1Lisa awoke in one of the silky complimentary robes, in Jackson's arms.. He opened his eyes and smiled at her.

"I like honeymoons," Lisa stated, giggling slightly.

"They rock," he agreed. He gently stroked her cheek. "I guess it's a little too late for breakfast, now, huh?" He laughed, looking at the clock which read 1:46.

"It seems so," she said. He sat up, and Lisa took him in. His messy hair, his tanned skin, his toned chest. She sighed.

"Like what you see?" he chided her. She swatted him on the arm, but nodded.

"I'm going to get dressed," she whispered.

He nodded. "Me too."

The couple dressed and by midafternoon were leaving the hotel.

"Where to, doll?" he said, faking a 1930's snap in his voice. He linked his arm in hers.

"Let's just walk around...see some stuff," she said nonchalantly as the strolled along.

"Oh, I am starving," Jackson said a few minutes later. "Look, let's eat at this café." He guided her into a quaint café with outside tables.

The rest of the two weeks was the most amazing time for Lisa. They ate in small cafes and bistros, saw sights like the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower, and shopped in quaint boutiques on the cobbled streets. Lisa and Jackson found themselves trusting each other more and more.

On their last day, Sunday, Lisa awoke to her husband's hand on her hair.

"Jackson," she whispered. "Good morning."

He smiled at her, twirling a lock of her hair around his fingers. "You've got pretty hair."

"Why, thank you," she laughed. Then she paused. "We should go to church."

Jackson snorted. "Random. Why?"

"Because it's Sunday," Lisa said obviously. "You had to have known from stalking me that I go to church every week."

"You're seriously one of those hippy-dippy WWJD churchgoers?" he laughed at her. "I thought you went to pick up guys, or something."

Lisa stared at him in dismay. "Like who, the priest? No, if you must know, I was brought up very Catholic. For example, I was taught abstinence till marriage. And well, I would have succeeded if it weren't for that bastard."

"Okay, then, Lisa," he said, holding up his hand. "I promise you we will go to church every Sunday when we get home. I don't want to go here, because the masses will be in French."

Lisa nodded. "You promise?"

"Scouts honor," he said. "But you better not become one of those Bible-slamming, bible-study going women who won't let their kids read Harry Potter."

Lisa laughed and nodded again.

They spent their last day doing a little bit of everything, but that evening, as Lisa dressed for dinner, Jackson stopped her.

"I've a better idea."

The couple took a taxi downtown to a large club named LJR. Jackson took Lisa's hand and they moved out to the dance floor.

"Jackson," Lisa muttered frantically as the music started fast and lively. "I can't dance!"

Jackson tsked. "You danced at the wedding."

"Uh, yeah, but that was slow dancing. This is like, techno," she sputtered. Jackson rolled his eyes and guided her into a fast, rhythmic beat.

They ordered drinks from the bar after a while and sat there drinking them. Suddenly Lisa laughed.

"What?" Jackson asked her as she chuckled lightly.

"I just realized," she giggled. "It's the two year anniversary of when I met you. June 17, 12:00 AM."

Jackson thought for a minute. "Yea, you know, you're right! Oh, but you know what you always celebrate anniversaries with?" Jackson looked at her, his eyes mischievous.

"I'm all ears," Lisa said, throwing up her hands in mock defeat. Jackson leaned in and kissed her. The kiss lasted a good five minutes until finally the bartender leaned over and yelled, "This isn't a motel!" Lisa and Jackson looked at each other and laughed, recalling what the flight attendant had said.

Finally Jackson stood up. "I'm going to the bathroom. Will you wait here? I don't want to lose you, it's so crowded."

Lisa nodded as Jackson walked off. She watched his back until the sea of bodies engulfed him. She sighed. She really did love him.

Suddenly a hand crashed over her mouth and pulled her roughly from the barstool. Lisa kicked at whoever held her, knowing it wasn't Jackson.

"Shut up," the voice said. "Or you die."

Lisa wrenched her mouth away from his grasp as he pulled her to the exit and yelled, "Jackson! Jackson!"

The man smacked her on the head as they entered an alleyway and Lisa saw stars.

"Whoever this Jackson is, he ain't gonna save you now," he smirked. "Give over your purse."

"No," Lisa cried, clutching tightly to the bag which held her passport and ID. The man unsheathed a knife.

"Well, maybe you need to be persuaded," he smirked again, his hand going up her skirt, his knife at her throat.

Her mind began to scream, sirens going off. No, no please God, not again... She closed her eyes as the knife dug into her neck. She felt a trickle of blood drip down her chest.

"You're all mine now," the man whispered. "You're all mine."

"Wrong," a voice said. Lisa turned. "She's mine." Suddenly a huge metal bar hit the man squarely on the head. He collapsed. Lisa slid to the ground, engulfed in wracked sobs.

"Lisa," Jackson said, taking her in his arms. "Leese, sweetheart, he's gone. No one is going to hurt you. No one will ever touch you again. I'll make sure of it."