "And it wasn't like you were whispering. There was no 'do not disturb' sign hanging on the door… or the doorway, the lights were on, so how was I to know that you wanted your privacy?"

He smiled at her then – a slow, lazy, and, if she didn't know better, flirtatiously crooked smile, and, suddenly, it felt as if the temperature in the room had spiked twenty degrees in just as many seconds. "You can always disturb me," he then proceeded to tease her, his striking cobalt eyes dancing with merriment and wit. "Morning, noon, or night, Webber, 

please," he invited cheekily. "Please, search me out anytime you want."

"I was not spying on you!"

The onetime hitman shrugged, a careless gesture meant to taunt her, but she refused to take the bait. So, instead, the college graduate squared her own shoulders, folder her hands primly in front of her, and proceeded to stare him down. "And, besides," Elizabeth argued. "You were talking about me at one point. I heard my name, and it sounded like you were talking to Didi. Did you call me off of work?"

Unrepentantly, he admitted, "I did. I told her that, because of the snow storm, there were things I have to do today, so I wouldn't be going to work, and I didn't want you walking in this weather."

"I see. So you lied," the brunette offered, smirking. "I didn't think you did that."

"I don't, and I didn't," the man sitting adjacent from her returned vaguely. "I do have things to do today because of the weather."

Without conscious thought, she felt her mood suddenly plummet. The smile that had been previously curling her full lips upwards fell into a frown, her deep, sapphire irises lost some of their sparkle, and her entire form slumped slightly in dejection. "Oh."

And, even if Jason could tell that his statement had depressed her, he didn't let on. Rather, he simply lifted his coffee cup, once again, and, after taking a generous drink, refocused his attention upon her. Blithely, almost as if he was simply asking her if she'd hand him the morning paper, he announced, "I thought that we could spend the day together."

"What?" Snapping to attention, her previous melancholy forgotten, the recently turned twenty-three year old inquired, "really?"

"Well, you like the snow, don't you?" She nodded, not yet ready to give voice to her own thoughts, but the blonde accepted the gesture as a response and proceeded on. "And I like going fast… which you already know, so I thought we'd combine the two things. Plus, I've been meaning to talk to you about something important now for quite a while. Why put off for another day what I can do this afternoon, right?"

Slowly, drawing out her remark, Elizabeth agreed, "right," only to cock her head in obvious confusion. "So, what exactly are we doing?"

"I rented us a snow mobile for the day."

Grinning, she excitedly admitted, "oh, I've never been on one before." But, then, she remembered his warning that he wanted to talk to her about something, and, if the former hitman had been procrastinating about doing so, then it had to be about something serious, and she was instantly worried. "What do you have to talk to me about?" He stood up, evidently not wanting to delve into the topic just yet, but she followed him, pushing back her chair, her breakfast forgotten and rapidly cooling, to dog his every step as he set out to wash the few dirty dishes he had made. "Is it bad news? Did something happen? No one's found us, have they? You're not mad at me, are you, because, if you are, I really don't know what I did? I mean, sure, sometimes I forget to put the lid back on the toothpaste, and I'm bad about using all the gas in the car and not refueling, but those are little things, and you never get mad at me for them… right?"


Chuckling, the man she lived with turned around, taking her by the shoulders in an effort to get her to stop talking. "Relax, it's nothing necessarily bad."

Sarcastically, under her breath, she mumbled, "yeah, and that's comforting."

But he just ignored her. "As far as I know, we're still safe, and, if we weren't, do you honestly think I'd be taking outside where we're not protected by bullet proof windows and reinforced doors?"

Rolling her eyes at her own naïveté, the brunette artist admitted, "no."

"And this thing – what it is that I want to tell you, well, it's just the truth… about me." At her troubled expression, Jason expanded, "about my past. Now, stop worrying and get ready to go." When she went to protest, he kept talking, never giving her a chance to get a word or an argument in edgewise. "Finish your breakfast, and I'll pack what's left up to take with us. I know how you like to have a snack around ten o'clock every morning. And, then, get dressed. I'll meet you outside in half an hour, because that's when the sled is being delivered, okay?"

At that point, she just quit trying to fight him. After all, who was she kidding? She was too excited to focus on her nerves, too excited to worry about what it was her husband had to talk to her about, so, instead, she smiled up at the blonde standing before her, pivoted around on her toes, and snatched up her partially eaten muffin and clothes, dashing through the hallway, into the living room, and then up the stairs before she could even entertain the idea of having a second thought.

