[12 June 2010]

I took Ruth out to dinner tonight to a small, quiet restaurant I know where they serve good food and I thought she'd feel comfortable. The scrapes and bruises on her face and surgical incisions have healed almost completely now, and have left very little scarring, something that I know Ruth is very grateful for though, to my mind, they are irrelevant; she will always look beautiful to me.

We had a lovely evening, and when we got home, I felt that this was the right time to tell her everything. My courage was at its highest and I was ready to take the plunge and risk losing it all, but as we sat side by side on the sofa, wrapped in each other's arms and I sought the right words to explain, she turned to me and kissed me, a deep, passionate kiss that chased all thoughts out of my head. When she pulled back, she whispered, "Thank you, Harry. For this evening, for caring for me, for loving me, for everything." Then she smiled widely and added, "Let's get married, Harry. Tomorrow."

My heart leapt at those words, said so gently and with so much love, and I realised that this was the answer to everything. Ruth suggesting we marry is proof that I did the right thing, that the end justifies the means in the end, in this instance. And I wanted to just say yes so very much, to forget about everything else and agree to join our lives in every way possible, but Malcolm's words were still ringing in my ears and I knew it would be a mistake; I had to come clean first. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Ruth," I said with a heavy heart.

"Why not, Harry?" she asked, her blue eyes puzzled. "I thought you wanted to marry me."

"I do, Ruth," I reassured her, "more than anything, but I fear it would be unwise to do it now."

"Because of my amnesia, you mean," she sighed.

"Yes," I replied, knowing that it was now or never. "There are things you don't know about me and things you don't remember, things I've done, deceitful, amoral things. Things that have hurt the people I love, have hurt you."

But she interrupted me, saying, "Harry, you're a spy. I may not have my memory back yet, but I do know what you do for a living and I understand what kinds of things you must have been called on to do at times over the years. But I also know that you're a good man and I know that I love you. I may not know all the details of your life, or mine for that matter, but I know what I feel for you and I know that leaving you standing on that dock as the tugboat bore me further and further away from you was possibly the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

I was flummoxed by this and I felt the panic threaten to overwhelm me as I struggled to hide it from Ruth and asked her when she'd remembered that, hoping it's all she'd remembered.

"It was there when I woke up this morning," she smiled. "I didn't tell you because I needed time to think." She paused then before asking, "What were you going to tell me that day when I stopped you?"

"That I love you," I murmured as I cupped her face with my hands. "That I'll always love you; no matter what happens, Ruth, I'll always love you." And I think I must have sounded a little desperate, but I sealed my promise with a kiss, and much to my relief, when we broke apart Ruth sighed happily.

"See?" she smiled. "It was something wonderful and that's exactly what I was trying to say. I love you too, Harry, and that isn't going to go away because of something you've done in the past. I would have gone mad these last few weeks without you."

I prayed then that what she'd just said would hold true despite what I was about to reveal, but as I opened my mouth to tell her, she pressed her fingers over my lips and said, "Stop arguing, Harry, and take me to bed. I've had a lovely day and I don't want to spoil it by fighting. I want us to make love instead."

And I'm ashamed to say I gave in to her at once as, like a Siren, she whispered my name and pressed her lips against mine, slipping her hand down to my crotch, her touch making me hard in moments. There would be time for confessions later, I thought vaguely as we went up to bed and I kissed her all over, delighting in making love to my fiancée like never before because, this time, it wasn't a lie, she'd suggested we marry; we're really engaged.

And after I'd pushed her over her first peak, she'd turned on her side and pulled me close, lifting her left leg over my hip and drawing me closer, and it took me a moment to figure out what she was about to do.

I uttered her name uncertainly and she looked up at my face, stroking my cheek gently and murmuring with a smile, "It's time, Harry. I want to feel you inside me and I know you want this too. It's been too long. The doctor said it's fine so long as I'm careful and we try positions that don't put any stress on my leg. I also had him fit me with an IUD."

I whispered her name again though my voice this time was filled with longing as I kissed her, and when I pushed gently into her, tears sprung to my eyes and rolled down my cheeks at the sheer perfection and momentousness of the moment. And it was perfect, better than any of my dreams or daydreams of this moment had ever been.

I watch her lying beside me now, sleeping peacefully as I write this, and she takes my breath away. I cannot believe that we have truly reached this point in our relationship after everything that's happened to us since we first met, and I can't help but hope that this togetherness, this joy, this bliss, this love and passion will last despite what I've had to do to get us here. And I can't help but wonder if we'd ever have got this far had I not lied.

Would Ruth have ever given us a chance?

I find that I really don't know the answer to that. I'd like to think that she would have, but perhaps that's just wishful thinking on my part. The Ruth who came back, who lost her family because of me, that Ruth was racked with guilt and, I think, she might never have been able to get past it, to forgive herself and me, to stop punishing us for the tragic circumstances of George's death and Nico's loss, the events that we'd been a victim of too. That Ruth didn't want to let herself be happy, and perhaps, didn't want me to be happy either.

But enough maudlin thoughts. I see her begin to stir now. Time to stop writing and start making love to her again. I know I will never tire of doing that.