Rubbing back and forth in a smooth even motion, Rumald keenly eyed the edge of the antique ottoman, he was in the process of restoring, smoothing out the nicks in the wood and removing the discoloured varnish. He had been working on it for most of the afternoon. Most of his morning had been spent making calls, ordering and acquiring things for the old picture house. A little nudge in the side of the Mayor, and the permits and licenses were being authorised and completed, with the promise they would be delivered to the shop the next morning. Pleased with his productive morning, Rumald had chosen to have a laid back afternoon and had pulled the ottoman out from where it had been sat, waiting for him to make a start on it.

Rumald drastically leant to his right side, checking the line of the edge in case he had taken too much off. He always enjoyed his sort of work. Anything that occupied his hands and his mind, lulling him into a peaceful trance, where he could think clearly and forget his other worries. Though it was not working like it normally did. The encounter with Cora was very much the focus of his thoughts. He wished he could say it was Neal, who should have been the focus of his attention, but not knowing what Cora's scheme was and what she hoped to gain from it, troubled him.

His ears pricked to the sound of the bell above the front door of the shop. "Gold!"

"What now?" He mumbled to himself, tossing the sanding block onto a nearby workbench.

Rumald crossed to the curtained doorway, which was pegged back out of his way, and looked into the front of the shop to find Emma, standing in the middle of his shop. There were dark rings around her eyes, her shoulders were square and her fists were sat prominently on her hips - She meant business.

"Miss Swan," He greeted her, rubbing his hands together as he came into the front of the shop. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you heard from Neal?" Emma demanded, stomping the short distance to confront him.

His eyebrows narrowed down over his eyes, not appreciating the tone she had taken with him, and said. "No, not as yet."

"Oh god!" She raised her hand to touch her forehead and closed her eyes, silently consoling herself, then dropped her hand from her face to point a finger at Rumald, a fire in her eyes, as she accused him. "This is all your fault!"

"My fault?" He laid his hand on his chest. "I believe the initial fault lies with you and my son for not taking precautions." Rumald calmly threw back at her.

"You told me to tell him! Everything was going fine until you decided to meddle!" Her finger shook under the strain of her pent up anger.

He held his tongue as he rolled down his sleeves, counting to ten in his head, and said, securing his cuffs with the cuff links from his pocket. "Lies and secrets, Miss Swan, are poison to our souls. In time, you will thank me for confessing the truth to my son, whether you're together or not. Because now, you share a bond that no one - no one - can ever break." He tugged his cuffs, straightening his sleeves. "My son has a pure heart, full of love and forgiveness, which is why I've no doubt that this situation will sort itself out." His gaze moved to somewhere over her shoulder. "If he can forgive me, for all the pain and suffering I have put him through, I am sure, he'll forgive you as well."

She retracted her hand, lowering it to her side as she casted her gaze down onto the floor between their feet. "He was so angry."

"What were you expecting? Joyful cries of hysteria?" Rumald asked, his tone dry.

"No, of course not." Emma barked back at him and then sheepishly returned her gaze to her feet. "Just… I'd been so preoccupied with worrying about what to say and how to say it, I hadn't thought about his reaction." She confessed to him.

Rumford breathed in and held it for a second, secretly grimacing at the heavy ache in his chest. He could empathise with her, knowing very well, what it was like to be her shoes. It was a symptom of human nature to be selfish. A strong person was able to ignore these tendencies, shush the secretive whispers that encouraged you to make the wrong decisions and take whatever you wanted, damning the consequences. Rumald was no such person. He was weak and he accepted he was, did not pretend to be anything else. But for Belle… he was trying with all his might to be stronger.

Half heartedly grinning at her, he said. "A consequence of being selfish."

She made a sound like humph at him and snapped at him. "And you'd know all about that! Wouldn't you?"

Her words lightly stung him, nothing though he could not easily shrug away, as he told her. "Hence, dearie, why I told you to tell him."

"So I could hurt him as well?" Emma gestured to herself. "You know," she threw her hands up into the air and smacked them down to her sides. "I used to defend you to Neal, when we were younger, and he used to say you didn't love him or care about him. I used to tell him that it must have been your way of working through his mother leaving you."

