"Really Tom, I shouldn't be here!" I hissed as he practically dragged me down the corridor.

"You're being ridiculous," he responded his eyes fixed on the quickly approaching door.

"B-but everything that's been in the press—" I tried desperately but to no avail.

"Every one of us has gotten bad press," Tom stated matter-of-factly as his hand came to rest on the gilded door knob.

"Bad press?" I balked, "Tom, they're calling me—"

"They're wrong," he said definitively as he finally turned to look at me. When he did, his eyes softened as did his tone. "Ems, you and I both know it and so does my family. You needn't hide from them because of a spot a bad press."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off.

"I promise you, Charlie and I broke them in years ago. I'll bet you five pound they don't even blink an eye."

By the salad course I nudged Tom with my knee and, with a silent yet still ever oh-so-dramatic sigh, he passed me the folded bills under the table. I sent him a sarcastically sweet smile as I pocketed the cash.

Tom draped his arm across the back of my chair and tilted his head so that his lips were level with my ear. I stilled in shock at the level of intimacy he was showing at his family's dinner table.

"So they noticed, but in my defense they didn't throw us out either..." He murmured.

I snorted.

"Gwad blesh you," chimed Francis, with an entire dinner roll in his mouth, from across the table .

I smiled in thanks to Tom's nephew before turning my growing grin on his uncle. "You're right. They didn't."

In fact, there had been a mix of reactions among the various members of the family. When Tom finally managed to push open the door—& practically push me through it—Margaret immediately flew towards me and enveloped me in a tight embrace.

"Heard you broke his jaw," Andre chuckled as he sauntered toward the drink cart.

"Good," Tom's father bit to his already retreating in-law. "Bastard deserved it."

"Language," shot Matilda from across the room where she was apparently facilitating a peace treaty between her two red-faced children.

Margaret laughed softly in my ear, but maintained her demure expression as we pulled apart. I smiled warmly in greeting to Tom's father who opened his arms in offer of a hug.

A grateful smile spread across my lips as I stepped into his embrace. Almost immediately however, I had to battle to keep the smile affixed to my face and to stop my lower lip from trembling.

Ever since the assault I had largely exiled myself from the outside world and hidden away our flat. I let others believe it was out of fear of going out alone or anxiety of the predatory paparazzi; however, truth be told, Tom's hiring of our new security team had largely taken care of both.

The real issue—and the one I had only been able to confess to my mother—was the constant threat of my dissolving into tears. Sometimes it was an emotional commercial that set me off or a particularly rough chemo-day for Alice. Once just a bouquet of flowers from Tom had me immediately blubbering.

Tom's father gave me a tight squeeze and murmured: "You keep your head up now and carry on."

A memory of my own father's strong, muscular arms encircling my tinier figure suddenly overwhelmed my senses. And when Tom's father spoke, it was my own father's voice I heard:

Mewn pob daioni y mae gwobr, fy nghariad

There's reward in every goodness, my darling.

I tucked my chin and attempted to swallowed the painful lump rising stubbornly in my throat. I somehow managed to nod against his chest and force a tight smile as his arms released me.

Gran clucked somewhere across the room and called for her great-grandchildren to come to her. I used this as cover to glance down at my feet and blink my eyes rapidly, willing the tears to recede.

No one seemed to notice my movements except for Tom, who placed a supportive hand at my lower back.

"A bastard little darlings—"

"Granny!" Matilda exclaimed.

"—is a pretender of a man," the Queen Mother continued with every ounce of regal authority, "who touches a girl without her permission. Any questions?"

Utterly unperturbed by their great grandmother's words, both children shook their heads, 'no.'

Gran nodded. "Good. Now go and cause havoc."

The two hesitated for a moment before simultaneously deciding to dash off in search of any pre-dinner sweets.

Matilda called after them but made no move to stop them. Instead, she moved in our direction and shifted her attention toward Tom and I.

"It is interesting," she noted cautiously, "that they decided not to publish any of the photos of you fighting the man or running away from him."

"More interesting, I think," Cynthia cut in as she swiftly tucked her Blackberry into her clutch. "Is that it was The Print who bought the exclusive rights to the photographs. Must have cost them."

"Interesting isn't the word I'd use," Tom practically growled.

Cynthia arched a meticulously plucked eyebrow in my direction. "Reckon your old boss was in on it?"

I silently drew in a steadying breath and forced a passive smile across my features. "I'd really rather not think on it."

Cynthia's eyes narrowed at that, but eventually she nodded in acceptance. "Well, it will all come out in the police report besides."

Tom nodded. "Here's to hoping they don't leak this one."

"Let them," I mumbled. "I'm done hiding what he is."

My eyes drifted over to Charlie's figure and my feet quickly followed. He was sitting alone on the velvet chaise so engrossed by whatever—or whomever—was on his phone that he startled slightly when I plopped down next to him.

He quickly pocketed his phone and kissed me on the cheek in greeting. His gaze flicked somewhere behind me, and my own followed to see Tom's expression set in a deep frown as he listened to whatever Cynthia was discussing with him in hushed yet animated tones.

I sighed as I turned back toward Charlie. "He's been brooding since it happened."

Charlie's attention shifted again to considered me.

"And you?" He finally asked.

My eyes suddenly began to string with the onset of fresh tears. I sniffed them back and answered Charlie with a curt shake of the head.

He merely nodded in understanding and, in his wonderful way, knew to change the subject. "Did you see Youssef's interview?"

"No," I grimaced. "I didn't get the chance. I was..."

"A bit preoccupied," he offered. "I'm sure he'll understand."

The corner of my lips pulled up in a smile as I nudged him. "So... how'd our boy do?"

He chuckled and nudged me back. "Brilliantly, of course. Is that man capable of saying anything ineloquent or superficial?"

I shrugged. "I've yet to hear it. Perhaps you'll have to test the theory. He's much more loose lipped over drinks."

At that Charlie snorted. "You're as subtle as a hammer, you know that?"

"Good thing," I teased. "Or your cousin never would have asked me out."

He threw his head back in a cackle and his arm around my shoulder. "Lucky sod."

"Indeed," I retorted, but only half-heartedly as I glanced back at Tom and noticed his expression had grown even more overcast.

Tom made a point of telling me practically every day all the reasons he loved having me in his life and the ways in which I brought joy to it. And I know he meant it sincerely, but still...

In light of everything that had happened and everything my presence in his life and put him through, I couldn't help but wonder if all that joy outweighed all the trouble I'd brought in too.