Sawyer eyes me with restrained amusement as I stomp around his house, stopping every few steps to gasp, all the muscles in my face pulled tight in a horrified expression, as I finally process what the hell just happened.

Ben's seen me naked. We haven't even officially had a first date yet and Ben's already seen me naked. How in the ever-loving hell did this happen? I gasp again, reaching up to cover my chest. He saw my boobs. He kissed my boobs! Full body twitches rack through my limbs. I can't stop freaking out. I can't stop mumbling "oh no" in rapid succession.

"That bad, huh?" Sawyer leans back in his seat as I continue pacing the small room. "This is worse than I thought."

"I'm not talking about this with you," I snap.

"My mistake. Want me to go get Gail?" He belts a laugh at the look on my face. "Take a seat, Goldilocks. I'm not gonna go off gossiping about your love life. A deals a deal. . . right?"

Sawyer holds out a hand for me to shake our deal into a reality. I don't see anything wrong with him staying here forever. He's already noticeably softened now that the kids have taken a liking to him. He won't tell. Besides. . . whose going to believe him over me anyway? If he ever tries to rat out our relationship, I'll just feign ignorance. That was the original plan with Ben, right? Pretend not to like each other in public? Okay. I don't see anything wrong with this deal.

I grab his offered hand and shake. "You've had almost two months to think of a real zinger, and the best you can come up with is Goldilocks? You need to step up your game."

"I need to step up my game? I'm not the one who ran away from my poor little mortal husband because I got a case of the jitters. So," he asks, leaning forward with a raised eyebrow, "what'd he do?"

"He didn't do anything. It was me. I was. . . you don't understand. I was so weird. I was so, so, so weird." I called him a good boy?! "I said a lot of things that I can't repeat. I said the f-word!"

Sawyer's amused smile only intensifies as he snorts a laugh. "Oh, no. Not the f-word."

Groaning in pain from the memory, I practically slam my head down against the table. "I can't ever see him again," I huff against the wood. "I can't ever go back to the mainland."

"Well, hold on, now. I thought you wanted me to help you seduce your husband, not hide from him."

I suck in a deep breath. "It's fine. Everything's fine. I'll just spend the rest of my life in the temple. He's not allowed in the temple."

Sawyer's knitted brow softens. "Ah, I think I see what's going on here. Alright, time to switch tactics." He stands abruptly and strides towards where I'm sitting on the other side of the table. I wait for him to stop walking, but by the time he stops, he's practically touching me. "Don't move," he orders, leaning in.

His body language is saying he's going to kiss me, and I'm suddenly so afraid, I can't move. "What are you doing?"

"You don't get good at anything without practice," he explains, leaning an arm against the table to support himself hovering over me. "Don't move."

Is he actually going to kiss me? I freeze so completely, time itself sits still. Wait, nothings happening. Sawyer doesn't say anything, but he also doesn't touch me. He just stands uncomfortably close. I can smell the saltwater on his skin.

I watch him waft a hand through the air, and I realize he's reminding me to breathe. He inhales. I inhale. He exhales. I exhale.

"See?" Sawyer finally leans away from me, smiling. "Nothing bad happened. It's a work in progress. For now. . . talk."

I talk to him for hours. Or maybe it's only an hour. It may actually be half an hour, I'm not sure. I don't own a watch. Regardless, talking to Sawyer somehow makes me feel a little better about future encounters with Ben. Sawyer's right. Practice makes perfect. I just need to learn to better control my anxiety, so I can stop running away anytime I'm overwhelmed.

"For example," I say, "I can never get a straight answer out of him. Like, I asked him what his hobbies are and he said his favorite thing to do has to wait until he heals. Like. . . duh? He just had major spinal reconstructive surgery. All activities have to wait until he recovers."

Sawyer stares at me like I have lobsters crawling out of my ears. "You're not serious."

"What?"

"It's you, Cora. You're the hobby."

"I'm the hobby? That doesn't even make any sense."

Sawyer looks very concerned I'm not understanding him. "You asked him what he likes to do for fun. You. He likes to do—you know what? Now I'm starting to think you're just messing with me."

"No," I refute, "he didn't mean it like that. He couldn't have meant—"

"Did he have a hard-on when he said it?"

"Ew, James."

"What? Hard-on is too much for you? It's not even one of the worse terms! And why do you keep calling me James?"

"Because that's the name your mother gave you."

We fall into a deep silence, and I fear I may have overstepped a boundary.

"Well?" Sawyer adds when I refuse to talk. "Was he pitching a tent or what?"

"I don't know," I snap back at him, embarrassed. "I couldn't tell because he had his hands resting in his lap."

"Bingo." Sawyer raises a finger gun at me and fires. "He meant what he said, girlie."

"I think I'm gonna faint."

"Cora." Sawyer sighs loudly and rubs his tired eyes. "Do you like this guy?"

Very much. "Yes."

"Do you trust him?"

Probably more than I should. "Yes."

"Then that's all that matters. And that's the end of tonights lesson. Now scram. I'm only gonna get a measly two hour nap in before Thyra starts trying to cover me in more shitty tattoos."

I smile at the thought of little Thyra. Her career aspirations are to be a great tattooist, which might be one of the reasons she's taken an intense liking to Ana Lucia. Ana seems more than happy to indulge the child's dream by allowing her to draw all over Ana's arms and legs and face and neck with a black pen. Now, I guess she's found Sawyer and sacrificed him to the art gods as well.

"Hey, Dr. Dolittle," Sawyer calls at the last minute, and I turn away from the door to look at him. "I'll give you one last piece of advice for free. Men are stupid. If you want this guy, be obvious."

There's a note waiting for me when I return to my bedroom.

It simply says, I'm sorry

Ben doesn't even understand what he's apologizing for, and it makes my stomach cramp at the thought of how confused he must be right now. I send back an olive branch in hopes of mending whatever damage I've already caused. It reads, I would like for you to come to the wedding tomorrow as my guest.

I regret it the second Loki takes flight back to the mainland, but he doesn't double back and return to me when I chase after him and shout for him to stop, even though I know for a fact he hears me. There's nothing to be done for it now.

"Lady Cora, can I get your help with this string of lanterns, please?"

A powerful yawn overtakes me. "I'm so sorry," I tell the woman, "but I didn't sleep at all last night. The last thing I need to do is climb a ladder, fall off, and break my neck."

Hydra is abuzz with anticipation for the final wedding day of Charlotte and Gunner. Everyone else is much more excited—if her expression is anything to go off of—than Charlotte looks right now, seated at a beautiful wooden table decorated with the finest flowers. She looks out of place surrounded by such color, considering her face is drained of any and all color.

Come on, Jane. Where are you? Stop this from happening!

A voice right behind me says, "Hello."

I spin around and stifle a scream. "Hi."

Ben takes note of the women nearby, who thankfully are so preoccupied with finishing their decorations that they couldn't be bothered with him. Satisfied that we're as inconspicuous as possible, he whispers, "Can we talk?"

"Yes," I answer in a whisper. "But not here. Wait in my room. I'll meet you in a few minutes. And Ben," I add, reaching out to touch his arm, "don't let anyone see you go in there."

Ten minutes or so later, I work up the courage to sneak away from the festivities and head towards my empty longhouse. I slip into my bedroom at record speed, sliding the lock in place to ensure no-one accidentally walks inside while we talk.

Ben shoots up from the edge of my bed, where he's been sitting and stewing silently in his own anxious world. "Cora?" he asks nervously. "Tell me what I did wrong, and I'll never do it again."

"You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry." I can't seem to stop apologizing, as if that will solve everything. "I promise I'm not mad at you. I'm just—" We're in my bedroom. Alone. My legs literally begin trembling with desire. I haven't even had a chance to start talking to him in earnest, and I'm already so horny it's frightening. We met in here to talk, but now I can't think.

What do I do? Am I allowed to just ask him for it? Do I even want to ask for it? How do you ask for it without sounding stupid?