Rumald could not help but chuckle at her, whilst she continued. "I'd tell him that you loved him and would do anything for him, but you were hurting too much to see that Neal needed you." He sobered. "Now though, now that I know you a little better, you enjoy hurting people, hurting Neal. You're sick, Gold! And you don't deserve to have a son like Neal!"

Painfully clenching his jaw, he glared at Emma, wanting nothing more than to slap her across the face, send her sprawling onto the floor and stand over her, slapping her till the pain in his heart eased. She had no idea what she was talking about, or how close her words were to the truth. Rumald relaxed his jaw and peeled his gaze away from Emma, and turned away from her to walk behind his counter, placing his splayed out hands onto the edge of the counter.

"I think our conversation is done, dearie." He nodded to the door. "You know where the door is."

"That I do." She grumbled as she whipped away, her long blonde hair flicked up behind her, and stalked grumpily to the door.

Emma forcefully yanked open the door, nearly jangling the bell above the door off its mount, and looked back at him, letting the early evening cold air into his shop. "Belle will see what you're like, what you're really like, so make the most of it while you can."

"Goodbye, Miss Swan." Was his only retort.

The door slammed behind her, sending the bell into ecstatic fit of glee, which slowly died off, leaving the shop in silence. All Rumald could hear was his own heavy breathing. Beneath his calm exterior, his blood was rushing around body, his heart hammering against his chest, with his pulse thudding loudly in his ears. The hum of his anger seething through his veins, calling out for blood, sent a shiver through his body. Breathing in and out, in and out, was the only thing keeping him grounded.

If she had been anyone else, Rumald would not have held back and would have hit back with his own remarks about her past behaviour. He was not the only one, who had ever wronged his son. His head bowed, heavy with the burden he carried. All he ever wanted was the best for his son, wanted him to know love and that he had been wanted. Not be abandoned and question whether his father ever truly loved him. That had been Rumald's childhood and he had failed, giving his son the exact same childhood, although his father had done him the kindness of removing himself from Rumald's life. Whereas Rumald had flaunted himself in front of his son, carried on as though his son had not mattered and basked himself in the love of a woman, who had no care in her heart for Neal or even her own children.

Sucking in a breath, calmer, he lifted his head, taking his hands off the counter, and marched through into the back of the shop. He contemplated doing some more work to the ottoman. He should do some more work to it, seeing as it had been waiting so long for his attention. Instead, he walked by it to collect his suit jacket to put it on and threw his overcoat over his arm. A flick of his finger and the back door was locked. What Emma had said lingered with him, whilst he walked to the curtained doorway, shrugging on his overcoat. She had not told him anything, he did not already know, but her words had struck him deeply and wanted to nurse the ache with a large glass of whiskey.

As he walked through the doorway to the front, Rumald stopped, confronted by the spot, where moments ago Emma had been taking her anger out on him. He was not stupid. That was why she had come to him, wanting to blame someone else. It did not make it right, but he understood why she needed to do it. Rumald had spent nearly a lifetime hating himself, blaming himself, passing that onto someone else would be a God send, but a burden he could never live with. Nobody should have to darken themselves because of his own faults.

Kicking himself into gear, Rumald strolled through the front of the shop to the door and opened the door, ringing the bell much gentler than Emma had, and flicked off the lights as he stepped outside. He glanced in the direction of the Sheriff's office as he took his keys out of his pocket. Shaking his head at himself, Rumald stepped round to the door and locked it, checked it was locked, and pocketed his keys, heading to his Cadillac parked in the alleyway beside the shop.

Ten minutes and he was home, parking the Cadillac in his drive, looking up at his house shrouded in darkness. He thought about how nice it was to come home to a brightly lit house, even if it did annoy him, when Neal left the lights on. Just know someone else was there and he was not alone was worth the cost.

