Ah, thanks lovely Reviewers and welcome Louise to the M-rated cheerleading squad. Mcbenzy - I would love for you to do my job so I can keep writing! In the absence of that however, i'll just have to use my lunch hours wisely.

Bridget - this is actually the chapter I was talking about, but now I'm nervous it won't be as well received. Pressure!

Anyway, without further ado, here are some of those tears Niamh warned us about.

In her head, she was already a mother. Twice over, in fact. Each little face, the perfect combination of her and their father's features. Assumpta's dark and unruly hair. His bright, hazel eyes. Their son is patient and kind like his Dad; their daughter, feisty and precocious – exactly how their mother had been as a child.

When Assumpta awoke, she would always feel bereft somehow – like she was missing a part of herself.

Feeling a trail of light, barely there kisses along the top of her back, she knew that this was not one of those days. "Morning,"

She felt him smile into her back. "Is that strictly speaking true?"

Assumpta checked her phone. 12.03pm. "Crikey!"

"Relax, it's Sunday. Your day off."

"Your busiest day!"

"I've already been and come back." Peter announced proudly. "I'm all yours now until evening Mass"

Assumpta turned to face him, "Whatever will I do with you?" she laughed, trying to block her morning breath with a hand.

Peter, unaccustomed to such foibles, gestured at her digits. "What's this? Why can't I see your face?"

"Murning-breff" she muffled.

"Nonsense – can't be that bad." Her bedfellow pushed his mouth onto hers before jokingly, gasping for air.

Assumpta smacked him on the forehead before turning over, nesting her shoulders into the crook of Peter's neck. This really was nice.

Entwining their fingers, noting with irritation that she'd still neglected to remove her wedding ring, Assumpta felt Peter resume his affectionate, feather-light kisses along her spine.

"You'd better watch out Peter Clifford. Any more of this and you might just fall in love with me."

Peter snorted into her back. "I think we're twenty years too late for that."

He felt every muscle in her body stiffen. "What did you say?"

Oh no.

Peter realised that he had a choice; another decision to make. Sidestep what he'd said or be honest.

It was time to bite the bullet.

"I love you…"

Assumpta sat bolt upright and stared at him incredulously.

"I've always loved you," he clarified.

All of a sudden, she felt very naked. Ashamed by her exposed flesh, she pulled the sheet around her tighter, mentally scanning the unfamiliar room of her holiday let for where her clothes might be scattered.

Picking up on her discomfort, Peter felt the panic rise in his throat. "You must've known," he muttered, wounded.

Now Assumpta became angry. Jumping out of bed, nakedness forgotten she shouted, "I had no idea! Do you think I would have asked you to enter into this arrangement if I knew?" She shook her head, disbelievingly. "This changes everything."

Balking at her use of the word 'arrangement', Peter rolled over in bed to face the wall, muttering under his breath.

"I can't hear you." Assumpta called, annoyed.

"I said, maybe you would." His temper rising, Peter turned to face her. "You knew, Assumpta. Don't play dumb with me. After everything that happened – everything we've been through. You knew full well that I had feelings for you – that's exactly why you asked me. Exactly why you knew that I wouldn't – couldn't – say no."

Now dressed, Assumpta moved towards the door. She stopped momentarily and, turning to face him, whispered "All this time?"

Peter looked mournfully into his hands. Feeling the idiot, he replied, "Every day."