A/N – The chapter from this title roughly translates to, In the Open Air at Night or Under the Beautiful Star. It just sounds better in French so I kept it as such. Also, can I just mention how utterly fascinating all your reviews are? Judging from them, I can kind of sort readers into three groups. I've got readers who seem more frustrated than Pam and Tara themselves because these two have yet to fall in bed with each other to do the hanky panky. I've got readers who are just happy to float on the gentle waves of their slow but sweet courtship and I've got readers who just want Tara to turn Pam already because apparently the concept of a BabyVamp!Pam is cooler than sliced bread. Whichever group y'all see yourselves in, know that I'm grateful and appreciative that you're invested enough in the story to make your opinions and wishes known.

Here's the next chapter for y'all before I jet off. Happy reading!

Chapter 21 – A La Belle Étoile

It was New Year's Eve.

Tara had pressed for an outing on the beach, citing a sudden, deep yearning to lay with Pam under a star pierced canvas of black velvet.

In truth, she simply longed for the seclusion and solitude that was comprised solely of her and her mate.

Of course, Pam had indulged her whimsy readily. The blonde found it hard to say 'no' to Tara, often too charmed and enchanted by the playful twinkle in those dark eyes and the deliberate pout that would form on tumid lips when Tara thought Pam might think to refute her request.

In truth, Pam was more than willing to spend the evening in the company of the vampire that had so completely stolen her heart.

She knew she would never get it back, her heart that is. It didn't belong to her anymore, wasn't hers to keep under lock and key, to nurture and treasure and keep safe.

That privilege rested in the capable hands of her mate.

The notion didn't petrify Pam as much as it did in the beginning.

Because in return, Tara had given her hers.

And what Tara had taken, she returned to Pam tenfold, bequeathing upon the blonde a love so deep and pure and true that it never once failed to stagger her.

Tara had been well within her rights when she had labeled their love olamic.

Pam never knew it was possible to love so unselfishly, so completely, to feel it deep in the marrow of her bones, warming the threads that made up her heart and soul.

And to have that love reciprocated in equal fashion?

It made tears sting the corners of her eyes.

"You are very pensive tonight, Princess."

Tara's voice, that low alto riding on a gentle Southern drawl unfurled around her like the most tender of caresses, a stroke of velvet against the smooth, soft surface of her skin.

Pam looked up, blue eyes vivid, mercurial from her ruminations, the steel-gray flecks churning within a whirlpool of azure, cerulean and cobalt.

"I'm sorry."

Tara shook her head, her expression soft, painfully tender as she stared down lovingly at the woman lying in her lap.

"Don't you ever apologize to me."

Dark fingers quested unhurriedly down the side of an ivory carved face, as it had since the pair had taken up temporary lodgings on a secluded area of the stretch of beach that yawned downwind from the outskirts of the city.

"You may sail along the waters of your contemplations for as long as you deem necessary," Tara breathed out softly as she traced the delicate arch of a pale eyebrow before allowing a lone finger to skate down the celestial slope of a pale nose. "I know you'll come back to me when you're ready."

Pam smiled at this and turned to press a kiss to a tunic covered stomach, feeling acutely the prominent abdominal muscles that stood stark and proud against silky ebony skin beneath her lips.

They quaked in response to the intimate touch, clenching and fluctuating before Pam's kiss soothed calm and contentment into that beautifully sculpted musculature.

"I love you," Pam whispered, voice tremulous under the weight of her emotions but her words were firm and unyielding as she proclaimed her devotion to Tara.

Tara lips curved, fingers skimming over a full bottom lip that instinctively puckered out in response, seeking further contact.

"I know."

The vampire traced the delicate line of Pam's jaw, walked a single night-kissed digit up to the lobe of an alabaster ear then curled a lock of corn silk hair around her finger.

She looked down at Pam, dark eyes unapologetic in the manner in which she stared, lovingly, dreamily into Prussian blue eyes that gazed up at her in turn, the windows to her mate's soul open and inviting.

Pam sighed as she observed Tara from her reclined position on Tara's lap.

Summer had since long come and gone and winter was in currently in full bloom, spreading her brumal influence over the city of rolling hills and undulating fogs.

And now, an hour shy away from the New Year, Tara still managed to look at her as she did all those months ago.

Like Pam had personally hung the moon and the stars in the sky.

Hung them solely for Tara.