Getting pregnant means giving birth to Christopher. Which means time travel. Which means all of this will end. I can't get pregnant. Not now. Not now that I've gotten to know him a little better. Not before I've figured out how to change the future to save him.

Aching with desire at the mere sight of him, my body gives an involuntary shiver. "I'm dealing with a lot of. . . I don't know. Guilt?"

Ben nods at this, encouraging me to explain. "About what?"

"Religious guilt," I clarify, but by the looks of it, he still doesn't understand. I dart my eyes around the room and lower my voice to a distressed whisper, even though we're the only two people here. "I'm not sure how I feel that we haven't officially had a first date and you've already seen me naked. I touched your. . . and I just. . . I'm so sorry, but I couldn't stop. I tried too, but my body just—"

Ben immediately laughs, stopping short to tell me, "I'm laughing at the situation, not you."

"How is this funny?"

"Okay, I admit, this is probably only funny to mortals, but. . ." Ben steps closer, his eyes suddenly softening with what looks like love, and then sharpening with what looks like lust. "The fact that my favorite goddess blushes at the thought of touching me is doing some very unhealthy things to my ego."

Rough wood brushes against my fingers. I realize all at once that my back is pressed up against the closed door, and he's almost close enough to reach out and touch me. Almost.

"So. . . that's it?" he questions softly, eyeing me up and down until it feels like a physical caress. "That was the problem? You were nervous?" Ben's entire body deflates with relief when I nod. "Okay, that's good to know. I was worried you were faking your pleasure and that I was so bad at my job that you fled to spare me the bad news."

"What? No. Definitely wasn't faking it." I immediately blush at his apparent excitement at the confession. It's getting hard to stand up. Hurry up and talk to him so he can leave and free us of this torment. "Do you feel anything? Right now? Anything that you would describe as magic?"

Ben takes another step closer, and I can smell the detergent from his clothes, the scent of his skin, and the cologne I've grown obsessed with. "Yes."

"Me too," I whisper, suddenly unable to project my voice. "And it just seems to be getting worse the longer we're around each other." Rip all my clothes off you stupid man. "I don't think we should see each other for a little while."

"What?" All at once, the magic severs, and I'm left with nothing but his insurmountable fear. "Why not?"

"Because I can't be around you without. . . see? You're doing it right now!"

Ben's not even trying to hide the fact that he's leaning away from me to get a better view of my breasts. "Doing what?"

I frown at him, but he's too preoccupied to notice. "You're staring at my chest."

Ben acknowledges my words with a quiet laugh and an amused smile. "Yes, I am."

"Stop."

This seems to catch him off guard and he pauses before giving a halfhearted, "No?"

"Excuse me?" I bristle at how different he's being to last night. Last night he was so obedient and attentive, and now he won't leave my room when I ask? "What do you mean no?"

Ben's expression stays the same, but I sense a flash of fear in his eyes. "Okay, I fully admit I'm ruining the mood here, but I genuinely can't figure out what you want me to say. It seems like you're actually angry that I'm—" Ben swallows as his eyes slowly trail up and down my body. "—looking at you, even though you're the one undressing."

What is he talking about? I look down and find myself bare chested, halfway done pulling off my wedding attire. I've been undressing this WHOLE TIME and didn't realize it?

I turn away from him and scramble to pull my dress back on. Mortified that he's right and I didn't even realize I was half-naked, I yell, "This is exactly what I mean! This never used to happen before I met you. This is all your fault!"

At first I'm afraid I've hurt his feelings, but Ben breaks out in low laughter. "I'm sorry," he gets out in the space between laughs, "but are you telling me I was the Goddess of Love's sexual awakening?" Making himself comfy on my bed, he flops back onto the mattress with both arms folded behind his head. "Nobody will ever be able to tell me a damn thing after this." Without looking over at me, he lifts a hand and points in my direction. "And that includes you."

"Can you at least try to take this seriously?" I can't be anywhere near him or all my anxieties get replaced with some kind of lusty magic. This is a very big problem if I can't fight it. And right now? I can't fight it."This is a problem."

"Oh, no," he says in an overly sarcastic drawl, "whatever shall I do? Woe is me that a beautiful goddess wants my frequent attention."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"What?"

I clear my throat, painfully aware that I'm close to crying. "Beautiful goddess."

"Because you are beautiful." Ben sits up against my headboard and huffs a laugh. "Has your ego inflated so much since your rebirth that you wish us all to repeat basic truths to you all day long? I mean, I will if you want me too, I just don't want you to be annoyed with the repetitious—"

"Stop it."

Ben's eyebrows scrunch in confusion. "Stop what?"

"Stop talking," I whisper in an attempt to conceal the pain in my throat. "Just stop talking."

"Why are you always being coy?" Humor rings through his question as he slides back off the bed and closes the gap between us. "You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on."

"Then you don't get out much."

When Ben's expression lights up, I realize he thinks this is a game. He thinks I'm fishing for compliments. "Quite the opposite," he happily proclaims. "It's only because I've been off-island that I can confirm you have no equal anywhere."

"Please, stop." I roll my eyes. "Enough already with this stupid script. You don't think I'm beautiful, you just wanted to get laid."

"Nobody gets to tell me what I think," he says softly, an edge of actual anger concealed just under the surface. "I had hoped you of all people would have shown me that respect."

There is so much I want to say. Instead, all I can do is open and close my mouth as I rethink my entire strategy. "You. . . you're not. . . you're being serious?" Misplaced anger mixes with sadness, leaving my stomach in shambles. I give up trying to blink away the tears. "You're not lying to me?" Like you lied about this entire relationship?

"Lying about what?"

"What do you mean lying about what?" I still don't believe him, so I continue to push back. "Lying about finding me attractive."

All the tension eases from his expression. It's obvious he's relieved, but now he looks extremely confused. "Why wouldn't I find you attractive?"

He's goading you. This is all a joke, and he's goading you so you accept his compliments. He's only giving compliments so he can take them away later. This is all a joke to him. "Because I'm fat."

Ben looks wildly around the empty room like he's searching for someone to explain to him what the hell is going on. "Why are you so obsessed with that? Yes, we've established you're fat. Who cares?" He's struggling to finish his thought. "I'm trying to tread carefully here, but you don't seem to believe anything I say, so I'm not sure it'll matter. Cora, I love your body because its yours. Why else would I like it?"

I want nothing more than to believe him, but my brain is literally frying at the thought that someone could care about me no matter what I looked like. If I gained weight or lost weight or gained it all back again—to have someone who genuinely didn't care? It doesn't compute.

That's not reality. That's not the world my mother lived in. That's not the world plus-sized actresses lived in. That's sure as hell not the world I lived in. Women in the media? That's it!

These people literally view bodies differently because there's nobody to tell them otherwise. No outside forces trying to shape their preferences. It's why the women bathe so freely out in the open, where everyone can see their stretch marks and cellulite. They do it because nobody cares. They do it because as far as they're concerned, a body is simply a vessel that keeps you alive.

I'm in literal paradise, and I can't enjoy it because the real world still won't leave me alone.

"Interesting." Ben fixes me with another piercing stare that makes me feel like prey. "You really were being serious about the groveling bit? Alright, let's see." And then he starts listing off everything he loves about me. My floral scent. My loud laugh. The way my right shoulder—and just my right shoulder—shoots up if I'm particularly impressed with someone's cooking. How often he wants to reach out and trace his finger down the peach fuzz on the side of my face.

I find myself once again entranced by him. He likes me and is attracted to me, and I don't know what to do with this information. Ben's still listing off things he loves and admires about me when I interrupt with a breathy, "I love you."

He blinks at me in surprise. "What?"

Why did I say that? Do I mean it? Hell if I know. I'm not even sure what being in love is supposed to feel like. I know I like him, and I guess that's enough. Taking a deep breath, I say it with more conviction. "I said I love you."