Rumald pulled the latch to release his door and climbed out of his car, sparing a moment to glance around him, pushing his car door close behind him. The street was quiet, like it always was. Though, as he walked around the front of the car, crossing to the front porch steps, he could still envision Neal playing hockey with his friends, flying on his rollerblades. The memory made the corners of Rumald's lips quirk up. Neal had been an adventurous child, braver than Rumald had ever been as a child, not until his aunts had taken him to the dance studio, enrolling him into ballroom lessons. Then his confidence had grown, an inner strength developed, while the coward in him latched itself onto his leg, desperate to not be abandoned again.

Tired with his thoughts, Rumald rubbed a hand over his face as he climbed the porch steps, and combed his fingers through his hair. At the top of the steps, he peeled back his left sleeve, seeing he had just over an hour until Belle would arrive. Possibly a little more, if she decided to walk. He had no clue what he was going to cook. His eyebrows scrunched together in thought as he took out his keys and unlocked his front door, turning on the foyer light as he entered. Shrugging off his overcoat to hang on a peg, Rumald twisted his lips, listing off the contents of the fridge inside of his head. She would not expect anything fancy, she would just be glad to be spending the evening with him, but he wanted it to be special. Wanted to make every minute, every second, they spent together count. So with that in mind, Rumald removed his suit jacket upon entering the kitchen, discarding it to the couch of the sitting area, and rolled his sleeves back up, pocketing his cufflinks, as he waltzed into the kitchen.

In a flurry of activity, Rumald chopped and diced some vegetables, preparing a salad to go with the steaks he was searing in the pan behind him, while he worked at the kitchen island. He briefly turned away from the chopping board, using a pair of tongues to turn over the steaks, checking they were completely seared. Happy, he took the pan off the light and put it into the oven, checking the time with the clock on the mantle above the fireplace. Half an hour would be plenty of time, he told himself, gathering the vegetables for his salad to drop them into a large wooden serving bowl. He drizzled it with a dressing and tossed it a few times, and then left it to sit.

Now that he was waiting for the things in the oven to finish cooking, he decided to indulge himself with a glass wine and sauntered over to the wine rack, hidden in the end of the counter that separated the kitchen from the sitting area. Pulling out a bottle of red, which was the only choice in the rack, as the white was kept in the fridge, Rumald glanced at the label, checking the year. He put the bottle back and picked another, an older bottle, and traipsed through the kitchen to the cutlery draw, while something started to ring on the other side of the room.

Thinking it might be Belle, Rumald abandoned the bottle and skipped a few steps to get to his suit jacket, scrambling to get his phone out and answer it. "Gold."

"Hey dad." Neal greeted, sounding very remorseful.

At hearing his son's voice, Rumald let out a breath and sat back onto the back of the couch, saying. "I haven't stopped thinking about you all weekend. Are you okay?"

"Somewhat." There was a little chuckle. "I've still got a huge hangover from Saturday."

"I could imagine." He smiled at his son's confession.

"How was your weekend in New York? Did Belle have a good time?" Neal asked, skirting around the white elephant in the room.

Rumald stood and went back into the kitchen, pinning the phone between his ear and his shoulder, talking to Neal as he opened the bottle of wine. "It was good. She had a good time at the party, then we spent the Sunday sightseeing until we caught the flight back."

"She's definitely got you wrapped around her little finger." Neal commented with a chuckle. "You've never taken me sightseeing. It was always business, when I came with you to New York."

'You don't deserve to have a son like Neal.' Emma words echoed in his ears as the guilt took a hold of his heart and squeezed. How did he miss so much? Closing his eyes, Rumald put the unopened bottle of wine down onto the counter with a clunk and slumped against it, his hip bearing his weight. He could see his son, nestled in his arms, wrapped warmly in a blanket, sleeping soundly, while his mother recovered from the ordeal. So much promise he had held in his arms. A chance at a new beginning, to prove he was a better man than his father had ever been. More empty promises he had made and he had broken, proving himself to be a worse father than his own had been.

Neal cleared his throat, bringing Rumald out of his daze, and said. "I really appreciate you texting me, dad. I hadn't expected to hear from you."

"I'm trying to do better, son." Rumald confessed, his voice full of raw emotion, hung up on the memory of holding his son for the first time.

"Hey," Rumald could hear the concern in his son's voice. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm okay. Don't worry about me." He told his son, straightening his back, squaring his shoulders, and changed the subject. "Thank you for doing those plans. Let me know what I owe you and I'll put it in your account."