It was hard to miss the rapture in those fathomlessly dark eyes fashioned from obsidian and midnight, impossible to deny the fierce spark of love and affection that would flare to life whenever Tara looked at her.

Should she live for a hundred years, Pam knew she would never once tire of the way Tara regarded her.

With complete and utter devotion.

She smiled up at the vampire, a soft, besotted smile that flirted gently with her crimson lips. She lifted a hand and caressed a dark, cool cheek, colder now from the wind's insistent kisses.

"I love you," Pam whispered again as she played the pads of her fingers down the strong line of Tara's jaw, heart clenching when Tara's eyes fluttered shut and her head tilted, her body instinctively reacting to its mate's touch, leaning into those warm fingers that stroked love and warmth and peace onto ebony skin.

Tara indulged in the feel of Pam's warm, soft fingers against the side of her face, loving how they coaxed her into a quiescent state, infused her with a kind of peace and contentment that before Pam, she had never been privy to.

The way Pam touched her now, caressing her face as though she were some priceless artifact, precious and fragile as glass, was almost enough to distract her from the faint strand of melancholy that twined around that powerfully feminine scent of lavender, honeysuckle and vanilla.

Almost.

Her mate wasn't sad, that much Tara knew for sure.

However, there was an air about Pam tonight that sluggishly stirred Tara's concern, her beast rousing slowly to protective consciousness as starbursts of the almost unreadable emotion flared intermittently to life as it had been throughout the course of the evening.

It had been dismissible at first. The evening had started off with easy playfulness and gentle teasing, Pam and Tara arriving onto the beach in time to see the stars' acronychal rising through the near transparent curtain of shredded fog.

Tara had made quick work of the expansive picnic blanket, weighing it down with a woven picnic basket and a portable gas lantern.

The second blanket, a knitted afghan of maroon and burnished gold had been for Pam, Tara ensuring that the blonde was well equipped with the necessary accessories to ward off the chilly bite of winter's breath.

The evening had taken off well.

Pam had taken to reclining fully out on the picnic blanket, her head resting on Tara's breeches clad lap, the lower half of her body swaddled beneath that afghan of maroon and gold. She had delighted Tara with a reading from one of her favorite novels, the vampire only interrupting her steady recitation by occasionally feeding her grapes and slivers of bread and cheese.

And when the impromptu reading had been exhausted, the pair simply took to conversing with each other, Tara regaling Pam with stories of ancient times, boasting in an exaggerated fashion every now and then if only to procure from her mate an arched brow and an incredulous smirk.

After that, when the last visible vestiges of blue blushes that kissed the steadily darkening sky had all but disappeared under a landscape of winking stars and unfurling fog, the pair descended into a comfortable silence, Pam staring contemplatively out into the fog-drenched bay, half-lulled into a torpid state by the manner in which Tara had taken to lovingly, absentmindedly stroking her face.

Tara herself had simply sat on the picnic blanket, more than content to allow Pam to use her as a makeshift resting couch. Obsidian eyes had easily pierced through the veil of darkness now blanketing the beach, the lone lantern's aurulent glow only going to far as to spill its light and warmth over the immediate vicinity that was their blanket.

She had watched the shifting sands and churning waves, forever fluctuating under Mother Nature's influential winds and the pull of the full moon that played peek-a-boo with bloated adumbral clouds that drifted listlessly across an ink-spilled sky.

Her fingers never stopped from where they journeyed repeatedly over the hiemal landscape that was Pam's aristocratic face. As they had been from the beginning of the evening, Tara allowed them the indulgence of an unhurried mapping of her mate's face, rememorizing features that were already a permanent impression in her mind.

The tactile contact, the way Tara would gently brush the pads of her cool fingers over the regal slope of a pale nose only to fall off to the side to thumb a prominent cheekbone, the manner in which she would stroke imaginary patterns over the smooth, warm expanse of an alabaster cheek only to then reach down to outline the sensual curvature that was Pam's lips, it was this tactile communication that soothed both human and vampire, an affirmation of love being given and received.

Tara's fingers continued now, running across the hairline of ondoyant hair that was as soft as silk and in the low glow of the lantern, came across like spun gold.

She sifted a few satiny strands between her thumb and forefinger, marveling at how flawless, how soft Pam's hair was, enthralled by the contrast of color when it coiled around her ebony finger.