I've never said those words before to someone, not even my parents. We were never an I love you family. My mother put all of her love into cooking, and I'm pretty sure my father is incapable of love. I've never told someone I love them, but even I know Ben's reaction is not ideal.

I watch as Ben slowly sinks into a state of annoyed discomfort. With a sigh, he turns away and says, "That's not funny."

I'm completely thrown by his reaction. Honestly, I was expecting an emphatic I love you, too!

"Why did you have to ruin it?" Ben asks, sounding more disappointed than angry. "We were having a nice moment."

He thinks I'm lying? "I'm not lying. Why would I lie about something like this?"

Ben's voice is dripping with sarcasm when he says, "Oh, yes, the most beautiful creature in all of heaven and earth is in love with me. Ha, ha, ha. Who told you to say that?" A flash of real anger shines in his eyes. "Was it Thor Thorson? Please tell me it wasn't Thor Thorson."

A small warbling in his voice gives away that he's not lying. He actually doesn't believe me. Just like I don't believe him. But I'm not lying. So, maybe there's a chance he's not lying either?

I frown at him and ask, "Who the hell is Thor Thorson?"

At my question, something clicks in his mind. I can only assume he's finally realized I'm telling him the truth. As if to prove my theory correct, he asks, "You're being serious?"

"Of course I'm being serious," I snap angrily. "You're the one making up wild claims that you want me."

Ben's left eye literally twitches.

"What?" I ask. "You're trying to tell me you're not a liar while calling me a liar. Do you see what's happening here? Okay, if you could have anyone, anyone at all. On Hydra, on the mainland, anywhere. Anyone. Who would it be? And don't lie. I can read minds."

"If you can read minds," he answers after a pause, "then you already know the answer."

I take in a deep breath before continuing. "And that is?"

"I've already had the woman I want most." Ben leans in close, like Sawyer did last night. "All I can ever hope to ask is if I can have her again."

We can't do this right now because I'm weak and I want all of you, but that means you die! Leave! Save yourself! But I'm not speaking my thoughts. Instead, I rush him at the same time he rushes me, both of us frantically trying to take each others clothes off. I basically shred the shirt off his body with a series of loud rips and reach up for the collar of my dress.

"No!" Ben cries out. "No," he says more calmly. "Don't rip it. This is my favorite dress."

"Really?"

"Really." Lifting me up off my feet, he carries me to the bed and gently lays me on it. "If anything were to happen to this dress," he says, his words coming out in a warning hiss, "I'd be very upset."

I end up on my back, arching my spine as a tingling chill runs from my head down to the tips of my toes. I've never wanted something more in my life. I'm so lightheaded I don't even bother to try and unzip his pants, choosing instead to channel just enough magic to rip them at the seams until they fall off. Ben trails kisses from my cheek, across my jaw, along the column of my neck, and down my sloping chest.

Losing control of my hands, I run my impatient fingers over his shoulders and down his back. "Ben," I gasp. "Please . . . wait," I say when I feel him pulling the rest of my dress off. "Wait. Just kiss me. I only want to kiss right now."

Before I can finish my sentence, he's returned his mouth to my neck, and my pleas all turn into nothing more than a stifled moan. Ben stops kissing me long enough to catch my eye, grinning mischievously. "May I kiss you?"

I can't help a nervous laugh from escaping. "You already are."

"Yes, but may I kiss you. . . everywhere?"

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head yes.

"Look at me, Cora." We lock eyes, and I can see the same hesitation mirrored in my own. "Do you want me to stop?"

Trembling again at the tingle of his fingers brushing slowly up my inner thighs, I moan, "No."

"No, what?" he whispers.

I lift my hips up off the bed so he can finish pulling my dress off, huffing my response against his lips, "I don't want you to stop."

Everywhere he places his mouth leaves a prickling sensation. He's careful, gentle, caressing me like I'm made of glass. I savor the sound of his voice in my ear, murmuring sentiments that make my blush deepen. I tell him what I want, what I need, and for a few moments at a time my heart breaks out in a flurry of beats that leave me babbling and begging. Heat radiates off my feverish skin as it grows damp with sweat, but I've stopped caring. This feels too good to be ashamed.

My heart begins to pound furiously again, my labored breathing escaping in frantic gasps, but this time it doesn't stop, and I am begging him desperately for release. I reach down and dig my fingernails into his scalp, trying my hardest to keep coherent, as an all encompassing trembling takes over. I scream the most unhinged things, half of which don't even make any sense, and end up a sweaty mess, panting so hard I can't even lift my head off the pillow.

Ben lies next to me, holding my body against his hammering heart. I roll my head to the side to look at him, and the expression on his face says more than a million I love you's ever could.

Nothing could have prepared me for what it feels like emotionally in the aftermath. All of my fears that Ben would reject me were dismissed as soon as I shed my clothing. Being stared at as if you are the most important thing in the world did more for my libido than a thousand kisses ever could.

But the pleasure doesn't last long before I feel it again. Shame.

Out of nowhere, he asks, "What did you mean when you said I don't need you anymore since my back is healed?"

I force myself to look over at him, surprised to find him staring at me with a stern seriousness.

"I have to return to the wedding. Gail's going to have a conniption if I don't show up to the dance circle." One second he's lounging beside me, and the next moment he's on top of me, pinning my arms down to keep me from leaving.

"You brought me in here to talk," he says. "So, let's talk."

I don't want you to talk. I want you inside me. "Okay," I agree.

There's a pounding on my bedroom door. "Cora?" It takes me a moment to realize the voice belongs to Alex. "Can I come in please? It's an emergency."

Alex heard us. She heard me screaming her dad's name a few minutes ago, and now she's going to. . . I don't know, disown me? I don't want her to disown me!

"Shh," Ben soothes, barely audible over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. "Calm down, Cora. Let me think of something."

"Put your clothes back on," I suggest in a whisper that matches the volume of his own.

"I can't," Ben hisses in panic. "You tore them apart." His eyes shift around as he thinks. "Is there no other way out of this room?"

"No," I answer in a hushed yet high-pitched whine.

"Cora?" Alex yells. "I really need to talk to you. Can you please open the door?"

"Hide in my wardrobe." I push his naked body off me and hop off the bed. But when I try to re-dress myself, I'm shaking so much my fingers won't cooperate. I feel Ben behind me, working at record speed to get everything tied shut correctly. As soon as I'm dressed, he gathers up the tattered remains of his clothing off the floor and dashes to my wardrobe, shutting himself safely inside.

"I'm coming!" I call loudly to Alex, furiously blushing at the choice of words. "Be right there!" One look at myself in the mirror and I panic all over again. My hair is an absolute mess from thrashing around in the bedsheets, but I don't have time to fix it. I'm so anxious I start randomly patting at my gown, as if this will keep me from vomiting.

I have absolutely no idea what she wants, or what I'm going to say, and I wish I had more time to think. But I'm out of time.

Despite her tear-stained face, the first thing out of Alex's mouth when I open the door is, "Why are you glowing?"

Why am I glowing? What's a good answer? "Oh, that just happens sometimes." Good job, dumbass.

My plan was to open the door just enough to slip outside so we can talk, but she's so much thinner than I am that she has no problem sneaking by me before I have the chance to stop her.

"It's dad." There's more she wants to say, but she cuts herself off with another bout of sobs.

She knows. It's all over. She knows and she's here to demand an explanation.

"He's missing," she finishes, and now I'm even more confused. "I asked Tom to check on him today, and he just wrote to me that dads not home. His wheelchair is by his bed, but nobody on the mainland has seen him all day."

