Copyright © 2013 Melissa Delport

First edition published by Melissa Delport 2013

The text of this publication, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.

The Author/Publisher has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author/Publisher will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Melissa Delport P O Box 2045 Pinetown South Africa, 3600

Edited by Cathy Eberle

Cover designed by Wendy Bow

Website: www.melissadelport.com

For Murray, who is my Adam – my soul mate.

Table Of Contents

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

About The Author

Acknowledgements

A big thank you to my husband Murray, and my beautiful children, who allow me to indulge in a passion that at times consumes me, and leaves little room for anything else.

To my wonderful and multi-talented friend Wendy Bow, who travels this journey with me on a daily basis – designer, beta reader, support base – without your input I would be lost.

To my dear friend, Annamarie gey van Pittius, for proof reading an unedited manuscript and still loving it.

Debbie Rahimi, psychologist extraordinaire, for the “professional” advice.

And finally, to all the special ladies in my life, friends and family: This book is especially for you!

Chapter 1

Summer

It was raining the day I met Adam Parker. It was March, early spring, one of my favourite times of the year and it was my mother’s birthday. I was all too aware of this as she had phoned me every day for the past week to remind me. The morning had started out sunny and mild and, as a result, when the afternoon thundershowers hit I was caught wearing a vintage-inspired teal lace dress that ended just above my knee and silver peep-toe kitten heels. I had only managed to find parking on the other side of the lot and I had a lot of ground to cover through cascading showers and massive puddles. The thing is, though, I've always loved the rain. As a little girl, my mother constantly struggled to keep me out of the garden in the wet weather. She claimed this is because I’m an Aquarian. I told her that Aquarians are water-bearers and that just because one carried water didn’t make one a fish and she was possibly confusing me with a Piscean. She had clicked her tongue at me in that annoyed way of hers.

Now, at 25, I am still utterly besotted with the rain. Here, in Long Beach, California, we experience an average of only 36 rainy days per year, almost half of which take place between January and March. Those 36 days keep my spirit light; the glorious deluge is like food for my soul.

The day I met Adam I can only imagine what he must have been thinking, watching this maniacal, sopping wet woman running through the rain and giggling like a five-year-old, splashing in as many puddles as possible in my now quite ruined heels.

Before I reach the safe haven of the store I stop and turn my face skyward, opening my mouth and tasting the drops on my lips and my tongue, the water running down my nose and parting my eyelashes like starfish.

Feeling almost giddy I take two steps under cover and then shake like a dog, slipping off my wrecked heels and slinging them over my shoulder. Maybe I should just grab a new pair of shoes while I'm here. I turn around, trying to remember what I came to the store for in the first place, hoping that this is not a bad omen, remembering my father’s early symptoms and this is when I notice him for the first time.

He is standing at the door of the store in the process of opening a very plain, generic, black umbrella. His blue eyes are fixed on me and a ghost of a smile plays about his lips.  Feeling suddenly and uncharacteristically shy I wipe the excess water from my face and drop my eyes to the floor, trying not to grin like a village idiot and failing miserably.

I have always been a happy person. It’s not that I have had the perfect life or that I’ve never been hurt, I just prefer to look at the positive. My father was always optimistic and he rubbed off on me, I guess. Now, of course, he doesn’t really remember much, but even so, he's certainly the happiest Alzheimer’s patient I’ve ever met and I’ve met my fair share at Fairview, the permanent care facility that has been my father’s home for the past five years; ever since his Alzheimer’s became too incapacitating for him to live on his own. My parents divorced when I was four and my father never remarried. My mother, on the other hand, tired of being what she referred to as “middle class”, attached herself to the first wealthy suitor stupid enough to fall for her poorly executed seduction routine. Unfortunately for poor Frank, my long-suffering step-father, one night in Georgia cost him dearly. I still think that the very high profile affair that his first wife had enjoyed with her fitness instructor had left his ego so badly bruised that he momentarily lost touch with his common sense and that my mother had preyed on this vulnerability.

By the time Frank’s errant wife had grown tired of the virile young fitness instructor, Frank was safely ensconced in my mother’s clutches, never to respect himself as a man again. Much to my mother’s delight, Frank lost his legal custody battle with his ex-wife and, as such, was only entitled to visitation with his two young daughters every second weekend. Frank was gutted. My mother set about redecorating their bedrooms as guest suites, arguing that, as the girls were to be spending so little time at the house, the family guests might as well enjoy the best views. I am still pleasantly surprised at how patient my step-sisters are and how well they tolerate my mother.

Despite everything, my mother failed to realise that rich and upper class are not necessarily synonymous and has spent the better part of the past two decades annoying everyone at the local Country Club, spending copious amounts of Frank’s hard-earned money and eating far too many cream buns.

While I adore my mother and all of her silliness, I am eternally grateful that I take after my dad. My father, Christo Petrova, was born in Sofia, Bulgaria in 1945. In 1980, at the age of 35, his fiancée left him at the altar. Heartbroken, he booked a one-way ticket to America, determined to make a new start far away from the memories of his first love. Being a qualified teacher and a diligently hard worker he soon found employment lecturing economics at a local college. It was only a few short years later that he met my mother, Georgia Frost. She was 28, a student of his and 11 years his junior. Unable to resist the comely young woman my father took the moral high ground and resigned, found a new job and within two years they were married. Another two years later I was born by caesarean section, a healthy nine pounds with a mop of dark hair. At 43, my father was delighted to have finally started a family and looked forward to settling down and taking things slowly. He was a devoted, hands-on parent and I grew up a healthy and happy child.

My mother, unfortunately, did not take as well to parenthood. Selfish to a fault, she could not cope with the demands of a new-born baby. She was also spoilt and accustomed to my father’s undivided attention and soon the fragile threads of the marriage started to unravel. My mother filed for divorce the day before my fourth birthday party and the marriage legally ended a mere three months later. To everyone’s astonishment, my mother fought for custody of me and won. This soon made more sense as my father was forced, by court order, to pay both maintenance for me and alimony for my mother, who had not worked a day in her life.

Safe in the knowledge that she would be taken care of financially, my mother proceeded to neglect me and was quite happy for me to raise myself, leaving her free to pursue her wealthy quarry which turned out to be poor, unsuspecting Frank. Grateful as I was to have Frank in our lives, I stayed very close to my father and as soon as I was old enough to decide for myself, I spent more and more time at his house. I don’t think my mother really noticed, although Frank often sent me a packed lunch for two and insisted it was my mother’s idea; not that she deserved the credit.

I was 16 years old the first time my father called me by my mother’s name. Slightly taken aback I ignored him, convinced it was simply a mistake he had not even realised he had made. A few months later he had called me Georgia three more times and I was becoming concerned. There were times when he did not appear to even remember where he was. On his 60th birthday, which we celebrated together playing Scrabble and eating Oreos, my father forgot who I was and tried to forcibly eject me from his house. I finally had to admit what I had been trying for six months to ignore and I phoned my mother. It was Frank who arrived 20 minutes later and helped me to coax my confused and frightened father into the car, and it was his gentle smile that soothed my fears slightly. On our way to the hospital I asked him where my mother was.

“She decided not to come, sweetheart,” he answered, keeping his gaze fixed on the road and refusing to meet my eye. “She thought it might make him uncomfortable.”

I snorted in disgust.

“Don’t talk shit, Frank,” I spat, my fear feeding my anger. “She’s too busy watching Dallas re-runs and painting her God-damn nails.” I blinked a few times trying to force back the tears.

Early onset Alzheimer’s disease. The words rained down on me but I couldn't absorb any of them. They call it early onset if the diagnosis is made before 65. My dad was only 60. He deteriorated rapidly and within two years he was no longer able to live on his own. We moved him into Fairview a week after his 62nd birthday and he has been there for 5 years since. My father is now 67 years old and he is still my best friend although he no longer knows it. All is not lost, however. He is still intrinsically the same positive and happy person that he has always been. Of course he gets frustrated every now and again. I think on a subconscious level he is aware that there is something wrong with him, but over all, he is content. He will always be my hero. I am eternally grateful that I am so like him and he also loves the rain.

The only time I remember being really, truly and unbearably sad was almost two years ago. I was 23 years old and the world was my oyster. I had attained a post-grad degree in English and was determined that one day I would become a world famous author. In the meantime, I would serve my time as a lowly sub-editor for the local paper. My life was finally beginning, and it felt great. I was also fairly certain that it was only a matter of time before Kevin proposed. We had been together since my first year at college, my first day, really. Kevin had been assigned to show me and my friends the ropes. He had gone above and beyond; complete over-achiever I always teased. He loved everything about me. He loved my dark sexy looks, my olive skin and my long brown hair. He claimed that my brown eyes, which were so dark they sometimes seemed all pupil, were the windows to my soul.

Within a week, we were fooling around, and within a month we were monogamous. Four years later, just after my 23rd birthday, Kevin and I moved into a one-bedroomed apartment and spent the first night on a mattress on the floor, planning all our great furnishing prospects and laughing while we enjoyed the fruits of our labours; a bottle of cheap red wine.

About half-way through the bottle, we decided we might as well make the most of it and Kevin had dropped a kiss on my nose and ventured off in search of more alcohol. We had noticed a corner shop during our countless trips moving our tacky, donated furniture into our new home.

Kevin never returned. The corner shop had fallen victim to an armed robbery and Kevin was the sole casualty. The owner of the store told me that Kevin had tried to stop the suspect from hurting his wife who had been serving at the till at the time. He died a hero, he said. He died, was all that I cared about. It didn’t really matter how.

For the first time in my life I fell apart. I stopped visiting my dad at Fairview which was really the only true reflection of the pain that I was in; I loved my father more than life itself but even for him, I could not pull myself out of the hole I had fallen into. I took so much unauthorised leave, simply lying on the floor and dreaming of the life that I would never have, that I lost my job, without which I could no longer afford my rent and I was evicted from our sweet apartment within three months of moving in.

Mortified, I started to make changes. Losing the only home that Kevin and I had shared, regardless for how brief a spell, was the catalyst that I needed to sort out my life. With a monumental effort I began to pull myself together. I moved back home with my mother and Frank and started visiting my father every Sunday, shocked at how quickly he had deteriorated in the few short months that I had been absent; and ashamed at my behaviour.

Then the attorneys summoned me. Kevin had been very responsible and had taken out a life policy on his 21st birthday. Nobody could have known that only four short years later, the policy would pay out four million dollars, and that the sole beneficiary, as stipulated in Kevin’s last will and testament, would be Miss Paige Marie Petrova. Me.

I was determined that Kevin’s faith in me would not be unfounded. I would not squander the money that he had left me. His parents never wanted any of it; they were wealthy in their own right and while they mourned the loss of their son, they would never have contested the will; they simply honoured his wishes.

I eventually decided to follow my father’s long-standing advice and invest in bricks and mortar. For as far back as I could remember he had always told me to buy myself a home the first chance I got, claiming it would be the best investment I would ever make. I bought an apartment in a sought-after estate for just under a million dollars and invested the balance of the money. Furniture would have to wait, I decided, just as Kevin and I had thought only a few months before. For now I had a roof over my head and an interview lined up at a small publication: a local magazine had recently launched in our area and were looking for someone to freelance.

I got the job. I now spend my days writing articles on any attractions or pieces of interest in our area, as well as the occasional book review. I have moved on and have found peace with what happened to Kevin. His murderer was found and sentenced to 40 years in prison. It will never be enough, but I have chosen to forgive rather than harbour the hatred which I know would fester and would ultimately hurt me far more than it would him.

More than anything, I am determined that Kevin’s death will serve as a constant reminder that I should live my life; live it fully and passionately and with every fibre of my being. If I have learned anything it is that nothing in life is certain and that we never know when our time might be up. Someone once famously said that we should live each day as if it is our last because one day it will be. And I do. I hug the people that I love and I try to do one thing each month that scares me. Last month I went sky-diving. I nearly peed in my pants, but I do crazy things and I refuse to sit back and let life pass me by. I laugh; a lot. I cry now if I need to, or sometimes just to remind myself that I can. I drink cheap red wine, not because it’s all I can afford, but because it means something. I visit my dad, even though he doesn’t remember who I am and I become his new best friend every week. I throw myself into everything that I do. And I dance in the rain. I dance in the rain every time it rains because it is a gift that I can. This precious gift of life should not be taken for granted.

I head into the store, better able to concentrate now that I am not distracted by the rain or the gorgeous man with the black umbrella. I have come for garlic rolls and French dressing. And a Snickers, which, of course, I will eat long before I arrive. My mother will never know. She would keep it for herself while publicly berating me for not eating properly, the sneaky cow. Most Saturday afternoons I spend at mom’s with her and Frank and Frank’s two daughters, Samantha and Lola, both of whom are married with children, one boy and one girl each, as if they had ordered them from a Sears Catalogue or something.

I grab the few items that mom asked me to bring and smile at the lady behind the till.

“How are you, Miranda?” I ask the elderly woman I have known for most of my life. “Fine thank you, Paige,” she replies. “It’s my grandson’s birthday tomorrow; we’re having a little party for him. Five years is a milestone or so my daughter-in-law tells me.” She frowns disapprovingly before continuing, “Although apparently 60 is just an ordinary day. Where were they last month on my birthday, hey? Skiing in Switzerland, that’s where! And all I got was a lousy phone call – woke me up because of the time difference! Frankly I’m surprised they even bothered.”

She seems to have forgotten that I’m standing here and I'm starting to feel a little bit awkward when she suddenly pulls herself together and gives me a very put-on 'cashier' smile. “Anyway, I’m so looking forward to it; I got him a lovely little red wagon - wooden. Children today get far too much plastic and electronic equipment.” There is an awkward pause as I try to decide on the correct response.

“Well, congratulations!” I cry, with far too much enthusiasm. “I hope the weather is nice.”

I quickly pay for my purchases and head for the door, ripping open the Snickers and taking an enormous and enormously satisfying bite. I head back outside and take a moment to assess the rain. It seems to have gotten worse. It doesn’t bother me running back to the car, but I’ll be damned if I let a good Snickers bar go to waste. I’ll just have to hang around here until I’m done. I cram another huge mouthful in, although I haven’t yet swallowed the first.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice murmurs in my ear. I jump about a foot in the air and choke on the chocolate. Spinning round, I reel in shock and embarrassment as I recognise old blue eyes, still hanging on to his boring umbrella. I cover my mouth with my hand, trying desperately to swallow what is already crammed in there, but it’s not going down without a fight. I have to half close my eyes in concentration and the handsome stranger is gaping at me in alarm, glancing around quickly as if to check if there is anyone around who might be able to help.

After what feels like an eternity, I swallow down about half the Snickers bar in one gulp, my eyes watering from the pain and effort. Trying to act as though there is nothing wrong, I gaze up at him innocently.

“Yes?” I ask politely, as though nothing has happened. Did I just imagine it or did he just cover up a snort of laughter behind a very obvious throat clearing. I peer up at him, my eyes narrowed.

“What is it?” I ask, far more aggressively, crossing my arms over my chest and then realising that the packet I am carrying is far too heavy for this position to be comfortable. I uncross my arms.

“Um...” He looks slightly desperate for a moment and runs his hands through his dark curly hair. Very handsome, I decide. His eyes are so blue they should have their own pantone. His lips are full and beautifully shaped and he is tall and broad-shouldered. I bet he works out, I think; feeling slightly guilty that the last time I went to the gym I was in the kids’ play area waiting for my mom’s aqua-aerobics class to finish. It was her first and only attempt. I clearly remember her huffing and puffing for a full 20 minutes afterwards, which seriously affected her usual ability to wolf down a chicken and mayo toasted sandwich in under 2 minutes.

Dressed in smart black pants and expensive black leather shoes, this gorgeous specimen of hot-blooded male is mercifully saved from looking too austere by the absence of a tie and an almost casually unbuttoned open neck grey shirt. I once overheard Aunt Jackie telling my mother that she had met a man who made her want to have sex on a snooker table. I can, for the first time in my life, completely empathise. I shake my head. Putting the blatant physical reaction my traitorous body is feeling aside, I really do need to get going. I am already 15 minutes late. I am about to turn and leave when he finally manages to blurt out:

“Sorry, I’m Adam! Adam Parker,” he continues awkwardly, “I just wondered - I thought you might need...” He gestures helplessly at his umbrella. I stare at it in confusion.

“You waited for me just so that you could offer me your umbrella?” I ask suspiciously.

“Well,” he begins, gazing skyward before meeting my eyes, “when you put it like that it sounds kind of stalkerish; but yes, essentially, that’s what I did.”

“I like the rain,” I say, not entirely sure why.

“Yes,” he smiles sincerely for the first time, “I saw that.”

His gaze roams up and down my body taking in my wet clothes and I suck in an astonished breath. There has been no-one since Kevin died. Two years of celibacy. I have not been remotely interested in dating or men or anything remotely close. But this man! This man is making me think wicked thoughts. I purse my lips contemplatively.

“Would you like to come to a barbeque with me?” I ask, after only a moment’s deliberation, and he grins.

I do, after all like to live for today. He might not be here tomorrow.

Chapter 2

“Paige, honey, is that you?” my mom calls from the patio as the front door slams behind us.

“It’s me, mom!” I yell back, depositing my purchases on the counter just as she enters the kitchen. I freeze, quickly stowing the empty Snickers package I have just pulled from the bag behind my back. Sammy and Lola are right behind my mom, each with a round pink baby on their hips.

“Hi!” I say brightly. My mother’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“What have you got, there, Paige?”

Jeez, she’s like a freaking bloodhound. I cast around frantically, but I am trapped like a deer in the headlights. There is no hiding my indulgence from her. I am about to come clean when a warm hand wraps around my wrist and then moves slowly down and takes the wrapper from my hand. I feel a shiver run down my whole arm. My hands fly from behind my back and I raise my eyebrows in feigned annoyance.

“What are you going on about?” I ask, and then, dusting my hands on the front of my damp dress, I gesture at Adam. “Mom, this is Adam. Adam is a friend of mine.” He raises his eyebrows at me and I grin. “Adam,” I continue bravely, “this is my mom, Georgia, and my step-sisters, Sammy and Lola.”

Sam and Lola are gaping like a pair of goldfish and my mother’s eyebrows have shot so far up her forehead that they have practically disappeared into her hairline.

“Hi.” Adam grins at them in turn and then very deliberately turns to me and stage whispers.

“So, let me get this straight. You have two step-sisters?” He chuckles. I have heard it a hundred times before, so I just roll my eyes.

“Yes, yes. Call me Cinderella.”

Not to be upstaged, my mother, suddenly the epitome of poise and grace, where I am pretty sure only a moment ago she was sneaking a ciggie in the backyard, glides forward, her hand extended.

“An absolute pleasure to meet you, Adam,” she purrs, “I’m so glad you could join us.”  Glancing over at the seven individually prepared prawn cocktails displayed on the dining room table, I am pretty sure that my mother is anything but pleased, but I do admire her adaptability.

I grab a wine glass and fill it with the cheap red wine from my own cooler. Looking at the label, Adam gives me a questioning gaze and I simply smile secretly.

“Would you like a glass?” I ask challengingly, bringing the glass to my lips. Adams gaze follows my mouth and a flash of desire crosses his features. I deliberately lick my lips, refusing to look away first.

“Gracious, no!” my mother scolds, rushing to her wine rack. “Adam, you can’t possibly drink Paigey’s cheap nasty stuff, I don’t know why she insists on drinking that plonk.” She casts an annoyed glance in my direction before continuing, “I’m sure we have a divine Cab-Sav in here that you would enjoy.” She starts pulling bottle after bottle out of the wine rack and I can’t help but wink at Sammy and Lola who are in hysterics behind her juddering bottom.

“Please don’t bother, Georgia,” Adam replies smoothly, his low husky voice causing my insides to contract. “I’m quite happy with Paige’s preference.” He deliberately brushes up against me as he leans across to retrieve a wine glass. Pouring himself a generous cupful, he lifts it in an impromptu toast, his eyes full of meaning.

“To new friendships,” he smiles, and I clink glasses with him, a flush spreading across my face that has nothing to do with the wine.

“Paige, why in God’s name are your clothes wet?” my mother squawks from across the room and I roll my eyes.

We head outside and I introduce Adam to Don and Dave, Sammy and Lola’s respective husbands; and of course to Frank, my step-father for the past 20 years. Frank kisses my cheek and looks Adam up and down, assessing him.