There was a tut before his son spoke. "Dad, I didn't do it for money, I did it because you asked." There was a pause. "Plus, it gave me something to take my mind off Emma."

Rumald stooped forward to open the oven, offering to his son. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Not yet." Neal said immediately, then was quiet for a few seconds. "I need to get my head around the idea that I have… A son."

"No doubt, it seems very daunting at the minute, but, yes, give yourself time." He agreed, even though he hoped his son felt he could talk to him, when he was ready to talk about.

Wearing an oven mit, Rumald took out the pan with the steaks and the tray with the fries he had made, placing them on top of the cooker, as Neal said. "She didn't want to give me time. I told her I needed to think, but she wanted to keep talking about it. Telling me how she thought it was for the best."

Rumald used his foot to close the oven door, while he shook off the oven mit, frowning at his son talking about, and said. "From someone, who's been in Emma's position…" He paused, questioning himself as to whether he should continue. "It was probably like a floodgate opening and once she started talking about it, she couldn't stop herself. She has sat on this secret for nine years."

"Nine years, dad?" Neal repeated himself. "Nine fucking years of my son's life, I've missed out on!"

"I know." Rumald placed his hand on the kitchen island counter. "And sadly, son, you'll never get those years back. The only thing you can do now, is make the most of the time you've got now with him, because I can guarantee that time will go by so quickly and before you know it, you'll miss out on your chance to be there for him. You'll regret missing out on so much."

"It's not like I had a choice, dad." Neal snapped down the phone.

"Yes, sorry, I know. I mean more from this point onwards." He swallowed before continuing. "Don't miss out on things like I did, Neal. What's done is done. What matters now is what you do next."

Neal was quiet until he said. "Yeah, I see your point."

Rumald wore a sad smile as he told his son. "You're going to be a great dad."

His son laughed. "How'd you know that? I haven't really been a dad to him yet."

"Because you're not me." His head bowed as tears threatened to spill down his cheeks.

"Dad…" Neal crooned down the phone.

"Look… Erm... " Rumald wiped away the unshed tears from his eyes, raising his head to look around the kitchen for an excuse to get off the phone. "Belle's going to be here any minute and I need to finish dinner. How about I give you a call later? Or message you… Or something?"

"You weren't a terrible dad." A tear fell in a rush down his cheek. "Before her, you were my hero. It was her that ruined you." Neal stated, while another tear skimmed down Rumald's cheek.

Swiping a hand at the hot wet path down his cheek, Rumald blinked away the other tears, telling his son. "Yes, well… I'm probably more a villain than a hero material, son."

Neal laughed. "To some maybe, but you'll always be a hero to me, dad." Another wave of tears wanted to fall, as Neal said. "Go and finish dinner, and give Belle my best. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay." Rumald smiled through the fresh tears falling. "Anytime, son."

"Night, dad." Neal said, which Rumald returned.

Holding the phone away from his ear, the screen lit up, showing Neal's name at the top of the screen, the caller counter underneath, and then the screen cleared and returned to the locked screen, a picture of a painting Rumald liked. He stood there, his phone cradle in his hand, looking down at it, with one last tear streaming down his face. They had never been as open with one another as they had been during their phone call.

The front doorbell rang. Snapping his gaze up from his phone to the foyer, he could just about make out a figure standing on the porch through the coloured glass. Quickly, he pocketed his phone and went to the sink, turning on taps to wash his face with water, hopefully hiding the evidence of his tears. He dried his face and his hands on the way to the front door, and flung the tea towel over his shoulder as he grabbed the door handle and opened the front door. The smile she greeted him with made him feel instantly better.

"Hello, handsome." was her greetings.

"Hello, sweetheart." Rumald smiled at her as he ushered her into the house, dipping his gaze to the large bag she brought in with her.

"You okay?" She asked pivoting on foot to face him. "You look like you've been crying."

"No, no. Just the heat from the oven caught me." He motioned to the kitchen.

Belle dumped her bag at the bottom step of the stairs and removed her coat, saying. "What are we having? It smells delicious!"