Her eyes diligently followed the tracks of her fingers, near tangible caresses that were hopelessly sweet and tender as she gazed down at Pam who had her eyes at half mast, tumid crimson lips parted slightly to allow small puffs of silvery-white condensation to float from the warmth of her mouth and into the winter and brine tinged air.

Her mate was lost to her ruminations again, spirited away by thoughts that once again uncoiled those thin tendrils of melancholy that twined around Pam's scent of lavender, honeysuckle and vanilla.

Tara's own scent, that wild, earthy and spicy bouquet of musk, cloves and sandalwood greeted Pam's aroma like a lover deprived from her beloved for longer than she could bear. It was an intimate mingle of smells, a perfect blend of scents that danced languidly around Pam and Tara, a heady, unique canopy of their own creation.

"Tara?"

"What is it, angel?"

"Tell me a story," Pam requested, voice soft, quiet.

Tara searched those pools of sapphire, her fingers now temporarily resting on the side of Pam's face, gentling stroking, her touch reassuring, calming.

She could see that nearly unreadable emotion swirling in those thousand shades of blue and gray, almost taste it on her tongue, a faint trace of flavor that was gone before she could think to put a name to it.

Still, despite the subdued nature that was Pam's current disposition, Tara wasn't too worried about her mate's broodings.

After all, was it not she who granted Pam permission to sail away on the oracular ocean of her musings?

She had.

She would give Pam anything.

As long as Pam came back to her at the end of night, Tara would allow her mate to drift as far away from the physical comfort of her presence and touch as she wished.

"Do you know of the true origins of Christmas and New Year's traditions?" Tara asked quietly as her fingers resumed its walk over regal features, tracing, learning, memorizing.

"Tell me."

"Contrary to popular belief, Christmas has long been celebrated before the birth of Christ," Tara began, voice taking on a distant inflection as she too began a journey into her memories. "Only then, in the time of ancient Rome, it was known as the Festival of Saturnalia. Ancient Romans believed that winter was the workings of the God of the Dead, hell-bent on ensuring famine and starvation amongst the masses by reducing daylight and causing crops to fail.

"Saturnalia was a festival that commemorated the Sun God, Saturn. He was also the God of agriculture and harvest. Back then, people believed that the sun lost its power due to the annual battle between the sun god and the god of the dead. To ensure the sun god's victory, human sacrifices were made, be it man, woman or child.

"It became law, this festival. Roughly between the dates of December seventeen to December twenty-fifth, a week-long celebration commenced. Courts were closed and people were immune from prosecution should they choose to damage property or inflict upon their neighbor, an injury. A sacrifice was chosen from he community to represent the 'Lord of Misrule.' It was considered a great honor, to be that human sacrifice that would ensure the sun god's victory and bring back the power of the sun at the beginning of the year.

"The chosen would be fed hearty foods. They would be graced with physical pleasures, get drunk on the finest wines, given access to indulgences befitting to only the rich and powerful. Then, when the time came, they would be brutally murdered, a bloody sacrificial offering to ensure that the sun god emerged victorious and that the sun would return to full power to grant the people a good harvest.

"People would then celebrate by singing in the streets, throw feasts laden with food and drink, engage in carnal acts until their bodies were sated and bedewed with the physical evidence of pleasure."

Tara allowed a wry chuckle to escape her dusky pink lips as she gazed down at Pam's slightly widened and appropriately appalled blue stare. She smoothed a thumb over a prominent cheekbone. "Of course, the traditions now are a far cry from the savagery and debauchery that stained those ancient times. When Christianity took a foothold over the empire of Rome, they adopted the festival of Saturnalia and renamed it 'Christmas', hoping to convert the pagan masses and induct them into the ways of the Christian church.

"However, despite the attempted conversion, it took centuries before the Christmas traditions we see nowadays to take shape and form." Tara touched the tip of her finger to the tip of Pam's nose, grinning softly, fondly, when Pam scrunched that feature in question in response. "Back then, people were freer with their inhibitions, society not yet dictating for reserve and demanding decorum. You would be scandalized had you been able to observe firsthand how people would often conduct themselves in public."

"I'm sure," Pam murmured, leaning into Tara's touch when the vampire pressed her palm against her pale cheek. "What about the tradition of a New Year's kiss? From where do those roots lie?"