“So, Adam,” he drops his voice menacingly and I smile behind my wineglass. “What exactly is it that you do?”

“I’m in the construction business back in Manhattan,” Adam replies, smiling. “I actually came down here for a job interview. Incidentally, they’ve offered me the position. They want me to start on the first of April. I’ll probably be moving to Long Beach in the next couple of weeks.”

I release the breath that I have been holding since he mentioned that he lives in Manhattan, on the other side of the country.

“So, how did you meet our Paige here?” Frank continues, not to be deterred. Frank is as protective of me as he is of his own girls, possibly even more so. I think he tries to make up for my mother and I love him for it. Adam grins down at me, amusement twinkling in his sapphire blue eyes.

“We bumped into each other at the store, actually. It was raining. We shared my very sensible umbrella,” he begins and then grins wickedly, “we spent the afternoon together, had something to eat, had a few drinks and then we went home, together,” he raises his brows, ignoring Frank’s gasp of outrage, and I look away, not sure of how I feel about his presumption. “We just talked all night, getting to know each other,” he continues easily and I grin, relieved to be let off the hook. Ignoring Don and Dan’s guffaws of “Talked, yeah right... if that’s what you want to call it,” Adam continues, “I was enchanted, captivated. I couldn’t have turned back if I tried.”

He raises his glass to me again and I redden under the heat of his gaze.

“Aah,” Sammy and Lola are both gazing at Adam in adoration, their hands clasped over their hearts.

“You’re umbrella was boring,” I retort, and then I turn back to Frank who seems to have recovered his composure and is asking Adam about his work.

“How’s your dad, Paigey?” Frank asks after a while and I glance quickly across to check if Adam is paying any attention. He appears to be deep in conversation with Dave about football so I turn back to Frank, smiling sadly.

“He’s okay; still happier than the rest of them. He has moments of clarity; those make him sad. Sometimes he asks where mom is. Sometimes he thinks he’s back in class and asks me why I bother attending if I'm not going to take any notes. He gets very frustrated.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” Frank ruffles my hair fondly.

“Not as lucky as mom is to have you,” I mock, then, lowering my voice conspiratorially, “have you found yourself a lover yet? You know none of us would blame you. In fact, I can set you up an awesome profile on a dating website... help you along?” I nudge him and he laughs.

“Alas, my heart belongs to your mother,” he places his hand over his heart dramatically.

“God only knows why,” I answer, taking a huge gulp of wine.

“Paige!” he mock-scolds. “She’s a dear old thing, really.”

“I know,” I smile, glancing across at my mother who is sneaking another ciggie around the corner oblivious to the fact that we can all see her shadow lifting the cigarette to her lips every time she takes a puff. Bless her.

“You and your dad still playing chess?” Frank interrupts and I turn back to him.

“We’ve been playing a lot of Scrabble lately,” I reply. “And Cluedo. He’s obsessed with Cluedo.” I smile, thinking of my dad. Most of the time when we play he is completely unaware of who I am; he is just grateful to have a willing partner, while I treasure every moment we spend together. I do sometimes wish I could have him back as he was, particularly on days like today. I would like to be able to tell him about Adam and our crazy meeting. He would have liked Adam, I think, even with his boring umbrella. Thinking of Adam, I glance over at the men gathered around the barbeque and I freeze, my heart in my throat. Adam is staring intently at me, deep in thought, and I wonder just how much he has overheard.

The evening gradually turns cool and I start to shiver in my still damp summer dress. I stifle a yawn.

“I think we’re going to go soon, Mom.” The girls had left a few hours earlier; their screaming, tired babies putting paid to their afternoon.

“Thank God for that,” Frank announced the moment they were gone, downing his whiskey in one gulp. “I love my grandchildren but they make a hell of a lot of noise for such tiny people.”

We make small talk as the last of the sun’s warmth disappears over the horizon and then Frank goes in search of a refill, winking at me as he saunters past.

“I’ll just see what Georgia is up to,” he mutters, unconvincingly, knowing full well that my mother will be washing dishes for a while and thereby giving us some 'alone' time.

Suddenly shy, I take another huge swig of my wine, not knowing quite what to say and I turn my back to him, holding my hands out toward the last dying embers of the fire. I sense Adam behind me before he touches me, and I feel like a wind-up doll there is so much tension in my body. When his hands run up and down my arms I cannot help myself and I lean back against him, at the same moment that his arms come around my body, encircling me. I sigh contentedly and bask in the heat radiating off his body. I feel his breath in my hair and I turn to face him.

“So, you’re moving here?” I ask casually, far more anxious about his answer than I am prepared to let on. “To California? To Long Beach?” I clarify.

“I think so,” he nods. His blue eyes look almost black in the dim light and, as I gaze up into them, they appear endless. “There are certain prospects I may be interested in,” he smiles down at me, holding me firmly in his arms. His chest is hard and lean and there is a shadow in the hollow of his neck. Unable to resist, I lean forward and place a kiss on it. I feel his body stiffen and he draws in a deep unsteady breath.

“Ready to go?” I ask, my voice sounding far huskier than I intend.

“Yes,” he growls and a thrill runs through me.

We somehow make it into my apartment before we lose control, although the drive home in my little Chevy was decidedly tense. Adam had left his car back at the store with the intention that we would fetch it on our way back from Mom and Frank’s, but we cannot endure even the extra five minute detour. As it is, the door is barely shut behind us when Adam grabs me and his mouth comes crashing down onto mine.  His tongue is warm and sexy and is exploring my mouth more intimately than anyone ever before, even Kevin, who, in my opinion was a good but not very adventurous kisser. Adam’s hands are running up and down my back and I grab handfuls of his black curls, pulling him down towards me.  He lifts me up as though I weigh nothing and I wrap my legs around his waist. We slam into the wall and I groan, the pleasure far exceeding the pain. I can feel him pressing hard against me and I press back in wild abandon.

Adam groans in raw, primal need and drops to his knees, his mouth on my mouth, my neck, my throat. I force myself to focus and, one by one, I undo the buttons on his grey shirt. Each one is like a prize in its own right; his chest and torso emerging is enough to test even the strongest self-control. Every inch of this glorious man is chiselled and hard, lean, beauty. I am still straddling him as he lifts my dress up and his hands are on my bare back, tracing random patterns on my skin, my body arching in response. My nipples are so sensitive and so hard they are pressing through the soft fabric of my dress and he groans gazing down at them. He lowers his head and traces lazy circles with his tongue over the sheer material and I moan, closing my eyes and dropping my head in euphoria.

Adam stands suddenly, lifting me with him and carries me into the bedroom. He drops me on the covers of my double bed which suddenly seems far too small, a slow, sexy smile crossing his face. I gaze up at him, my eyes heavy with desire. He eases himself down on top of me and soon I am writhing beneath his expert touch. It feels like his hands are absolutely everywhere and I find myself moaning his name over and over.

Much later, I run my fingers across his torso, tracing his muscled stomach and the lines of his six-pack. My head is resting on his chest and one leg is draped across his body.  I feel sated, exhausted and completely at ease. Adam is playing idly with my hair, wrapping a long dark tress around his finger and twirling it around and around before letting it go.

I smile up at him and he drops a kiss on my forehead.

“You are something else,” I confess, pulling the covers up to my chin and peeking out cheekily.

“Thank you,” he acknowledges with a nod. “You’re not too bad yourself,” he grins.

“You know, I’m not usually such a slut. I kind of have this first-night, first-base rule.” I yawn, listening to his deep, infectious laughter and smiling. I close my eyes and lay my head on his shoulder, desperately hoping that he is the kind of guy who spends the night. Then, remembering that his car is back at the store, I smother a giggle.

The next morning I wake to the smell of coffee, which explains the empty bed, at least, and I heave a sigh of relief. I would have felt far more slutty if he had snuck out and caught a cab in the middle of the night. I stretch lazily, my body feeling sore, but sated. A moment later the door opens and Adam comes in with a tray bearing coffee, toast and cereal.

“Breakfast in bed?” I raise my eyebrows disbelievingly. “Wow. You really are every girl’s dream come true.”

I watch him buttering the toast and note fondly that he is left-handed; a sign of creativity. A moment later he stirs his coffee with his right. I cock my head to the side, blinking in confusion.

“Are you left or right-handed?”

“I’m actually ambidextrous,” he replies, grinning. “It’s one of the reasons why I’m so good in bed,” he winks and I laugh.

“What are the other reasons?”

“Oh,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “it’s just a natural God-given talent.”

“I just love humility in a man,” I point out, laughing.

Breakfast is delicious; we finish every morsel and I dust the crumbs off the rumpled sheets. I sit, sipping my coffee, the sheet drawn up to cover my nakedness and regard him thoughtfully. I have never been so sexually attracted to anyone, even Kevin, but there is more to it. Adam is amazing; it feels like I have known him forever and yet I know nothing about him. I really want to get to know him better and I'm hoping he feels the same.

I move to put my mug on the bedside table and the sheet slips, exposing my bare breast.  Adam’s gaze zeroes in on it and passion flares in his eyes. My body reacts automatically and I sigh, stretching my arms over my head and letting the covers fall to my waist. I meet his hungry gaze head-on and then I stretch lasciviously, arching my back and exposing my neck. Adam needs no further invitation and the tray clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Chapter 3

Summer

“I like this one,” Adam announces proudly, pointing at a dark wood coffee table with an ethnic, tribal design. I frown, regarding the table with about as much excitement as I would a used teabag.

“What? It’s awesome!” he continues, looking perplexed. “Or not?”

“Not,” I smile, patting his shoulder. “How about this one?” I indicate the table I have been examining; very shabby-chic, with a distressed white-wash and a glass top. “I love it!” I finish triumphantly and he rolls his eyes.

“Direct translation – we’re taking this one,” he laughs and I grin.

After a month of long-distance dating, Adam officially moved to Long Beach three months ago, in April, and although his work keeps him pretty busy, we spend almost every moment we can together. There has been the odd lunch date that he couldn’t make, but he is so sincerely apologetic afterwards that I forget my embarrassment at sitting alone in a crowded restaurant. Besides, I do understand that with the line of work he is in, problems arise at the last minute and he has to attend to them. We spend nearly every weekend scouring the antique stores and markets for furniture. He has pretty much let me decorate his entire apartment and I have loved every minute of it. We still spend more time at my place than we do at his, but he is happy with that. He claims he prefers it; that less is more and that the empty space gives an amazing perspective. I just laugh at his sarcasm, I have not done much more furnishing since I bought the place – I've been too busy living. I decided long ago that I would rather spend my money on life than on stuff. Adam loves this philosophy, but he also says that one of us, at least, should have furniture. And so we shop.

Adam and I have been inseparable since that first night. Our four months together feel like a lifetime, so deep is our emotional connection. I keep waiting for the punch-line; he is just too perfect, too amazing. After Kevin, I never thought I would ever find someone that I would come to care for even half as much, but Adam has stolen my heart. This is the happiest I have been in forever. July, the driest month of the year has never bothered me less. Where I usually yearn for the rain, I now have something far more valuable. I have Adam.

He pays for the table, plus delivery and then we head off to Starbucks to grab a coffee on the way home.

“You signed with your left hand today,” I mention, and Adam chuckles. He is always amused by my fascination with him being ambidextrous.

“Glad to see you were paying attention, Miss Petrova,” he says, smacking my butt. “But don’t be too harsh, my right hand was thoroughly overworked last night.” He winks.

“Shush!” I scold, casting a nervous glance around. “You forget, Mr Parker, that I grew up in this town. What will people think?” I know as soon as the words have left my mouth that I shouldn’t have said them.

“They will think, Miss Petrova,” he drawls slowly, “lucky, lucky Paige to be having fantastic sex with the hot, ambidextrous guy.”

We are going to see my dad this afternoon. Adam broached this subject early in our relationship. He had overheard me talking to Frank at the barbecue after all. He now comes with me most Sundays to see my dad and we play endless games of Scrabble and Cluedo and very occasionally, chess or backgammon. Backgammon days do not usually bode well. When he was still in Bulgaria, my father played a lot of backgammon with his fiancée, and on backgammon days he is usually even more confused and out of sorts. Often, Adam will hold me late on a Sunday night while I cry for the man that I will never again have in my life. Adam’s own parents died when he was four years old. He grew up in an orphanage and has been fending for himself since he left at the age of 18, so I think he can relate.

The best thing about Adam is that he lets me be me and he loves me for it. I told him about Kevin and all he asked is that I speak about him whenever I think of him. He says that he never wants me to hold anything back, he wants to know how I'm feeling and for me to feel that I can tell him anything. He also embraces my way of life. He drinks only cheap red wine in honour of Kevin’s memory and once a month we do something crazy, or scary, or both. Last month we went scuba-diving with whale sharks in the Sea of Cortez. I kept telling myself that the gentle giants weren’t the people-eating variety. Adam screamed like a girl when one swam too close for comfort. Now, whenever there is a rainstorm, it is Adam who drags me outside.

The morning of our visit I head to the shops to pick up something for our dinner tonight. Adam is going for a run and meeting me back at my place before we go visit my dad. Laden with grocery bags, I prop them against the front door of my house as I rummage in my bag for my keys.

“Need some help with those?” Adam grins as he opens the door.

“Please!” I laugh and he takes the parcels from my hands. “I’m just going to have a quick shower, Babe!” I call as I head down the passage leaving him to unpack. He has obviously already showered, he is wearing jeans and a Polo jersey.

I turn on the shower jets, letting the water heat up and then I drop my clothes in the laundry basket and pad back down the passage to the linen closet. Opening the doors in search of a towel I blink in surprise. The usual chaos that is our linen is gone. All the towels have been perfectly folded and arranged according to color. Running my eyes downward, the sheets, and all the bed linen, have also been meticulously reorganised. Shaking my head I walk naked down the passage back toward the kitchen, when I hear Adam on the phone. Maybe it’s the tone of his voice, or maybe it’s just a gut feeling, but I remain hidden around the corner, listening intently.

“Simon was here,” Adam whispers urgently, throwing a punnet of mushrooms and a pack of lamb chops haphazardly into the ice box. “What did he say to you when he called?” he asks and there is a pause as he listens to the answer. “I know that!” he suddenly hisses, and my head jerks back in shock at the panic in his voice. “I will,” he continues more calmly, “just not now. No, I’ll call you.” he ends the call abruptly and I press my back against the cold wall of the passage, my mind racing, as the noise of his unpacking continues.

Creeping back down the passage I pull a fluffy cream towel from the linen cupboard and wrap it around my body.

“Babe, did you reorganise the cupboards?” I ask lightly as I saunter into the kitchen.

There is an infinitesimal pause and then he answers casually, “I did. I had some spare time and they were a shambles.”

“Who were you on the phone to?”

“What?”

“Just now, I thought I heard you on the phone?”

“Oh, yes, just some work stuff,” he brushes off the question. Taking in my immodest state of undress, he grins wickedly. “You look very appealing in that towel, Miss Petrova.”

Ignoring the sudden rise in my blood pressure I force myself to sound normal.

“Don’t even think about it; we’ll be late. How was your run?” I add almost as an afterthought.

“It was good,” he turns back to the bags.

Back in the bathroom I open the laundry basket again, pulling out my discarded clothes and confirming my suspicions. There is nothing else in there; no track pants, no socks, no sweat shirt, and when I check his shoe cupboard, his running shoes are right at the back of the very organised, perfect rows of shoes.

Leaving the house a few minutes later, pushing the strange phone call from my mind, Adam kisses my forehead and hands me the keys. He hates driving; he always insists that I drive everywhere, not that I mind, I love my little Chevy. The drive to the Care Facility gives me time to think. What am I worrying about? Adam didn’t go for a run; big deal. So he spent the afternoon cleaning out closets, most women would love that. And as for the phone call, Adam deals with crises at work all the time, why am I getting stressed out about a simple conversation? Adam’s hand resting on my leg is warm and real and he makes me feel more beautiful and more loved than I have ever felt before. Exhaling a deep breath I silently berate myself for my silliness and focus on the road.

When we arrive at Fairview my father is staring out at the garden, seemingly deep in thought.

“Mr Petrova?”  I place my hand gently on his shoulder and he looks up at me, tears shining in his brown eyes. I am so concerned that, temporarily forgetting myself I ask anxiously, “Dad, what’s the matter?”

“Paige?” he asks tentatively, his voice breaking and I reel in shock.

“Yes, Daddy, it’s me.” I can’t believe it. It has been so long since he has had a lucid day that I thought there were none left to be had. I quickly introduce Adam.

“Daddy, this is my boyfriend, Adam.” My dad looks up at Adam and then offers his hand.

“Nice to meet you, son,” he says before his gaze returns to me.

I sit next to him and his strong, wrinkled hand clasps my cheek.

“Oh Paigey, I’m so sorry I left you.” A tear tracks its way down his cheek and I smile through my own.

“It’s okay, Daddy. It’s fine, really. I’m happy,” I glance back at Adam. “I’m so, so happy.”

“Good, that’s good,” my dad nods at Adam in acknowledgement and thanks.

“How’s your mom?” he asks and I smile.

“She’s fine, Dad. She married Frank, remember?” I cringe inwardly at the sensitive subject.

“How can I forget?” He shakes his head, “Patronising old bastard stole my wife.”

“He’s not so bad, Dad,” I laugh. I rest my head on his shoulder and we sit peacefully like that for a few minutes.

“I’m scared, Paigey,” he admits, his voice so low that only Adam and myself can hear it. I feel Adam squeezing my shoulder, offering his strength and support as my dad continues. “It’s like I’ve lost myself, like I don’t really exist anymore.” He tries and fails to choke back a sob and I let my own tears fall, feeling more helpless than I ever have in my life.

“Where’s Kevin?” he asks suddenly and I press my lips together as hard as I can, trying not to give in to the emotional breakdown that is threatening to consume me.

“He died, Dad. He was killed in a robbery. You didn’t know,” I reassure him, when he looks bewildered.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He strokes my cheek and we both lean against one another, taking solace in just being together.

It is ages before either of us speaks and then my father sits up abruptly.

“Excuse me, Miss, I must have fallen asleep,” he apologises, looking shamefaced and straightening his jacket.

“That’s all right; I came here to see you, actually,” I answer, wiping away the last of my tears.

“Me?” He glances around as though I might be referring to someone else.

“Yes, I think so. Someone told me you like to play Scrabble?” I ask, exaggeratedly. He beams, looking smug.

“Well actually, I am rather good at it,” he boasts, and I smile sadly.

That night I cry harder than any other and Adam holds me, rubbing my back, smoothing away my tears and letting me wipe my nose on his T-shirt. When I am finally done and my shuddering has subsided, Adam gently pushes my hair out of my face.

“I love you.” He says the words so simply and so sincerely, that it takes me a moment to register what he has said. I press my lips together and then give a watery smile.

“I love you too,” I reply. And it’s true, I do love him. I have loved him, I think, since the first time I saw him. He is the most amazing man I have ever met and the only man since Kevin who has captured my heart. If the truth be told, I think that, given the choice between the two, I would always choose Adam and this makes me both incredibly happy and incredibly sad at the same time.

Adam takes both my hands in his and leans forward, demanding my undivided attention.

“Paige,” he begins, and then stops suddenly, collecting his thoughts. He takes a deep breath and then continues quickly. “I know we’ve only known each other for four months and I know that you probably think it’s too soon, but I am just so in love with you,” tears spring to his eyes. “I can’t imagine being without you for one second. Life is so short. I really don’t see the point in waiting,” he takes another deep breath and then, “I want to marry you, Paige Petrova; more than anything else in the world.”

A while later Adam goes to the kitchen to fetch me some water. He is gone for some time and I am almost asleep again, when I hear a low voice and I jerk awake, listening intently. Is Adam on the phone? I throw off the covers and then slowly ease myself out of bed. I am almost certain I can hear someone talking. I quickly shove my feet into my slippers and pad out of my room. There is silence in the apartment. A quick glance around the kitchen reveals nothing. I turn to head back to the bedroom and I scream, quickly clamping my hand over my mouth.  Adam grabs me, pulling me close.

“Jeez, Paige! What’s wrong?”

“You scared the shit out of me!” I curse, slapping his bare chest and feeling foolish for being scared almost to death by my own boyfriend. Fiancé actually, I think, a small smile lifting the corners of my mouth. I slip my arms up and around his neck and pull his head down, kissing him lingeringly on the mouth.

“What’s that for?” he grins wickedly against my lips.

