“Have you got everything?” he asks.


    “I just have to get my bag from upstairs.”


    “Okay.”


    I turn and walk upstairs, into his bedroom, and I take onest look around at the luxury space. I make


    the bed with the ridiculously expensive bed linen and walk into the bathroom to pick up the fluffy towels


    that we left on the floor after our lovemaking and shower this morning. My eyes nce over at the shower


    and I get a visual reminder of what we would have looked like making love up against the tiles on the


    wall.


    Our lips locked, his hands all over me, his body inside of mine.


    I don’t want to go.


    I want to stay with him for the week.


    I walk over to the thick, expensive drapes and pull them back to look out onto the street below. Am I


    strong enough to give him the week, knowing that I have to let him go at the end of it?


    I already think I know the answer.


    Why did I have to meet him? Why is he asking me to stay?


    This is where we make memories that we look back on, remember?


    His words cross through my mind and I smile.


    Maybe star Twinkle is going to be just that: a beautiful thing that happened in London.


    A beautiful thing that I will regret if I don’t explore it.


    I always said I don’t want any regrets in life. Will I regret this?


    I will. I know I will.


    But what will I regret more? Doing this and missing him when he goes, or knowing I could have spent


    more time with him when I had the chance and I turned it down because of fear.


    I blow out a deep, sad breath just as his arms slip around me from behind. His lips go to my temple as


    he stares out to the street below with me.


    “Please. Give me the week,” he breathes.


    We stand still for a moment as we stare out the window, both lost in our own thoughts.


    I turn and kiss him softly, my tongue dusting his lips, asking for approval to enter his mouth. Our kiss


    turns passionate and my eyes close instinctively.


    Why does he have to kiss so perfectly?


    “I’m scared I wont let you go,” I finally whisper, admitting my fear.


    “I will make sure that you do,” he breathes. “If it is any constion, it is me who won’t want to let


    you go.”


    My eyes search his. Does he feel this connection as much as I do?


    “It’s one week. Let’s give each other one week,” he whispers, almost begging me. I smile, unable to


    push the stupid words of permission through my lips. I nod and let him kiss me once more.


    The flicker of warm light dances across my face, I’m drunk on a post orgasmic glow in the arms of my


    bright, shining star. We’re lying in front of the fire on a mattress he dragged onto his bedroom floor. The


    room is dark, lit only by the fire mes. Sporadically, the fire crackles loudly, breaking the silence.


    star is curled around me from behind, and his hands roam up and down my naked body, with his


    lips touching my skin every now and then. We are under arge, chunky knit, navy throw.


    “Tell me about your family?” he asks.


    “My family?” I smirk.


    “Yes.”


    “Well, I am the middle daughter.”Text property ? N?vel(D)ra/ma.Org.


    “Middle child syndrome?”


    “Totally,” I whisper.


    “My mum and my dad are hopelessly in love.”


    I feel him smile behind me.


    “We are rtively poor.”


    Hees up onto his elbow and looks down at me. “Poor?” He frowns as if surprised.


    I shrug. “Well, not poor. We never went without, but my father had an ident when I was seven and


    has a bad back.”


    “Oh.”


    “He can only work part-time.”


    He stays silent, as if thinking.


    “Mum picked up jobs where she could.” I smile up at his shocked face.


    “We were wealthy in other ways,” I reply to try and relieve his horror.


    A trace of a smile crosses his face. “How so?”


    I smile. “My parents were in love and they loved us, too. They taught us that no matter how much


    money you had, it meant nothing if you don’t know how to love somebody with your whole heart. We


    called it wholeheartedly love.”


    He smiles softly and his tender lips meet mine. “You are blessed then.”


    I smile.


    “To be loved so wholeheartedly,” he whispers. I roll back onto my side to face him, the light of the


    fire and his lips once again roaming over the side of my cheek, his thick body nestled close up against


    mine.


    “What about your family?” I ask.


    He hesitates before answering. “I am the eldest of three.”


    I smile. “All boys?”