Laurie knew she had to tell Brahms about his parents' Will. She was happy not to sign the papers that would pass all their wealth to her. This was Brahms's birthright, not hers; he was the rightful heir.

She'd slept last night alone, with Brahms sleeping in his own bed. To do otherwise would disrupt his routine too much and she feared he'd not be able to emotionally cope otherwise. And she was glad of it too as it gave her space to think, and she had a lot of thinking to do. She'd asked herself over and over if this was love or just lust. She knew she couldn't love him, there'd been none of the normal human bonding needed and she didn't believe in love at first sight. Yet..her feelings for him wouldn't let it go. They tortured her.

How can I spend the rest of my life with someone who'll never set foot outside this place? I'm only 25, it's not possible! Yet, she would never have to work again, worry about money, or bills or... I'll be a prisoner here. Trapped with an eternal child. Worried that his temper will take control. Hog tied in the cellar, Joel said. Oh, Jesus...

Then she remembered how Brahms had carried her to his bed after their wild lovemaking. How he'd taken her again, only this time so slowly and tenderly it made her cry. That this man, locked away for most of his life, could be such an accomplished lover just blew her away. It sounded corny but she truly felt they'd known each other before, that there was some karmic element to this coupling.

"You're losing the plot, Laurie," she told her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She knew she should heed her inner voices; the ones that felt like warnings. But there were so many and all of them contradictory. Were they warnings or treacherous little foxes? 'Catch us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vines...' As children, when she and Amanda would fight and bitch at each other, their father would quote that line from the Bible to them. It had been one of his favourites. He'd explain that the little foxes were the inner disruptions and thoughts that could so easily spoil or steal away harmony between those who should love each other. Seeds of doubt? She pulled a face at herself in the mirror. "You're overthinking stuff again!"

The morning was hot, the air humid, close and ripe for thunderstorms. She walked to the bedroom window and looked out, chewing absently on a hangnail. Something felt...impending.

Downstairs, she found the table laid. Coffee perked. Eggs spluttering in the skillet. Brahms wore his mask.

"You know, you're not a bad cook," she told him. "And you make really good coffee."

"I've had plenty of practice," he murmured, sitting down opposite her. For a long moment he was silent and Laurie knew him well enough now to know that he was choosing his words carefully. "It's hard for me...to be like this without...not wearing my..."

"It's ok, Brahms, you can eat in the other room if that's more comfortable for you. Or I'll go eat in the garden."

He shook his head.

She wondered why he found it so difficult to eat and drink in front of her, yet had no problem removing the mask when they were intimate. She guessed it was a combination of feeling more confident in dimly lit or night time situations, and passion overcoming self doubt. His shyness was so tragic and yet so endearing to her.

"You have to trust me, Brahms. Looking at you isn't something terrible for me."

"It is for me."

Laurie stared at him imploringly. "You know that old chestnut? The one about beauty being in the eye of the beholder? When I look at you...all I see is you. I don't even see your scars. Truly."

His eyes flickered up to meet hers. "My mother told me I'd been a handsome child. She told me the mask made me beautiful."

She couldn't exactly tell you the truth, Laurie mused sadly. But she said, "I've known some facially beautiful people who were so ugly on the inside that's all you saw. You look just fine to me."

His next words were barely discernible he spoke them so softly. "Stay in the shadows, Brahms. In the shadows you're still my beautiful boy..."

Laurie compressed her lips and glared at him. "That's not true. And not fair! She was wrong, Brahms. Your parents should never..."

In a moment she moved to sit by his side. "Please take it off...for me?"

Brahms slid the mask from his face, his hair tumbling about his forehead, his eyes downcast. In bright daylight the livid scars did look worse, the raised keloid of neglected burns puckering what should have been smooth skin. When he finally returned her gaze, she saw the ruined blood vessels and enlarged pupil that permanently darkened and disfigured his right eye.

Your parents should have been flogged for not getting you medical help, she wanted to cry. How could they have allowed you to grow up like this?

Laurie cupped his right cheek and smiled up at him. "Kiss me," she whispered. So he did.