Thank you, so very much, for seeing this story to completion. This was by far my favourite chapter to write - written months ago - while the middle was still to be fleshed out. I love writing it and I hope you love reading it.

Please leave a review and thank you again!

There was starlight across the sky, and underneath it Paris sparkled just as brightly. From their hotel room, atop the hill in Montmartre, they could see the entirety of the city laid out before them like a lover. In any other city the lights and shows were gaudy; in Paris they sparkled like gems across a vast and black sea. They had spent all day in the city, finishing their night in an intimate little bar on the Boulevard De Clichy, and then meandering back up the cobbles. Never, outwith Paris, would Morticia give in so fully to the delights of hedonism without first measuring every possible outcome but it had taken quite the willpower to even reach the hotel without making love. He mused perhaps that was why he loved Paris so much; it had a remarkable effect on his wife. She was sitting up in bed, one of his cigars perched in her mouth, a cat's smile on her face as she basked in afterglow.

Lifting the new bottle of champagne from beside its empty twin, he refilled their glasses and walked unevenly back to bed.

"What was it you promised me?"

"Aha," he laughed, "One day, seven nights."

"You should keep your promise," she offered him the La Gloria Cubana, sliding down and twisting her body in the sheets. He took a long, luxurious draw on the cigar.

"Gomez, what do you love about me?"

She stretched out and lay on her back, aware he was mesmerised he was sure, as she made a show of arching her entire body out.

"The list, the list is infinite…"

"Begin somewhere," she insisted, with a smile.

"What would you say?"

"My body," she said seriously, climbing over him to reach her champagne glass, "Definitely my body. My mind, though sometimes it annoys you because you think I think too much. My smile… I'm lost. Indulge me."

"Do you know, not so long ago our son asked me that question. He wasn't old enough to hear the shallow answer," he enjoyed the smile of indignation on her face.

"So you lied?"

"No, I told him more than I should have. I told him the real, humble truth of it."

"And?"

"I told him I loved, most of all, your capacity for love. I told him the truth. I told him what I'd never tell my friends, my brother. I told him the real reason I was so desperately, madly in love with you."

She puzzled for a moment, then smiled wickedly, "Isn't that a boring answer? Here was me thinking you only valued me for my body."

He laughed richly then, pulling her into his arms and taking his time divesting kisses to her neck and arms and shoulders and avoiding her lips deliberately until she grumbled.

"After all this time, you still want me," she whispered, her nails raking across his chest lightly, "I didn't think you would."

"Do you know the types of love?"

"Yes," she answered, "Of course."

"I have thought of them a lot recently," he kissed his way across her collar bone, "Of Eros."

At this he ticked the back of her knee, eliciting a giggle almost unknown in Morticia.

"Of Ludus," he smiled, "And of Storge."

"And?"

She was breathless, her eyes magnificent with curiosity.

"And you drive me to all of these, to Mania and Pragma. To Agape. You are the driving force in our family, do you know that? You are the force behind all of the love."

"You are making me blush," she whispered quietly, averting her eyes in genuine bashfulness.

"Good," he whispered, "You are the reason for the darkness, but the reason for the infinite light as well. I'll never be more grateful for you and I will never be as grateful to you for giving me what you have given me."

"You are so much better with words than me," she said softly.

Little did she know he thought of that night before their wedding too; of the promises and dreams made, the breaks and changes along the way. He thought of his pen scratching across the paper as he made promises he knew he would keep, not knowing about the ones they might break. The pains and joys of parenthood, the pains and joys of marriage.

"Thank you for coming home," he whispered, touching his forehead to hers.

"My love," she looked almost on the brink of tears, "I could never have left."

And the deepest, the darkest, of quandaries seemed lightened by her words. As he took her in his arms again wonder filled him to the brim.

And...done!