Tara smiled at the question. Pam's thirst for knowledge was yet another aspect of the blonde's character that so appealed to the aimless wanderer in her. She had centuries of knowledge, almost two millennia of information stored within every nook and cranny of her vast and sprawling mind.

To be able to share even a fraction of all that she had procured over the centuries was not only a relief but a joy.

"Multiple theories abound regarding that subject," Tara confessed as she let her thumb find lodging on Pam's full lower lip, lightly stroking at the tumid flesh, relishing the warm puffs of air against her cool skin.

"Some say that a kiss with your beloved on the first stroke of midnight, the stroke that ushers in the New Year, will strengthen the bond of your relationship in the year to come.

"In Europe, there is the centuries old tradition of holding masquerade balls on New Year's Eve. The masks that people wear serves as a symbol of all the demons and evil spirits that have plagued the individual during the old year. And when midnight comes around, the mask is taken off and kiss is given in its stead.

"The kiss was an act of purification, a cleansing of the body and soul, to allow for a prosperous New Year unshackled by the burdens and strife of the previous year."

Tara bent and brushed her lips to Pam's forehead, drawing a contented sigh from her mate. "Either way, the tradition of a New Year's kiss is to begin the year with a slate clean and free, to purify yourself so that you may venture into the future without the weights of the past on your shoulders."

"New beginnings," Pam concluded softly, looking up at Tara.

The vampire nodded. "New beginnings." She bent once more, this time whispering a kiss to full crimson lips then pulled back to look into steadily into Pam's eyes. "Are you ready to tell me what's wrong?"

Pam's lips quirked purposefully and a pale eyebrow arched, two acts to present to Tara, an air of nonchalance.

"Why would you intimate that anything was wrong?"

She was stalling, biding for time where she could, her thoughts on a certain matter not quite corralled in an organized fashion for vocal presentation.

Tara chortled softly at Pam's attempt at deflection. She touched a finger gently to Pam's lips. "This precious mouth of yours may prevaricate with razor sharp precision and skill, Princess, but your eyes, your eyes never lie, Pamela," she murmured throatily as she followed the sensual arc of crimson lips with the tip of her finger. "Not to me."

She ducked her head then, kissed the lid of each eye in question, lips lingering before she drew back. "Something heavy has lay claim to your mind, Pamela. I can see the burden of it in your eyes." Tara caressed a wind-cooled cheek, her touch meant to soothe, to relax. "Have you yet managed to untangle its knots or are you still ensnared upon its thorns?"

Pam sat up slowly at this, the blanket encasing the lower part of her body slithering down to pool at her shoes.

Tara immediately leaned over, gathered the thick material in her hands then gently wrapped it around Pam's shoulders, tucking it securely around her mate's lithe frame to ward off the chill of the night.

Then, she simply tucked her legs beneath her and sat before Pam, her gaze expectant but not demanding. When a playful gust of wind danced through Pam's loose hair, tumbling stray locks over her face, Tara reached out and brushed it off her forehead before slipping the errant strands tenderly behind an alabaster ear.

Pam regarded Tara, silence singing a soft aria between them. Cerulean hued eyes outlined the immortal features of her vampire's face, took in the manner in which Tara's ink-soaked hair with enigmatic tints of ocean blue and green danced playfully in the wind's embrace, as though delighted to defy gravity for even a fraction of a second.

"I love you," Pam finally spoke, her husky inflection slicing through silence's song.

It was her third proclamation of love that night, her voice resolute, soft yet fierce at the same time.

Blue eyes were vivid with the intensity of her emotions, glowing like sapphires set aflame from a face that was flawless in its wintry perfection as they regarded Tara.

"I love you too."

It was a simple reply, an instinctual construction of words that was as natural as the stars in the night sky.

What made it complex was the manner in which it was delivered. Tara had soaked each syllable, drowned each letter with a love so profound, a love so true that the simple sentence seemed to take on a new meaning of its own. It was rich with the vampire's affections, infused with a fidelity that would have seemed improbable had Tara not have opened her mouth to allow those words to fall from her lips like wine.

"I've come to a decision regarding a matter I know is dear to you," Pam hedged, her naturally husky lilt betraying a strain of her nervousness.

She stared into atrous eyes, eyes the color of India ink, barely discernible flecks of chocolate brown drifting languorously in those inky pools.

Eyes that held nothing but love.

Love for her.

Only her.

