Albania
(1947-1957)

September 3, 1949

I took a sip of my steaming coffee, black, while I watched Muggle pedestrians in suits and skirts walk up and down the sidewalk of the Parisian street. A few of the on bicycles also zoomed by. Tom was drumming his fingers against the linen covered table with his coffee inches away, untouched. We were shaded from the noon sun by a cream colored awning. The buildings tightly packed along the streets were colored white, gray, cream, brick – with only dark railings and roofs in common. The windows jutted out, accentuated by the black railing, and the walls and corners of the buildings were angular yet sleek. The chimneys rising from the roofs seemed to barely touch the sky, especially compared to the stark spire of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. The rows and rows of endless windows seemed to connect the buildings together as if I was looking down a mirror that continued endlessly.

With my free hand I fussed with my new robes that Tom bought me to drape them over a crossed knee. I was wearing the white elbow length gloves along with some black high heels I found hidden deep under the bed. Though my calves were uncovered by the blue dress, my stockings kept me warm from the mild weather. I did my hair up in a loose bun, and I splashed on a bit of makeup, only because Tom had dressed so nicely and I felt compelled to match. Still, out in the open I felt very embarrassed because I stood out so much from the dull gray, black, and white clothes of the pedestrians. Even the other wizards and witches didn't wear anything close to eye catching as my cerulean colored wear.

Across the corner was a tall tree full of green leaves, swaying in the autumn breeze. I was drinking the French city atmosphere. I enjoyed watching the Muggle cars drive by as well, all black and shiny and foreign. A few honks came from far away, and I looked back at Tom. By now he had pulled out a tarnished silver pocket watch from his gray three-piece suit. His hair had been combed especially nice and he shaved his face this morning. One leg was crossed over the other in a lounging manner but I could tell he was far from calm.

Supposedly he had been writing back and forth to one of the goblins from Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Tom had been pretending to be some sort of young entrepreneur that stumbled upon some money as well as a rare artifact that he wanted inspected on whether or not they were goblin made. He had told me privately that goblins hated wizards holding onto their creations. Tom knew that he would pique their interest with his claim. His lie had worked and two goblins agree to meet him, but Tom did not want to be found in London or any of England for that matter. In the end, we all had agreed upon Paris.

Currently we were waiting outside Café Mystique, which was an entrance not unlike the Leaky Cauldron into France's wizarding community. Tom and I had gone in earlier, curious what it would be like. We unsuspectingly followed a pair of witches conversing in French into a lift at the back of the café. The lift was old with only a rattling accordion gate that Tom had to close for us to travel to the next floor. The gate was rather pretty with gold-colored metal fashioned in an art deco style. There were no buttons or indication that the lift operated by any way other than magic. I felt like we traveled up quite a distance, seemingly further than the seven or eight floors the building had. Finally we arrived at our destination and a matching set of accordion doors greeted us. The women behind us had not stopped chatting the whole ride up, and brushed past us continuing their conversation. Tom and I stepped out of the lift and admired view.

Instead of an alleyway of shops, this French wizard community was fashioned like an indoor shopping center. The curved roof was held by yellow-painted metal beams and covered with squares of glass so that clear, blue sky above shown through and cast checkered light onto the black and white tiled floors. The shop entrances all looked the same having red pillars indicating when one shop ended and the next began with glass windows and a sunk-in door between each pillar. The only way to differentiate was the shop signs with had all different colors and titles. The corridor seemed to extend endlessly, yet there were only fifteen or so other wizards along with us here. Tom didn't want to stay for long, but he let me window shop through a few storefronts. Under a purple sign and thru the glass were hundreds of cupcakes floating and creating a moving scene of a girl eating a cupcake using bewitched icing. It made my mouth water, but I knew Tom wouldn't even entertain the thought. Under a light yellow sign was a cauldron store. A storefront with a green sign that simply had a wand with sparks coming out of the tip was a wandmaker. There were robe shops too with the most beautiful clothes I had ever seen dressed upon faceless mannequins. I had to admit though, the dress Tom had bought me stood up quite well to French fashion.

The sound of Tom snapping up the watch and stuffed it back into his jacket pocket broke from my memories of an hour ago. Whether consciously or not, he touched the satchel lying in his lap which held his "goblin-made" artifact. His other hand continued tapping against the circular table rhythmically. Tom's face was a cold mask, staring emptily out into the street. His coffee was turning cold, while I cradled mine to my face, sipping it slowly and savoring the rich and dark notes. Poor Tom had been easily frustrated lately, and I knew where it stemmed from.