Alex is talking so fast that it takes a few tries before she's calm enough to listen to the almost-true excuse I've just formulated in my head. "Oh, Alex," I soothe, "I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I should have told you." I wipe away the hair clinging to the wet skin of her cheeks. "He's healed! My idea worked, thank you very much. Being in the same house sped up the healing process way more than I had expected it to." I smile when she stops crying. "I'm sure he just wondered off without telling anyone. I mean, can you blame him? One second you're in a wheelchair and the next moment you're nimble enough to evade the notice of an entire community." I pull her back into a hug, and instead of feeling uncomfortable, I feel happy that I can bring her comfort. "Oh, sweetheart, don't cry."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for caring about your family," I whisper into her hair. "You've been worried since his operation, haven't you? I promised I wasn't going to let him die."

Alex nods, but something else has caught her attention. Reaching down, she picks up something off the floor and hands it to me. "What's this?"

I accept the small shredded remains of what was once Ben's shirt and over-exaggerate my annoyance to the point that I start worrying I'm acting suspicious. Thankfully, all Alex does is smile when I say, "Once upon a time this was shirt, if you can believe it. That would be Fenrir's doing. Where do you think he and Pumba have been this past week? I got sick of them teething on my clothes, so I sent them both to stay with Jane so Eddard can train them to. . . you know. . . not ruin every decent dress I own?"

All the tension in my body starts to ease when she laughs. Alex sniffs, wipes her eyes, and says, "Do you think Jane's going to crash the wedding?"

I immediately take the opportunity to leave this room. "I don't know, but I'm not about to miss it. Let's get out of here."

Alex and I step outside and head down the path to the beach when suddenly I hear a man shouting someone within the jungle. Oh great. What is it this time? "Alex," I instruct, "you go on ahead. I'll meet you at the beach. Gotta deal with this first."

I stop running when I see it's just Sawyer and Peregrine playing cards in the grass. I don't know the rules of poker, so I just stand nearby and watch the spectacle.

"What'll it be, kid? You fold'n?"

"Never!" Peregrine tilts her head dramatically from one side to the other. "Wait, folding is bad, right?"

Sawyer sighs, most likely having already repeated this rule many times. "Not if you're losing."

"Oh, good. Then I do not fold because I'm not losing."

"Yeah? We'll see about that. You discarding any cards this turn?"

"Hmm. Okay, yeah. I discard these two."

Sawyer takes the discarded cards and adds them to the bottom of the pile. I roll my eyes. Is he really trying to con a child? Maybe I did make a mistake bringing him here.

Sawyer shuffles the cards so much you'd think his life depended on Peregrine losing this round. Just as soon as it looks like he's stopped shuffling, he straightens the cards in a stack and begins shuffling all over again.

"Shuffle all you like," Peregrine taunts. "You're still going to lose, old man."

"Would you stop calling me that?"

Eventually, Sawyer asks her to show her cards. Peregrine tosses them down and asks if she won. It's difficult not to laugh and give away my position when Sawyer's eyes bulge out of his face at the fact that a small child who doesn't even understand the rules of poker just beat him again on sheer luck alone.

Peregrine looks confused. "Why didn't you just cheat?"

Sawyer throws his cards down, yelling with angry exhaustion, "I have been cheating!"

"Ah-ha!" Peregrine hops up and points a finger in his face. "I knew it! You're a cheat! I'm gonna report you to the Valkyries and then they're gonna—"

"Okay, fine," he snaps. "Just take it and leave me alone."

And then Sawyer pulls out a handgun and hands it to an eight year old child.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I burst out of the trees, screaming at the both of them. "Give me that!" Rushing forward, I snatch the handgun out of Peregrine's tight grip—completely ignoring her protests—and hold it away from me like a piece of stinking meat. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

"It's okay, first mate. I've shot guns before."

Never averting my glare from Sawyer's direction, I tell her, "That's not the point, Peregrine. This is a dangerous weapon that children shouldn't be playing with, and James knows that. You could have accidentally shot yourself."

"No," she refutes with a angry stomp of her feet. "No, no, no, no! Why was father the only one who believes me? How many times do I have to tell you people! I'M A LUCK GOD!"

I put the gun down in the dirt and try to process Peregrine's tantrum logically, the way Ben would. Peregrine was obviously close to her father, but I have no idea what it's like to mourn a loving father. I can't even begin to comprehend her grief. When I spoke to Ragnar, he didn't call her Peregrine. He called her Pippin. Maybe if she won't listen to me, she'll listen to him.

I decide to change tactics and sink to one knee, so she's forced to look directly into my eyes. "Who are you trying to prove that to, Pippin? You don't need to put yourself in danger to prove you're a luck god. I already believe you." This surprises her, and her disbelief makes me sad. I cradle her reddened, freckled face in my hands, wiping away fresh tears. "How am I supposed to dedicate my life to a captain if she gets herself killed trying to prove she's a captain?"

Peregrine never looked so young as when she weeps. Tears stream down her face as she rushes forward for comfort. I hold her as tight as she needs, the way it would have comforted me as a child. Not too tight to incite fight or flight, but not too loose as to seem fake.

I wait until she pulls away first before gently tucking the gun into my satchel and whirling around to show Sawyer just how serious I am. "You ever do something like this again, I'll kill you. Do you understand me?"

"Oh, come on," he complains. "What's the big deal? She wanted a gun. I've seen literal toddlers running around with axes. Everyone here has a gun—"

Magic surges just beneath my skin when I interrupt him with, "Do you understand me?"

"Cora, the damn thing isn't even loaded—"

"Do you understand me?"

"Yeah, I understand you."

What would possess him to even consider doing something so stupid? I brought him here because a huge turning point for his character was being forced to watch over Arron. But although he's made a lot of improvement from the completely anti-social asshole he was on day one of the crash, he's still not where I'd like him to be. What's missing?

It finally dawns on me. Kate. He needs to be around Kate for the rest of his development to click. She humanized him just as much as Arron did. "I've decided your punishment, James. You're going to be working the orchards from now on. I'll find someone else to help Christopher with the fish."

Sawyer looks a little confused but very relieved that his punishment amounts to hanging around women all day tilling the earth and picking produce to eat. "Sure," he agrees hesitantly. "You got it, Princess."

Peregrine tugs on my sleeve and whispers in my ear when I kneel down again.

"It seems the captain is pulling rank on me and tacking on one more punishment. She has ordered your undying loyalty effective immediately." I salute him. "Welcome to the crew, sailor."

I'm only a few feet from dropping off Peregrine at her house on the far side of the island when someone appears out of thin air and falls in step beside me.

"I'm so glad you didn't turn out to be boring," Maya quips with a sly smirk. "I don't know if I could find it within myself to worship a boring goddess."

I don't know what to say, so I laugh.

"I mean, if he were just ugly," Maya continues, "I'd be disappointed. But sleeping with your own murderer who also happens to be ugly? Now that is interesting."

I can't help myself. I panic and turn to fix her with frightened eyes.

Maya gasps over dramatically. "I knew it!" Leaning all her weight to one side, she rests a hand against her jutted hip. "To be fair," she deadpans, "I'm sleeping with his ugly one-eyed lackey, so who am I to talk?"

I laugh, grateful for the release. "You're sleeping with Mikhail?"

She shrugs. "What can I say? I like ugly men just as much as you do."

"Ben's not ugly," I argue.

"To you," she adds. "If we were to take a poll, I'm not sure you'd like the other ladies opinions." Maya smirks as I try to figure out what emotion I'm feeling so I can correctly display the right expression. "Do you find Mikhail attractive?"

I'm not prepared for this question and end up revealing my true disgust. "Oh," I say, embarrassed. "I see your point. I'm sorry."

Maya roars with laughter. "I'm old, Cora, not dead. My husband is dead, and I am not. Why should I act like I am? At my age, I'll see him again soon enough. Until then," she adds with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "I'm going to do whoever it is that strikes my fancy."

I sneak a cautious glance at her out of the corner of my eye, but she's all smiles as we continue walking. I've met Maya a few times already, one of which was right before my wedding when everyone decided to skinny-dip. She's about Gail's age, but she's shorter and stockier than Gail. Maya's more like me, and I can't help but count that in her favor. "You're not going to tell anyone about Ben and I, are you?"