“Just because,” I answer, pressing my body against his.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, tickling my back. “Tomorrow we're going to get you a ring.”

Chapter 4

The following day Adam heads back to his apartment to take delivery of the new coffee table and I head downtown to do a bit of retail therapy. Adam has his heart set on a lavish engagement party and my wardrobe is sorely lacking at the moment. I spend an hour at the Long Beach Mall and another two hours driving from Boutique to Boutique. Finally, feeling frustrated and throwing caution to the wind, I drive the thirty minutes into LA and head for Rodeo Drive. I so seldom buy myself clothes, I figure I can afford to spoil myself just this once. My happiness is infectious and I find myself smiling at complete strangers, most of whom smile back, disarmingly. An hour later I am in desperate need of a coffee and I go in search of a Starbucks. I walk past a cosy bistro and glance in the window. About five steps later, I freeze, and slowly backtrack. I blink a few times, trying to make sense of what I am seeing.

Adam is sitting in a booth with a young blonde woman who is smiling up at him, her vivid red fingernails curled around a steaming cup of something. From my vantage point I have a clear view as she lifts her stocking-clad foot and rubs it slowly and intimately up and down Adam’s leg. I stare, dumbfounded, at them and eventually Adam glances up and meets my gaze, his blue eyes cold and unconcerned. He looks vaguely irritated at my intrusion on his privacy and stares back at me, challengingly. Shocked and hurt, I turn and flee down the street. I drench my pillow that afternoon, sobs wracking my body until it physically hurts. My throat is agony from choking back the tears and I am shaking uncontrollably, unable to calm myself. The pain is unbearable; it is worse than Kevin, so much worse, because at least Kevin didn’t have a choice.  He didn’t choose to leave me; he didn’t choose to die.

Eventually I make my way to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and I hear a key turn in the lock. The door opens and, to my complete and utter disbelief, Adam walks in, happily waving a white piece of paper.

“Your table has arrived,” he grins, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the coat rack near the front door. I gape at him in astonishment.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss, and he visibly recoils. I never curse; it is not in my nature to be angry. Ever.

“What?” He looks so genuinely bewildered that I wonder if perhaps he has lost his mind.

“I saw you, Adam,” I bite out, clenching my teeth so hard that my jaw aches.

“Saw me where?” he asks, taking a step toward me.

I automatically take a step back and he is rooted to the spot, gazing at me in horror.

“Paige!” he sounds panicked. “What the hell is going on?”

“I saw you, Adam!” I yell, not giving a damn about the neighbours. “I saw you today at the Bistro. With another woman!” I spit out, getting more and more angry as his confusion seems to grow. “Blonde? Red nails? Aw, come on!” I yell, throwing my hands in the air as he looks blankly on.

“What are you talking about, Paige?” He takes a few steps forward, ignoring my outstretched arms, warning him not to come any closer. As soon as he is within reach he looks me in the eyes.

“Paige, please. Calm down,” he implores, his blue eyes looking genuinely bewildered. “I don’t know what you saw, but you have to believe me that it wasn’t me.”

I snort in disgust at his blatant lie and he flinches.

“Why would I do that?” he reasons. “Why would I ask you to marry me if I was going to rush off and meet someone else?” I can’t see the logic in this either and he uses my uncertainty to further his cause. “I love you, Paige. You know that. I know that you know that. I don’t know what you saw, but it wasn’t me!” I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. He seems so sincere. And why would he come here?

If he knew he had been caught out surely he would have come after me at the bistro, tried to excuse himself then? He would never have come home so brazenly if he had been caught doing something so terrible. I pinch the bridge of my nose; I have a headache. Almost subconsciously, as a force of habit, Adam pours me a glass of water and hands it to me, along with two headache pills.

I slump down at the kitchen table and, after a moment’s hesitation, he joins me.

“He looked exactly like you,” I utter, too exhausted to even have this conversation.

“He wasn’t me,” he iterates, his hand covering mine on the table.

I look up at him, his curly black hair and his white V-neck T-shirt which emphasises his tanned skin. His blue eyes are pleading. He is sincere, I realise. He has no idea what I am talking about.  How can this be possible? I rise from my chair.

“I need to get some sleep,” I mutter, heading toward the bedroom. “Are you coming?” I ask, looking back at him and he sighs in relief and follows me. I lie down on the bed and he lies beside me, curling his body around mine and stroking my hair until I fall into a dreamless sleep.

Two weeks go by and the party planning is in full swing. My mother has worked herself up into a frenzy, so determined is she to upstage Kimberley, Frank’s first wife, who managed to get both Sammy and Lola’s weddings in the society pages. My mother seeks retribution. The party, now only a week away, is escalating into epic proportions, and to my utter dismay, Adam is in on it. He keeps phoning her to check that the cake is three-tiered, that the napkins are ordered, that the string-quartet are well rehearsed. Yesterday I caught them both behind the pool-house smoking. I gave them a ten minute lecture, both looking suitably sheepish and then I laughed my head off. Mom is determined that we enjoy the last of the good summer weather, which is laughable, as the party is only a week before the change of season and there is a chill in the air, already.

On the Thursday before the party I drop by Adam’s apartment to fetch his suit. He had asked me to take it to the dry-cleaners for him ages ago and I had forgotten all about it. Now, with the engagement party only a few days away I realise I am almost out of time. Luckily I called Mr Cullen down at Dry-It and he promised he would prioritise the suit and have it ready for Saturday, for a small fee, of course.

I am thinking fondly of how Adam would probably freak out if he knew that I had overlooked such an important detail and how he would probably have a fit if he knew that I still didn’t have shoes to go with my dress. I am so deep in thought that I walk right into his room and open his cupboard before I even register that anyone else is in the room.

Everything seems to move in slow motion. Hearing a noise, I turn and catch them at it. Her skin is so white against Adam’s that it almost looks like they are an interracial couple. She is straddling him, her red high heels still on. Her boobs are bigger than mine and she has on far too much fake jewellery. I drop my bag, open my mouth and scream. It is the same blonde girl, of that I am certain. I meet Adam’s glare and am shocked by his face, so contorted with rage that I barely recognise him. He opens his mouth and starts yelling, calling me names that I never knew he was capable of speaking. Adam doesn’t curse. This Adam, however, swears at me so badly that my cheeks flame and bile rises in my throat.

Eventually I can take no more and I turn and run from the house. I don’t stop running for over a month, moving from friends to various family members’ houses and avoiding all Adam’s calls, until one day they just stop coming. After a week of absolutely no contact I finally feel brave enough to venture home. Adam is gone although most of his clothes are still there. I call a locksmith immediately and have all the locks changed, which turns out to be completely unnecessary because he doesn’t come back.

Chapter 5

Autumn

About a month after my return home I receive a visit from Carl Sheldon. I am just pouring myself a glass of wine and sautéing mushrooms in a pan when my doorbell rings. I’m curious, yet a part of me still dreads that Adam might one day try and make contact, but, on peering through the key hole, I discover a middle-aged, bespectacled man with a receding hairline on my doorstep. He has a kind face, so I open the door.

“Can I help you?”

“Paige Marie Petrova?” he asks immediately.

“Yes,” I answer truthfully.

“Please may I come in?” he asks, his tone serious.

“May I ask what this is in connection with?” I reply.

“I believe you know Mr Adam Parker?” The words are barely out of his mouth and I start to shut the door on him.

“No, wait!” The sense of urgency in his voice halts me, however unwittingly.

“I’m sorry, Mister?”

“Sheldon,” he replies, “Dr Carl Sheldon.”

“Well, Doctor Sheldon, I’m sorry but I’m just not prepared to discuss Mr Parker – Adam – with you.”

“He misses you,” he sounds detached, almost clinical and I stare at him, not understanding his intent.

I eventually decide to ignore him and glance obviously at my wristwatch.

“I’m sorry, Miss Petrova,” he begins. “I’m afraid there is much that you don’t know about Adam. I would like to explain it to you. It might help you make sense of what transpired between the two of you.” I raise my eyebrow, slightly embarrassed that this man obviously has some intimate knowledge of my relationship with Adam.

“Come in,” I sigh, resigning myself to listen for five minutes, after which Dr Sheldon is out of here. I lead the way to the kitchen and open the cooler.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” I ask politely. “Tea, coffee, fruit juice, water?”

“Tea would be lovely,” he replies and I set about making him a cup.

“Right,” I set it down in front of him. “Get on with it, Doctor, the clock is ticking.”

“Ms Petrova,” Dr Sheldon’s kind eyes meet my own, “Adam is a patient of mine. He has been for a few years now.”

“Patient?”  I interrupt. “What do you mean patient? Is Adam sick?” Despite my anger, the thought that Adam might be seriously ill makes me feel faint.

“Yes,” Dr Sheldon answers simply and my heart lurches in dismay. He leans back in his chair and presses his fingers together. “Adam suffers from a condition we call D.I.D – Dissociative Identity Disorder.” At my blank look, he clarifies, “It was formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder.”

“What?” That doesn’t make any sense; he must be mistaken. Adam doesn’t have multiple personalities; I would have known.

“D.I.D is a dissociative disorder whereby the patient may adopt as many as 100 new identities all simultaneously coexisting inside one body and mind.”

“You mean to say that Adam is schizophrenic?” I ask, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of this whole situation.

“No, no, certainly not,” Dr Sheldon shakes his head vehemently. “Schizophrenia is a psychotic disorder. Adam’s is a dissociative disorder. The two are completely different from one another.”

“This is crazy. No. I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible,” I shake my head. “I’ve been with Adam for months. I’ve had an intimate relationship with this man. Believe me, Doctor, there’s only one person in there.”

“Adam has been in my care for over a year, Miss Petrova,” he explains gently. “There have been improvements beyond our wildest dreams. Adam is capable of reintegrating his identities through long-term psychotherapy. We had hoped that he would have completed his treatment within the next year. Unfortunately, against my better judgement, I allowed Adam a ‘sabbatical’ if you will, for good behaviour. He left my clinic about six months ago for a West-Coast holiday and did not return. We all now know why.”

He inclines his head at me and I sit back floored. Me. Adam didn’t go back because he met me. I remember him telling Frank he would probably be moving to California but he didn’t actually make that ‘decision’ until after that first night together.

“But he had a job offer,” I’m trying to justify, to rationalise. “He moved here because he got a job in Long Beach.” His next words leave me gaping.

“Adam is very successfully self-employed; he could get a job anywhere – he’s the boss.”  Carl Sheldon continues, “He has his own construction company back in Manhattan, with a full staff complement and very competent management.”

I fall silent, considering this. It explains why Adam is always so flexible. He said it was a freelance position.

“Freelance,” I murmur, feeling foolish. “I should have known.” I click my tongue, annoyed at how easily I had been fooled. “I never questioned.”

“But, why would you have?” he asks gently. I don’t answer and he seems to understand that I do not want to.

“I finally tracked him down here about a month ago,” Doctor Sheldon gets back to the point and I want to put my hands over my ears. I don’t want to hear this. “He told me about your relationship.” Is it my imagination or is there something like pity in the doctor’s eyes?

“What about the woman?” I ask, not caring that I sound like a sulky, 15-year-old. “I caught Adam in bed with a blonde woman the day I ended it.”

“No, Miss Petrova,” he says, not unkindly. “You found Kyle in bed with a blonde woman.”

My mouth drops open and my eyes widen in shock as he continues.

“There are three separate alters or identities in addition to Adam. This is not as bad as you may think,” he hastens to add, seeing my look of horror, “considering the fact that there could be as many as 100. Also, Adam does not have any cross-gendered alters and they are all roughly the same age.” There is a pause, and then he suddenly changes the subject, “None of this is his fault. Adam is...well, obviously you know him well enough; I don’t need to tell you that Adam is an extraordinary young man, kind and generous to a fault.” Tears well up in my eyes and Doctor Sheldon regards me steadily.

“I see that what Adam has told me regarding the two of you and your feelings toward one another is not as exaggerated as I first believed,” he says softly, and then he takes a deep breath and sits up a little bit straighter. “You must understand, Miss Petrova, Adam doesn’t want to be sick. He is the 'host' identity – the personality that attempts to hold the various fragments of identity together. Adam may at times become overwhelmed, but he has asked for treatment. He wants to get well and I believe he can get well.”

“Who's Lizzy?” I ask, suddenly remembering. A few weeks before Adam and I parted ways he had had a nightmare. He was moaning and fitful and, when I shook him gently awake, he looked at me, terrified and asked, “Where’s Lizzy?” I had questioned him in the morning as to who Lizzy was and he said he had no idea.

Doctor Sheldon regards me curiously.

“Why do you ask?” I relay the story and he nods thoughtfully.

“Lizzy is the childhood friend and love interest of Simon Harris – another of Adam’s alters.  He is always asking for her. Simon must have broken through briefly but, as he went straight back to sleep, you didn’t realise it.”

“So,” I ask tentatively, still trying to get my head around what I have learned, “there is Adam and Simon. And there is Kyle.” I shudder, thinking of the personality I had met briefly, the one who had yelled at me and cursed me so badly.

“Kyle has anger management issues,” Dr Sheldon seems to read my mind. “He has a short fuse and he is highly sexed.” I blush, remembering the active sex life that Adam and I had enjoyed. “Please do not be alarmed, it is highly doubtful that Kyle ever played a part in your physical relationship with Adam. You would have been aware of it immediately. Kyle would not pretend to be Adam. Adam would not pretend to be Kyle. These personalities are completely separate from each other; they each have their own behaviours and, indeed, even their own physical gestures.”

“Adam is ambidextrous.” I don’t know why I am bringing this up but it suddenly springs to mind.

“Yes,” Doctor Sheldon is nodding his head, impressed. “Adam is ambidextrous because Kyle and Jacob are right-handed and Simon is left-handed.” I blink, my brain not comprehending what I have just heard

“So, Adam is real?” I ask. “Adam is the person that he is, inside?” I don’t even know how to put my thoughts into words. The earth seems to have veered so far off its orbit that I feel like I have entered some alternate universe.

“They all exist, Miss Petrova.”

“Paige, please.”

“Okay, Paige. And please, call me Carl. You must understand, Paige, that they are all real. All four identities are real. Adam is certainly the dominant. He is the host, the person who has sought out treatment. He is the one who wants to get better.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. A part of me, however crazy, is delighted. Adam didn’t cheat on me.

“The reason I’m telling you all this, Paige, is that Adam is back at the clinic.”

I nod; this is good news. “Do you think he will get better? Do you think that one day we could...” I trail off, unsure exactly what it is that I am asking and if I really want an answer.

“Possibly.” Dr Sheldon is quite confident. “The only problem is that Adam refuses to re-enter the treatment program.”

I feel my eyes widen. “Why?” I ask, unable to comprehend why Adam would refuse treatment.

“Because of you.” Dr Sheldon, I can see, is trying very hard not to sound accusatory.  “He is beside himself with worry over you. He returned to the clinic when it became clear that he could not make amends with you on his own and he asked me to please come and explain things to you. He needs to know that you understand that he did not cheat. You have also become important enough to him that his mental health has become a secondary concern,” the doctor frowns. “Quite simply put, he will not enter the program unless you are with him.”

Chapter 6

I am fairly confident that I am committing emotional suicide, but despite this, I have my bags packed within the hour and I am on the next available flight to Manhattan with Carl Sheldon. I have no idea how long I am going to be in New York, but I will make all necessary arrangements once I am there. I cannot think about anything until I have seen Adam. I need to see Adam.

“Tell me about the alters,” I ask the doctor as soon as we are airborne. We have a five-and-a-half hour flight ahead of us and I am determined to face this head-on. Adam is the love of my life. I will not give him up to a bunch of alter egos. Doctor Sheldon clears his throat.

“Well, Kyle you have already met. He is a very strong personality type; he is highly sexed, as I mentioned, and he is arrogant. He is usually the instigator behind any deviant behaviour; he drinks too much and likes to party. You could call him the stereotypical ‘bad boy’.”

I think about this for a minute and the implications it could have.

“Has Adam been in any trouble with the law?”

“Nothing serious as far as we know,” he replies, and I expel a deep breath that I was not aware I had been holding.

“Are they aware of each other?” I ask, the thought suddenly occurring to me. “The alters?”

“That question is open to interpretation,” he replies, in typical shrink fashion. “It’s difficult to know, for certain, to what extent they are aware of one another. Kyle is certainly very aware of Adam; he self-admittedly claims that the sole reason for his existence is to protect Adam. This, in itself, indicates that at some point in his life Adam fell victim to something bad enough that he could not deal with it on his own, and Kyle was created and emerged to protect him.”

“But you’re his doctor! You’ve been working with him for over a year. Surely you know what that tragedy was? What made Kyle appear? And the others for that matter? Isn’t addressing the cause the key to getting rid of all these alter egos?”

“Part of it,” he admits gently, “although reintegrating his personalities is slightly more complicated than finding the source of his mental disturbance and telling him that it’s all going to be okay.” He does not sound condescending; he is merely giving me the ugly truth. His message comes through loud and clear: This is not going to be easy.

“The problem that I’m having with Adam is that we have no record of his early childhood. D.I.D is usually founded in this developmental phase and Adam cannot recall anything before his sixth birthday by which time he was already at the orphanage.”

“His parents died,” I mention, wondering who else might be able to shed some light on Adam’s early years.

“We do not know that.” His words are like ice water being thrown on me.

“What?” I ask and he sighs.

“Adam claims his parents are dead but he does not actually know that for sure. Nobody knows what became of Adam’s parents despite the authorities’ best efforts. They were simply never found, and Adam was never claimed by any next-of-kin. Perhaps he prefers to believe that they might be dead rather than face the other possible alternatives. Abandonment, for one,” he adds, as I arch my brow in question. He pauses, as though considering this before continuing, “He was found by a cleaner in the back alley of an old factory in Manhattanville and sent to the orphanage. They could not get any information from him, although they say that the child was traumatised and would not speak initially. This is very common in the event of PTSD.” At my irritated glare he quickly adds, “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.” I give a quick nod of thanks before he continues. “Adam gave only his name to the nuns who ran the orphanage and he settled in quite quickly, but he never spoke about his life before his arrival. One of the carers, a young woman by the name of Elizabeth too, incidentally, took pity on him and the two became quite close. Adam was certainly far more comfortable with her than anyone else at the home, but even she could not get him to confide in her. About a year later, the nuns started to notice that there were times that Adam claimed other names and acted completely differently.  Unfortunately, they immediately suspected the devil’s hand – an occupational hazard, I guess, and I think the boy Adam may have been mistreated.”

He laughs sadly as I click my tongue in disgust. “Don’t judge them too harshly, Paige.  Not much was known about DID at that time. Nevertheless, at 18 Adam left the orphanage and set out on his own. He started as an apprentice for an old builder and, to the best of our knowledge, the five years he spent with Jack Sullivan Senior passed uneventfully. Then, when Adam was 23, Jack Sullivan fell ill and his son, Jack Sullivan Junior, took over the family business. Jack Senior died less than three months later.”

Doctor Sheldon pauses as the air hostess hands him two pre-packed sandwiches and two cups of tea. “Thank you,” he addresses her and she smiles, the perfect air-hostess smile. I want to slap her face and tell her to bugger off. I do not have time for pleasantries; I need to know what happened next.

“Jack Junior is not the nicest person,” he chews slowly, and then takes a sip of tea.  “When I met him, he came across as incredibly arrogant and a bit of a bully. It did not take long before he and Adam started to argue. Eventually the fighting turned physical and a fist fight culminated in Jack firing Adam.” He pauses, letting me come to my own conclusion.

“Kyle?” I ask and he nods approvingly.

“Good girl. Yes, I can only assume that the bullish nature of Jack Junior caused Kyle to surface again and take charge of Adam’s body. Kyle’s intention was to protect Adam, but, as we all know, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” He takes another bite of his sandwich and I fight the urge to punch him in the mouth for wasting time. I am appalled at how on edge I am and I force myself to take a few calming breaths.

“Jack Senior meant a lot to Adam. He was really his only mentor and the only father figure Adam had ever known. Adam went to his funeral to pay his respects.” I cringe; I can only imagine what happened next. “Kyle caused a scene when Jack Junior tried to evict him from the proceedings. He spent a night in jail for domestic disturbance and bailed himself out the next morning – I assume when Adam reappeared. No charges were pressed although Jack Junior did try to contest the will.”

“What?”  He has lost me, again.