Ever since the first white rabbit had died at the end of July, Tom's temper had become easily soured. We tried every weekend since either catching more small animals or creating bodies for them (he and I decided that we wouldn't risk the bear quite yet). We stopped last month because our unicorn blood had become close to nonexistence, with only a few silvery drops left. At first, I was a bit saddened by the weekly death of a rabbit or mouse or shrew. I soon got over it. I even expected it, though Tom never did. He always had faith that the next time the body would survive. But none of them ever lasted past two or three hours.

That night after the white rabbit, I felt a pang of guilt stab my heart as I recalled using magic on the buckets. I made sure the next week to do everything without even a thought of magic. It didn't matter as we soon found out: every creature would eventually turn back into a pile of slime. Hesitantly, I made my case to Tom the third Sunday morning that magic didn't affect it by admitting that I used it on the buckets the first time. As expected he was furious. He called me is usual list of insults and threatened me, but I ignored it because what I said was right. He banished me away into the forest to search for the diadem as my punishment. Later when I arrived back to the house around twilight and started to prepare dinner, he admitted that he performed the ceremony with magic. The mouse still behaved and died the same way the last two had.

I studied Tom's face as he gazed off into the distance of streets and traffic. Like the buildings, his face was structured with cream colored skin. His grey eyes were the windows, appearing empty but held shadows lurking further in. His dark hair mimicked the dark tiled roofs, perfectly placed and accentuating the structure below.

My heart ached to hold his drumming fingers still and intertwine my fingers into his. I could imagine the scene if it were to take place. Tom would retract his hand, look at me as if I had grown talons, and then curtly chide me not to act so foolish in public. Afterwards I would feel even more miserable. All the same, my desire was still strong to touch him affectionately like we did at our home. It must be easy for him to turn his attraction to me off and on. It felt like I was dying of thirst when I had to keep my distance. It was an inescapable torment – a full glass of water sitting there right in front of my parched and cracked throat yet I wasn't allowed to drink from it.

Determinedly, I clawed my eyes away from him. It was miserable to keep watching him. As if he would acknowledge me in public as his mistress. What a fantasy that was.

My stomach twisted further as I saw a happy couple holding hands and walking down the sidewalk across the street. They were young like us. It seemed like they were on a lunch date, taking break from their Muggle jobs. Her brown hair was pulled up under a small black hat while donning a tweed grey jacket that covered her dress down to her knees, and he was wearing a casual work suit. It could easily be me and Tom in another life – they looked so happy and in love.

Perhaps I was bitter towards Tom because Norma's wedding. It has been last week but Tom had refused to let me attended – even if I was by myself.

"But why my lord? I promised her I would go," I implored him, catching his arm as he stood up away from the bed. It was late at night, and we were just about to go to sleep when I brought up the conversation. I wrongly assumed he would be in a more permitting mood.

Tom turned to look back at me and yanked his arm away. "Then you better learn to stop promising things you can't control. It looks bad on your reputation." He walked towards the bathroom but didn't close the door. From sitting up in the bed I could see him fill a cup of water and drink casually, as if he was mulling over his thoughts.

I waited until he exited to continue to press the issue. "I don't understand why though. Wouldn't it be good grounds to find more followers – more Death Eaters?"

He stood next to bed close to where I was sitting, straightening his back so that he loomed over me. "We are not going back to the mainland."

I made a noise of disbelief. "Truly? Did you just come back recently with unicorn blood? The truth is you can go whenever you want but I can't – isn't that so?"

His eyebrows creased slightly and he bent his head closer to mine. With no further expression he admitted, "Yes, that is exactly it." Then he pulled away from me and began pacing around the room letting his hands roam the air as he talked. "You are a wild card Eva. Even when I'm in the vicinity, you still manage to cause trouble. How on earth could I trust you to go somewhere alone? I don't know how many times I have to tell you, but you are my representative. Everything you do reflects the actions of Lord Voldemort."

He wandered back towards me and put a hand under my chin to lift my face. "And currently you disappoint me."

I bit my lip and refused to look him in the eye. My chest felt crushed by what he said. Though I was getting better at his stinging words, I wasn't prepared for them that night. I hid my sadness with anger.