If her roommate wanted to spend the day with her, she'd be there, at his side, with bells on… and he'd pretend that those figurative bells annoyed him every step of the way.

XXXVII.

He knew that he should have been hungry. After all, other than the coffee he had been drinking off and on all morning, he hadn't consumed any nourishment whatsoever since the night before. But he wasn't. And he knew that Elizabeth was hungry, for she always was, but she wasn't eating her lunch either. And, despite the fact that he knew both of their missing appetites were caused by the conversation he wanted to have but just couldn't seem to start, Jason was in no hurry to talk.

After riding along the various trails and paths that crisscrossed all throughout Dovetree and then connected their adopted town to the various outlying villages and communities surrounding them, they had stopped at an out of the way diner in the hopes that no one they knew would spot them there. Their waitress had seated them in an intimate table for two in a dark corner of the restaurant, and they had placed their orders after having browsed the menus in near to total silence, awkward silence which, in and of itself, was unsettling, for he and brunette he lived with, at that point, were hardly ever uncomfortable around each other anymore. And, now, with their food in front of them, they sat in silent contemplation, Jason staring at his cheese burger and fries, and his wife distractedly pushing around the chili in the bowl placed before her, her grilled cheese sandwich completely untouched.

When she cleared her throat, presumably to speak, he did so as well, but, then, once again, they both went back to pretending the other wasn't there or just as anxious as they were. It 

finally took Elizabeth going to stand on the premise of needing to use the restroom for him to speak up, and, reaching across the table, the onetime enforcer took the twenty-three year old's hand in his, the simple gesture acting as both a plea for her to sit back down and a promise that he was, ready or not, going to talk to her.

"I, um, well, thanks, I guess," he started off, reaching up with his free hand to tug nervously at his earlobe, "for not pushing me."

Kindly, her face softened into a gentle smile as she murmured, "of course."

But that's when he froze. Unaccustomed to opening himself up emotionally, Jason simply sat there, brow scrunched up into a fine web of worried lines until the woman he lived with squeezed the hand he had laced with her own and suggested, "why don't you start somewhere safe."

"Safe?"

"Yeah," she encouraged, shrugging in a somewhat embarrassed manner. "Tell me about something that it doesn't hurt you to remember."

And so he did.

"Did you know Robin?"

"Robin Scorpio," the petite artist asked for clarification, "your ex-girlfriend? Actually, no, I don't think we've ever officially met. I mean, sure – I've seen her around. Port Charles is a small town, after all, and we seemed to have some people in common, you being one of them, but I've never had a conversation with her. No one's ever introduced us."

"She was the first person I trusted after my accident," Jason shared, pushing his plate of food aside to settle back at ease in his small chair. Crossing one arm over his chest to rub distractedly at his own shoulder, he continued. "We met randomly one night... on a bridge. She was upset, missing her boyfriend, and I was just angry at everything – at the Quartermaines, at my situation, at myself. And, I guess, we… What do people call it? Clicked? Connected?"

"Her boyfriend," the college graduate asked. "You're talking about Stone Cates, right?"

Nodding to reinforce his confirmation, the former enforcer said, "yeah."

But, without pushing him, Elizabeth moved their conversation along. "So, then, you guys started dating after that?"

"Not right away. At first, we were just friends. She'd talk to me like I was a real person and not just someone who was either brain damaged or needed coddling like a child, and I think I was an escape from her."

"Because you couldn't remember, Stone and the disease he died from meant nothing to you, so, to you, Robin was just another random girl. You didn't treat her like a china doll or try to protect her when the two of you spent time together," his wife realized, not needing him to detail every last nuance for her. And he appreciated her intuitiveness, for he wasn't sure he would be able to explain some things about his former life as easily as she could.



Falling silent, once again, he recollected himself, knowing that they needed to progress the story to the next stage, or they would be there all day. "Robin was the one who actually introduced me to Sonny. They knew each other through Stone, and I guess she wanted us to get to know each other as well. Sonny, apparently, saw something in me, gave me a job, and, well, you know how that turned out."

"Do you..." Whatever it was that Elizabeth was going to ask him, she stopped, shaking her head as if to dismiss the very idea.

"You can say it, you know. You can say or ask me anything you want to."

"It's stupid, really," the twenty-three year old dismissed before sharing with him her previously ignored inquiry, "but I was just curious if you ever blamed Robin, resented her, for everything that eventually happened between you and Sonny?"

"No," the blonde easily answered. "She had no idea that introducing two of her friends would lead to so much pain and betrayal."

"So, then, what eventually broke the two of you up?"