"Nothing special." Rumald took her coat from her and hung it up beside his own. "Just steak."

Her hand grabbed the front of his waistcoat, drawing him closer to her. "Making me dinner is special."

"Mmm…" He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her even closer, so her body pressed against him. "Making you dinner… Sounds good to me!" And launched an attack on her neck, nibbling just under her jaw, near her ear, which he found made Belle make such a heavenly noise.

"Oh god….!" She groaned, clutching the front of his waistcoat.

He needed this, needed her, to make him feel better. Breathing in the smell of her, Rumald forgot instantly about biting her and nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, grabbing fistfuls of the back of her cardigan. Tenderly her hand came to the back of his head, cradling it in the palm of her hand, whilst she wrapped her other arm around him. Her head rested against the side of his, quietly holding him. He could have cried again. Could have let it all go and pour himself out to her, but he would not indulge himself or lumber her with his troubled thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Belle asked, stroking the back of his head.

He breathed her in, filling his lungs, and raised his head, standing to his full height, telling her. "I'm just so glad to see you."

"Hard day?" She queried.

"Something like that." He unwrapped his right arm from around her and brought his hand up to her face, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You?"

"It was okay. Regina was giving me a bit of a hard time, but apart from that, I've had a good day." Belle played with the hair behind his left ear as she told him.

Rumald waved his arm towards the kitchen. "Here, tell me over dinner."

"There's not much to tell really." She went with him into the kitchen, his hand touching her lower back.

"What was Regina giving you a hard time about?" He questioned as he increased his stride to overtake her into the kitchen and began plating up their food.

"She says I'm not showing enough feelings as I'm dancing." Belle said with a confused look on her face. "Whatever that means."

Rumald picked up their two plates and gestured for her to follow him into the dining room. "Exhibition dancing is more a theatrical performance, whereas competition is focused more on skill and presence."

"She just kept saying, listen to the music. Feel the music. I thought she was going to turn into Yoda and make me do a one handed handstand." She huffed and pulled out a chair at the table.

"Can you?" He asked, eyes wide with interest, whilst he placed their plates onto the table.

Her brow scowled at him. "No."

"The force is not strong with this one." He mocked, shaking his head at her, as he went to go back into the kitchen.

"I've got no idea what she means." Belle continued, ignoring his quip. "I'm listening to the music. I'm dancing in time. As long as I do the steps, what else could she possibly want?"

Rumald unwrapped the seal around the neck of the wine bottle and positioned the corkscrew on the cork, saying loudly as he uncorked it. "It's the emotion she wants to see." WIth a small amount of effort and quiet grunt, the cork popped out of the bottle. "She's probably not explaining it very well."

"Maybe you can enlighten me then." She said flippantly, a hint of temper behind her voice.

"Hang on." He gathered their cutlery and two empty wine glasses, hooking their stems with his fingers, and brought them with the bottle of wine into the dining room. "It's not something you can simply explain." He told her, offering a knife and fork to her, as he sat down onto the chair, Belle must have moved out for him.

"Try." She told him, cutting into her steak.

Rumald thought about it, whilst he put the bottle of wine to one side, allowing it to breath, and put an empty glass by Belle and then himself, before he began to try and explain. "What she's talking about, is that feeling you get when you listen to a song, or possibly watching a movie, or reading a book." He waved a hand towards her as he said 'book'. "It's that ball of emotion you feel in your chest, when something's... touched you."

"Like the horse dying at the beginning of Neverending Story?" Belle smirked at him, slightly mocking him.

"It could be for someone." He shrugged his shoulders at her.

Feeding a piece of steak into her mouth, Belle closed her eyes, savouring the taste, and said to him. "This is really good."

"It's steak." Rumald's brow pushed slightly up his forehead, disbelieving she was enjoying something so simple.

"But it's so good." And put another piece into her mouth, saying around her mouthful. "And you cooked it and I didn't." She grinned at him.

Rumald eyed her, while cutting into his own steak. "I seem to be at a disadvantage with your living arrangements."

Belle laid her knife on her plate and reached across the table to touch his forearm. "I'm not complaining."