Tara said nothing, did nothing. She did not move, did not remove her eyes from Pam's, her steady, calm gaze resting gently on orbs of azure.

"I'm not ready to leave the brothel just yet," Pam explained. Her voice was steady, her tone sure if soft, holding just a hint of wanting to be understood. "I won't simply abandon the girls in my care. I can't; they rely on me."

"I know."

Tara's reply was equally calm. There was no censure in her Southern drawl, no hope of expectation, no inkling of a demand, no judgment.

She simply gazed unapologetically into cerulean hued eyes, giving Pam her full attention despite the manner in which those mercurial shades of blue and gray enraptured her visual senses, drawing her into those wintry depths until she was but a willing victim to its siren call.

"But…" Pam let the sentence taper as she cottoned together her thoughts, formulated them into coherent mental sentences that would allow her throat to vibrate and her tongue to moisten as she engineered them into a vocal presentation.

"I won't be taking on clients anymore," she finally breathed out after a pregnant silence. Pam shuffled forwards and reached out to cup Tara's jaw, eyes smarting as she took in the dumbfounded and suddenly, desperately hopeful look on the vampire's face. "I can't, I won't usher in the New Year knowing that I'll have continued to subject you to the knowledge of my having shared my body with strangers."

Pam pressed the tips of her fingers to Tara's cheek, as though the act would help cement the importance of her address into the vampire's mind.

"I can't greet the New Year with the knowledge that I'll have once again, put those burning embers of pain in your eyes. Don't deny it," Pam cut in swiftly when Tara opened her mouth to protest. She gently forced Tara's jaw upwards, closing the vampire's mouth.

"I know it hurts you, to have to come to me at the end of the night, only to smell another's scent on my skin." Pam's vision was swimming now, ballooning in and out of focus as she recalled the many nights in which Tara would arrive at her brothel, greet her cordially, lovingly but unable to hide that thin glimmer of hurt that would always cloud the dark of her eyes as she regarded Pam.

Pam knew Tara would never have said anything, never would have allowed her pain and jealousy to come between them but even for such old an immortal, such noble a creature such as Tara, some emotions proved too stark to hide.

It had taken a piece from Pam every time she caught that look in Tara's eyes, flayed a sliver of flesh from her beating heart every time that acherontic cloud would pass over Tara's eyes before the vampire could think to reign it in.

It hurt Pam deeply to know that she had been the cause of Tara's extended agony.

She had hated herself for it.

Hated that she was too weak, too frightened, too pathetic to relieve herself of a crutch that had gifted her with comfort and familiarity for almost longer than she could care to remember.

She hated that she couldn't bring herself to take that one step further that would ingrain herself more deeply and fully into Tara's life, hated that she was that much of a coward, that prideful that she had held onto something that if prolonged would inevitably open up a rift between her and the one individual that wanted nothing more than to simply give her the world.

But she wasn't scared anymore. She wasn't weak or frightened. Tara's love was a bolster, an augment of endless affection and warmth that gave her the strength of her convictions.

Convictions that now allowed her to begin closing this chapter of her life.

"No more clients," Pam informed Tara softly. "I won't put that anguished expression in your eyes anymore. I refuse."

Tara swallowed, the lump in her throat burning against her esophagus. Tears of a rich, dark crimson formed in her eyes, rimming them red as her ears continued to echo with the remnants of Pam's passionate address. She was helpless when they inevitably fell, twin tracks of scarlet that scattered down her cheeks like misplaced rubies.

Pam observed Tara's crimson tears, intrigued by them even as the sight of it caused her heart to twist in the most painful fashion behind her ribs. The hand still cupping Tara's jaw moved up, her thumb extending to brush away the ruby red stains.

"Say something."

Tara's silence was unnerving, the look in her eyes devastating. Her tears were the worst of all, crimson drops that sank like blades into the fabric of her soul, staining them red and spreading like a plague.

"Tara?"

The anxiety, the loud clang of trepidation that tolled against Pam's raspy tone roused the vampire back to the present moment.

Tara didn't attempt to wipe away her hematic tears. Instead, she wore them as badges of honor, manifestly grateful that her body still allowed for her emotions to take on physical shape and form by way of tears.

She reached out, gently touched the tips of her fingers to Pam's own damp cheek, her mate's tears clear as crystal and salty as the briny sea, but nonetheless enchanting.

"Thank you, Pamela."

No other words needed to be said.