"Am I to assume the reason why you're glowing is because he's good in bed?"

"Yes." I think so? I wouldn't know. "Yes to both."

"No shit?" Maya raises her eyebrows. "Well, how about that. And no, Cora. I wouldn't dream of ruining whatever game you're playing. Where's the fun in that? Speaking of fun. . ." She knocks me gently in the side, still smiling. "What has that poor boy tried on you so far? Has he used his hands? Oh, don't look so embarrassed. It's just sex. What is there to be embarrassed about?"

Too shy to verbally answer, I nod.

"Has he used his mouth?"

I nod again.

"Please tell me he didn't try to eat you like a sandwich."

I can't help it any longer and burst into loud laughter, quickly bringing my hands up to cover my burning face. "Yeah, he kinda did."

Maya flops her head back and sighs with disgust up at the sky. "Why do men always think we're sandwiches? We're ice cream, for the love of Odin."

I can't seem to stop laughing. "Ice cream?"

"You have to be nimble and gentle. Who bites into ice cream?" she asks with another affronted frown. "Nobody worth letting between your legs, that's who."

Ben didn't bite me, thank God, but I get what she's saying. "Huh. I never thought about it that way."

"Oh, how I love talking to you." Maya loops her arm through mine, both of us still laughing as she guides us back down the trail.

It's nice to be seated at a random table and not on a stage at the front of the party. That spot, unfortunately, belongs to a miserable Charlotte and an ecstatic Gunnar.

I've only been to two weddings here, but even I know the vibes tonight are abnormal. There's a nervous energy among the partygoers that makes me fidget. "Why does everyone seem on edge?" I ask Maya.

"You think Jane was given the position of sheriff on a whim? She's one of the more powerful witches among us." Maya waggles her eyebrows. "We're all waiting for the fight to begin."

"You really think Jane's going to show up?"

"That poor child is stubborn, not stupid. Jane won't let her beloved marry another." Maya starts laughing under her breath and stands up from her seat. "Look, my lady. It's starting."

I turn to look at what she's talking about and find Jane leaping out of a canoe before it's even finished docking on the beach. Every attendee falls silent as Jane—dressed head to toe in what I can only assume is traditional warrior attire—storms the beach and makes a beeline for Charlotte's table. As she passes through the crowd, I note the intricate way her face is painted and finally catch a glimpse of the head tattoo Charlotte mentioned. Jane's shaved half her hair off to proudly display detailed artwork of a dolphin.

Jane approaches the couple and collapses to her knees. You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. Without warning, Jane speaks, and I cannot understand what she's saying. Whatever it is, Charlotte doesn't look too impressed because she's not responding. Jane's voice gets more hoarse the longer Charlotte continues to ignore her. Finally, Charlotte speaks. But even though I can't understand what she's saying, I still understand enough through her tone alone.

Maya makes a sad gasping sound and brings a hand up to her chest at whatever it is they're saying now. I've never been so annoyed to not speak Old Norse fluently. Jane must have just proposed, and Charlotte must have just accepted because the two of them passionately embrace and the crowd happily applauds. I am so confused.

"My lady, this isn't fair!" Gunnar rushes towards me, breathless. "Freyja, do something! Jane is stealing my bride! This is illegal!"

Maya is up and out of her seat at record speeds. "Everyone, run! Move!"

I'm not sure what she's talking about until I see Jane approaching. Magic crackles dangerously all around her, and then she opens her mouth and a thick stream of pure fire shoots directly at the spot Gunnar was standing before he leapt out of the way. The force of the flame is so strong, it leaves a deep smoldering indent in the ground.

"You can't do this!" A new voice rings out, and the giddy crowd falls silent again. "Charlotte, sweetheart, be reasonable. You're already married to Gunnar, like we talked about. It is illegal to marry another."

Jane shields Charlotte behind her like someone is about to rip her away. Whoever this woman is, she must be important because Jane makes no attempt to spit fire at her.

"Who is that?" I whisper to Maya.

"Charlotte's mother," Maya answers disdainfully. "And an eternal pain in our asses."

Did she reject Jane's engagement proposal on the basis that she's a woman? Is this about children, or is she just homophobic? She's caused nothing but pain and suffering for her own daughter for over a decade simply because she wanted grandchildren? She kept these two apart because she can only think about her own wants and desires. She's wasted enough of both their lives. Enough is enough.

"Well," I yell loudly into the silence. Suddenly, a hundred or so eyes are on me while I struggle to look unbothered by that fact. "Then I guess they're in luck that the Goddess of Love has the power to make or break relationships." Turning in the direction of Jane and Charlotte, I smile at their fearful—now hopeful—embrace. "I herby announce your marriage to Gunnar annulled, and your marriage to each other. . . um, official." I finish with a wave of my hand for good measure. "Does anyone have a problem with that?" I sigh. "Does anyone other that Charlotte's mom have a problem with that? No? Then by the power invested in me, go forth and be happy!"

Jane easily looks ten years younger when she's not scowling. I catch her dark eyes long enough for her to mouth thank you. Satisfied no one else is going to object to the annulment, Jane easily slings a laughing Charlotte over one shoulder, carries her across the beach to the boat she arrived in, and paddles the both of them away from Hydra.

Maya claps once into the stunned silence that follows and yells, "Who wants cake?" Turning to look at me, she says, "What are you still doing here?"

I laugh and wave a hand at the crowd as the party swings back into full force and someone breaks out the alcohol. "I mean. . . there's still a party. I'm here for the party?"

"That's a shame," she whispers conspiratorially. "Considering I was just about to start spreading the word that our lady is exhausted from all the drama and absolutely is not to be disturbed for the remainder of the night." With a wink, Maya disappears into the crowd.

"Jane breathed fire?" Ben looks intensely disappointed. "Damn. I always miss it."

Ben and I sit on my bed—me dressed, him completely naked—as we eat the plates of food I snagged from the party as I tell him all the details about what's happened today. Should I tell him about Sawyer and Pippin? I decide it might be best not to open up that can of worms, at least for now. "Want a gun?"

"What are you doing with a gun?"

"Hopefully giving it to you. It's in my satchel, and I don't want it."

"Whose is it?" Ben reaches for more of the wedding leftovers while I try to pretend like I'm not ogling his bare chest. "Guns are all carefully accounted for here, so it belongs to someone."

Do you have any idea how badly I want to lick the salt off your skin? I shrug and tear my eyes away from the dark hair on his forearms. "Found it on the ground."

Ben starts mumbling something about the carelessness of so-and-so. Halfway through an angry tirade, he looks over at me and I feel his mood shift from angry annoyance to confusion and, finally, lust—more than evident in the movement under the sheet he's draped over his groin.

Oh, for God's sake. "Ben," I sigh in exhaustion. "What are you doing?"

He doesn't pick up on my disinterested tone. If anything, my words only seem to deepen his attraction. "I haven't quite decided on the details yet." All within the same quick movement, he pulls the sheet off himself and sits up on his knees. "Although, twice in one night? I think I rather enjoy when you're needy."

Rolling off the bed, I take a few hurried steps away from him, but he thankfully doesn't pursue.

Ben smiles lazily as I back away towards my desk. "Am I supposed to chase you? No? Alright." Instead of looking apologetic for making me uncomfortable, he lounges provocatively against the mattress. "You mean to tell me that you aren't even a little interested in me just lying here, completely exposed, just waiting for an immaculate goddess to come strolling by and—"

"No."

He sits up and asks, "Really?"

"Yes," I snap. "Can you please cover yourself?"

"Oh," he says and pulls the blanket back over his lap. "You're being serious. I'm sorry. Sometimes it's difficult to tell the difference." All the mischief in his eyes turns to confusion. "So. . . are you not coming onto me right now?"

"No!"

Ben tries not to look hurt when he says, "Cora, you're going to give me an ulcer."

"What do you mean?" I look down and find my hands caressing both of my exposed breasts.