Reaching out his free hand, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that his other was still very much linked with that of the woman sitting across from him, Jason brought his tall glass of iced tea to his lips, taking a liberal drink before pressing on. "We just wanted different things, I guess. Robin wanted to go to school, she wanted to become a doctor, and my life, good or bad, was firmly in Port Charles with Sonny and the mob."

"And, at that point, you were too far in to get out," the artist offered, showing him that she understood. "So, did you part amicably?"

"Not exactly," he admitted, scratching the side of his face in thought. "I think that she was disappointed in me and annoyed with the fact that I wouldn't even try to change for her."

"But you shouldn't have had to."

"Maybe so, but things rarely work out that way. Anyway," he sighed. "We broke up, Robin went off to college, and it was around that same time that…"

"That I entered Sonny's life," the brunette finished for him, "and that we met." Apparently, though, Elizabeth didn't want to focus on that part of his history, because she quickly rushed past it and changed the subject. "You also started things with Carly around that same time, too, didn't you?"

Now that they were already so deep into the conversation, discussing the very people that he previously felt would bother him wasn't so hard, and the onetime enforcer rolled his eyes at the very mention of his ex. "Started is kind of a stretch. Carly was supposed to be a one night stand."

Giggling and blushing despite herself, he watched as his wife struggled not to laugh. "What was with that – her – anyway? I just, the two of you together… It makes absolutely no sense to me."

"Carly was… Carly was fun," Jason found himself supplying in answer, but it was also not sufficient enough of an explanation. So, regretfully, he admitted, "she was also easy – just a 

girl I met in a bar one night, no strings, no commitment, simple. Sleeping with her was supposed to help take my mind off everything in my life that was falling apart."

"Such as?"

"Such as my working relationship with Sonny," he responded. Casting his gaze temporarily away from the woman sitting across from him, the blonde explained. "After what happened between the two of us down on the island, I started noticing some things about Sonny. He didn't trust me as much as I thought he did, he seemed to question me more often, and he certainly didn't like the fact that the men sometimes would go to me for instructions or advice instead of him. A few months later, that's when he started to openly almost provoke me. He knew how being around you or even hearing about you made me feel uncomfortable."

Finally meeting her expression again, he confessed, "not a day has gone by since I attacked you that night on the beach when I haven't felt regret for my actions, and Sonny knew this, but, nonetheless, he seemed to enjoy aggravating me with your presence in his life. I don't know if he was testing me, or if he was trying to push me too far to see what my reaction would be, but, to say that things became strained between us would be a definite understatement. While we were never friends, somewhere along the lines, we became enemies, and I was just so caught up in the other areas of my life that I missed the signs, and it ended up costing me."

"Alright, so back to Carly…"

Thankful that Elizabeth had moved them away from the hardest part of his story back to a safer issue, he offered her a small grin before explaining. "Three months after our one night together at Jake's, she showed up at my penthouse, telling me that she was pregnant. I took her in, I gave her a place to stay, and, in our own way, we attempted a relationship."

Timidly, his wife brought up a question he could tell she really didn't want to ask. He could feel her apprehension in the hand he held within his own. Her skin became suddenly clammy, and her fingers fairly trembled. "Did you ever…" Blowing out a harsh breath, the expelled air causing her hair to fan out slightly around her face, she tried again. "Did you ever consider the fact that you might not have been Michael's father? I mean, if Carly was willing to sleep around with you, then she was probably willing to do so with a lot of others guys, too."

"I did," Jason admitted. "But then I held him for the first time, and all those doubts disappeared. I just… I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That he was my son," he answered, shrugging because even he realized how ridiculous his reasoning sounded. "I guess I could just feel it."

Offering him a wide, gorgeous smile, the artist confessed, "I think that's beautiful," and he found himself grimacing at the word he used to describe his actions, making her laugh heartily. Sobering quickly, though, she refocused on their conversation, grasping his hand tightly to draw them both back to the topic at hand. "Now, tell me about this attempted relationship."

He couldn't help it. He smirked. "It was a disaster. Carly wanted me to love her, but I just 

couldn't. However, I also kept her there with me, hanging onto hope, because I didn't want her to take Michael and go off with some other guy. It didn't do any good, though, in the long run."

With a perplexed expression on her face, the brunette adjacent to him asked, "what do you mean?"