He laughed. "Yes, you don't have to cook. It's either me or Granny cooking your meals."

"And I don't have to wash up, either." She beamed, waving a forkful of food in the air.

"Yeah," Rumald chuckled, raising his fork to his mouth. "That's what you think."

Belle sighed. "It's just nice not having to worry about doing things around the house." She rolled her eyes, pushing some more food onto her fork. "Seeing as I used to do all of it."

"Yes…" He mumbled under his breath, not wanting to talk about her time or relationship with Gaston. "As I was saying," He waved his knife as he spoke, steering the conversation away from her past. "Regina wants to see you express that feeling."

"She wants me to break down into tears, balling my eyes out on the floor, because Artax died?" She gave him a pointed look.

Grinning his amusement, Rumald shook his head. "No, sweetheart, just to express it." He gestured with his fork in the direction of the stairs. "Look, after dinner, I'll take you downstairs and try and show you."

"Downstairs?" She repeated, looking to him for an answer.

"Yes, downstairs." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "To my sex dungeon."

Belle laughed, dropping her knife and fork onto her plate with a clatter. "Oh, could you imagine people's faces, if I started telling everyone you had a sex dungeon?" She held her hands to her chest as she added. "I could just see Leroy's face!"

Rumald let out a soft chuckle. "Would be quite funny."

"Fifty shades of Gold." She said thoughtfully.

"No." He shook his head at her, while he picked up the bottle of wine to pour both of them a glass.

"Ruby's going to love it." She closed her mouth around her fork, slowly drawing out her fork, meeting Rumald's gaze as she did it.

He put the bottle down, telling her. "If I hear, any whispers of 'Fifty shades of Gold' around town, I'll be showing the X rated version of that film."

"Really, dearie?" Rumald gave her a stern look after she said it, but he could not stop himself from smirking at her.

Already, he had forgotten about the ache in his chest, his troubling thoughts and the heavy chain of guilt around his neck. Blatantly, Rumald observed her finishing her meal, hardly touching his own, while he took a moment to consider her. Belle was so blissfully unaware of the effect she had on him. She was his compass, keeping him true and straight, keeping him centre. Everything was so much easier, when she was near him, allowing him to think clearly. It made him feel guilty, because he had nothing to offer her in return, only taking solace in her presence.

"Come on then." Belle laid her cutlery onto her plate and stood, reaching for his hand. "Come and show me, what Regina's babbling about."

Rumald did not say anything to her. He simply obeyed, putting his hand in hers, bringing his glass of wine with him, as she led the way from the dining room to the door of the basement. As she opened the door, Belle glanced back at him, shrugging her eyebrows at him, showing her excitement, and headed down the stairs. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, amused by her excitement. His finger flicked on the lights in the basement before he descended the stairs.

"Do you know the name of the song, you and Will are dancing to?" Rumald inquired, stepping off the last step to join her in the basement.

He sipped his wine as Belle told him, following him through to the wall partition at what would be the rear of the basement. "It's called, Bound to You."

After opening the door, Rumald took his phone out and gave it to Belle. "Find it."

"Okay." She took his phone and searched for the song, as Rumald stepped into the room, turning on the lights.

The room was as wide as the house and half the length of the house. The last time, he stepped in there, was the last lesson he had with Regina, when Rumald had told her he had nothing more to teach her. A room that had once given him so much pleasure, now had an eerie feel to it. Memories of building it, of practising with Cora, of making love to her, of teaching Regina, haunted him as he stood there, looking about the room. He took a step, looking at his reflection in the mirror that stretched along the back wall of the house.

"Here it is." Belle came into the room, offering the phone to him.

"Thank you." He said, taking the phone from her, and set off at a quick pace to the sound system, set up in the corner of the room.

"Regina said, you have a dance studio in your basement." She commented from somewhere over his shoulder.

Rumald did not answer her, feeling dazed from the flood of memories. For so long, he had blocked himself off from thinking about their time together, reminiscing about the good times. They had spent so much time in here at one point - morning, noon and night. Pushing each other to be better, to perfect a turn or hold. Hungry for their next win. Striving for their next high, which they could ride out together, putting the passion back into their dancing and in between the sheets.