“Jack Senior bequeathed a large sum of money to Adam.” My heart expands with emotion for this kind old man who cared so much for my Adam. “He also sent me a letter which was to be mailed in the event of his death. He had left money in a trust for the expense and asked that I help Adam with his disorder.”

“He knew?” I am speechless.

“He knew,” Carl nods in confirmation. “Patients with dissociative identity disorder are difficult to work with, in fact, more than one third of patients are unable to work at all. Jack Sullivan was incredibly fond of Adam and sympathised. Adam would have had feelings of anger and exasperation, not to mention the emotional exhaustion. Jack became aware of Kyle and Simon, although he never met Jacob.” He smiles fondly, and then, at my enquiring look, “Jack Sullivan Senior was my father’s best friend in the navy. They maintained contact right up until the day he died.”

“I’m sorry.”

I am not sure what else to say and Carl chuckles, obviously aware of my discomfort.

“Thank you.” And before you go judging Kyle too harshly,” he adds, “Jack Sullivan Junior is a jerk.”

He takes a sip of tea and gestures at my untouched sandwich and my own tea which has probably gone cold by now. “You should eat something, Paige; you are going to need to keep your strength up.”

I force myself to eat half of my sandwich and drink a few sips of the cold tea. Satisfied, Doctor Sheldon nods approvingly.

“Okay. What about the other two? Jacob and Simon?” I ask and he rubs his chin.

“Jacob, of all the three alters, concerns me the most. He was the last identity that I came into contact with. For almost six months I believed that Adam had only Simon and Kyle to deal with. Jacob is the least dominant of the four; I have only met him a handful of times in the year that I have been treating Adam. I believe that Jacob represents the younger, child-like Adam. Although he is 24 he seems years younger.”

“Jacob is a different age to Adam?” I ask, incredulously. Adam is two years older than me – he is twenty-seven.

“They all have different birthdays,” Dr Sheldon explains, “Jacob was born on the sixth of September 1989, when Adam was four years old.” He pauses, watching me intently.

“You mean?” I'm not sure if I am following him but he nods encouragingly.

“I believe that Jacob was born on the exact day that the trauma occurred in Adam’s life; the day that something so terrible and so unbearable happened, that Adam dissociated in order to be able to cope; to be able to survive.” He gazes out of the window as though lost in thought and I am grateful for the moment to collect my own thoughts and bring my emotions in check.

“Jacob has a very dark side to him, one that leads me to believe that he represents all the pain and hurt that Adam experienced as a child,” Dr Sheldon continues as though no time has passed. “The initial trauma that caused Adam to develop other identities in the first place is borne by Jacob. He carries the burden so that Adam and the others don’t have to, so that they can lead normal lives. He is very sensitive and very troubled. He is also extremely difficult to counsel as he tends to flee from any confrontation, so the minute he gets uncomfortable talking about anything he withdraws, allowing one of the other identities to take over.”

“Is he gay?” I can’t help asking and Doctor Sheldon laughs softly.

“No, Paige. He isn’t gay. None of them are. And none of them are psychotic or aggressive enough to be classified as dangerous. They are just different. Each one of them is a completely separate identity. Think of it as four people inhabiting the same body.”

“You mentioned that Kyle is aware of Adam?” I ask, changing the subject. There is so much to digest.

“Yes. And Adam is aware of Kyle. Adam, being the host personality, is aware of all three other identities. He does not know them personally; he experiences a complete blackout when any of them are in control, but I have told him in great detail about them.”

“What does he think of them?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“He feels sorry for them, as we do. He pities Jacob and even Simon, to an extent,” he pauses and a rare smile crosses his face. “He doesn’t like Kyle. He says he doesn’t need protecting and that Kyle sounds like an asshole.”

I laugh, despite myself, and it turns into a sob.

“I’m sorry. This must be very difficult for you,” Carl says, placing a hand on my arm reassuringly. I wonder if he is going to try and counsel me too and I put my head in my hands.

“What about Jacob? Is he aware of the others?”

“It’s hard to say as he refuses to discuss it. I believe that he is aware of them but he does not want to acknowledge them. He is afraid; he knows there is something wrong with him but he is terrified to confront it.” He seems to hesitate, as though he is wondering whether he should continue. “I think that Jacob is the secret-keeper, Paige. He’s the one with the answers. I believe that he is the key to unlocking Adam’s early childhood.”

“Jesus,” I breathe. I'm so overwhelmed and wonder if I will be able to deal with all of this. I need someone to hold me. I need someone who makes me feel safe and loved and who makes me forget about the rest of the world. I sigh. I need Adam. I sit up straight and push my shoulders back. I will not lose him. No way.

“Tell me about Simon.” I’m relieved to hear that my voice is sounding stronger.

“Simon is an intellectual, quite a snooty academic. He is very inquisitive and demands to know all the facts about his condition. I should warn you; he also believes that he is the original personality and is quite eager to work with me to integrate the others so that he is the only one left. He believes it is his life to reclaim not Adam’s.”

“Can he do that?” I recoil in horror. “Can he lock Adam out?”

Doctor Sheldon puts a warm hand on my arm.

“No, dear. He might be able to hold Adam back for a period at any given time, but ultimately the psychotherapy will integrate all the personalities and the original will always be the one that remains.”

I heave a sigh of relief.

“How do you integrate them?” I ask.

“It’s complicated, but basically it’s a combination of psychotherapy and hypnosis. I plan to get aggressive with Adam this time around. I need to get to the trauma, the root of his problem. It’s the only way we are going to merge all four identities successfully and with any chance of permanence. With Adam in a hypnotic state, we ask each different personality to emerge and introduce himself to Adam, to make Adam aware of his existence. The personalities will then be asked to help Adam recall the traumatic experiences or memories that originally triggered the development of the new personalities. This is important; it enables the patient to experience the emotions associated with the traumatic memories. We then explain to Adam that while these additional personalities originally served a purpose, there are alternative coping strategies available now and he no longer needs them. The final steps involve piecing together the events and memories of all four personalities, integrating them, and then continuing therapy to help Adam adjust to his new self.” He waves his hand at the hostess who is standing at the front of our aisle smiling demurely around at all the passengers.

“A bottle of water, please,” Doctor Sheldon glances across at me.

“Two, please,” I confirm and then turn my attention back to him. “And this will work? Adam will be Adam and he and I can be together. Just the two of us?”

Doctor Sheldon laughs.

“In a nutshell, yes, but it is a massive commitment from your side, not a decision to be made lightly. You cannot abandon Adam down the line because it becomes too hard for you or too much effort,” he cautions. “Adam was responding very well to treatment. Many patients are able to obtain a full recovery but only a few can maintain it. Without continued therapy, even after the personality has become fused, a patient will often dissociate again. It is imperative that we ensure that Adam remains in therapy for the rest of his life, even once he’s recovered. A partner who is willing to ensure that happens is obviously an invaluable asset.” He peers at me out of the corner of his eye and I frown in consternation. Am I Adam’s partner? A month ago we were engaged. Yesterday we were enemies. Now I feel that I barely know him.

I think of Jack Sullivan Senior. He worked side by side with Adam for five years. He knew two of his alternate personalities and he got along with them both. He trusted Adam enough to leave him a huge portion of his wealth. Even Jack Junior didn’t press charges against Adam; a sure sign that as much as they disagreed he didn’t despise him. Doctor Sheldon obviously cares for him too. I feel suddenly impatient. I need to see him. I need to see him and we can figure things out from there.

Chapter 7

By the time our plane finally touches down in Manhattan my nerves are getting the better of me. I force myself to take deep, calming breaths as we collect our luggage from the carousel.  Strangely it is not Adam who dominates my thoughts, but Kevin. I can’t help but wonder what he would think of this mess and what advice he would give me. I am pretty sure he would tell me to follow my heart, and seeing as though Adam now possesses my whole heart, Kevin would probably be cheering me on from the sidelines right about now. I close my eyes and whisper, “I miss you” allowing myself one brief moment of self-pity and then I hoist my battered suitcase off of the conveyor, forcing myself to put all negative thoughts aside and focus on the positive.  Kevin is gone but Adam is alive and he is going to get the help that he needs. He is still Adam. He still loves me and I love him; that is all that matters. The rest we will deal with.

Doctor Sheldon notices me shivering.

“I’m so sorry, Paige,” he apologises, “I should have warned you about the temperature difference. California winters are much warmer. You must be freezing.” He glances down at my utterly inappropriate three-quarter pants and beaded sandals sympathetically.

“It’s not your fault,” I stammer, pulling a cardigan from my holdall, “I should have remembered.”

Christmas is only six weeks away and winter is almost upon us. New York is freezing and it is only going to get colder. I need to get myself a decent coat urgently. I set my watch forward three hours. It is 4 o’clock in the afternoon, New York time. Carl has asked if I would like to rest and go and see Adam in the morning, but I shake my head emphatically. I will see Adam today; I cannot wait a minute longer than is absolutely necessary.

We catch a cab to the Bed and Breakfast that Doctor Sheldon has booked me into. It is quaint and pretty with a beautiful green lawn, and the owners, Mr and Mrs Bass, are retired. He was a surgeon and she was a nursing aide. I smile at them both and then gratefully accept Mrs Bass’s offer to show me to my room. I dig in my suitcase for a change of clothes and take a quick, hot shower; the jets of heat stinging my freezing skin, waking me up and clearing my head. I pull on a pair of denims and a peach jersey top that Adam loves. Thankfully I brought my brown leather boots. I brush my teeth and tie my hair back in a ponytail. Pulling on two pairs of socks, I zip up my boots and I am ready to go in under 20 minutes. Carl, waiting downstairs, looks suitably impressed. He is old friends with the Bass family, having gone to the same college as Mr Bass. They politely end their conversation, but, as we prepare to leave, Mrs Bass gives a shriek of protest, rushes to the closet in the hall and bundles me into the warmest, cosiest sheepskin coat. I try to object, but she is insistent and so I thank her profusely and then, before I know it, we are standing back at the car. The doctor hands me the keys.

“This car will be for your use only for the duration of your stay,” he remarks, catching me off guard. Not wanting to show how nervous I am about driving around an unknown city and possibly losing the freedom of having a car, I settle confidently into the driver’s seat.

Five minutes later Carl is visibly wincing as I grind the gears noisily.

“I really appreciate it,” I say, smiling apologetically at him, surprised at his excellent taste. Manhattan is renowned for its lack of private car ownership and its excessive use of public transportation. The majority of Manhattan households do not own a car. The small, sporty silver Audi is gorgeous, far more expensive than my own little Chevy, one of the perks of being a medical professional, I suppose. The interior is so luxurious that I am nervous to touch anything for fear of leaving fingerprints all over the gorgeous stainless trim.

“I’m normally a really good driver, I just have to get used to the gearshift. Back home I drive an automatic,” I add, by way of explanation and he smiles.

“You don’t have to apologise to me, Paige, it’s not my car. It’s Adam’s, although he never drives it, it wouldn’t be safe, in light of his condition,” he informs me calmly and I nearly veer off the road in surprise.

“Sorry,” I mutter, trying to imagine Adam cruising around Manhattan in this sexy car. I can picture it only too well and I grin at the thought. I also now automatically adore the Audi, knowing that it belongs to him.

Dr Sheldon says nothing more, speaking only when he needs to direct me, and all too soon we pull into the Joan Hart Institute. My stomach is in my mouth as we park in Doctor Sheldon’s parking bay and walk through the doctors' entrance at the back of the building. My heart is beating so hard and so fast I feel like it might burst from my chest. We make our way down two corridors and then the doctor stops outside a plain white door.

“Are you ready?” he asks and I nod. I feel like I have been waiting forever to see Adam again. Dr Sheldon pushes open the door and I see him lying on the bed, reading. He glances up at me, recognition crossing his face and he swings his legs off the bed. He is so beautiful, his blue eyes warm and familiar and his curly black hair slightly longer than I remember.

“You need a haircut,” I hear myself say and I giggle nervously.

Adam grins wickedly, his gaze travelling up and down my body and I feel suddenly shy in front of the doctor. Turning to assess his reaction, I see a brief look of surprise on his face, before his usual deadpan expression settles back in place. I follow his gaze and see that Adam is still staring at me.

‘Well,” he finally breaks the silence and I notice that his voice is slightly deeper than normal, “it’s nice to see that you’ve stopped screaming, pretty lady.” He winks at me and, in the blink of an eye, I realise that this is not Adam. I am officially meeting Kyle for the first time.

My head is whirling with different thoughts and I suddenly wish that I had asked Carl what I should do in this situation. As it is, I am completely unprepared and there is no way that he can offer me any advice now. I take a deep breath, tell myself that this will serve as my 'something scary' for the month of November and take a step forward, my arm outstretched.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say confidently, “I’m Paige.” Kyle takes my hand and lifts it to his lips.

“Kyle,” he inclines his head arrogantly and then turns his attention to the doctor.

“What’s up, Doc?” he grins. “Long time no see.” Doctor Sheldon steps forward and shakes his hand quite calmly.

“Nice to see you again, Kyle. Where has Adam gone off to?”

“Aw shucks, Doc. You know, you might want to stop asking about him, I might start to think he’s your favourite.” He tilts his head to wink at me.

“Kyle you know I have no favourites,” Carl chides, “but could I speak to Adam?” he continues. “This lady has come a long way to see him.” He gestures at me. Kyle bites his bottom lip as though considering, then he shakes his head and addresses me directly.

“He’s so boring, darling. Why don’t you have a visit with me, instead?”

I can see that the doctor is about to intervene but I feel the need to understand more of how this works and I very discreetly shake my head at him.

“Sure, Kyle. Why not?” I force myself to smile and then I turn to the doc, “Does he have to stay in here? Can we go outside, get a coffee, maybe?”

I am not sure how this all works and again I find myself wishing I had asked the relevant questions before we arrived.

“Absolutely,” the doctor answers, moving aside and allowing us to pass. Kyle offers me his hand and after a moment’s hesitation I take it. He steps confidently forward, leading the way and I glance back at Doctor Sheldon desperately unsure of how to proceed. He nods in encouragement and follows us back along the corridor, down a few stairs and out into a garden.

Dr Sheldon then leads the way back around the building, back to the parking-lot where the Audi is parked. The chill in the air seeps through my clothes despite the warmth of the borrowed jacket and I shiver involuntarily.

“We’re still driving the pocket-rocket, I see,” Kyle remarks and then immediately jumps into the car looking very at ease in the driver’s seat.

“Kyle,” the doctor leans down, looking him straight in the eye, “I need to speak to Miss Petrova privately for a minute, if you don’t mind?”

Kyle raises both hands in the air in the universal sign of surrender and grins. It pains me to see Kyle’s smile on Adam’s face.

“Whatever you say, Doc, you’re the boss.”

“Oh, and Kyle,” Dr Sheldon adds, “Miss Petrova will be driving.” Kyle clicks his tongue in annoyance but moves across to the passenger seat, his long legs getting caught up in the gear stick. We walk a short distance away.

“Is this okay?” I whisper frantically as soon as we are out of earshot. “I’m not sure; I don’t even know if it’s allowed? Aargh!” I smother my face in my hands, stifling a scream of frustration.

“It’s okay, Paige, it’s good,” he soothes. “Kyle is obviously comfortable enough to go with you and that’s a good thing. Possibly he finds you familiar through your connection to Adam.” I look up at him, wondering how any of this could possibly be a good thing. “You must remember that Adam is not a prisoner here. He stays here voluntarily most days, but he could just as easily reside elsewhere and come in for his sessions provided that he was monitored closely. He’s not dangerous. He’s Adam. And the others are just that: Others; not criminals, not serial killers, just other people. You need to get to know all four identities if you are to fully understand the man you are dealing with. And hopefully,” he pats my shoulder reassuringly and smiles kindly, “hopefully one day soon it will just be you and Adam. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

I nod and head back to the car feeling only slightly more confident.

“Where should we go?” I ask Kyle and he grins.

“I’m easy,” he replies and I laugh, partly because he is funny and partly because of the nervous hysteria that I have been experiencing on and off since the moment Carl Sheldon walked through my door. Whatever the reason I feel better already.

“Yes, but I don’t live here in New York,” I reply, by way of explanation. “I’m from L.A.” He ponders that for a minute and then takes charge, directing me while intermittently whistling strains of The Beach Boys California Girls. We soon arrive at an upmarket apartment block and Kyle indicates that I should park in the underground lot.

“They serve the best coffee here.” He opens the door and gestures for me to go first. We are on the ground floor and there is a small deli close to the pool. He is right; the coffee is fantastic.

“How did you find this place?” I muse out loud.

“I live here,” Kyle answers, as if that were obvious.

“What?” I blink at him, looking around, although for what exactly I am not sure; possibly a sign that says 'Kyle’s Room'. I smile at the thought.

“You live here?” I ask again, my curiosity piqued. If Kyle lives here then Adam lives here. I am suddenly desperate to see Adam’s home; the one that he would have decorated himself, however badly.

“Can I see your place?” I ask Kyle automatically.

“No,” his answer is curt and almost rude.

“Why?” I splutter, slightly shocked.

“Because, I don’t know you,” he answers, speaking to me as if I’m retarded. “It’s my house.  Respect my privacy, will you? The Doc might want me to spend time with you and I’ll go along with the Doc, but don’t think that because Adam has some pussy-whipped thing for you, that you have some sort of claim on me.”

I reel; taken completely aback. For the first time I realise that Doctor Sheldon is right; there are not four versions of Adam inhabiting this body; there are four completely individual people with their own personalities. And so far this one does not like me very much. Great start, Paige.

Kyle, however, seems to realise that he may have been slightly over-aggressive and he relaxes somewhat, leaning back in his chair and regarding me steadily.

“Listen, sweetheart, there’s only one way that strange women are allowed into my place if you’re that eager to see it,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively and I cannot help but laugh.

“I’m okay, but thanks for the offer,” I reply, but Kyle is not listening. He is staring intently at something over my shoulder. Curious, I follow his gaze to the pool and I recoil in shock and horror. Lying by the pool an older, very made-up woman is tanning, her predatory gaze making a meal of Adam. I mentally shake myself. She is making a meal of Kyle; Kyle, not Adam. Kyle leers back; his fingers drumming the table, he inclines his head and she smiles seductively. Oh no! This is not happening. Kyle smiles secretly. “Lila,” he murmurs, seemingly oblivious to my shock and revulsion. She reminds me all too clearly of the blonde woman in Adam’s apartment.

Kyle stands abruptly and walks through the french doors, going over to stand beside her. A minute later they are deep in conversation and neither is paying the slightest attention to me. I flip open my phone, desperately scrolling down to Doctor Sheldon’s number and hitting the dial button. I raise the phone to my ear; I am pretty sure that I may be having my first panic attack. I cannot do this. I cannot watch this. I consider going over and explaining to the cougar, filling her in on the situation, but I can only imagine what Kyle’s reaction to that would be. I am praying like crazy that Adam or any of the other alters will suddenly appear, but I realise that this is futile; I need to fix this myself. Just as Doctor Sheldon’s phone clicks onto voicemail I make my decision. I stand, and before I can consider the foolishness of my actions, I stride right up to Kyle, laying my hand intimately on his arm and, smiling confidently up at him, I take a deep breath and utter the words I know are going to land me in a whole heap of trouble.

“I’d like to see your apartment now.”

Chapter 8

It takes a moment for Kyle to register what I have just implied, and the second that he does it is obvious. His initial annoyed frown which formed the second I interrupted gives way to a broad, lecherous grin.

“See you around, Lila.” He winks at the blonde and I see a flash of annoyance cross her features.

“It’s Lola, Kyle,” she snaps, sounding irked. He does not even excuse his blatant faux pas; he simply turns and walks back inside the building with me following along behind him, wondering how I am possibly going to get myself out of this situation.

The elevator pings on the sixth floor and we walk a short way along the corridor. Kyle stops suddenly outside apartment 6D. He lifts his arm and rests it against the door gazing down at me.

“Are you sure about this, pretty lady?” he grins, and, feigning all the confidence I can muster, I smile back up at him.

“Of course I’m sure.”

I knew that he would not hesitate. Kyle is driven by his physical nature; he is not a gentleman and will take any opportunity offered. His mouth crashes down on mine and his teeth knock painfully against mine.

“Oh, you are so hot,” he breathes into my mouth and I stifle the urge to gag as his tongue thrusts far too deeply into my mouth to be comfortable.