"Alright, listen," he seethes as soon as I tug my dress back on. "This is ridiculous. We can pull ourselves together and resist this for one measly night." Ben pauses to breathe, and I'm not sure if he's trying to convince me or himself when he says, "We are not animals, Cora. We can—" But it's too late. His fatal mistake was saying my name out loud, like a spell. Immediately, he snaps into a heavy lidded daze, pushes off the bed, and approaches like a lovesick zombie.

So I reach behind me, grab a cup of water off my desk, and splash it in his face.

Ben blinks out of his stupor and says, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

As if just now realizing what's happened, Ben finches to cover himself with his hands. "At the risk of sounding rude, might I suggest I sleep elsewhere tonight?"

Pain, right below my ribs. It spreads down into my stomach and makes me sick at the idea of him leaving. I don't want him to leave, but he's right. It's for the best. "You can stay here until everyone falls asleep. I'll keep scouting the beach and will let you know when you can return to your boat."

"How long do you think that will be?"

I plop down at the edge of my bed and sigh. "A while. I mean, the sun just set a few minutes ago, and even though the wedding is cancelled. . . well, try telling that to my people. They're partying anyway."

"So, all night then? In that case, I was thinking." Ben doesn't look at me, which is sign number one that he's nervous. "Maybe we could try something. While we wait."

"Something like what?" I don't mean to sound suspicious, but, I mean, he sounds suspicious. "I already said I don't want to have sex—"

"No, not sex. They said it was different." He pauses and finally looks at me, like he's worried he's said too much. "Our wives are off limits," he says quickly, and I can tell he's more anxious than usual because he's not making much sense. "What I mean is," he attempts to clarify, "is we don't talk about our wives. To each other. Teammate to teammate or otherwise. We just don't." He's getting frustrated that his attempts to explain himself seem like rambling, so he takes a moment to compose himself. "Team Bear doesn't talk about our wives to each other any more than we would talk about our wives to—" He pauses, snarling. "—Team Falcon."

I nod even though I have no idea where this is supposed to be going. "Okay."

"What I mean to say is. . . please don't be mad at them."

"Mad at who? Who are we even talking about?"

"Sorry, I'm just. . ." Ben takes another moment to compose himself. "My team let me know about something that married couples do. Sometimes. But only if you're interested, obviously."

"Ben?" I watch him anxiously fidget his fingers against the bedsheets. "You're actually starting to scare me. What are you about to suggest we try?"

He blurts out the suggestion with a rushed, "May I share my memories with you?"

Huh? I can't help but smile at how weird and adorable the question is. "That's it? Of course you can. I love talking to you."

"No," he refutes, looking even more anxious, "it's different than talking. You have to go into my mind."

"Go into your mind?" It makes me sad when he flinches at my tone because I'm not angry, I'm just confused. "I mean, yes. I'll do it. I just don't know how."

"They said it's like a feeling." Ben flits his worried eyes down to the bedsheets and then over at the door. "I'm afraid I don't know much else about it."

The Bears, however minimal their advice, were correct. It is a feeling. A feeling I can reach out and take hold of. When I do, the air momentarily gets sucked from my lungs, and then I'm standing in a dark abyss. Just Ben and I standing in a dark abyss.

"Uh. . . hi." I offer up a wave. "What's with all the doors?"

"They're my memories." Ben waves a hand around the otherwise dark expanse. "Pick whichever one you'd like. My life's an open door. For you," he clarifies with a wink.

"Are you sure you're okay with this? What if I see something embarrassing?"

"Are you going to laugh at me?"

"No."

"Problem solved. Now, pick a door. Any door."

It's impossible to choose because I want to see what's behind all of them. But that would be rude to just start flinging open doors, right? Floating up only a few stories high, I knock on the first door to the right, and it opens.

I step into Ben's living room. Or, rather, into the long expanse in-between his living room and kitchen. "When was this?" I ask, but I figure out the answer almost immediately.

A different Ben—the Ben of a few months ago—opens the front door, pauses on the threshold, has an entire war with himself inside his head, and then forces his face into an expression of blankness before stepping back outside to ask, "Would you like to come in?"

I hear my own voice out on the porch say, "No, thank you. The fresh air is nice."

Ben nods curtly and then steps fully inside and shuts the door behind him. As soon as a sharp snap signifies it's closed, Ben's expression twists into what looks like mortification. "Would you like to come in?" he whisper-mocks himself and proceeds to have a silent meltdown—dragging both hands down his tired face—before taking a steadying breath and rushing to the fridge. You'd think slicing cake was rocket science by the incredibly careful way he cuts and plates the tiramisu.

"Aww." I nudge him in the side, and he finally looks down at me. "I didn't know you were nervous."

"I was terrified."

"That's a strong word." I snort. "This was more terrifying than fighting Erik?"

"Infinitely more terrifying. Hey," he complains with what I hope is a teasing tone. "You said you wouldn't laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at the fact that you're being so sweet and thoughtful and it's all going to go to waste because my cake is about to be eaten almost entirely by a raccoon." I wait for the both of us to stop laughing before I say, "I think it's really admirable how much preciseness you put into your food."

Something in his eyes tells me his response is unfiltered. "Really?"

"Absolutely." I smile at his pleased expression. "It's so weird seeing this from another perspective. I was fully convinced you hated me. I mean, see?" I walk through the front door like mist and point at where he's sitting ridged and frowning in the porch chair beside me. "You just snapped at me."

"No, I very politely asked you to warn me if you're about to pass out. The last thing I wanted was for you to collapse faster than I could catch you and chip a tooth. Or worse," he adds irritably. "I apologize if I seemed a little abrasive. I was running on no sleep. My reflexes were not what they should have been, and that worried me."

A warmth blooms in my chest, but it never travels between my legs. It simply sits behind my ribs and makes me happy. Watching us eat cake makes me smile. Both of us were entirely unsure of what to do or say to each other, and now I'm literally inside his mind. I want him to keep talking to me, so I say, "That cake was delicious. I mean, everything you cook is delicious. How did you learn to cook so well?"

For some reason, he can only seem to look down at me out of the corner of his eye. "I studied for a number of years at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris."

"Wait, what? Like. . . the Cordon Bleu?"

"Among a handful of other schools," he adds, waving the words away with a hand like they're nothing. "But I spent the most time there, yes."

"How have you just been sitting on that information?" I get excited and bring my hands up to cradle my face. "Why did you not introduce yourself as Benjamin Linus: he who has trained within the culinary arts in France? I would have totally followed you into your house if you'd introduced yourself like that."

Ben looks both embarrassed and pleased. It's only when he can't seem to keep any eye contact with me that I realize he finally trusts me enough to admit he's shy.

"Can I see? Oh, please? Show me some memories of your time in France." I grab hold of his hand because he seems to love holding my hand. I don't care if that's considered cheating in whatever game we're playing. I really want to see France. "Please?" I coo affectionately. "I've always wanted to go to Paris. Show me what life was like in school."

"Yes, anything you want." Ben's grip on my hand tightens as he flies us to another door. "Here's one of the more pleasant memories."

I knock and the door opens into a hot, steaming kitchen. I waste no time finding younger Ben hard at work on a dish, and my mouth falls open. "Wow. You were really handsome."

Ben's already expressive eyes widen. "Were?"

"No," I laugh, mortified. "No, that's not what I meant. You're equally handsome now. You're just. . . differently handsome."

"Differently handsome?" I'd be more worried that I've actually hurt his feelings if he wasn't laughing. "That's just ugly repackaged."

"No, I mean—" I wave my hands at younger him mincing a pile of garlic. "You're just younger here. It's a completely different kind of handsome."

"Less wrinkles," he says. "More hair."

"I like your wrinkles. It wouldn't be your face without them." I take hold of his hand again and marvel at how strange it feels to control a man completely with just a smile. "Can you show me more of France?"