"I don't know if they had honest feelings for each other, or if it was Sonny, once again, trying to needle me, or if it was Carly just overreacting and trying to hurt me in return, but, supposedly, she saw me introducing Michael to Robin one day at Kelly's. She was home from school, because it was her winter break, and, at that point, we were both well over our relationship and ready to be friends, but Carly must have misinterpreted what she saw, and she ran off and slept with Sonny." Elizabeth's slight gasp told him of her shock, but she didn't interrupt him with any questions or a comment, so he rushed on to get the rest of his story out as painlessly as possible.

"She ended up pregnant, and, the next thing I know, Sonny set me up. He sent me to a meeting he himself was supposed to attend, I got shot, and he left me there to die. Luckily, someone, Agent Maloney, actually, who was in Port Charles in an attempt to gather information on Sonny, found me, got me help, and saved my life. It took me nearly two months to recover, though, because, while I was down from the bullet wound, I also got pneumonia, and, by the time I was up and moving again, Michael was dead – a car bomb, and Sonny and Carly were married."

Without expression, he pressed on. "Because of Sonny's selfishness, my son was murdered, and I had nothing waiting for me back in Port Charles, nothing to go home to. Bill offered me an out, told me, if I were to turn evidence against Sonny, they'd help me start over again, so here I am."

"Jason…"

Gruffly, he tugged his hand away from hers and went to take a bite of his burger. "You should eat before your food gets cold," the retired enforcer directed, never once meeting the twenty-three year old's gaze.

"It's already cold, and I really don't care about that right now. All this time," she breathed out in amazement, face wide and open with shock and dismay. "All this time, I've been feeling sorry for myself, treating you horribly, and acting as if the world owed me, and you've just let me feel and say whatever I wanted, never once talking about your own pain or loss. Jason, I… I had no idea that your son died."

"Elizabeth, I didn't tell you all this to make you feel bad or guilty."

"Well, I know that," the college graduate assured him, "but that still doesn't stop me from feeling that way. And, what's worse, is that I'm still not ready to confide in you yet."

"That's okay."

"No," she argued, shaking her head to exaggerate her words. "It's not. I want to, and I'm going to, but not today."

"Today, tomorrow, next week, hell, next year," the blonde reassured her. "There's no pressure."


"You don't have to say that," she whispered, glancing up at him through thick, smoky lashes. "But thank you anyway."

Comforting her, he retook her hand in his own, squeezing it. "I meant it."

And he did, too. It didn't matter how long it took Elizabeth until she was ready to tell him her own story, even if he had to wait the rest of his life, he would still be there. However, he just wasn't sure she was ready for him to say such a thing to her yet, so, instead, he went back to his lunch, just as she did, and the second silence that enveloped them in the little diner was much more comfortable than the first… just as it should be between them.

XXXVIII.

By the time they got back that evening, it was dark, and another front had already moved in to assault the small, rural, tourist town. Hurrying inside, Elizabeth stripped out of her wet clothes, leaving them in a messy, frozen pile on the basement floor, while Jason stayed outside to put the snow mobile away in the garage. In just her bra and panties, she ran upstairs to take a warm shower, rushing so that it would be open and ready by the time the man she lived with finished and came in. Clad in her warmest pair of winter pajamas, the artist made her way back downstairs just in time to greet her husband who, making her blush, had apparently had the very same idea she had.

But she wouldn't let him fluster her. Waving a dishtowel in his nearly naked direction, the twenty-three year old refused to look at the former hitman, instead focusing on her task at hand. "Go upstairs and take a long, hot shower," she instructed him, busying herself with various things around the kitchen. For once, she had every intention of actually cooking him a meal. "I know I was freezing fifteen minutes ago, and your body protected mine during most of our ride. You have to be a solid sheet of human ice."

"I actually don't feel temperature extremes, remember?"

Rolling her eyes and still refusing to meet the blonde's, she strode across the few steps separating them, placing her warm hands on his bone chilling chest. "Trust me, Jason," the college graduate promised. "You're cold, so will you please go upstairs, take a steaming shower, and, when you're done, I'll have dinner ready."

"You will have dinner ready?"

Laughing, she playfully pushed him out of the room, her insistence the only answer he was going to get. Still amused, Elizabeth leisurely made her way to their pantry. There was really only one thing she could make other than brownies without risking either death by poison or burning down the house, and, although soup wasn't the most filling of meals, it would certainly feel and taste good after spending an entire day out in the elements riding. Luckily, the last time she had gone to the grocery store, she had picked up several cans of the winter food staple, and, figuring she'd play it safe, she pulled out a couple of the chicken noodle variety. Dumping them both into a sauce pan, the brunette set the broth to boil, getting crackers out to accompany the easy meal. Minutes later and everything ready, she put the food on a tray, carrying it upstairs.