I try and force myself not to panic. Kyle is sexual, yes. He is a chauvinistic pig, yes. He is as arrogant and as sure of himself as anyone I have ever met, but he is not a criminal. He is not sexually deviant. He is not a rapist. He will not force me; he wants me to enjoy myself. He is not trying to punish me. This is just sex; purely physical. I also know without a shadow of a doubt that if I refuse him now he will simply go back downstairs and finish what he started with Lila, or rather, Lola, down by the pool.

“Hey,” I pull myself away and force myself to smile up at him. “Not so fast.  Can we take things a bit more slowly?”

“I’m not him,” he growls. “I’m not a pussy. I don’t want to talk about your feelings and play with your hair. I want to fuck - pure and simple.”

I can’t help myself, I've never been good at dealing with being uncomfortable and this is by far the most uncomfortable I've ever been in my life. I burst out laughing. Kyle takes a step back and regards me incredulously.

“Do woman ever actually fall for that machismo act?” I ask, trying and failing to stop giggling. Kyle looks affronted for half a second before a grin breaks over his face.

“Sometimes.”

“Really?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Look, Paige,” he draws out my name, “the thing is, I’m horny as hell and I find you extremely attractive, but I don’t know how I feel about your being involved with him.” He almost spits out the last word as though it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “I figure maybe if we have some sensational, mind-blowing sex it might get you out of my system and I can go back to my life.”

“Don’t you mean Adam’s life?” the words are out before I can stop them.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.” His words are cutting and I force myself to see it from his perspective. Adam being healed means that Kyle disappears.

“So,” I change the subject abruptly, confused by the sudden sympathy I feel for Kyle, “are you going to let me in or not?” I gesture at the still locked apartment door.

“Are we going to have any fun?” he asks, staring at my boobs.

“What if I said that I hadn’t decided?” I ask, testing the boundaries.

“I’d say that that is not exactly a no.” He turns the key with his right hand and opens the door, sauntering in first and throwing his keys onto the dining-room table. I follow him hesitantly, surveying the flat. Adam’s taste is just as bad as I suspected. He really does have the most awful stuff. And, as I suspected, absolutely nothing matches, but now I see this for what it actually is: Four separate people have had their own influence in the furnishing of this apartment; four very different people, each trying to create his own space with disastrous consequences.  I keep my opinion to myself and turn to ask Kyle a question but the words die on my lips.

He is standing right behind me holding a wicked-looking kitchen knife, a terrified expression on his face.

“Who are you?” he asks, holding the knife between us and darting panicked glances at the door. I force myself to remain calm and remember that none of Adam’s alters are dangerous or psychotic. I focus on the knife and something important registers. He is holding it in his right hand.

“Jacob?” I question tentatively. This is not Adam or Kyle and Simon is left-handed.

“Who are you?” he asks again, cocking his head to one side.

“I’m Paige,” I answer, keeping my voice calm and making no sudden movements. “I’m a friend of Doctor Sheldon’s.” The doctor’s name seems to reassure him and the knife drops to his side.

“What are you doing here?” he asks quietly.

“I’m here to help. I’m a friend, Jacob.”

“They’re close,” he whispers and I nod my head.

“Who's close, Jacob? Is it Kyle?” I prompt.

“All of them,” he answers, clutching the front of his shirt nervously. “They're always around; like vultures, circling and circling. They're just waiting for me to mess up.”

My heart constricts in pity for this pathetic person and I find myself wondering again what could possibly have happened that could have caused such a trauma.

“Why don’t we sit and talk for a while?” I hear myself saying. “Maybe it will take your mind off them.” I pat the empty spot next to me on the settee and he perches timidly on the edge. He is very fidgety, constantly moving one or another part of his body. I can imagine that most of Adam’s emotional exhaustion originates from this personality.

“Where do you go Jacob, when the others take over?” I begin as gently as possible. Doctor Sheldon believes that Jacob is the key to Adam’s recovery and I am determined to make him feel comfortable with me. He shivers involuntarily and then answers, “It’s dark...When they shut me out. I’m alone and it’s dark.” He hugs his knees and I feel tears well in my eyes. He is so pitiful.

“Would you like some tea?” I ask.

“That would be nice.”

He follows me into the kitchen and I set the kettle to boil and rummage around in the cupboards until I find two mismatched cups. One is white with black stripes and the other has a picture of a woman on it whose bikini disappears when the mug is filled with hot liquid. I stare at both of them, still not quite sure what I am up against. These men are such different people. It’s like a bad episode of speed-dating. I try and match the mug to the identity. Kyle is pretty easy; he's such a pig. The plain black and white I eventually link to Adam. He is like that; everything is black and white, there are no grey areas. It’s one of the things I love about him. I miss Adam. I came here for him and so far all I have got are his crazy alter egos. I heave a sigh and make the tea.

I sit opposite Jacob at the breakfast table.

“Jacob, do you like Doctor Sheldon?” I ask and he nods quickly.

“Yes.”

“Do you trust him?” He nods again. “Why are you so hesitant to confide in him?” I push and he starts to look slightly disconcerted. “I care about you, Jacob,” I quickly add, trying to make him feel more comfortable. There is something very endearing about Jacob, he is almost child-like in his naiveté and in his crippling shyness. “I would really like to help you, if you'd let me?” I let the question hang in the air and then I change the subject.

“What do you like to do?” I ask.

Jacob smiles timidly. “I like computers,” he admits timidly and I frown slightly. I can switch a computer on and I know the basics of Microsoft Word and Publisher, but that's about it. “And I like dogs,” Jacob adds quickly.

“Me too!” I gush in relief. I am pleased to have something, however small, that I can use to get close to Jacob. There is no doubt in my mind that Dr Sheldon is right. Jacob is the secret-keeper; he is the child inside, the part of Adam that cannot let go of the trauma that started this whole horrible mess.

I am staring at Jacob but not really seeing him, trying to work out how I can use this to my advantage when I see him twitch. His whole head jerks slightly and his eyes become unfocused for a second. When they refocus, he stares at me, a look of pure delight and relief washing over his beautiful face.

I don’t care that I have spent the last hour in the company of two completely separate people who look exactly the same; I would know Adam anywhere. His blue eyes are crinkling at the corners as his sexy smile spreads slowly across his face and I launch myself to my feet, knocking over my chair in my haste. He stands and opens his arms just as I throw myself at him, kissing his face, his eyes, his cheeks.

“Paige! Paige, I’m so sorry!” He manages to get the words out between my kisses and I can taste the tears on my lips, but I don’t know whether they are his, or mine. I hold his face between my hands and gaze up into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Oh God, Adam, I’ve missed you,” I choke on the words and I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in his smell and listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry, Paige,” he murmurs into my hair. “I should have told you; right at the start. I just didn’t know how, and by the time I did, I was in too deep and I was terrified that I would lose you.”

“You could never lose me,” I whisper and I feel his arms tighten around me.

“When I came to, I realised what must have happened and I was determined to tell you the truth. I was losing control and I needed to get back here, but I wanted you with me. When I couldn’t get hold of you and you wouldn’t speak to me, I realised something terrible must have happened. When Frank confirmed it, I was sick to my stomach.”

“Frank confirmed it?” I ask, wondering what he could possibly mean. He nods and the ghost of a smile plays on his lips.

“I went over there looking for you. Frank hit me.” I gasp in astonishment, my hand flying to my mouth. “Yeah,” Adam continues, “he slugged me, right in the eye. I had a shiner for two weeks. He called me a two-timing sack of shit and promised that if I went anywhere near you again he would rip it off.”

“It?” I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief.

“That’s what he said,” Adam chuckles, shrugging his broad shoulders. After a moment he becomes solemn again. “I deserved it,” he adds sadly. “I can’t believe he did that, that you had to find me like that.” He sounds so distraught and for the first time I see it from his perspective. His body is ultimately a vessel for whatever the others want to get up to when they are in control, and in Kyle’s case, this is sex with random strangers. I cringe inwardly. Poor Adam.

“Stop worrying about it.” I bury my hands in his black curls and lose myself for a moment in his sapphire blue eyes. “It wasn’t you. You would never do that. I know that now.” I run my hands down his neck and rest them on his shoulders before continuing, “We will get through this. Together,” I say and I mean it.

He holds me at arm’s length for a minute before crushing me back to his chest, his strong arms encircling me and his nose buried in my hair.

“Paige,” he speaks my name like it is a talisman and I close my eyes.

Yes, it is worth it, I think. As hard as this day has been, as hard as this journey will be, it is worth it. I love this man with every fibre of my being; he is my other half. Without him I feel I am living a half-life. Being with Adam is like doing something that scares me every single day, it is exhilarating, exciting and heartbreaking all at the same time. I need Adam; I do not want to live without him.

I run my fingers through his hair and then infinitely slowly and hesitantly, he lowers his mouth to meet mine. As our lips touch, I feel a familiar jolt deep in my belly and my body instinctively curves toward him.

“Paige,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against mine, his eyes closed.

“Shhh,” I murmur, tilting my head up and kissing him slowly, sensuously, revelling in the fact that he is here with me; that we are finally together, even if only for a moment. In fact now more than ever I realise how important it is to not take a single second for granted.

Adam groans, a deep-seated need and I take a few steps back, unbuttoning my jeans and dropping them in a heap at my feet. I raise my eyebrow and bite my lip, hoping that this is okay.  I have a desperate need to be with Adam again, to reassure myself that we have not lost our physical bond – that Kyle has not come between us.

Adam regards me for only a few seconds before his restraint snaps and, taking three quick steps forward, he grabs me around the waist and pulls me toward him, a primal growl escaping him. I grin as I bite his shoulder playfully and he slaps my butt before hoisting me over his shoulder and carrying me into the bedroom.

Chapter 9

“It’s nice to see you back, Adam,” Doctor Sheldon greets us warmly when we return hours later.

“Doctor Sheldon,” I begin, but he interrupts.

“Carl, please,” he insists and I nod.

“Carl,” I acquiesce. “What do we do now? Where do we start? How do we integrate the alters so that Adam can get his life back?”

“Whoa!” The doctor raises his hands, “Slow down, Paige. I understand that you're impatient and want results but this is a delicate situation. We need to prepare ourselves – this is not going to resolve itself overnight, no matter how desperately you might wish it.” I feel my face fall and Adam takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“We do understand that, Doc. We really do, but is there anything we can we do to possibly speed up the process?” he asks and Carl Sheldon laughs.

“Well, firstly, it may not sound like much, but I think that Paige just being here is already helping. It’s providing you, Adam,” he nods at Adam, “with an enormous incentive to hang around.” He smiles encouragingly and I feel more confident already.

“Yeah, Adam,” I nudge him with my elbow and bat my eyes, “you should stick around.” Adam grins broadly, his eyes roaming my body possessively.

Doctor Sheldon clears his throat and we both jump a little, my cheeks reddening.

“Firstly, I would suggest that you spend as much time together as possible,” he begins. “Paige, you're welcome to stay here at the facility or if you prefer the Bed and Breakfast...”

“No,” Adam interrupts loudly, his voice echoing through the room and we both turn to stare at him. “Sorry, Doc,” he says by way of apology before continuing. “My place,” he turns to me, speaking sincerely, “I want you to stay at my place.”

“Sure,” I nod, placing my hand on his leg, “of course.” I turn to the doctor for confirmation that this is okay and I am relieved to see that he is smiling encouragingly.

“Perfect,” he answers. “And you, Adam?” he asks and we both blink in confusion.

“Carl?” I ask, wondering where he is going with this. He smiles at us.

“It stands to reason that if you are staying at Adam’s and you need to spend as much time as possible together, then Adam should probably stay with you at his house.” Doctor Sheldon grins at what I can only imagine is shock etched on both of our faces.

“But...” I look to Adam, unsure of how to proceed. He looks just as uncertain and is looking from me to the doc.

“As I've mentioned before,” Carl continues, “Adam is not a prisoner here. He is free to come and go as he pleases. Obviously I can only help him if he wants to be helped and for that he needs to be as comfortable as possible. This is a voluntary process, after all,” he smiles encouragingly.

I take a moment to process this. Living together with Adam, being with him every single day is like a dream come true. But the truth is that it’s not going to be just me and Adam. Kyle and Simon will be with us too, and Jacob. I feel a nervousness in the pit of my stomach and I bite down on my bottom lip. Can I do this? I turn to Adam to gauge his reaction and any reservations I am about to voice die on my lips. Adam is beaming. His smile lights up the room and his beautiful eyes are crinkling at the corners. It is my favourite Adam smile multiplied by a hundred. My heart leaps in my chest. How can I resist, his delight is infectious.

“That sounds wonderful.” I smile, and Adam grabs me and twirls me in the air, his laughter ringing in my ears, the sweetest sound in the world.

I tell Adam that I need a few hours to sort out a couple of things and I leave him at the Institute, driving back to the Bed and Breakfast to pack my belongings. I did not tell Adam this but I desperately need to gather my thoughts and mentally prepare myself for what is to come. I am as ready as I am ever going to be; there is nowhere in the world that I would rather be than here at Adam’s side, but even so, the journey ahead is not one that I'm looking forward to. Here, just for a moment, I do not have to hide my feelings and I can let the tears fall freely. Why did this have to happen? I met a man; I fell in love. He was perfect. Why couldn’t it have just been that simple? Why does this have to be so God-damned hard? I sit cross-legged on the bed and let go of the flood that has been building since Doctor Sheldon opened that door and I saw Adam’s blue eyes staring at me out of Kyle’s face. I cry so hard that I'm struggling to breathe and I have to take huge gasping breaths that hurt my throat. I allow myself a few more moments of self-pity and selfishness and then I lock up the hurt in a tiny part of myself that I am determined Adam will never see.

I have a shower and wash away the tears and the grief. The water falls over me like rain and soothes me, giving me strength. I slowly become calmer and am able to think properly; to plan. There are no half measures. No half-life. I know what I have to do and am summoning all my energy to do it. I dress quickly after my shower, collect all of my things and head downstairs.

Mr Bass helps me load up the sporty little car.

“We were so looking forward to your stay,” Mrs Bass sounds genuinely disappointed and I frown in consternation.

“I'm so sorry, Mrs Bass. It really is beautiful here, but I have to go. I can’t explain it, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be silly, love. I know why you’re here, you have important business to take care of. It’s just lovely to have a young person in the house again. Mr Bass gets a bit boring after a bit,” she laughs and her husband rolls his eyes at her. I smile at both of them.

“Well, thank you both so much. Could I possibly use your phone before I leave? I'm happy to pay for the call charges.” Mrs Bass waves away my offer with a flap of her hand and Mr Bass shows me to the den where the telephone is.

“Thank you,” I call after him as he gently shuts the door.

I've made my decision; there's no turning back now. I pick up the handset and start to dial.

I make three calls. The first is to Fairview to check up on my father. He is fine, no change, not that I expected any. He seemed a bit restless on Sunday, the orderly mentions, and I feel a pang of guilt. I did not go and see him on Sunday. It is the first time in over a year that I have missed my weekly visit. I leave my contact details and ask that they please keep me informed and contact me for anything out of the ordinary and let me know if he needs anything.

The second call I make is to The Vine, the local magazine that I have been working at for almost two years. Henry Duncan does not take kindly to my telephonic, no-notice-period, resignation.

“Henry, I'm truly sorry,” I say again. I have explained the situation, I felt it only right.

“You're making a mistake, Paige,” Henry warns. “Mark my words, this is a mistake. That boy has serious issues. You’re better off without him, trust me.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Henry,” I say firmly, “and I'm really sorry to let you down like this. I'm happy to freelance the odd piece until you find a replacement.”

“Can you do that?” he barks, sounding slightly appeased.

“Of course.” I think the work will probably be good for me; it will help me keep my mind off things. “Not too much, though,” I clarify, “I don’t want to let you down on a reliability factor. I’d prefer not to bite off more than I can chew.”

“Fine, fine,” he answers curtly. “But Paige, I hope you understand that I can't keep your position open. When things don’t work out down there you can’t come waltzing back into my office and pick up where you left off.”

“I do understand that, Henry,” I reply demurely. “Thank you again, for everything.”

He clicks his tongue irritably.

“Paige!” he snaps just before I hang up.

“Yes?” I ask and he sighs.

“When you do decide you’re ready to come back give me a ring anyway. You never know, we might have an opening. You’re pretty good.” A pause and then, “Good luck, kid.”

“Thanks, Henry.” I smile and hang up.

I lay my head down on the dark wood desk before making the final call. I cannot believe I just quit my job. I worked so hard to get that job and to get to where I am; freelancing, having time to myself – time to do the things that I set out to do without having to worry about a normal nine to five. Dammit! I can sense the tears just below the surface. It will not take much to push me over the edge and I cannot risk breaking down again. Sniffing, I lift the receiver and bring it to my ear, dialling the familiar number.

“Not even a phone call! You travel halfway across the country without so much as a phone call! Really, Paige, I taught you better than that,” she pauses, considering this for a second, and no doubt patting herself on the back for her excellent parenting skills. Once suitably acknowledged she continues, “I never liked that boy.” She is building up momentum and I interrupt her straight away.

“Mom, you adored Adam. You even tried to kiss him at Aunt Jackie’s 60th.”

My mother splutters in denial.

“I did not! I told you, Paige, I thought he was Frank!” she shrieks indignantly. “Anyway, Jackie always puts far too much Pimms in the punch bowl; I was half-baked after one tiny fruit cup. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I had tried to let the dog drive me home.”

I smile despite myself and listen to her rant on for a few more minutes, shaking my head fondly. Eventually I glimpse my wristwatch and realise the time.

“Mom!” I interrupt hastily. “I know you’re concerned and I love you for it, truly, but I love Adam. I have to do this. Now,” I get down to business, “could I speak to Frank, please.”

It takes a few more minutes for my mother to wrap up and I slip a 20 dollar bill under the telephone book, feeling guilty about the call costs not to mention the inconvenience I have caused by cancelling my room at such short notice.

“Hi, Paigey, what’s up?” I can’t help but smile when I hear Frank’s voice. I give him a brief rundown of what is going on. There is an uncomfortable pause.

“I don’t like it, Paige,” Frank remarks honestly. “I still haven’t forgiven that boy for what he did to you.” I hear him expel a deep breath and then he continues, “I was worried we might lose you again – like before,” he adds, and I stiffen. I know what he is talking about.  I just never realised that my behaviour after Kevin’s death had affected Frank.

“It wasn’t his fault, Frank,” I say, feeling like I have done nothing but make excuses for Adam since I arrived and wishing that I didn’t have to.

“Yeah, I get that, love,” he says patiently, “but it still doesn’t change the fact that he hurt you. And anyone who hurts you doesn’t make it into my good books, Paigey, intentional or not.” I feel tears prick at my eyes again and once more I find myself longing for a simple life.

“Frank, I need your help,” I change the subject and, being Frank, he does not press the issue. He has said his piece; he will not harp on about it. This is exactly why I have always been far more comfortable confiding in Frank than I have in my mother.

“It’s Dad,” I begin, not quite sure how to ask him what I want to.

“Yes?” he questions and then, “Oh, Paige!” he sighs - he knows exactly what I am asking.

“I know it’s a lot to ask!” I interrupt before he has a chance to protest. “But there's no-one else I can ask. You know what mom’s like, she couldn’t be bothered. And it’s not like it makes any difference to him who it is, he doesn’t know any of us anyway. It’s just once a week.  A game of chess or Scrabble. Two games, tops. Please, Frank, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important – you know I wouldn’t.” I pause for breath and I realise that I'm rambling. “I just can’t stand the thought of him being alone,” I finish in a small voice.

There is nothing but silence on the other end of the line for a long moment and then I hear him sigh.

“Oh, Paige!” he grumbles and I exhale in relief; I know Frank – he’ll do it. “Fine,” he confirms, grudgingly, “I’ll do it, but I'm drawing the line at Cluedo. I don’t give a damn if Mrs Pepper did it in the drawing-room with a candlestick; that's just not going to fly. Got it? Chess, backgammon – that’s it. Scrabble if I absolutely have to. That’s where I draw the line.”

“Absolutely!” I promise, positively euphoric now that the biggest worry is off my chest.  I feel literally as though a massive weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

“I love you, Frank,” I say.

“Just be careful, Paigey,” he warns and I know what he is referring to.

“I will,” I promise, hoping that this is a promise I will be able to keep. I do not know if my heart can survive losing anything else.

The drive back to fetch Adam seems shorter and, in no time at all, we are packed up and ready to go. Doctor Sheldon wants us back at the institute every morning at 9.30 for Adam’s sessions and his emergency mobile phone will be switched on day and night in case I need his help for any reason.