"Yes, of course." I never thought I'd see Ben Linus of all people become a golden retriever husband, but there has never been a man happier to cart me around and show me every tiny thing I ask for.

Louvre? Check. Mona Lisa? I didn't have to wait in line! Eiffel Tower? Obviously.

I step through another door and immediately bring both hands up to cover my ears. It's dark and loud and—from the looks of it—very obviously the 1980's. People crush together, smoking, drinking, and desperately trying to seem too cool to be within 20 feet of this place. I wander around the smoky nightclub while Blue Monday blasts on the speakers overhead. I try not to think about how many people over the years have suffered seizures from these aggressive strobe lights.

From across the dance floor, I spot younger Ben huddled against a wall. I almost don't recognize him through all the fog machines and flashes of light. As I get closer, it's easier to notice how uncomfortable he is this close to so many people. Every time someone bumps into him, his body stiffens even more than it already is.

"Oh," Ben says, disappointed. "I remember this night. Maybe we should pick another one?"

"Are you here by yourself?"

"Gail used to force me to come to these places so I could observe what it means to seduce out in the wild."

Ben looks ashamed at the sight of his younger self, but I don't want him to be ashamed because I understand. I try to shape my face into an expression of sympathy and yell, "Don't you just hate it?"

"Hate what?"

"People touching you."

He looks surprised. "Yes, actually."

Relief rushes through me at the thought that someone else understands. "Me too. I don't know how to describe it. It just feels wrong." I hold up my hands and yell, "Not you, obviously! Not people I trust with my life like you or Alex or little kids, but like. . . adults I don't know? Why are people always trying to hug me or run their hands through my hair? It's disgusting. Like. . . do people seriously not comprehend personal space?"

He's nodding along in agreement in a way that excites me because I believe him.

"Which really sucks," I continue, "because my family. . . I don't know. Nevermind."

Ben reaches out and touches my arm, like he's afraid I'm going to run off. "What? What were you going to say?"

"It's just. . ." It's just that I don't know if I was born this way or if I was molded into this through a love-deprived touch-starved childhood, and the not knowing part makes me grieve because I'm just now realizing I have no idea who I am if my siblings don't exist. "It's just. . ." I've always felt like I didn't belong to my Mediterranean heritage because it's a culture built on physical affection—cheek kisses and tight embraces and hands against your face and pats against your back. All things that people claim are comforting but have always brought me nothing but nausea.

I'm not sure if Ben can hear my thoughts, or if he just innately understands, but his contact against my arm shifts down until he's laced his fingers through mine. "Do you want to dance?" Ben waves his free hand through the nearest partygoer, and his body passes through them like mist. "We can finally see what the big deal is without anyone touching us."

The absolute last thing I want to do right now is dance, but I find myself squeezing his hand in return, like I'm the one afraid of him running off. "I've never really been one for clubbing. I don't understand how you're supposed to dance at these kinds of places."

"How would you dance?"

"What?" I yell, not because I can't hear him, but because I'm embarrassed to answer the question and have resorted to stalling for any spare seconds I can get.

"I don't care what everyone else is doing," he yells loudly over the noise, flashing me one of his rare smiles again. Whether or not he knows I'm stalling for time is unknown. "How would you dance?"

"I. . ." I cough a laugh. "Honestly? I usually just stand by the bar because I'm on guard duty."

It's so rare to see him genuinely confused and comfortable enough to reveal emotion in his expression. "Guard duty?"

"Yeah, like. . . the designated driver?" I'm suddenly mortified at how insanely pathetic this all sounds, but I can't seem to stop talking because it feels so good to have someone listen to me. "My job was to make sure everyone got home safe, so I'd usually stand at the bar so I could have a clear view of my friends."

"That doesn't sound like any fun." Ben waves away the thought when I start to shrink in shame. "Doesn't matter. Would you like to dance with me now?"

"Now? But. . . but what about all these people?" Suddenly, being honest isn't difficult. "I don't like the idea of all these people judging me."

"This is just a memory. None of these people can see you."

"You can see me."

All the tension in his face relaxes when he smiles, and I start to rethink why I'm feeling embarrassed.

"But seriously," I yell, laughing for no other reason that I'm ashamed by my inability to figure out how to flirt. "I don't know how to dance."

"Cora," he says dismissively. "Everyone knows how to dance. It's as innate as breathing."

"Not to me it isn't." All these people blur in and out of focus. Out of nowhere, I say, "You're right. This is stupid. They can't even see us, so who cares? Just promise you won't—" I cut myself off and turn to face him. "You can't laugh at me."

"I would never laugh at you."

Surprisingly, I decide to believe him. Even more surprising is the intense relief that comes with trusting him. Trust feels wonderful beyond words. Both my arms spread out and I spin around once, laughing at how ridiculous this all is.

I actually can't dance, so I decide my mission is to make him laugh by whatever means possible.

Nothing is held back. I pull out all the tried and true novelties like the lawnmower and the shopping cart and a bunch of random movement that can be summed up as flailing. I stare at him in confusion when he start mimicking my every move. No, you're not supposed to copy me, you're supposed to laugh! But he promised not to laugh, and he's keeping his word.

After I inevitably run out of dance moves in a failed attempt to make him laugh, I stand motionless in the middle of the dance floor. That's when I notice he's missing, only for him to reappear from out of the crowd like a panther. Each flash illuminates the room just long enough to be able to tell he's approaching.

All the warmth behind my ribs finally finds its way south, and I twitch to try and stop from thinking about how much I want him to push me up against a wall.

I decide to stifle every complicated emotion roiling inside me and reach out to grab his hands, spinning us around and around and around. Our hold on each other is tight, but in the end it's no match for my sweaty fingers. With a surprised shriek, I go flying backwards and crash into a wall, crumpling into a pile on the floor. By the time Ben reaches me to help me stand, I'm laughing so hard I'm crying. Or maybe I'm just crying. I can't tell.

"I'm so sorry," he apologizes, flitting his hands over random parts of my body like he's unsure what to do. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm okay. Really, I'm fine. Just. . ." I wipe my eyes and smile to show him I'm not lying. "That was actually kinda fun."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Never better," I get out in-between laughter.

Ben twitches an eyebrow up—a sign he doesn't believe me, but he's going to concede anyway. "How about we ditch this place and go watch one of your memories?"

He wants to get to know me better? I try not to look too desperate when I answer with an eager, "Okay!"

Ben pulls me up off the floor with one arm, and I end up stumbling forward against him. His smile is small but enthusiastic when he brings his hands up, but he pauses before touching my forehead. "May I come in?"

I literally feel as happy as I did at my wedding. "Yes," I say.

A horrified scream rips from my throat as the music stops, the club disappears into darkness, and Ben materializes right in front of me in the sanctity of my own mind. I take a few hurried steps away from him. Although, by the time I stop screaming and right myself, it feels like there's an expansive gulf between us because he's also taken many hurried steps backwards.

Every attempt to slow my breathing fails, so I decide to just pant my question. "How did you get in here?!"

Ben looks as if I've just made a bomb threat. "You let me in," he says low and gentle, the way I talk to mice. "I asked if I could come in, and you said yes."

I did? Oh shit, I did. "Oh, right. Um. . . I'm sorry. I. . . sorry. Do. . . do you —"

"No," he counters, still looking equal parts sad and terrified. "I've clearly pushed things, and I apologize for that. I'm going to go."

I feel him leave completely. When I open my eyes, we're kneeling on my bed. Both of my hands are pressed against his forehead and both of his hands are cradling the back of my neck. Our heads are pressed together in the most comforting embrace I've ever experienced.

Suddenly, the comfort severs because Ben has pulled away.

Ben lies beside me, but it took a lot of convincing to get him here. Neither of us are touching, or even looking at each other. Instead, we lay on our backs and say what we'd like to say up at the ceiling instead.

"It's not that I don't want to be vulnerable to you, it's just. . . there's a lot of things in my brain I don't want you to see."