Using her foot to knock on the bedroom door, she waited for a reply. "Are you decent?"

A mumbled 'yeah' told her she could enter, so she pushed through, her back towards the 

man she lived with as both hands were occupied with the tray.

"So, I thought we'd eat up here, because, I don't know about you, but I'm still cold."

"Uh, Elizabeth…"

But she never heard his objection. Rambling on, she explained, "I don't care what we do afterwards, either. We can watch television, put a movie in, or you can read while I sketch. But, with the heat turned on and if we light a fire, this will be the warmest place in the house, especially with all the blankets I have on the bed."

Taking the food from her and setting it aside, Jason gently took hold of her shoulders, positioning them so that they were facing one another. "You do realize what you're saying, don't you?" Scrunching up her face, the artist carefully observed the retired enforcer before her, unsure of what he was trying to ask of her. "I mean, are you sure you want me to stay up here… in your bed… with you?"

"Sure," she shrugged, the movement dislodging her husband's large, soothing hands from her arms. "I don't… Since that night," she confessed, biting her bottom lip slightly as she continued to talk. "It doesn't bother me to be around you like that, and, to tell you the truth, I won't be able to sleep tonight unless I know that you're warm and comfortable. What you did today for me, taking me out on the snow mobile, telling me about your past, it was one of the sweetest, most thoughtful gestures anyone has ever offered me before."

Evidently, it was his turn to squirm and blush under the affection of her words. "It was nothing."

"No, Jason," the brunette argued, offering him a wide, gracious smile. "It was definitely something. Now, come on," she urged him, moving to climb into the bed herself. "Let's eat."

So, that's what they did, and, in between bites, she told him one of her own secrets. While it might not have been an explanation as to why she, too, was currently in the witness protection program, and while it might not have been nearly as emotional or important of an admission as his was earlier in the day, it was, nevertheless, still something she had never told anyone else. She told him about her desire to someday live, work, and study in Italy, and, before she knew what had happened, their dinner was gone, and they were both full and completely relaxed.

"Wait here," her roommate instructed her, getting up out of the bed and taking the tray with him. "I'll be right back."

Struggling to reach the remote on the opposite bedside table, Elizabeth was just about ready to turn on the TV when the man she lived with returned, a large, bludgeoning-capable book in hand. She didn't even have a chance to ask him what it was he was going to be reading about before he had the remote out of her hand and far across the room where it was completely out of her reach. "What are you doing?"

"No television tonight," the former enforcer instructed, "no movies, no sketching. I'm going to read to you."

Skepticism tinting her words, she teased, "you're going to read to me?"

"That's what I said, didn't I?"


"Alright then," the twenty-three year old allowed, pulling the blankets back so that he could climb in beside her. "What did you bring us?"

Randomly selecting a page, the blonde started to read, his words immediately making the artist stop, pause, and then fidget eagerly. "Avigliana: On a fine day, this small town perched beside two glacier-fed lakes and enriched by tall mountains looks breathtakingly beautiful."

"Wait," she interrupted him, making Jason place the book down against his t-shirt clad chest. "Are there pictures?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, if there are pictures, I'm going to want to see them," she insisted. Without thought, without embarrassment, and without realizing just what exactly she was doing, the petite brunette instructed him, "lift your arm, so I can sit closer to you."

He listened, and, by the time her husband started reading to her again, she was burrowed against his side, her head resting against his shoulder. It was the most comfortable she had ever been before in her life.

"Avigliana is overlooked by a castle, first erected in the mid-10th century but now in ruins, which was once the home of the counts of Savoy. Until the early 15th century the town was one of their favorite bases.

"The medieval houses here are largely unspoiled, particularly in the two main piazzas, Santa Maria and Conte Rossa. Other building of note are the Casa della Porta Ferrata and the 15th-century Casa dei Savoia, both on Via XX Settembre.

"The church of San Giovanni (13th-14th century) contains early 16th-century paintings by Defendente Ferrari.

"Pinerolo: Pinerolo lies in an attractive setting…"

As Jason's words whispering of another country, of another lifetime, of another dream surrounded her, Elizabeth closed her eyes and melted into him, savoring both his physical and his emotional nearness to her in that moment.

It was the perfect conclusion to what had been a perfect day.

A/N2: The excerpt at the end of this post came from Italy (Eyewitness Travel Guides), and I found the random selection on . Simply by clicking the 'surprise me' option, the page that this excerpt was taken from (page 219) randomly came up. I've never read the book, and I don't own it either.