“Just do what you think is best,” he advises me, giving me a quick hug. “Trust your instincts.  If you’re unsure, call me,” he reiterates and I nod in acknowledgement.

“Thank you.”

We stop off at a store a few blocks from Adam’s apartment and stock up on all the necessaries. I throw a couple of bottles of wine into the cart and Adam grins at the cheap labels.

“I’ve missed you,” he says and my heart does a somersault in reaction to his smile. His eyes are amazing, I don’t think I will ever get used to them, they are so incredibly blue.

“I’ve missed you too,” I smile back, throwing some microwave popcorn on top of the wine.

Chapter 10

Winter

“Think Adam. Really try. You have to be able to remember this. It’s your life, you don’t just forget your life!” I urge and Adam furrows his brow in concentration before cursing in frustration.

“I can’t Paige! I just don’t remember. You think I haven’t tried?” He is almost at breaking-point, I can tell, but I'm so frustrated and so tired I cannot help myself. We have been at this for hours; the sun is low on the horizon and all the street lamps are coming on. It's only getting colder and there has been no rain since I arrived in New York. Christmas is four weeks away and the weather experts are all claiming it will be a white Christmas. The snow does not excite me; I don’t like the cold, it’s depressing.

“Try harder!” I'm almost yelling. “How did you get to that alley? Someone must have dropped you off, or you walked, but you didn’t just appear there. Unless you teleported from some other dimension?” The sarcasm oozes out of me and I hate myself for it.  I know that I'm being a bully, but it has been two weeks and we're getting nowhere. The only positive is that I have not seen any of the alters but this is not necessarily ideal as I need Jacob to get to the bottom of things.

“I know that! Don’t you think I know that?” he roars. “Do you think that I enjoy this?  That I like living like this? I want to get better. I want all these freaks out of my head. I want my life back! But I just can’t!” With that he grabs the coffee table and overturns it, the two coffee mugs that were resting on it smashing onto the tiled floor.

I gape, open-mouthed, at Adam, not quite sure how to react to this sudden explosion.

“It’s a good thing those were empty,” he drawls, gesturing at the cups and in the instant that I meet his gaze I realise that Kyle is back.

“Hello, Kyle,” I greet him nonchalantly, bending down and picking up the broken pieces of ceramic. “Where have you been?”

“Why, did you miss me?” he asks, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching me clean up.

“You know, you could help me,” I point out, “seeing as you were the one who made the mess in the first place,” I add, brushing past him to fetch the dustpan from the cleaning cupboard.

“How do you know it wasn’t lover boy?” he raises his eyebrows innocently, and for a moment he looks so much like my Adam that it hurts.

“Because Adam would never do anything like that,” I reply confidently, sweeping the last few shards into the pan and then moving to empty it in the dustbin.

Kyle moves over to the settee, settling down and flicking through the channels until he finds a football station. I offer him some more tea which he declines rudely before asking me to fetch him a beer. I set it down on the table next to him and then I leave him to it for a few minutes, pondering my best course of action. Kyle is yelling at the screen; he seems to be somewhat of a football hooligan and obviously interrupting the game would be a very bad idea. I decide to make him something to eat. He seems to prefer a woman who knows her place, which I am fairly certain he believes is in the bedroom, or at the very least, in the kitchen. I make a few sandwiches and grab another beer, setting it all on the table in front of him. He glances at the offering, then gives me an appreciative onceover before turning his full attention back to the game. I settle down in the armchair across from him and wait for my opportunity.

Thank goodness Kyle’s team wins and his mood is positively jovial. He even offers to take the dishes to the kitchen. I take him up on the offer and he immediately saunters off to the bathroom, proclaiming that he has to take a leak first. Rolling my eyes I take everything to the kitchen myself and start loading the dishwasher. I busy myself with wiping down the counter and for good measure I open another beer and set it on the countertop. Kyle returns and, seeing the beer, comes and sits at the counter on one of the aluminium bar stools. He takes a huge swig, regarding me contemplatively.

“So, what are you doing here, anyway?” he asks.

“I live here,” I answer, in a laid-back voice. He almost chokes and some beer dribbles down his chin. He wipes it away with the back of his hand.

“He invited you to stay?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes.” I tilt my chin defiantly, irritated.

“What a pussy,” he laughs. “Oh well, that’s your business I suppose.”  He eyes me over the top of his bottle as he takes another swig.

“What?” I snap. The way he is looking at me is disconcerting, like a cat would look at a mouse.

“Seeing as we're going to be living together,” he begins, a sexy smile spreading over his face.

“Don’t even think about it,” I huff, putting his bottle in the dustbin. “It’s never going to happen.”

“Okay,” he sounds almost bored and he stands, picking up the car-keys from the counter.

“Where are you going?” I ask in alarm.

“Out,” he replies bluntly, grabbing a coat from the rack by the door.

“I’m coming with you,” I grab my own coat and make to follow him, but he stands in the doorway and turns to face me, blocking my way.

“No, you're not.” There is a finality to his tone that makes me nervous.

“I am,” I insist, refusing to back down. He is not going anywhere with Adam’s body, not without me.

“You can't stop me, sweetheart; I’m not Adam. You keep forgetting that. I’m not going to sit here and drink tea with you, make small talk and watch Dancing with the Stars. I'm going out.  There's a very sexy young blonde waitressing at the Café Grill down the block and I ain’t wasting any time.”

“You can’t do that,” I plead. “Think about Adam, Kyle. Please. It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, sweetheart,” he drawls. “And I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head too much about Adam. That girl has an ass like Jessica Alba and a rack like a two dollar whore. Believe me, Adam is not going to be complaining.”

It’s a knee-jerk reaction that I regret instantly, but my hand flies forward of its own accord and connects with his cheek in a resounding slap. Kyle touches his hand to his cheek, his eyes widening in astonishment which immediately turns to rage. I know that I have gone too far; Kyle has completely lost his fragile control of his temper. I brace myself as his arm comes up and I shut my eyes, cowering in genuine fear. This is going to hurt.

“No!” he howls and then there is silence. I open one eye and see him standing above me, staring in disbelief at his own hand, which is hanging in mid-air. He is panting slightly, as though with exertion, and as I stare up at him, Adam looks down and meets my gaze.

“Paige?” he asks, stumbling slightly. He is confused and completely disoriented,

“Adam!” I grab onto him and bury my face in his chest, trying to gain control of my fear and swallow the tears that are threatening to overflow. I take a minute and then I drape his arm over my shoulder and lead him to the dining-room table. He is very pale and a sheen of sweat is shining on his forehead. I sit opposite him, taking his hands.

“Adam,” I make sure I have his full attention. “Adam, how did you do that?”

“What did I do?” he looks terrified and I don’t answer immediately; I am thinking, wondering how it is possible. “Paige!” he is frantic. “What did I do? Did I hit you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I squeeze his hands reassuringly. “You did nothing. He did nothing,” I clarify. “But you did. You broke through, Adam! You stopped him from hurting me.” I am grinning even though my head is still spinning trying to make sense of it all.

“We need to speak to the doc.” I get up and rummage in my bag for my phone. I am busy dialling when I notice that Adam hasn’t moved and he is not looking half as happy as he should.

“Adam?”  I ask, my hands pausing in the act of dialling. He doesn’t answer and I clear the screen and set the phone down on the table. I sit back down and take his hands.

“Adam, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning in disbelief. “What’s wrong, Paige? What the hell do you think is wrong? He was going to hurt you!”

“Well, yeah,” I shrug, “but he didn’t. You made sure of that.”

“He is such an asshole!” Adam runs his hands through his black curls in frustration. “I want him out of my head!”

“Hey, hey!” I rub his arm, trying to soothe him. “He’s not that bad. I kind of provoked him.  And I don’t think it was a conscious thing, he just reacted instinctively. I mean, sure, he’s an asshole, but it’s not like he’s dangerous or anything.”

He stares up at me, hollow-eyed.

“What did he react to?”

“Oh,” I look down at the floor, “I um, well I may have...” I trail off trying to think of a way to say it without freaking Adam out, but I can’t so I just get to the point, “I slapped him.”

“You what?” he asks, then, looking thoughtful, he lifts his hand to his cheek and rubs his jaw.  “Oh.” He looks torn between pride and consternation. “Paige!”

“I know, I know,” I hold my hands up in mock surrender, “I shouldn’t have done it. Believe me, I know that,” I roll my eyes. “He’s just so frustrating." I click my tongue in annoyance and Adam smiles slightly. Relief washes over me that his brief bout of self-persecution has passed. I stare at his face, so familiar and so strange at the same time. I never know what to expect of this face. I run my hand over it and ruffle his black hair. His eyes, reflecting the light from the window, are almost turquoise.

“Come here,” he kisses the inside of my wrist and pulls me to my feet. He cups my face in his hands and kisses my eyes, my nose and my mouth. I moan when he pulls away and he chuckles.

“It’s getting late, Miss Petrova,” he grins, “I think we should get you to bed.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I laugh, unbuttoning my top button. He lunges for me as I turn and scarper down the passage into the bedroom.

I cannot fall asleep. I lie naked with my head on Adam’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, my leg slung across his body and a million thoughts swirling in my head. I heave a sigh and gently extricate my arm from under his body, slipping from the sheets and pulling his T-shirt – the only item of clothing that I can find, groping around in the dark – over my head. I slip my feet into my slippers and make my way to the kitchen. I pour myself a glass of water straight from the faucet and stand at the sink, gazing out of the window at the view of the city. I turn the cold water tap back on and wet my fingers, running them over the back of my neck. I feel exhausted. Maybe tomorrow I should ask Doctor Sheldon for some sleeping pills.

“Paige?”  I turn to find him standing in the doorway, a towel draped around his hips. I catch my breath at the sight of him. He is truly astounding, his perfect sculpted torso and his strong arms are almost painful to look at. “Are you okay?” he asks, yawning widely, showing his perfectly even white teeth.

“Fine,” I smile weakly and he raises his eyebrow.

“What is it?” he asks, taking a few steps forward. I cannot bear to look him in the eye for what I am about to say and I turn quickly back to the window. He moves up behind me and his arms come around me, pulling me back against his warm body. I sigh and drop my head back onto his shoulder. His hand slips under the T-shirt and moves up to cup my breast and I groan.

“Adam,” my voice breaks and I start again, “Adam,” I'm relieved that I sound a bit stronger.

“Hmm?” he murmurs into my ear, his lips at my neck. I take a deep breath.

“Adam, I'm going to sleep with him.”

“What?” He jumps back as though he has just stepped on a rattlesnake. The towel slips and he grabs it, securing it more tightly around his body as he eyes me in disbelief.

“What are you talking about?”

“Kyle,” I answer, nodding my head, “I'm going to sleep with Kyle.”

I expect his bellow of refusal and I let him rage on. I don’t blame him but I have given this a lot of thought and my mind is made up.

“Are you insane?” he asks, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“Adam,” I turn to face him and place my hands on either side of his face. “Kyle is very sexual.”  I ignore his grimace of disgust. “He is going to have sex; with or without us.  It’s just who he is.  Unfortunately.” I take a deep breath, barely able to believe what I am saying myself.  I frown, hating that I am the cause of the anguish that is so visible on his beautiful face.

“I love you,” I say and he barely seems to notice. I try again. “I love you, Adam Parker.  More than I ever thought possible.” Tears well in my eyes and he takes hold of my shoulders, his fingers biting into me. I can feel the depth of his despair and it breaks my heart but it gives me the strength I need to go on. “I will not let him use your body, Adam. It belongs to you.” He shakes his head.

“No, it belongs to you,” he corrects, breathing out slowly, trying not to give in to his obvious emotions and I smile encouragingly.

“Even better. It belongs to me. So I'm the only person that will be having sex with this body.”  He grimaces again and I pull him down onto the couch, sitting down beside him.

“Think about it, Adam. What if he goes off and gets you infected with some disease?  Kyle hardly strikes me as the selective type. And what if he goes off and gets some stranger pregnant? I can’t be with him all the time.  If he goes off on some booty call he'll leave me behind. We have no idea the trouble he could get you into. We cannot risk your life like that.”

“But I don’t want you having sex with him.” Adam sounds as forlorn as a child and I put my arms around him, drawing his face toward me until our noses are touching.

“I know you don’t. But I don’t want you having sex with anyone else,” I murmur and he shuts his eyes. He cannot argue with my logic. As awful as it is, it boils down to this: Either I have sex with Kyle in Adam’s body or Adam’s body will be having sex with a bunch of strangers.  There is no contest, we have no other choice. Adam knows this, I know this. The question remains to be seen whether we can survive it. I wait until he finally gives in to his exhaustion and only when I am sure that he is asleep do I give way to the tears.

I have made my decision. I will be whatever he needs me to be. I will be a lover for Kyle, a mother for Jacob. I will be whatever Simon needs me to be. And above all else I will be the love of Adam’s life. He is a complex person and I have to help him I don’t have a choice. I love Adam Parker. All of him.

Chapter 11

“I know it’s frustrating, Paige,” Carl Sheldon sympathises and I want to slap him. He has no idea. Christmas is in three days' time and still, we are getting nowhere. I have not seen any of the alters and while this should be a relief, it is not. How can we work through Adam’s problems if we don’t know what they are? Adam has signed a full proxy, curatorship and guardianship over to me. I am in full control of his life and at the moment I feel like a colossal failure.

“You must understand that I can only work with what Adam brings to the session,” the doctor continues, “and thus far Adam is bringing Adam. We are limited.”

“What about hypnosis?” I counter. “You said its part of the therapy. Why can’t we hypnotise him and force the others to appear?”

“We could, but what would we do with them once we have them present? They need to relive the trauma. We don’t know what that is. You said you want me to work on integrating Kyle first.  Kyle will not divulge the trauma that brought about his existence.  He has told me, categorically, that it is Adam’s business and Adam doesn’t remember. So we're back to square one.”

“Why do you think he’s keeping it to himself?” I ask, momentarily roused from my frustration. “Do you think he really respects Adam enough to respect his privacy?”

“Not at all,” Dr Sheldon smiles. “I think it has far more to do with his own self-preservation.”  I shake my head to indicate that I am not following and he continues. “Kyle knows what we plan to do. He knows that if we can adequately resolve the trauma that resulted in his creation then his personality would likely integrate and disappear.” I nod. That makes sense. Kyle would hardly want to help bring about the end of his own existence.

“Damn it!”  I stamp my foot and then blush in embarrassment for my childish behaviour. “Sorry,” I mutter, pacing up and down.

“What about Mr Morris? Any luck there?” he probes and I shake my head.

“He said it may take some time before any headway is made given the complexity of the situation,” I answer. I hired Bill Morris, a renowned private investigator, last week; the day after I made my decision about Kyle. He's going to dig up as much information as possible about Adam’s childhood.

“Okay.” Carl purses his lips in thought. “Paige, is there any particular reason that you want to focus on integrating Kyle first?” he asks and I struggle to meet his eyes.  I obviously want Kyle gone the first chance we get. As much as I have made my decision, I do not relish the thought of a physical relationship with that pig.

“I just feel that he's the most dangerous,” I say, matter-of-factly. “He could get Adam into trouble and he is a higher risk than the others. He can’t be controlled.” Carl smiles slightly.

“No, he can’t,” he agrees and I blush again.

“Why do you ask?” I change the subject and he draws himself up.

“Yes. Well, the thing is, Kyle will not tell us anything, but perhaps Simon or Jacob might. If Adam is willing to undergo the hypnosis, we can try and get some information out of them.  Be warned, though,” he continues quickly, reacting to my obvious enthusiasm for this idea, “it can be a very traumatic process. It is also likely to unsettle and destabilise Adam which could very well bring the other three to the fore.” I blink in confusion. “We might see a lot less of Adam and a lot more of the others following the treatment,” he explains and I am completely taken aback, my initial enthusiasm waning. Do I want to bring Kyle out?  The obvious answer is a resounding No!  But if this is the only way to make any progress...I take a moment to consider and then I nod my head.

“Let’s do it,” I say and Carl nods his approval. “But I want to be there. I want to speak to him myself. I think I may be able to break through.”

Carl looks as though he is about to argue and then a resigned look crosses his face.

“Jacob?” he asks, with a sigh.

“Jacob,” I nod. If Jacob is the secret-keeper then he is the one I need.

Three days later I wake up and it is snowing; the experts got it right after all.  I am alone in our bed but I can hear Adam moving around in the kitchen, so I burrow back under the covers and enjoy a few minutes of privacy to think. I miss my dad. There has not been a single Christmas since I was a little girl that I have not seen him on Christmas day. I had thought about flying back but our first hypnosis session is booked for two days time on the 27th and I want to be there. I wonder idly if Frank might go and visit him today, and, as if on cue, my mobile phone starts ringing.  It’s my mom’s number displayed on the caller ID.

“Merry Christmas, Mom!” I sing into the receiver as I answer.

“Merry Christmas, love!” she sounds quite animated and I am pleasantly surprised, “what are you up to today?” she asks and I grin.

“I just woke up, Mom, it's only 7 a.m. here, remember?”

“Oh, yes, yes, I keep forgetting,” she clucks and I smile fondly.

“How’s the turkey?” I ask, feeling a pang of sadness. I love our traditional family Christmas roast. It is one of my favourite days of the year, and this is the first year that I won’t be there.  My mother obviously feels similarly if her next words are anything to go by.

“It’s in the oven now, smells heavenly,” there is a pause that is loaded with meaning, and then, “such a pity you aren’t here to enjoy it with us.”

“Mom,” I sigh, “we’ve discussed this.  You know I would be there if I could, but this is important. You know that.”

“Yes well, he better prove himself worthy of you, Paige,” she declares, in a rare moment of support. I smile sadly, but feel surprisingly warm and fuzzy inside.

“Thanks Mom, I love you.”

“Yes, well, here’s Frank,” she utters briskly. Okay; tender moment over.

I spend a few minutes wishing Frank and the girls “Merry Christmas” and then I hang up.  I suppose I had better get up and dressed, so I hop into the shower and ten minutes later I head down the passage to the kitchen.

“You’re up!”  dam calls, sounding delighted. I walk straight into his open arms and he squeezes me tightly. “Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear, “I hope you brought your appetite!” I pinch a mushroom from the sizzling pan and he slaps my hand away, laughing, before depositing a steaming cup of coffee in my hands.

“Mmm,” I murmur, blowing on the hot liquid, trying to cool it down. Adam regards me fondly before holding up one finger.

“Wait right here,” he instructs and then he disappears down the passage.

I flip through this morning’s paper finding nothing really interesting except for an article about a group of daredevils who had bungee-jumped off the Manhattan Bridge. Police were looking for any witnesses to the crime. I wonder idly how they did it, wishing it was legal. It sounds like something that would scare the wits out of me; just what I need right now.

“Which hand?” Adam has returned and I glance up from the paper to find him standing before me, both arms outstretched and his hands balled into fists.

I narrow my eyes at him and then I examine each hand, trying to work out if either one looks like it could be holding something. After a moment's consideration I realise there are no tell-tale clues and I laugh.

“Left!” I decide, hoping that I am right.

He grins, slowly opening his hand and turning it palm upwards and I gasp in surprise.  Glittering on the centre of his palm is the most exquisite diamond earring shaped like a daisy.  The centre stone must be at least half a carat and each of the intricate five 'petals' is not far behind. As I examine it, the sunlight coming through the window reflects off the stones, creating a dancing pattern on the ceiling. He opens his other hand to show the matching earring.

“Oh, Adam!”  I breathe in wonder, at a loss for words. This is by far the most expensive gift I have ever received and, even by Adam’s generous standards, far more than I ever expected.  I lift my head to tell him that they are too much, that he should not have gone to such expense, but as I catch his eye, the protests die on my tongue. He is looking at me with such love and seems so uncertain of my reaction.

“Do you like them?” he asks, and I throw my arms around him kissing him full on the mouth.

“I’m a girl,” I say pointedly, grinning like the village idiot, “these are diamonds.  What do you think?”  Relief washes over his features and he beams, his eyes wrinkling at the corners.

“You like them,” he states, proud as punch.

“I love them,” I correct, holding out my hand expectantly.  He drops the earrings into my outstretched palm and turns back to the stove as I fly down the passage into the bathroom to put them on.

“They look good on you,” he comments when I return a minute later.  I hand him a wrapped package tied with a bright red bow.