His hand opened up to allow his fingers to trace my jaw and cup my cheek gently. I continued to stare at the bathroom door, my face a knot of fury. He sighed lightly, "Eva, you can learn, I know you can. I'm very certain in the future you won't be such a walking disaster, but as of now I won't take the risk. And the reason I can go to Diagon Alley and you can't is because I'm working on a new charm that makes one's face unrecognizable for a short time." I looked at him with this new information and my eyes narrowed. Before I could burst out at him that he could just use the charm on me for the wedding and no one would be the wiser, he continued speaking. "It's not finished yet. It doesn't work for me all the time, and I don't want to try it on you until I'm certain. The fact is, you're not going to the wedding and that's final."

Tom was getting better at charming me. I remembered a time when I saw through his act at Hogwarts, but now I knew he was playing the same games with me as he did with the professors. Maybe children were immune to him somehow, and I had lost my protection. Or perhaps it was because ever since we began sleeping with each other I saw a glimpse of vulnerability in Tom that I had never seen before, and now I was imagining it come out far often than it really did. Regardless, he took advantage of me either way.

A suspicious hacking cough sounded from behind Tom and I while we gazed off into the Parisian boulevard. We both turned to see who or what it was. Two short persons, wearing wide, flat hats that covered almost all their face in shadow and long black trench coats that dragged on the floor, waved at us to follow them into the café. Tom gave me a quick twitch of his eyebrow as if he was interested in where this was going.

We sat down across from the two strangers in a dark corner not too far away from the lift in the back of the café. A witch wearing waiting clothes came up to us and asked our order in French, but Tom sent her away briskly.

The men lowered their hats at the same time. Before we could see their faces, we saw their long pale fingers and knew what was in store. Both men – actually goblins – were bald with pale pointed faces and ears. The goblin on the left had dark eyes while the goblin on the right had more honey colored eyes. The fair-eyed goblin also had browner hair flowing out from the back and sides of his head where the black-eyed goblin only had grey strings for hair.

The black-eyed, gray-haired goblin spoke first before Tom could. "The name's Ragnok. This here is Brugnod. You're Ardin Travers I take it?"

I tried not to look surprised at the unpredicted name. Tom acknowledged it belonged to him and introduced me as Sarah Burke. It made sense that Tom was going under an alias that was a real person – goblins were meticulous creatures and would find soon enough if a person existed or not. Ardin had been a Slytherin in the year between me and Tom during Hogwarts. On paper they appeared the same – tall, fair-skinned, a long, structure face, and dark hair. That, however, was where the similarities ended.

The goblins analyzed us wearily and did not seem not at all pleased we called to meet them here. They stared at us with their pupil-less eyes, which made them all the more alien. Before the goblin could speak again, Tom quickly started up a conversation.

"Do you usually come out and meet wizards personally?" Tom asked in sort of honest curiosity, though I could tell it was an act. They looked at one another with what I took as a wary exchange. Ragnok replied. "We want to see the items. If you don't have them, our business here is done."

Tom spoke in such a light and innocent tone that if I closed my eyes I wouldn't have imagined that Tom Riddle was speaking. "No, no! I have them, right here," Tom patted his browns satchel in his lap. "I was simply curious that's all. What happens if it is really goblin made?"

Ragnok grunted at the persistence of Tom's questions. "If it is of our craftsmanship, we will take it back."

"For a good price, I hope?" Tom said, his voice higher and unfamiliar.

Brugnod answered him this time. "For no price! It belongs to us – you wizards think you own everything." His partner put a long fingered grip on Brugnod's shoulder to quiet him. Quickly they began talking in hushed Gobbledegook. The words sounded like a rockslide tumbling down a mountain after a rainstorm. Brugnod seemed upset while Ragnok spoke like a mentor. Eventually they stopped.

Tom hesitantly made another inquiry. "So will I be getting paid at all if I give it to you?"

Ragnok said in a tone that was slowly losing its calm, "Show us the item first and then we will see. If you ask us one more question, we are leaving for good."

Tom had come to a dead end. Grudgingly he stuck his hand into the bag and pulled out his treasure. I was mildly curious what it was since he hadn't showed it to me this morning nor later when we had been waiting around outside.

When Tom pulled it out of the bag, I had to hold my chest to prevent myself from gasping. A second later I casually moved my hand up my neck and flipped my hair, to appear not so startled. I had seen the object before, many times, but never in Tom's hands.

