for a couple months when he finally says it.

I think it's a Friday night, and my bare chest lays softly on top of his, his hands at my waist, my fingers near his hips.

Kissing my hair, he mumbles against the top of my head. "So, I haven't done this in a while, so I don't actually know if this is really bad timing or...."

He pauses, and I tilt upwards a little, curious. "What?" I wait for him to say it, bringing my lips closer to his, teasing.

His little smile is hot, sheepish, and it makes every part of me warm. "I think I'm falling in love with you, Rosalyn."

Oh. My stomach pitches, and I feel my face flush. Suddenly modest, I lower my eyes, focusing on the dip of his collarbone, my lashes fluttering against his neck. Oh, Caleb. And before I can even think about it, I know. I just know. I know because of the little ache in my chest, because of how my skin ignites when he looks at me.

And I let my eyes wander up, I let my gaze catch his. I let our breaths grow heavy, I watch the angle of his golden brow, the crooked little smile tugging at his lips. "I think I'm falling in love with you too."

And then our mouths meet, soft, gentle. Loving. And my hands tangle into the waves of his hair, his fingers grip me against him, and before long he's pressed himself into me, and I whimper his name. And it's slow, tender, and I'm sure that in these moments, it's real. I'm not a liar. Not now, not about this.

And I can honestly tell you that in these fleeting minutes the only two people who exist are me and him, and the proof is in the way I gasp at his touch, the way I whisper a single word, a single name. His. And I wish every moment could be as true as this, because this is pure affection. Untainted, for the briefest portions of time.

The way our hips press together, the way we move, already knowing. He touches me everywhere I need him to, and I do the same. His hands at my back, through my hair, brushing across my cheek, softly at my breasts. My fingers raking through blonde waves, across his chest, down his sides, clutching his lips to me. Perfect.

And when we finish, we do it together, and my body holds him hostage, tight inside me, and he gives himself to me, and we both stumble, blindly, over the edge. Panting each other's names and not wanting to be anywhere else.

I wish everything, every time, could be like this.

"Caleb."

"Rosalyn."

Maybe this could've been the happy ending to our story. Except it isn't, not really. Too bad, right?

Because I do love him. I do.

But I know this is not enough.

•§•

, my life settles into a simple pattern. Almost normal. If I ignore (and oh, I do) the guilt that comes from the trial, or the shame in knowing what there was between Nero and I, I can almost be happy.

Caleb makes it so easy. Easy to forget, easy to move on. We spend time together and have dinner, I meet his parents and his younger sister, I hang out with Izzy and Shauna and Natalia, and it is how life is supposed to be.

Weeks pass. Months.

And before I know it, we've been dating for almost five months, and I barely ever see Nero, I've mostly stopped leaving treats by his door.

If I do, I just put them there in the hallway and knock and leave before he answers. Before I have to look into those eyes and remind myself that I have a boyfriend, before I feel the urge to throw myself into his arms.

It helped, finding him with someone that time. Because imagining him and Stephanie or whatever other blonde supermodel he's lying in bed with makes me, oddly, better. I don't have to feel so bad anymore.

I think that's a good thing.

I avoid him at all costs, reminding myself that he's trouble, and, this time, I actually listen.

But.

Sometimes at night, when Caleb is asleep beside me, my mind wanders across the wall and into the other apartment, into Nero's head. My brain conjures up memories, hot and cold and worried and regretful, and I think, and I remember, and then I fall asleep, aching. But that's only sometimes.

And then, on the news, there's the telltale rumors of murder and drugs, death and trafficking and it's the mafia, the mafia, gangs, gangs, the mafia. And they don't ever say his name, except I know it's him. He's elusive, he's everywhere, and yet the world pretends he doesn't exist. I guess it's a testament to just how powerful he is.

Ugh. If I had known that I would live next door to the most wanted man in BC, I wouldn't have moved in.

If I had known I would somehow grow to want him in my arms, however wrong, I would never have let myself be around him.

But, I did.

And this, this... misery, is the price I have to pay.

•§•

trial, the prosecution appeals.

It's not like we didn't expect it, but it's still a shock.

"Haven't they found any other suspects?" I twirl the thick noodles around my fork, looking at Caleb from across the table.

He sighs and gives me a small smile. "Somehow, every lead they get is supposedly a dead end."

Of course. Nero.

I swallow a lump of guilt. "Every single one?"

"Mhm." He takes a sip of his water, and I notice the slight slump in his shoulders, the little creases in his forehead. "If they grant this appeal, I don't know if I can do it again, Ros."

He sounds so tired, and I get it.

I try to give him my most supportive smile, reaching to grasp his hand. "You guys are incredible lawyers, Caleb. Worst case, you'll make it work, just like last time."

And that earns me a small, reassured grin. Mm. Caleb has the best smile.

"Have I ever told you you're the best?" He says it with his head slightly tilted to the side, cute, and his sincerity makes me hurt.

"Maybe once or twice." I am many things, but I am not the best.

A sudden thought nags at me. Shifting in my seat, it's hard to bring it up. "Hey, so, you guys didn't, you know, hear anything more from those guys after the case, did you?" I can't meet his eyes. "I mean, those ones that threatened Daniel and my dad at the fundraiser?"

He shakes his head, and I know he thinks I'm worried about my well-being, but he's wrong. "Not that I know of. As far as I know it was just that one time." He shrugs. "I mean, we did what they told us to."

After that it's just silence, and soon I clear the plates and we watch TV and there is something palpable suddenly between us, though maybe I imagine it. As if my secrets have finally taken form, have finally burst into the real world, settling in all the spaces we don't touch.

But he puts his arm around me, and I lean in, and I try to forget that I'm a criminal, that I'm technically being threatened to silence every day.

And as some rerun of House plays across the screen, I imagine those men who threatened us all those months ago. I imagine Nero getting angry at them for it, I imagine them doing it against his orders.

What is he, anyway? I try to rack my brain for Godfather terminology, and it sounds silly even to my brain. Not the Don. Not some low-level hitman. Hm. Consigliere. I think it fits him, makes sense. Ugh. I'm so lame.

But.... Is it possible that I could tell the truth? That I could tell them all about what I heard, and Nero...

No, of course not. Whatever went on between him and I months ago would not make him or any of his thugs less likely to hurt me, or my family.

Would he, though?

Of course he would.

But he likes you. Maybe he even cares about you.

Psht. That's crap. Maybe he's... attracted to me, maybe, but that's it.

He'd still slit my throat if I told.

"There are a lot of things I want to do to you, dolcezza, but that isn't one of them."

Dammit. And of course I imagine him on me, his lips against mine and my back to the wall or to the mattress and then his hands and his mouth and bare skin and—

"You okay?" Caleb gives me a small nudge. "You look upset or something."

I lean against him, and my smile is so believable that I hate myself for it. "Yeah, of course. Just... thinking."

He places a gentle kiss at the top of my hair. "Anything I should worry about?"

"Absolutely nothing."

If only.

How long do you have to know someone for them to irreversibly, catastrophically change your life forever?

If you asked me that a year ago, I would have laughed. You'd have to know them pretty damn well.

No. No no no.

You just have to overhear a single conversation, and it can ruin your life.

Trust me, I know.

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