“Paige,” he scolds, “you shouldn’t have!” I roll my eyes in response.

“And this from the man who spent a small fortune,” I remark candidly. Grinning, he tears open the wrapping and I hold my breath. I spent hours searching all the home ware stores in the area before I found what I was looking for. Adam opens the box inside and regards the contents for a full minute, his face unreadable.

“Paige,” he finally speaks and his voice breaks slightly with emotion, “I love you.” I heave a sigh of relief that he understands what my gift means. It is not lavish or expensive, but it is deeply meaningful. The mugs nestled in the box are all black and white striped, seven perfect replicas of Adam’s mug in the crockery cupboard.

“I’m throwing out the others,” I say, blushing slightly, “this is our home, not theirs.  I only want you represented here, no-one else.”  He closes his eyes, smiling and when he opens them they are sparkling with glee.

“This is the best present ever,” he says, and I know that he means it.

“Well, don’t get ahead of yourself,” I say, withdrawing a long, slim parcel from underneath the settee.

“There’s also this,” I declare proudly and my eyes are sparkling with amusement.

Adam eyes me warily and when he pulls off the wrapping he starts to laugh, starting deep down in his chest.  He holds up the umbrella, so vulgarly colourful that it looks as though somebody splashed it with a paint palette and then he uses it to smack me on the backside.

“At least it’s not boring,” I say matter-of-factly, biting down hard on my lip to stop myself from laughing.

“No, Paige,” he answers, shaking his head, “with you in it, my life will never be boring again.”

Chapter 12

Two days after Christmas we drive over to the Institute, both of us eerily quiet, lost in our own thoughts. I think we are both nervous about the psychotherapy, what it may uncover and the consequences that might come later.

Carl meets us at reception and we make our way to his office.  Once seated, he spends a good 15 minutes briefing us on how the process works and what we can expect.  I am itching to get started; the sooner we begin the sooner it is over, but my nerves are starting to show and I know that the worry is etched on my face.

“I’ll just give you a minute to get comfortable,” the doctor says and he moves across the office to his desk.

Adam smiles up at me reassuringly.

“Are you nervous?” I whisper, feeling my own heart racing in my chest.

“A bit,” he admits, and I frown down at him wondering if we are doing the right thing.

“Stop stressing, Paige,” he places his hand on my knee, “I trust you,”  he grins, then settles back on the couch and stares up at the ceiling, breathing slowly and deeply in and out in an effort to remain calm. I turn to Doctor Sheldon.

“Carl,” I call, “we’re ready for you.” He comes over and looks me straight in the eye.

“Remember, Paige, I'm responsible. Adam is my patient. If I tell you to stop you will stop immediately. Adam will be in a very fragile state under the hypnosis and I will not allow any harm to come to him.  His mind will be vulnerable and I need to make sure that he does not take on more than he can bear. He will also be very suggestible, given the nature of hypnosis. I cannot allow us to unwillingly plant any ideas or suggestions in his head that might affect our treatment. It could undo all of our hard work. Understand?”

“I understand,” I nod solemnly and then I brush a stray curl off Adam’s forehead.

“He thinks I’m a pansy, babe,” he smiles up at me, his blue eyes serious. “You know better.  You do what you have to do.” I kiss him on the forehead and then step away from the sofa allowing Doctor Sheldon through. I take a deep breath and clasp my hands together to stop them from shaking.

Carl takes a seat and clears his throat and I sit down quietly on a nearby chair, my curiosity piqued. I have never seen anyone being hypnotised before, not even at a show. My friend Jacky invited me once, but I had declined; it was too soon after Kevin’s death and I had not yet pulled myself out of my hole.

“Adam, just lie back and relax,” the doc begins in a calm, clear voice and I hide a smile. I am fascinated by the process but I am still not entirely convinced that it is possible.  “Let my voice wash over you, Adam, as you feel your body becoming more and more relaxed. You will find that your eyes too are relaxed. You will notice your eyelids are starting to feel slightly heavier and, as they grow heavier still, I want you to allow them to close. At the same time I want you to let your body sink down more comfortably into the chair. Take deep calming breaths and let your body relax and go numb, let the relaxation drift into your shoulders and let your legs relax and your feet deflate into the floor. A warm feeling makes its way up your neck and down your arms and legs, and I want you to focus on this warm feeling, allowing it to relax you even more. Allow the relaxed state to climb further up into your head and to the very centre of your consciousness.” He sits forward and places his hand on Adam’s arm before he continues and I find that even I am feeling slightly out of it.  Adam’s eyes are still closed and he looks almost as though he is sleeping. “Adam, your mind is very sleepy and I want you to allow it to become sleepier and sleepier until you are completely relaxed.” Adam nods ever so slightly in acknowledgement, and I realise that he is still very aware of his surroundings. It is almost like conscious sedation.

“In your mind’s eye, picture yourself at the top of a flight of ten stairs,” Carl continues, “and at the bottom there is a door, a door that you want to go through. Can you picture that, Adam?” Adam nods again, a dreamy smile on his face. Carl glances across at me and gives an almost imperceptible nod of his head, it is obviously working.

“Right, Adam, as I count backward from ten, I want you to take a step for each count and with every step you are going to become more and more relaxed. Ten, you feel yourself falling deeper into this trance. Nine, your body is so relaxed you can barely feel it. Eight.” The doc’s voice is so calm and soothing that I am battling to keep my own body alert, but as he starts counting I sit forward in my seat, my excitement mounting. I tune out his words focusing only on Adam’s face and the numbers as they are counted down. Doctor Sheldon is still talking.

“Deeper and deeper, Adam, into this relaxed super-comfortable trance; three.  More and more relaxed and comfortable; two. Peaceful and relaxed; one.” There is an infinitesimal pause and then he once again touches Adam’s arm, adding gravity to his words and then; “Open the door Adam and your body is asleep and your mind is awake.”

There is absolute silence after this statement and I glance across at Carl my eyebrows raised.

“He’s under,” he confirms, leaning over Adam’s motionless body. He is so still that I find my eyes drawn to the rise and fall of his chest, just to reassure myself that he is still breathing.

“What now?” I whisper.

“Now,” he answers in a normal but calm voice. “We find Jacob.”

“Adam?” he addresses Adam and to my surprise Adam answers.

“Yes?”

“Adam, I'm going to ask Jacob to come out now, okay. There is nothing scary about this - you are very relaxed and comfortable. When I call on Jacob, I want you to allow him through, okay Adam? Don’t fight it.”

“I won’t,” Adam replies confidently.

It takes a few minutes of probing and questioning, to coax Jacob out.

Adam seems to shrink slightly in stature and his face takes on a scared, 'deer-in-the-headlights' look. I am amazed at the enormous physical transformation each of the identities has on Adam’s features.

“Jacob,” Dr Sheldon draws his attention. “How have you been?” Jacob does not answer immediately, but the doc settles back patiently and says no more. After a few minutes Jacob replies with a timid, “Fine, thank you.”

I want to roll my eyes but Carl Sheldon looks satisfied. He holds his finger to his lips indicating that I should remain silent until called upon and I nod my understanding. The doctor sits forward slightly and places his hand on Adam’s arm.

“Jacob. You know that you can trust me,” he begins soothingly. “You know that I'm here to help you.”

“Yes.” This time the one-word answer is slightly quicker.

Doctor Sheldon does not say anything else and we sit in silence for a few minutes.

“I’m scared.” I jump slightly at the words; I did not expect Jacob would initiate any conversation.

Doctor Sheldon looks pleased.

“I know you are, Jacob. But try to remember I am here to help you. You don’t have to be scared anymore. I can help you get to a place where you will never have to be scared again.”  He pauses for a moment, allowing Jacob to absorb his words before continuing, “Would you like that, Jacob?”

“Yes.” This time there is no hesitation.

“Jacob,” I sense that Doctor Sheldon is heading towards a delicate subject and I find that I’m biting my nails.

“Jacob, something terrible happened to you, do you remember?”

“Don’t!” Jacob shrieks suddenly and begins to whimper. My heart breaks for him and I move forward so that he is within touching distance. I lift my hand and then look to Dr Sheldon for approval. He considers this for a moment and then nods, putting out his hand to delay me.

“Jacob, Paige is here with us. You remember Paige, don’t you?”

“Paige?” Jacob sounds slightly calmer now that we have left the previous uncomfortable line of questioning. Doctor Sheldon drops his hand and nods quickly.

“Yes, Jacob,” I force myself to speak slowly and melodically. “I’m here. I was wondering how you’ve been.” I keep glancing at the doctor for guidance and he nods in approval.

“I was thinking about what you said, Jacob. You said that you were alone in the dark and it got me thinking. I don’t actually think you are alone, Jacob. I think if you look hard enough, you will find that there is a dog in there with you. I asked my dog to come and keep you company. His name is Fergus. Have you seen him?”

“No,” Jacob drags the word out uncertainly, but he also sounds much calmer.

Doctor Sheldon is smiling and nodding his head and I take a deep breath before I continue. My heart is racing and I feel like I am running a marathon such is the emotional effort of what I am doing.

“Are you sure, Jacob?” I force a bit of light into my voice and a tiny bit of concern. “You really haven’t seen him? He’s a little black Scottish terrier with a navy blue collar and a silver dog tag?”

“I don’t think so,” he replies, but there is no mistaking it now, Jacob is sounding far less sure of himself. “Maybe I did but I didn’t know who he was?” he ventures.

“Oh, maybe.” I pretend to ponder that. “I just hope that he’s not lost and alone. He wouldn’t do very well on his own, he needs someone to take care of him.” Doctor Sheldon’s finger flies to his lips and I take his cue immediately, falling silent.

Jacob looks more at ease but maybe I am just becoming accustomed to his fidgeting.  I can barely dare to breathe.

“I’ll look for him,” Jacob suddenly utters and Dr Sheldon brings his fist up to his chin in a triumphant manner.

“Thank you, Jacob. It’s Fergus, you won’t forget?” I ask.

“I won’t forget,” he promises, sounding more decisive. “If I do find him,” he adds, “do you think he could stay? With me? Just for a little while?” His plea is so earnest that it takes me a moment before I feel confident enough to answer.

“Of course, Jacob,” I swallow, tears pricking at my eyelids. “He can stay with you as long as you like.”

Doctor Sheldon indicates that I should keep quiet and I am more than happy to oblige; I am struggling to keep control of my emotions. He is speaking in soft tones and it takes a few moments before I realise what he is saying.

“Energy is returning to your muscles; six, you are feeling refreshed; seven, more energy...”

“Wait!” I cry as it dawns on me what he is doing.

Carl throws up a hand furiously, halting me immediately and I bite my lip to stop from interrupting him again.

“You are feeling so energised that you run up the last few steps, Adam, eight, nine, ten; wide awake!” The doctor sits back and seems to slump in his chair and I realise that it must be a massive emotional drain for him, too.

Adam’s eyes are open and he smiles tentatively at me.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I reply, happy to see him again. “Do you remember any of that?” I ask.

“Some of it,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “Weird.”

“I feel so sorry for him,” I can’t help but say.

“He doesn’t exist, Paige,” Adam snaps.

“He does exist, Adam,” Dr Sheldon rebukes gently. “But how are you feeling?”

“Fine, thanks Doc,” Adam stretches out his arms, “I actually feel pretty good.”

“Why did you stop?” I finally blurt out. “I thought we were trying to get to the bottom of this; why did you end the session so quickly?”

“We can’t overdo it, Paige,” Dr Sheldon sighs. “Jacob seems to trust you, but this will not resolve itself in one session. Jacob is very timid and hates confrontation. We need to make sure that he is completely at ease with you before we start delving any deeper. The last thing we need is for him to withdraw again. Brilliant work, by the way,” he places a proud hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah, what was with the dog?” Adam grins. “Only you, Paige. Where do you come up with this stuff?”

“He likes dogs,” I shrug shyly. “I thought it would help. I don’t like the thought of him being all alone.” Adam is looking at me as though I have lost my mind.

“I think it was a stroke of genius,” Dr Sheldon addresses Adam directly. “It was suggestive, which is usually not advisable under hypnosis, but in this instance it can only have helped.  Dogs are what Freudians term 'transitional objects' like a teddy or a blanket for a baby – these objects are soothing and pacifying.”

‘Do you think he’ll find the dog, Fergus?” I ask, praying that Jacob will not be alone again until the next time we put Adam under.

“Oh, I'm absolutely certain that he will dear. Not really, of course, because when Adam or any of the other alters are present, Jacob ceases to exist – there is no consciousness – but because you have suggested it, you have planted an idea and he will remember that. He will believe that he has found the dog and that he is therefore not alone.”

I have not really understood a word of what he is saying, but over all it seems positive.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask Adam. It is only midday but I feel like I could sleep for a week.

“Sure, let’s go,” he nods. “Just give me a minute with the doc, will you?”

“Sure,” I smile in confusion and head for the door. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

I make my way back to the Audi trying not to yawn. I lean against the passenger door closing my eyes for a minute and letting the sun shine down on me, the warmth making me feel even more sleepy.

“Hey,” Adam's voice comes from right behind me and I smile lazily.

I open my eyes just enough to peer at him through my lashes. He is smiling down at me looking on top of the world. Maybe I should get some hypnotherapy, it obviously does wonders for the bags under one’s eyes.

“My Adam,” I smile, taking his hand.

“Your Adam,” he lifts my hand to his lips, kissing it softly.

“What was that about?” I ask as we drive home.

“Hmm?” Adam cocks his head toward me, only half paying attention.

“What did you need to talk to the doc about?” I wonder if I am crossing a line by asking, but Adam and I do not keep secrets from one another. And besides, if he doesn’t want me to know he could always lie.

He seems to consider my question for a short time and then he lifts his arm from the back of my seat and rubs the back of his neck. I know from experience that this is a sign of tension. He is not comfortable.

“I asked him about Kyle,” he admits, glancing over at me. I force myself to keep my expression neutral.

“What did he say?” I am holding my breath. A part of me is hoping that the doc thinks the idea is ludicrous and advises strongly against it.

“He agrees that the risks are too high to take a chance letting Kyle loose on the general population. He says I might not be able to afford the maintenance payments.” Adam sounds despondent and I can’t blame him, I feel the same way. “He says that if we are prepared to follow it through, yours is a good idea,” he adds, begrudgingly, as we stop at a red light

“Apparently I’m full of them,” I pout, staring out of the window and he chuckles softly.

“You are indeed love.”

I smile despite my sour mood and I snuggle closer to him, linking my arm through his.

“How's this for a good idea, Mr Parker? How about we stop and pick up a bottle of wine, a pizza and a movie? A comedy, the funniest we can find.” A lazy grin spreads slowly across his face and I notice he hasn’t shaved this morning, a 5 o’clock shadow is visible across his jaw line.

“That, Miss Petrova, may just be the best idea you have had all day.”

Chapter 13

“Who are you?” he yells, his eyes darting frantically left and right as though planning his escape route. “Where is Lizzy? Where is she?” He is half-pleading and half-furious. Simon. It can only be Simon. I cringe inwardly. Simon doesn’t know me. I had not considered this; I have given it no thought at all I was far too concerned with Kyle and the immediate problem that he presented. I raise my hands in front of me in a symbol of surrender and peace, hoping to calm Simon down. We are standing on either side of the king-sized bed and the rumpled bed sheets are doing nothing to diffuse the tension of the situation.  I can see Simon casting horrified glances at them and I flush in mortification. I glance at the bedside clock; we have only been asleep about half an hour, it is just past 10 o’clock.

“Simon, please. Calm down. My name is Paige.  Paige Petrova.” I am trying to keep my composure, which would probably be a lot easier if I was wearing more than just Adam’s NYU T-shirt. I pull it down as far as I can, casting surreptitious glances around for my panties.

“What are you doing here?” Simon is glaring at me down his nose. He looks like a pompous arse and I find myself wishing I was back at Fairview playing Scrabble with my dad. The dark, complicated mess that is Adam’s life is cloyingly claustrophobic.  Then I mentally shake myself. Of course I don’t. This is where I want to be. It will all be worth it. I love this man more than life itself. Well, Adam, anyway. Simon, not so much.

“I’m a friend of Adam’s,” I hear myself say, although it comes out more like a question than a statement of fact.

“Oh!” he declares, drawing himself up to his full height and positively bristling with indignation. “So, you're one of their 'fancy bits' are you?”

I give a snort of mirth.

“Um, well, I suppose you might see it that way,” I mutter. I finally locate my pyjama pants and I quickly pull them on while Simon very obviously looks away. Feeling slightly more respectable I take a few steps toward the door.

“Do you mind if we continue this conversation in the dining-room?” I ask and he nods curtly, gesturing for me to go first. My mother would love his impeccable manners, I find myself thinking and I wonder if I am experiencing mild hysteria.

Simon deliberately sits as far away from me at the table as he can and I can’t help but roll my eyes, considering what we were getting up to less than an hour ago. I refrain from pointing that out, for fear of being lectured. Evidently though, Simon does not need any prompting.

“So, Miss Petrova,” he begins, “when exactly are you planning on ending this inappropriate physical relationship you are enjoying with my body?” He raises his brows and stares unnervingly at me, waiting for an answer. I am caught completely on the hop. I feel like I am back in high school and have just been caught necking with my boyfriend behind the bleachers.

“Um...” I am fairly sure that any answer that I give will not be good enough for him and I figure the best defence is a good offence, so I launch a counter attack.

“Who is Lizzy?” I demand and have the temporary satisfaction of catching him off guard. He splutters for a minute before he manages an answer.

“That is none of your concern,” he pronounces the 'your' as though it’s a dirty word.

“Who is she?” I press on. He looks mildly irritated and then his boastful nature gets the better of him.

“She’s my best friend. We grew up together,” he brushes imaginary dirt from the table. “She's worth ten of you.” I am surprised that this insult doesn’t hurt in the slightest. I am finally beginning to fully comprehend that these really are completely separate personalities. Simon is not Adam. He is a stranger and he cannot hurt me. He is, however, going to be around for a while and it is in my best interest that we get along. I am going to need his co-operation for the integration.

“Where did you grow up together?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

“At the orphanage, obviously,” he answers, his tone implying that he probably thinks I am retarded.

“Oh,” I make a mental note to pass on this information to Mr Morris, the private investigator I have working on Adam’s case.

“Simon, I'm sure Dr Sheldon has spoken to you about the integration process?” I ask, getting up and switching on the kettle. “Tea?” I ask and he replies reluctantly.

“Coffee, please.  Black, two sugars.”

“No problem,” I set about making the coffee’s and wait for him to answer my question. It is not long before he does.

“Yes, of course he's spoken to me,” he begins arrogantly. Before I can reply he adds, “You know it's customary to get the permission of the person you are supposedly trying to help.”  He picks up the cup that I have set in front of him and takes a tiny sip.

Oh, yes. The penny suddenly drops.  Simon is the alter who is convinced that he is the original personality. I contemplate this and understanding dawns. This is why he is so irritated by me; he believes that Adam is doing to him exactly what I am terrified Kyle will do to Adam. As annoying as Simon is, I can completely sympathise with this, even though his concern is only imaginary, whereas mine is very real.

“Look, Simon, I'm so sorry if my being here offends you,” I begin, and he immediately looks suspicious.

“If it makes you feel any better, Adam and I are completely monogamous; he is not running around sleeping with every woman that he meets.” I smile hopefully and he looks at me as though I have just grown a second head.

“So that’s supposed to make me feel better?” he asks rudely.

“Well, it should!” I exclaim. “I care about Adam. I’m not just some ‘fancy bit’ I think you called it?”

He takes another sip of his coffee and I sigh in frustration.

“Look, Simon, could we just talk? I’d like to be your friend. We all have the same goal – we all want this integration to be a success. Granted we all believe in a different outcome but there's no reason why we cannot get along.” I get up and wash my mug under the tap before setting it in the drying rack. He follows my progress and for the first time he looks slightly more approving.

“Well, at least you keep things clean,” he accedes, having a quick look around. I smile warmly and he immediately sets his mouth in a grim line. Oh, come on!

“I’m his Lizzy,” I mutter, almost under my breath. I cannot believe the nerve of this man. He is so disapproving!

“What?” he snaps and I jerk in surprise. I wasn’t aware that he was paying attention. I gaze at him in confusion and he barks again, “What did you just say?”

Lizzy. I mentioned Lizzy. Oh this is so bad, he probably believes I am not worthy of speaking her name. I sigh again and figure I may as well just get it over with.