It was a tall golden cup that seemed to glow, drinking in the dim light from the dark space. The sides of the cup had thin yet sturdy handles also made of gold. Jewels of red and green flashed before my eyes as Tom twirled it around to place it on the table in front of the goblins. The gold had been hand carved and molded, and on the face of it I swore I saw a small badger.

Ragnok grabbed the cup quickly into is sinewy, white hands. He pulled out a small, monocular loupe and examined each side and bottom of the cup. After a minute of silence he put it down, looked at Tom with his blank, black eyes and said, "This is not goblin-crafted. We'll be on our way."

"Wait, what if I told you I was simply testing you?" A rumble came from Brugnod and his honey eyes turned slant as he stared at Tom. Tom didn't let the goblins speak however. "You're right, this isn't goblin made. But let's say I give you all the items goblins ever made for wizards back to your kind, what would you exchange for that?"

"Preposterous! It would never happen." Brugnod exclaimed louder than we expected. "Who do you think you are? And what a tale to tell to escape this situation you've got yourself into!"

In a lower and more aggressive tone, Tom retorted, "Don't you want to be seen as equals to wizards? Ages and ages we have been fighting, but the final terms never seem to be fair. If we try to right our wrongs by giving back to you what's yours, won't you do the same? Would you give us back the power of our banks? We could even give you your own country to do as you like."

Brugnod stood up, shaking and pointed a long finger with an equally long nail at Tom. "How dare you! You are mad, Ardin Travers. If you are so wise at history, then you'll know that our managing of the banks has produced the most efficiency in all time. Wizards are untrustworthy with their own money, and you would hand a whole conglomerate of banks over to them? You were a waste of our time and my breath."

"Enough," Ragnok said somberly. He stood as well, slower but with just the same amount of indignation. He placed the hat onto his head, which turned his face into shadows. "I'd say 'good day' to you but you've already ruined mine."

The walked away from our table briskly and disappeared out into the city street. With ferocity, Tom quickly snatched the cup back into his bag, turned to look around the almost empty café to see if anyone was watching, and then plucked my hand from my lap to Apparate us back to Albania.

Tom had managed to focus on the couch and we fell into the cushions. Tom stood up immediately and threw his bag into the sofa next to me. He began cursing and kicking the air. "Stupid little half-demons! They didn't even let me get a word in – all they care about is gold and treasures. I swear, they will be the first to pay. I'll strip away their money and their coins and Gringotts from their little imp fingers. Then I'll make them worthless –less than house-elves. We'll see if they've learned to take me seriously then."

He continued his mumbling rampage around the room while I slowly took out the cup from the bag. The gold was warm against my fingers as I traced the faintly recognizable moldings and encrusted gems. I wrapped my fingers around the golden-wrought handles. My eyes focused on the badger while its emerald eye looked back at me in a familiar gaze. This was Aunt Hepzibah's cup – the one that belonged in the empty box bequeathed to me from Hokey's things that I furtively searched for in Diagon Alley years ago. But that wasn't the only thing Aunt H had that I had seen in Tom's possession: the locket he let me wear last Valentine's Day.

I looked at him numbly, not wanting my mind to come to conclusions about what his possession of the cup and locket meant. My head felt like it was underwater – I saw Tom walk around in a blur and my ears were unable to make out his words. I had seen that cup a few times whenever Aunt H drunkenly wanted to show it off to Mother and me. I saw the locket even less – perhaps once, maybe twice. Aunt H made my mother put it on her, I recalled. I thought her fat would swallow up the chain, but it unfortunately didn't happen.

Looking back down at the cup, I remembered when Aunt H's fat, pasty fingers that looked like donuts wrap around the golden handles of this same cup lying in my hands. She never let me touch it, or even breathe on it. She was probably spinning in her grave right now.

Like the waves of the ocean beating on the cliff, Tom's voice suddenly crashed into my ears. "Eva! Are you listening to me?"

I had been staring at the green-eyed badger. My head floated up to Tom's gaze. "This is my cup. This is my cup – Helga Hufflepuff's cup. And…that locket – that was my aunt's too. Those things belong to me."

Tom narrowed his eyes at me and put his hands into the pockets of his pleated suit pants. He frowned slightly, and I could feel him dig into my mind. Within a few seconds his face broke into laughter. His voice started deep but then rose up into a high cackle. His swift change in emotion made me jump, but I kept my eyes glued on him. I was unwilling to let him wiggle his way out of this. I wanted to know how my family's things came into his hands and why he decided to keep me ignorant of it.