On this night, minutes shy from a New Year, Pam had bequeathed upon her, a gift she had yearned for with every wretched fiber of her being.

It was a gift she meant to cherish for the rest of her nights.

The vampire reached for a pouch tied to her hip. Limber fingers undid the knot then slipped inside, fishing about for something before coming away with a small pocket watch. She clicked it open, smiled when she took note of the time.

"It's but a minute before the New Year, my beautiful angel," Tara whispered, her voice hushed.

She carelessly cleaned her face of the thin streaks of crimson with the sleeve of her thankfully dark blue tunic then lean in to kiss away Pam's lazily meandering tears, each brush of her full lips against Pam's warm, damp skin eliciting a small shiver.

Ten.

"You are apodictically resplendent, Pamela," Tara husked as she thumbed away the last remnants of tears. She then cupped Pam's face in her hands, her touch unfailingly tender.

Nine.

"I'm going to love you until the end of my days," Tara vowed, voice breaking under the weight of her emotions. "Should I ever happen upon the true death, I promise, from the grave and beyond, I'll find a way to keep on loving you."

Eight.

Pam felt her tears start anew. She let them fall, let the hot wash of her briny tears anoint her cheeks, cleansing her soul. She stared deep into eyes that were forever her undoing, eyes that spoke to her, Tara's undying love, her irrevocable need and want of Pam.

Seven.

Tara thumbed Pam's tears away, her midnight kissed gaze never once leaving empyrean eyes that were coated with thin sheens of shimmering tears.

"You are so beautiful to me," she whispered, her tone reverent. "So enchanting." Her eyes stung with the threat of fresh tears. "I could look at you forever."

Six.

"Tara…"

Pam's voice was reduced to a tear-choked husk, her accent shifting, sliding into a cadence that spoke of her roots, her origins. She leaned into the hands that held her face so tenderly, stared into a face that could only be worn by gods or angels.

"Tara…"

Five.

Tara shivered at Pam's utterance of her name, feeling that whispered husk against every inch of her. It ignited every nerve ending, set her heart aflame and her soul to soar up to heavens.

She curled ebony fingers of her left hand, ran her knuckles down the plane of a shockingly smooth cheek then returned to cupping the side of Pam's face.

Four.

Pam touched her fingers to Tara's cheek in turn, marveling at the cool softness she found. "How have I managed to live without you all these years?" she wondered, her strengthening British lilt awash in genuine bewilderment. Truly, it felt like before Tara came into her life, her past was but a blurry hallucination.

Three.

Tara turned her head and kissed the fingers Pam alighted on the side of her face, paying homage to each pale digit with sweet, languid brushes of her lips.

"When I first set my eyes upon you, I knew then and there that I was lost." She nipped lightly at Pam's forefinger, grinned when Pam giggled. "I knew, down to the marrow of my bones that I had found the other half of my soul."

Two.

"Three kisses, Pamela," Tara husked out, voice a low velvet rasp. "That's how long it took for me to fall irrevocably in love with you. All it took was three kisses."

Tara moved a hand down to cup Pam's jaw. She used it to lift the blonde's face up to hers, readying Pam for that New Year's kiss she would bequeath upon full crimson lips with nothing less than utter tenderness.

She looked deep into sapphire eyes that smoldered for her, eyes that unraveled her, steadied her, made her feel precious and loved.

"Pamela?"

Pam shivered. "Yes?"

"Can I keep you?"

A sob spilled from crimson lips at the heartfelt request.

"Don't you ever let me go, Tara."

One.

Tara smiled, an expression that was all at once devastating and sincere.

"Never," the vampire promised. "I'm never going to let you."

She leaned in then, sealed her solemn vow with a kiss to Pam's waiting lips that turned her blood molten and made her heart ache in the most delicious manner.

"Happy New Year, Pamela."

Pam sniffed and pressed her forehead against Tara's, drawing from her mate, an adoring sigh.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around Tara's neck.

"Happy New Year, Tara."

TBC

A/N 2 – Tara's accounts about the Festival of Saturnalia and the New Year's kiss traditions all have an element of truth to them. However, I might have embellished a few facts here and there purely for creative purposes. FYI.

Also, the 'three kisses' declaration was taken from the Spanish soap Los Hombres De Paco. I won't go into it because the wound is still too tender but that show had one of the best representations of a lesbian couple. Until…well, you know.