"What does it mean?" Emma asked lowly, as if scared he would hear it, yet needing an answer after all this time.

"What?" Alexander asked back, more focused on enjoying the moment. For the first time, she wasn't in a rush to get dressed and leave, instead she was letting him spoon her, cuddle her closely.

It might have been the drowsiness caused by intense lovemaking, but the fact was, Emma had remained in his arms. No arguing, no trying to escape, no stubbornly refusing to accept reality. She was still there, and his heart had a hard time trying to come to terms with it.

She turned around in his arms, and hinted behind him, more specifically at the tattoo on his back. "The phoenix, what does it mean?" She'd been dying to trace those lines again after the first time, but she hadn't dared. However, as much as she'd told herself not, she needed to know.

Alexander offered her a small, sad smile. "Rebirth. A phoenix normally symbolizes rebirth. It's been used a lot in different cultures, and-"

"No." She interrupted him. "I'm asking what does yours mean, you know that."

"I know," he murmured, caressing her skin gently, his hand sliding along her sinuous curves, his smile unfaltering yet sadder, "but I'm not ready for that, and neither are you."

"I'm sorry." Emma admitted. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No ..." he pulled her closer, kissing her forehead, "it's fine. And you know, I kind of want to tell you about it, but ... I never have, to anyone."

"I understand, you don't need to justify, I-"

"Emma ..." he called sweetly, then pecked her lips, "you can ask me anything. But there are things I'm not ready to talk about just yet."

After a short pause, she nodded against his forehead. "Okay." Emma would have wanted to say more or do more, and part of her reminded her that time was limited and she was supposed to go. However, she felt too drowsy to act on it. Instead, she let him pull her closer, cuddle her, and soon enough fell asleep.

Emma woke up to a delicious smell for the second time in the same weekend. This time, however, it was different. It wasn't Mrs. Adams and her amazing culinary skills, she was sure, because this bed was definitely more comfortable.

Rolling over, in fact, Emma immediately looked towards the kitchen, just a few steps lower than the bedroom. And there he was, Alexander, intent on placing food on the table.

"No, I didn't make it," he said loudly, having noticed she was staring at him, marveled, "there's an Italian restaurant nearby."

"Where's the receipt, then?" Emma teased, causing him to laugh, her with him.

"Touché." He shrugged. Once done setting the table, he looked up at her. "My great-grandfather was an Italian chef, Nana learned from him, I learned from her."

"I thought you were German." She commented, sitting criss cross on the bed.

He chuckled. "What made you think that?"

"The fact that I heard you speak German?"

"Oh," he laughed, "right. Well, no, my mother was ..." he clouded over for a moment, then cleared his throat, "yeah uh ... my mother was German." He faked a bigger smile than he could give.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you ..."

"It's fine." He cleaned his hands on a cloth. "Come down, you must be hungry. I'll just go wash my hands." Having said that, he disappeared in the bathroom.

Emma sighed, chastising herself for her unsensitive comment. Wanting to distract herself, she stood from the bed, and got dressed. Looking outside the window, she noticed it was dark – how long had she slept?

For a few moments, she allowed herself to really take in the apartment. It wasn't that big, but it was well designed, every little bit of space was on point. Inevitably, her gaze traveled to the paint supplies in the living area.

Emma went down the few steps that separated the bedroom from the rest of the apartment, heading directly to that specific corner. She'd never used a canvas before. Most she did was draw something on a sketchbook.

Her father used to buy her one every month, and for her birthday she always received a box of colors – every year a different one, from pastels to oils. Emma clouded over as she thought of him, the only person that had ever loved her, believed in her.

She grabbed the art kit, and sat on the stool by the canvas. She opened the kit, and unconsciously smiled when her eyes set on all those supplies: pastels, watercolors, acrylics, oils, even a set of pencils.

In the basket there were also sketchbooks for different types of drawing as well as regular notebooks. There was simply everything she could ever need to bask in her passion. No doubt, this kit was more complete and bigger than the one she'd regretted leaving at home.

"You like it?" Alexander asked, causing her to flinch, as she hadn't seen him behind her. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

She shook her head, eyes still on the supplies. "This looks ... very professional."

He chuckled. "Yeah, of course. I mean, I have no clue, but the guy at the shop said it was the most complete kit."

"How are you an architect if you have no clue about art?" She teased.

He shrugged. "Because architects don't need colors."

"A colorless life is sad."

"Good thing I find my colors elsewhere, then." He winked, which caused her to roll her eyes.

"It's probably very expensive." Emma commented, eyes still on the box.

"If you're gonna hassle me for a receipt of this, too, we may as well get back to bed, cos it's gonna end the exact same way as it ended the first time." Alexander teased.

Emma rolled her eyes once again, albeit secretly smiling. She closed the box, and put it back in the basket, then turned to him. "I keep thanking you, and it doesn't seem enough." She said.

"You don't-"

"Yes, I do." She interrupted him, looking directly in his eyes, or rather, forcing herself to. "You're ... I don't know why you're always so nice to me when I'm so mean to you."

"I wouldn't say you're mean," Alexander chuckled, kneeling before her, "cold, maybe." He placed his hands on her knees. "Detached, standoffish, aloof, guarded, defensive ..."

"Are you going to list all the synonyms?"

He grinned, moving closer to stroke her cheek. "I thought I'd been clear. I care about you. Plain and simple."

"You keep saying that," she sighed, lowering her gaze, "you keep saying that, when you know you shouldn't."

"Why not? Only because we sleep together, I'm now allowed to care?"

"You know what I mean ..."

"No." He interrupted her. "The thing about friendship, Emma, is that you're not alone. The thing about caring, is that even if you don't want me to, I still worry about you. Every day, every hour. I worry because I care, and I won't stop caring, so I won't stop worrying."

Emma slumped in the stool, feeling the weight of his words crash onto her like a house crumbling down onto her head. "I ... I can't repay you, Alexander." She looked up, to find his eyes again. "I can't afford any of this and I can't afford your kindness."

"Did you hear what I just said?" He chuckled.

"Do you not realize just how wrong this is?"

"Why is friendship so wrong?" He shrugged. "I'm not asking anything in return, Emma. I'm helping you because you need it. Plain and simple."

"So the fact that we sleep together has nothing to do with this." The words left her mouth before she could realize it, but she regretted them right after. Especially because she could read the hurt in his eyes. He concealed it quickly, covering it with a short laugh, but she saw it.

"You know," Alexander stood up, "there's a vacant apartment in my building. I could have given you that, especially because, guess what, I own it."

"What ..."

"And I do need not just a housekeeper, but also an assistant at the office."

"What's that got to do with all this?" She wondered when he started pacing the room slowly.

"It means, that if all this was supposed to be just something I do to get into your pants, I could have made easier choices." He turned to her. "I didn't need to convince my friend to give you such a convenient lease. I didn't need to find you a job because I can give you one. But I didn't." He said, staring straight at her. "Because I knew you'd think bad. I thought maybe if it's far from me, she won't think it's just another way to screw her. Literally and figuratively." He shrugged. "But guess not."

Emma sighed, feeling ashamed. "I'm sorry." She admitted. "I ..." she pursed her lips, wondering if speaking up was the right decision or not. In the end, she opted for a yes – the hurt she'd seen in his eyes was worth giving away something of hers.

"I'm not ... I'm not used to people doing things without ... without anything in return." Emma stood up, and went to him, grabbing his arm to make him turn around. She swallowed, well aware that once the next words left her mouth, there was no going back. But maybe it was time she repaid his kindness somehow. "My father died when I was 15."