He calmed down but kept a toothy grin as he fell into the couch next to me. I could feel my muscles prickle, not at all amused by his outburst. This time he was not going to use his charm to get his way. He started the battle of wills off by casually placing his hand on my mid-thigh. "You're mistaken Eva. They're mine. I took them." His eyes were dark yet full of some evil pleasure, the same look he gave when he had talked about murdering his father.

Like being dropped into a freezing ocean, I was hit with the realization that Tom was the one who had killed Aunt Hepzibah. His grin didn't fade as he saw the truth dawn in my eyes. I kept my fingers wrapped tightly around the golden-wrought handles as I spoke. "No. You murdered for them. You're the one who murdered Aunt H – not Hokey. You messed with the elf's memory didn't you?"

He shrugged casually, keeping his smile plastered on his face and his fingers wrapped around my leg tighter. He laughed at my glowering face. I didn't laugh back. Seeing that he was losing me, he blew out a sigh of air from his now grin-less mouth. He pulled his hand away from my leg and wrapped it around my shoulders while he spoke. "I was afraid this might happen today. Yes, I killed her for the necklace and the cup. Burke had sent me out to her house to convince her to sell some priceless items (I didn't know what at the time), but as you know it wasn't going to happen. The minute I set my eyes on the Founder's objects I knew I was going to have to kill her. But things turned out well, didn't they? Her death brought you to the Ministry that same day I was planning on leaving – fate had brought us together."

Tom had been inching closer to me and letting his fingers around my shoulder fiddle with the fabric of my robes. I refused to let his allure entrance me. My face tightened as I frowned at him. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier? Why did you keep my family's things from me?"

The playfulness from his face faded. "Tell me, what would you have done with them? Sell them? Keep them hidden in some stupid box and show them off to company? Let me tell you what I'm going to do with the Founder's objects: I'm going to put my soul into them, just like the diadem. If you can think of a better use than that, I'll hand them over to you – free of charge."

A devilish grin curled upon his lips as he saw my frustrated face. I didn't want to admit it, but Tom's use did seem better than anything I could think of. I wasn't about to drink from it, that was for sure. There was a legend that to drink from the cup would grant you powers, but the tale ended up making the drinker bear a curse rather than a blessing. Feeling trapped, I threw the cup at him like a scared animal that had been trapped into a shallow cave. As if it was a delicate infant, he pulled his arm away from me and stretched out to catch the flying golden cup. His aim was perfect as the cup gently found its way into his hands. He flashed me an irritated glare.

But I didn't care how he felt about me at this moment – I was furious at him. I was angry that he kept the cup a secret from me and the fact that he murdered one of my family members. Yes, Aunt H was terrible, but she was my blood. And he decided all these years to keep it a secret from me.

Tom had stood up and placed the cup upright on the table so that it mockingly flashed its precious gems at me in the sunlight. Tom pulled off his suit jacket and laid it over the back of a wooden chair. He stretched his arms and hooked his hands together behind his neck. Indifferently he stared down at me. "Why are you so upset? You've told me a library's worth of stories about how much you hated her and her whole family. What righteous anger do you have towards me for killing her?"

"She was my blood!" I yelled at him, slightly shocked by how loud I had become.

His eyes narrowed but his hands stayed propped behind his head. "Blood doesn't matter when they betray you." He dropped his arms and waved a hand in the air as if to brush my feelings away. "Hepbizah was as stupid as they come – she was practically asking for it. It only took me a couple visits, a few bouquet of flowers, a little flirting, and she showed me her whole collection. What was I supposed to do? Allow someone like her keep things that were rightfully mine?"

"Rightfully yours?" I spat at him.

In a swift motion he grabbed my jaw tightly, covering my mouth with his palm. "Yes," he hissed "The locket was my mother's. The 'S' stands for Slytherin, if your slow mind happens to need more proof. As you recall from Hogwarts, I am the heir of Slytherin. The cup happened to be an added bonus." My nose flushed out hot air onto his hand as he talked, and my eyes continued to hold their glare. A paused passed between us, and then he smiled faintly. "And so you know, she gossiped about you while we had our tea."