"Cora, I love you, but that is quite literally you not wanting to be vulnerable, so the first part of your sentence doesn't make any sense."

In my frustration, I blurt out the truth. "I don't want you to laugh at me."

"Laugh at what? Moments of you being uncomfortable? Why would I find that funny?" He shakes his head, looking exasperated. "It's almost as if you've forgotten we were just trapped within a memory of me in my twenties crying alone in the corner of a nightclub. I don't think it gets anymore embarrassing than that. You didn't laugh at me."

"Because it wasn't funny."

"Then why do you think I would ever laugh at you? Listen, forget about it," he relents kindly. "You can share anything and everything with me when you're ready. This isn't a quid pro quo. I like sharing my memories with you. Do you want to go back to Paris? There's a bookstore I think you'd love. Let's go."

Drugs have nothing on love.

Love brings out the vibrancy of color. Mundane scents smell sweeter and more pure. Breakfast has never tasted so decadent. I can feel life replenishing with each gulp of freshwater I drink before heading out into the glorious sunshine, happier than I thought humanly possible.

I don't realize I'm skipping down the dirt path to the beach until the skipping becomes twirling, and the twirling becoming dancing, and the dancing becomes running, and the running becomes giggling until my attention is diverted by a group of women waving and calling for me to join them.

I glide down the rest of the path, my feet floating a few inches off the ground. Gravity seems to have different rules today. Landing softly in front of the women dismantling the wedding decor, I spread my arms up and over my head in a cheerful morning stretch. "Good morning, everyone! Isn't it a wonderful day to be alive?"

I only start to feel awkward when they continue to stare, wide-eyed, and nobody responds.

"My lady," a woman finally dares to speak, "please tell me it was my husband."

"Was it my Bjorn?" Another woman bounces with excitement. "He's an amazing lover, but I'm biased, of course."

"My lady, have mercy," Maya cuts in dramatically, smiling because she's the only one here who knows the real answer. "Don't leave us in suspense. Tell us who he is."

Another woman interrupts with a giddy, "He? Who said it was a man? Maybe it was one of us!"

"Wasn't me," a pouting woman says. "You'd all know about it by now. I'd never shut up!"

"Lady Cora, at least tell us if they are a man or woman. I simply must know!" Looking overly excited at a thought, the woman mouths, "It was my husband, right?"

I drop my arms and start to wonder if I've made a mistake talking to them. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about."

"My lady, your magic is on the outside. I can feel it from all the way over here." Maya's lips pull up into a mischievous grin as she says, "A lover took you for a tumble last night. And by the looks of you this morning? I'd say they must be one talented lover if they impressed the Goddess of Love."

How were they able to tell just by looking at me? Ben and I didn't even do anything except run around his brain all night. Am I not normally this peppy and talkative? Is it the glow? I was hoping they'd think it was just run of the mill magic.

"I do not wish to say," I announce as evenly as I can.

"It's James," Maya guesses, and I relax when I realize she's giving me an out. "Oh, my lady, you're blushing! It was the outsider! How interesting." Maya's grin slowly spreads into a wide smile of satisfaction. I guess this is enough drama to placate her boredom for the time being. "Honestly, I don't blame you. He's easy on the eyes and the children all adore him."

"Yes," another woman agrees, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Sometimes I walk all the way to the far side of the island just to watch him help Christopher haul fish back to the longhouse."

"Yes, me too," I lie, rather unconvincingly. "I'm always watching him fish. He has nice. . . muscles. Really nice muscles. To, you know, carry all that fish." Fortunately for me, Maya is the only one amused by my lie because the rest of the women believe me and break out into scandalized snorts and stifled giggles.

I find Sawyer asleep in his shack, and I can only imagine what it must feel like to be shaken awake by a sleep-deprived goddess who recently threatened to kill you and hasn't brushed her hair in 24 hours.

His tired voice is thick with sleep when he asks, "Why the hell are you glowing?"

"Long story, but that's not why I'm here. Wait, no, actually that's exactly why I'm here." I try to calm down as I watch him roll out of bed and pour a glass of water to help wake himself up. "There's no time to explain, but I need you to lie to anyone that asks and tell them you're my lover."

Sawyer jerks violently, legitimately choking so hard on his drink, tears pour down his face and it takes more than a few minutes for him to stop coughing. "I'm your what?"

"I'm so sorry. I panicked." It's a struggle not to tangle my fingers in my hair and rip all the strands out. "They were going to find out it's him, so I panicked and claimed it was you."

Sawyer clearly doesn't understand what I mean, and from the looks of it, even the shock of what I've just said is losing its potency. "What are you talking about?"

"When I woke up this morning, I was still glowing, but they all started trying to guess who was responsible and—"

"Cora? Still not making any sense. Why didn't you just. . . I don't know. . . tell them you're sleeping with your husband!?"

"I can't do that," I explain, equally irritated. "It's complicated. My people think this marriage is a sham. If they ever found out I was tricked into it? I don't exactly know what would happen, but I can make an educated guess."

Sawyer fully wakes up at this news. "Ben tricked you into marrying him? You've been leaving out the juiciest bit of drama this whole time?"

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, why can't I ever just shut my stupid mouth? "James, listen to me. You can't tell anyone. And I mean anyone. I married him to stop a war, but if anyone finds out it wasn't exactly my idea? I think that will be enough for all the women to literally start a war."

Thankfully, Sawyer seems to respect the fear in my voice and backs off. He simply says, "You owe me."

Two days after the wedding—when I've had a chance to sleep and life starts to return to normal—I enter the longhouse after a tiring day of helping Chris haul fish up and down the beach to distribute throughout the community. I haven't heard from Ben in the two days since he borrowed some of Christopher's ill-fitting clothing and snuck himself away from Hydra. So finding a letter waiting for me on my desk sends me into a love surge.

I instantly blush when I see the envelope is signed From Your Secret Admirer. Eager to read whatever sweet sentiment he's sent me, I rip into the paper and unfold the sheets.

I barely get three sentences in before my excited bouncing stops and I start frantically skimming the rest of the letter to see if I've somehow misread. Each word makes all the hairs on my body stand up straight with dread. This isn't a love letter as much as it is a threat. And if that's what he was going for? Congrats. I feel threatened.

I'm hurt. I'm confused. I can't help but feel betrayed that he would even think to put these kinds of disgusting fantasies to paper. And now? Now I'm angry. Angry at myself for thinking trusting him was a good idea.

I write, What the hell is wrong with you?

His response is immediate. Quite a lot. You're going to have to be more precise.

You think this is funny? Why would you think this is okay? Please don't contact me for a while.

His next message reads, Don't leave Hydra. I'll be there within the hour.

"No," I scream in horror and toss his message away from me. "No, don't come here!"

I can feel in my bones that he's not going to hurt me, but I still fear him as if he would.

"What happened?" Ben hurries towards me, out of breath from having rushed here on short notice. "What are you so upset about?" I show him the letter, fully expecting him to apologize. Instead, he curiously inspects it and almost immediately has the same reaction I did. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"Oh, yeah," I yell sarcastically. "I wrote all this disgusting shit to myself to get you all riled up. You got me!"

"Wait. . ." Ben looks angry for a split second before it morphs into sadness. "You thought I wrote this? This isn't even my handwriting. I didn't write this." Sadness becomes anger again as his expression closes off and he very calmly asks, "So who did?"

"Pris said it was delivered while she was gone. I don't know who sent it. I'm sorry," I tell him sadly. "I was so confused because I didn't believe you wrote this. And if you did, I was hoping this was just some kind of bad joke."

"There's nothing funny about this!" Ben holds out a hand, and I'm surprised to find his grip is gentle when I lace my fingers through his own, considering his other hand has completely crushed the letter in a terrifying vice-grip. "Come with me," he says, still sounding dangerously calm. "I think I know how we can figure out who—" Ben pauses, the rest of his sentence nothing more than hiss. "—this belongs to."