"Hey," He started at her voice, finding Belle stood beside him, her hand laid on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." He shook away his thoughts. "Sorry." And turned on the soundsystem.

Belle squeezed his shoulder. "Rumald, we don't have to be in here, if it upsets you."

"It doesn't upset me. Just memories." He was honest with her and turned his head to her, showing her a weak smile.

She moved her hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek, and smiled at him. "Let's make some new ones then."

The corners of his mouth twitched higher. Nodding his head at her, Rumald connected his phone to the sound system and set the song she had found playing through the speakers. He swivelled on the balls of his feet to face her and offered his hand to her. With a small giggle, Belle laid her hand into his open hand and he clasped his fingers around her hand, using their joined hands to lead her to the middle of the room. He twirled her and caught her with his free arm, putting them into a dancing position.

"It's not just listening to the song for the beat or changes in tempo." He explained as he swayed with her. "Sometimes, it's about listening to the lyrics or the tune and expressing how they make you feel."

"I love dancing with you." She expressed, stepping closer to him, making him readjust his hold on her.

"Are you listening to me? Or was this a ploy to dance with me?" Rumald asked, titling his head to the side to get a better view of her face.

"Both." She grinned at him.

He twirled her, looking off to one side to hide his grin, and took her back into his arms, carrying on with his explanation. "What I used to do, was listen to the song over and over again, and put myself in the song."

"In the song?" Belle frowned at him as she asked.

"Yeah." He dropped his hands from her and held up a finger to her. "Hold on."

Rushing over to the sound system, Rumald restarted the song and turned up the volume, and rushed back to Belle's side. He held her by her waist and turned her, so her back faced him, and kept her in front of him. Listening, he tapped the beat out on her right side with his thumb.

"Close your eyes and listen to the lyrics." He instructed, lowering his mouth to barely whisper in her ear.

Her head slanted to touch his, but he could see in the mirror that she had done as instructed. Moving her into a gentle sway with his hands on her waist, Belle's hands came up to rest on top of his hands. As the lyrics progressed, he could see a small frown from on Belle's brow, while her hand came up to touch the side of his face. The singer sang, 'I found a man I can trust', and hand pressed more firmly to his face.

"Do you feel it now?" Rumald whispered into her ear.

Belle nodded her head and Rumald dipped his head lower, placing a sweet kiss just below her earlobe. He took her hand down from his face and held it in his own, and slowly turned her round to face him, taking up a dance position with her. Her eyes were still closed and remained that way, trusting Rumald as he began to waltz with her. Narrowing the space between them, pressing her breasts to his chest, he watched her face as she listened to the lyrics.

He angled his head down to whisper in her ear again. "Put yourself in the lyrics."

Leaning back, Belle had opened her eyes and met his gaze, and he crooked a smile at her, seeing in her eyes that she finally understood. Her hand on his shoulder moved again to touch his face, stroking her thumb over his cheek. There was so much emotion shining in her eyes - happiness, sadness, regret, possibly lust - that Rumald was not sure what exactly she was feeling. What he was sure about was that he loved her, loved her so much, he knew he would become nothing if she left him. There was no going back now for Rumald. He had opened his heart and had bounded his soul to this woman in his arms. And from the way her eyes widened as she gazed up at him, Rumald knew she could see how he felt in his eyes.

The tempo changed and Rumald spun her, and then used their joined hands to support her as he lifted her up, continuing the twirl. She took advantage of her new position above him and latched her lips onto Rumald's, letting go of his hand to grab at his shoulder. Securing his arm around her, he pinned her to his chest, keeping her from falling, while they hungrily kissed one another. Gradually he slowed and stopped, and lowered her to her feet, never breaking the kiss with her.

Breaking the kiss and taking in a very loud breath, her hands clutched at his face as Belle touched her forehead to his. "I love you."

"I love you too." He told her, unwrapping his arms to take a hold of her face, threading his fingers into her hair, as he joked with her. "Although, if you kiss Will like that, when you're dancing, I'm going to have to kill him."

Song:

Christina Aguilera - Bound to You