My eyes grew wide. His smile grew wider. "Curious are you? At first she wondered whether we knew each other in Hogwarts, which I half admitted to. Most of her thoughts on you were quite negative. But one of her ideas stuck with me – she held a deep belief that there was something dangerous about you. I remember she said to me, 'There is a reason that girl is alone.'" And then Tom began laughing, like the thought of me being dangerous was as amusing as a clever joke.

In that moment, it felt like the anger boiling in my chest suddenly turned into lumped coal that fell into the pit of my stomach. Tears uncontrollably sprouted from the corners of my eyes. Tom slowly let his hand fall from my face and instead cupped both of his cool hands around my cheeks. He tilted my head up to face him while his laughter faded, but I stared off into the ceiling. My rage had melted away from Tom and was thrust it upon Hepzibah, the woman I thought I was trying to defend.

How dare she tell lies about me to strangers? Maybe it was good she was dead. Who does that to their own family? I knew I wasn't innocent about telling Tom about how terrible she was to me, but that was Tom, the man I loved. I never went around Hogwarts telling any student about how awful the Smiths are. It was as if I wasn't even related to her – like I was some monster who crawled its way into their family and demanded to be loved. But I never received even an ounce of care due to any of them loving me – it was all based on my mother's memory and even that had run dry.

A big teardrop drifted down my face, but Tom's thumb wiped it away. My eyes moved to look at him. His face seemed calm but there was an air of irritability. "The woman's dead now, so it doesn't even matter what she thought or said." He said it with such finality, and we both knew the conversation as over. I realized I had fallen for his charms once again. Secretly I didn't mind a whole lot, if the side effect was his affection. Still, whether or not he was doing it to make me feel better or just to shut me up haunted my mind.

Seeing that he had won, he gave a soft smile and ran his hands over my hair until the stopped on my shoulders. "Well, I think a good idea would be to get your mind off these matters. I see plenty of daylight so why don't you finish up the day by searching for my diadem."

I half rolled my eyes and let out a breathy exclamation of, "By Merlin's beard!"

I pulled myself away from the couch so that Tom and I were standing close together. He lowered his arms and wrapped them around my waist while I put my own hands around his neck. My previously cold heart was thawing since I was able to touch him how I wanted and drink him in. I gave him a serious look and said, "I'll only go if you go with me."

He barked a dry laugh. "You think you have some sort of power over me? You'll do what I say, not the other way around."

I moved closer to him so that our bodies were touching. My fingers twisted down his vest, fiddling with the buttons. I didn't catch his eyes as I playfully responded, "We can just stay at home all day then. I'm sure we can find things to keep us occupied."

Immediately he pulled away from me and held my shoulders an arm's length away. His head was lowered allowing a piece of dark hair fall from its perfect place, and he flashed me a grin that didn't correspond with his eyes. "Now you think you'll trick me into wasting another day with you? Eva – the sooner we find the diadem, the sooner we can move on."

I eyed him suspiciously. "Move on? To what?" Would we move back to England? Or did he mean it in a more metaphysical sense, as in we would move forward in our relationship? Deep down, in my heart, I knew what the real meaning was however. It meant moving on in his plans of conquering the world. Despite Tom keeping me in the dark so much, I was able to connect the fragments of his plan through what he told me sporadically. I think he refused to outright explain it step by step so that I wouldn't be able to betray him. Mostly I think he refused because he was unwilling to trust me enough.

Tom stood up straight and let go of me, arranging his suit vest and fixing his hair. When he finished, he looked at me intensely and said quietly, "You know what I mean. You need to think seriously Eva. Long term. The sooner my original plans come to fruition, the sooner we –" he looked surprised, as if he didn't mean to slip out the last word, "-I can start work on a new civilization. Then, maybe, I'll give us time to waste more days together."

A smile crept on my face, and perhaps a blush as well – I wasn't sure. Regardless of his lies and murder that had recently come to light minutes ago, I couldn't help feeling giddy at the mention of us being together. I sighed in a defeated yet lighthearted manner. "Fine, I'll go and search for the diadem. It's bound to turn up one of these days, don't you think? I think we've searched almost all of Albania by now."

"Not quite. Probably less than half – I've been keeping track," he added quickly due to my distrustful stare.

"But this time," he continued, "perhaps you are right. Two heads might be better than one out there. Let's get out of these clothes and I'll meet you outside. And don't dawdle." I couldn't help smiling while watching him leave to go change in the privacy of his study. I don't know how I did it, but I finally won.