“I said, I’m his Lizzy,” I explain. “Adam’s, I mean. I’m Lizzy to him – the woman he is in love with – the one he would rather spend time with than anybody else.” I glance over at him, “That’s what she is to you, isn’t she?” I finish, and this time he drops his eyes first. I am almost convinced I am imagining it when he answers.

“Yes. She’s all that and more.”

Simon is fascinating; he is absolutely convinced that he will be the last one standing – that it is his body and his life to reclaim. He is also possibly the most irritating person I have ever had the misfortune to meet. His is snobbish and arrogant and patronising to a fault.  Having rejected both of our DVD choices – Crazy Stupid Love and The Lucky One, he flipped through the television channels until he found a documentary about Winged Migration. “One should never stop learning.” I just rolled my eyes when he wasn’t looking and refrained from passing comment. He refused popcorn, so I slowly munched my way through the whole bucket on my own, gleaning a certain satisfaction every time he cast a disapproving scowl in my direction. Eventually I have watched enough and suggest we get some sleep. It is past midnight and I am exhausted. It has been a long day and an even longer night. Simon looks horrified, but I quickly set him straight – I did not mean together. He nods and settles back on the couch, looking awfully uncomfortable. I smile to myself, taking a sadistic pleasure in his discomfort and head back to the bedroom where the messy sheets serve as a poignant reminder of my recent love-making with Adam. I sigh wistfully and straighten the sheets before climbing wearily into bed, hugging Adam's pillow close to my body and wishing that he were here with me.

Chapter 14

“Who did you kick out of your bed, love?” Adam murmurs, snuggling up behind me.  I smile, relieved to have him back.

“Simon,” I answer, stretching and pulling the covers up to keep out the morning chill.

“Well thanks to Simon I have a seriously bad crick in my neck,” he moans and I giggle.

“Adam, do you remember a girl called Lizzy? From the orphanage?” I ask, remembering my conversation with Simon the previous evening.

“The nun? Sure,” he answers easily. “Why do you ask?”

“Not the nun,” I shake my head. Dr Sheldon had told me about the nun who had taken pity on Adam but I doubt that this is the so-called 'best friend' that Simon was referring to. “A different Lizzy – a young girl.”

Adam frowns in consternation for a minute and then shakes his head.

“No, definitely not. Why, should I?”

I shake my own head, “No, not necessarily. She’s the one Simon keeps asking for. He says they grew up together in the orphanage. I just wondered if you knew who he was talking about.”

“Sorry, no,” Adam answers then changes the subject abruptly. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”  He nuzzles the nape of my neck and I squirm away, goosebumps rising on my arms.

“What is it?” I ask. He leaps from the bed and throws back the heavy lined curtains.

“Ta da!” he laughs, and I sit up, rubbing my eyes before I realise what he is showing me.

It is raining. It is the middle of winter and it is raining. This has got to be my favourite thing about New York – the rainy season through winter. My heart practically soars in my chest and a genuine grin creeps across my face.

“It’s raining,” I smile, feeling absurdly happy.

“Yes it is,” he nods and, as his eyes meet mine I see the love shining back at me. He understands, I realise. Adam understands how hard this is for me, how crazy and upside down this life is. Wordlessly he hands me my gown and a pair of slippers.

“I don’t want you catching cold,” he mumbles, gently tugging my hair and then smacking me on the backside as I run, giggling, from the room.

I head for the pool area. It’s empty of course, no-one in their right mind would be out in this weather. I stand with my face skyward and my hands in my pockets, taking a moment just for me. It is beautiful and is food for my soul. I dance a little jig for good measure before I head back inside.

“Back so soon?” Adam asks as I shut the front door. He is standing at the kitchen counter and he turns and hands me a steaming mug of coffee.

“I like the rain, babe, not pneumonia,” I grin, wrapping both my hands around the hot ceramic.

Something is off, I realise, meeting Adam’s eyes. He is not quite himself. I wonder if Simon's appearance has him unsettled, but Dr Sheldon did warn us that the hypnotherapy could cause all the alters to become more prominent. We had expected it. As it turns out I do not have long to wait before Adam reveals what he is hiding. I have barely perched on the edge of the sofa when he speaks.

“Here.” He hands me a simple white envelope and takes a step back, watching me expectantly. He looks slightly unsure of himself and I turn the envelope over in my hands, looking for some clue as to what it contains, but there is nothing.

“It’s a round ticket,” he blurts out. “To California.”

“A ticket?” I ask, confused. “Singular? As in, one?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs and grins sheepishly. “Just the one.”

“Um. Thanks,” I stammer, not sure what to make of this unexpected gift.

Adam senses my discomfort and he rubs the back of his neck with his right hand before sitting down beside me on the sofa and taking my hands in his.

“Paige, you are amazing. I cannot even begin to imagine what you are going through; coping with all this,” he opens his arms as wide as he can, obviously trying to convey the magnitude of what we are dealing with. “You miss your family,” he continues, not meeting my eyes. “You miss your dad.” I don’t even try and deny it, what would be the point?

“But Adam you need me here,” I insist, trying to ignore the allure of a trip home.

“Paige.” He rolls his eyes and a small smile plays about his lips. “It’s only a weekend. I think I’ll survive.”

I bite my lip, it is so tempting. It has been almost two months since I last saw my dad and although Frank is giving me weekly feedback, I desperately want to see for myself that he is okay.

“What about Kyle?” I ask. This is the only thing that is making me hesitate. The thought of Kyle emerging in my absence and doing God only knows what with Adam’s body is terrifying.

“I’ve made arrangements to spend the weekend at the institute,” he admits. “The doc and I are going to play a round of golf on Sunday.”

I open the envelope and pull out the ticket, reading the words. California. It’s like a beacon calling me home. I throw myself at Adam knocking the wind out of him and squeezing him as hard as I can. He laughs and ruffles my hair.

“I take it you’re going?” He is smiling.

“I am,” I grin. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, love.” He stands and takes the mugs to the sink.

My ticket is booked for Friday which gives me two days to plan my trip to the orphanage. I need to speak to Sister Elizabeth, aka Lizzy, myself. The nun knew Adam as a child and, although Dr Sheldon has spoken with her, I need to hear it for myself. I spoke to Carl first to see if he thought it would be a good idea. He said it couldn’t hurt to try, although he doubts I will be able to uncover any new information. I think he agrees that the visit would be more for my benefit, really, than Adam’s; to reassure myself that I am exploring every avenue and to hear for myself, first-hand.

Before we wrap up the conversation I cannot help but ask him, “What is the point of Simon?” It comes out sounding a lot harsher than I had intended, and I blush, grateful that this conversation is taking place over the phone and not in person.

“I’m not sure I understand the question, Paige?” he answers, sounding mercifully more intrigued than irritated.

“Okay, please don’t judge me,” I say quickly and I think I hear a chuckle on the other end of the line, “but what is the point of him?  I mean, I get that Kyle was created to protect Adam, and I get that Jacob is holding onto all the trauma and allowing Adam to live without being overwhelmed, but what on earth is Simon doing? Other than annoying everybody to death,” I can’t help but add.

This time there is no mistaking it; Carl laughs heartily.

“Well, Paige, I take it that you and Simon are not really bonding?”

“Understatement of the century,” I answer, rolling my eyes, once again feeling relieved that he can't see me. I know that I am behaving like a petulant child but Simon really gets under my skin. His pompous, annoying, obsessive-compulsive personality is by far my least favourite, which, considering the alternative of Kyle, is really saying something.

“Well, to answer your question,” Carl begins, and I force myself to pay attention, “I believe that Simon represents morality.”

“Morality?” I hear the dubiousness in my tone and I wince. Carl Sheldon doesn’t seem to notice and continues regardless.

“I didn’t say that the morality was realistic, in fact, I believe quite the opposite is true.” I am frowning at the phone hoping he is going to make his point soon.

“Adam has led such a difficult and tragic life. We do not know the extent of the trauma involved but I think it is safe to deduce that whatever it was, it was well outside the boundaries of what is morally correct. Whatever happened to Adam must have been terrible.”  He pauses for a minute and I feel the usual lump in my throat, the one I get every time I think of the young Adam and what could possibly have happened to him that was so awful. When Carl starts speaking again I quickly tune back in, “I believe that Simon is almost too moral to compensate for the lack of morality that Adam has experienced in other spheres of his life.”

A-ha. The penny drops. I hate to admit it but that makes a lot of sense.

“How do we get Simon to integrate, then?” I ask, musing out loud. “Do we have to get Adam to face his morality? Adam is moral by nature already despite his awful past.”

“Paige, not every alter is always integrated in the same process that we've been exploring.  Remember, some patients may have up to 100 alters – we certainly don’t physically integrate all 100 personalities. A lot of the secondary alters often integrate simultaneously with other dominant personalities or they simply fade away with the passage of time as the patient becomes well again.”

“Here’s hoping that happens sooner rather than later,” I grumble and Doctor Sheldon laughs again.

I leave early on Thursday morning and arrive at the orphanage just before ten. I stand on the steps of the drab, grey building and take a deep, steadying breath. I do not want to be here. This place is dark and despondent and I already feel far too depressed to go any further.

“Suck it up, Paige,” I chide myself.

Sister Mary-Elizabeth is waiting for me. We spoke briefly on the phone the day before and, while she did not sound thrilled to hear of my imminent visit, she did not deny me coming, either.

“Paige.” I am pleasantly surprised when she greets me warmly, a waft of jasmine reaching me as she embraces me in a friendly manner. “How lovely to meet you.” I stare into her warm brown eyes and I can see exactly why Adam trusted this woman. She is probably about 45 years old which would have put her in her 20s when Adam met her. She is pretty and feminine and exudes kindness and warmth. I feel a twinge of jealousy that is completely unfounded considering Adam’s childhood. No matter how stern and unaffectionate my own mother may have been at least she was around. I grew up in a stable environment wanting for nothing. Looking around the drab and dreary orphanage I think of the young boy Adam growing up here and I want to cry. Mary-Elizabeth seems to sense my discomfort and she nods knowingly.

“We do our best,” she says, “but it is, unfortunately, often not enough.”

I nod in return, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing myself to get to the point of why I am here.

“I wanted to speak to you about Adam,” I begin hesitantly.

“Yes, you said so when you called,” she smiles, “why don’t we go into my office, it’s far more comfortable.”

The nun’s office is a tiny, unassuming room painted a pale blue, with minimal furniture. I notice that the paint is peeling in some places, but all in all, it is a cosy, welcoming space.

“He was such a timid, sweet young man.” She smiles fondly, lost in her memories, and then she shakes her head sadly, her eyes on the floor. “For the most part. The others were not quite as charming.” She speaks so openly that it takes me a moment to realise my shock, all thoughts of peeling paint forgotten.

“When did you realise,” I ask, my heart in my throat, "that there were other personalities?”

She thinks about this for a minute before she answers.

“Around his 10th birthday,” she finally replies.

“How did you know what it was?” I ask, trying not to sound accusatory. “The other sisters...”

“I'm younger than many of my counterparts,” she interrupts, seeming quite at ease with my line of questioning. “I'm not so narrow-minded as to assume that every bad thing in this world is the devil's hand. Man is responsible for a lot of his own problems.”

“So, you think something happened, then?” I venture. “Here at the orphanage?” I clarify.

“Oh, definitely,” her answer is immediate. “Something terrible occurred a few years after he arrived. It happens, unfortunately. Children are resourceful and scheming by nature. As hard as we try we cannot monitor them 24 hours a day.” She is not trying to excuse anything or anybody, she is simply stating the facts.

“Do you have any idea what it was?” I already know the answer to this question but I want to hear it for myself.

Elizabeth sits forward slightly, her hand touching my arm, trying to comfort me.

“I'm sorry, Paige, but I don’t.” There is a pause and then she continues, “I cannot possibly tell you how badly I wish that was not the case. Perhaps if I had known I might have helped.”  She is self-persecuting and I cannot allow that.

“You did help,” I tell her honestly. “You were the only good thing in this place. Adam says so himself. He says you were the closest thing to a friend that he had and that if it wasn't for you he doesn’t think he would have survived this place.” I realise what I am saying and hasten to add, “No offence!”

“None taken,” she assures me, smiling slightly. “I know what it must look like to you.” She gestures around with a sweep of her arm.

“Unfortunately, we do what we can with what we have. As I said, it’s never enough.”

I contemplate this for a moment and I vow to do more in the future to help. I imagine how many Adams have passed through this place and it makes me feel incredibly sad.

“Do you have any idea what happened to Adam before he arrived at the orphanage?”  I ask helplessly, clutching at straws. Again, she sighs.

“No. Adam didn't speak a word for almost two years after he arrived, save for telling us his first name and his age the day we found him. When he finally did start talking again he refused to utter a word about his life before he arrived here. No amount of coaxing or therapy could get any information out of him and eventually we had to just let him be. Things were peaceful for a time and then the trouble started.” She stares out of the window above her little wooden desk and I can only imagine what she must be recalling. “I was only a junior then, I did not have any power over decision-making and those who were in charge chose to see what they wanted to see.  They thought the boy was possessed. They didn’t see what I could – that something terrible had happened and he was carrying it around with him. The truth be told, I wasn’t really surprised when I met Kyle.” She smiles absentmindedly.

“You met Kyle?” I ask, almost unable to believe what I am hearing.

“Everybody met Kyle,” she explains, chuckling. “They just refused to believe it or acknowledge him, deciding rather that Adam was under the devil’s control during those times.”

“Kyle must have loved that!” I let out a low whistle and she laughs.

“You obviously know Kyle quite well,” she smiles and I flush slightly.

I do not want to discuss Kyle with her, a nun, and I cast around for something else to say.

“Do you know a Lizzy?” I ask suddenly, watching her closely as a confused frown crosses her forehead.

“You mean other than myself, I assume?”

“Yes,” I reply. “Because Simon, one of the other alters is constantly asking for her. He claims she grew up with him at the orphanage. He says she was his best friend.”

A small frown has creased Mary-Elizabeth’s otherwise smooth forehead.

“Not that I can recall,” she murmurs, and I can see that she is trying to remember. “As far as I can remember Adam was always very much a loner, Paige. He didn’t really have any friends.” She sounds so saddened as she says this that I feel I want to comfort her.

“That’s okay,” I smile, “it was a long shot. She may have not existed at all, maybe she was a figment of his imagination. Doctor Sheldon would call her a transitional object!” I chuckle awkwardly and she pats my knee consolingly.

“You're an amazing young woman, Paige.”

“I get that a lot,” I remark, “but I don’t quite think I deserve it. I'm just doing what I can for the man that I love... Wouldn’t anybody do the same in my position?”

“Maybe,” she answers, but I can tell by her tone that she is doubtful. “Either way, Adam is lucky to have you in his life.”

Later, as I drive home I ponder her words and I shake my head, smiling to myself.  Despite everything, I still think that I am the lucky one to have Adam in my life; not the other way around. But I would not be being honest with myself if I tried to deny that, emotionally at least, I am exhausted. This mini-getaway to visit my family is probably the best thing for me at the moment.

Chapter 15

On Friday evening, I land at LAX, pleasantly surprised to see that my mother has accompanied Frank to pick me up. It's not really her scene, doing something nice for others.  Frank relieves me of my luggage and my mom proceeds to castigate him loudly, insisting that this is what the porters are for and that he is trying to stifle job creation in a flailing economy.  At my incredulously raised eyebrows Frank chuckles, “She discovered the Newsroom; I can’t tear her away from the telly; Jeff Daniels is her new hero.” I choke back a screech of laughter.

“At least she finally got over Bobby Ewing,” I reply solemnly.

“Amen to that,” Frank mock agrees.

I glance over my shoulder to check that mom is still not paying us any attention.

“You found a lover yet?” I shove him gently with my shoulder and he takes a few crab-like steps sideways.

“Still not, Paigey. Alas, my heart belongs to Georgia.”

“You’re one in a million, Frank.”

“So is she.” His eyes mist over as he watches my mother fondly and I fight the urge to throw up.

“Come on, Mum!” I holler and she discreetly puts a copy of Fifty Shades Freed back on a shelf, muttering under her breath, “Such filth.” I decide against pointing out the story I heard from Lola about how she had left her copy of the first book at mom’s and that when she went to fetch it, mom had taken it with her to her weekly mani and pedi session. Janet, my mother’s char had told Lola that mom had not put the book down the whole morning. Lola had called me in hysterics, most concerned that her father might be expected to perform some kinky new tricks in the bedroom. Until then I was not aware that Frank had a bad back. I had laughed so much the tears had poured down my face and I'm pretty sure Lola had needed more than a few vodkas to get the mental image out of her head.

I link arms with my mother as we make our way to the car and I tell her a bit about New York and what I have been up to. I can sense that they are both holding themselves back, obviously waiting for the right moment to speak their minds. This moment presents itself during dinner that night. My mother asks me two questions one right after the other.  The first is would I please pass the peas; the second is when did I plan on leaving the psychopath?

I tried to explain it to them. I gave them as much information as I could about Adam's condition and the chances of successfully integrating his identities.

“I have to try,” I explain. “I love him.” I can see my mother, particularly, trying desperately to control herself. I cannot blame them. They are only concerned about me and want what is best for me. I turn to my mom determined to make her understand when I notice the tears shining in her eyes. I am shocked and stunned into silence, whatever I had been about to say is forgotten in an instant. I have never seen my mother cry. Not that I can recall. I mean I have seen her 'fake' cry plenty whenever she wants to get her own way, but this is different. This is real.

“Paige I just don’t want to see you hurt again,” she manages in a small voice, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. “You have already been through so much.”

I realise for the first time that what happened after Kevin died really didn’t just affect me. My family went through all the trauma and the pain with me. I was just too self-absorbed at the time to appreciate it. I want them to understand that I have to do this, but I realise that they will never agree with me. The risks are just too great for them. The chance that I will be hurt again is high and they cannot bear the thought. So instead, I put my arm around my mother’s shoulders and I rest my head against hers.

“I love you, Mom,” I say, rubbing her back.

“I love you too, Paige,” she sniffs. “Now seriously, pass me the peas.”

On Saturday morning I wake up early and head down to the beach. I have arranged to meet Jacky, an old friend from College and her fiancé down at the point. I stand at the shoreline letting the sand wash away from under my feet.

“Paige, hey!” Jacky jogs up, looking radiant.

“Hi Jax, Hey Tom!” I call back. Tom had been close to Kevin. The four of us had spent many a Friday night double-dating. I had not seen much of them after Kevin died. I had cut myself off from most of my friends preferring to be alone with my grief.

“It’s so good to see you!” Jacky gushes giving me a warm hug.

“You too!” I reply, meaning it. “Both of you!” I hug Tom as well, albeit a bit more awkwardly.

“So...”  He still has the same brisk, no-nonsense attitude. “Are you really going to do this?”  I glance down at the two surfboards under his arm.

“Absolutely!” I grin, and Jacky giggles, plonking herself down on the sand, an eager audience.

I walk down to the shore, the borrowed surfboard under my arm. I feel the adrenalin coursing through my body and I take a deep breath.

“Now remember what I said!” Tom yells over the noise of the breaking waves which suddenly look a whole lot bigger than they did from higher up on the beach. “Just duck-dive underneath them and once we’re out there I'll tell you what to do. Getting out is the hardest part. Just keep paddling,” he reminds me and I nod determinedly. Puffing out a deep breath of air I count to three in my head and then set off, jogging into the ocean.  The water is icy and takes my breath away as it hits my bare stomach. For a second I feel a stab of envy at Tom’s full wetsuit and then I am paddling as hard as I can, lying on the hard surfboard and feeling incredibly uncomfortable. I try and balance my weight, spreading my legs slightly and not daring to think about the view that poor Jacky has from her vantage point back on the beach.

I squint forward, disappointed that Tom is so far ahead. Why am I not doing this right? I dig my arms deeper into the water, the board biting into my underarms. A wave crashes into me and pushes the board to the side, so that I am lying parallel to the incoming waves instead of facing them. I give a small scream of frustration and turn the nose of my board back out to sea.

“Get the nose down!” Tom shouts back at me, his hair wet and slicked down on his forehead. I nod, gritting my teeth and forcing myself to dig deeper into the water. I start to make headway, the board cutting through the surf and I feel more steady already. I see another wave approaching and, just before it is upon me, I rise up onto my knees and push the nose of the board down into the water, just as Tom instructed. My duck-dive is far from perfect, but I do manage to half-submerge the front of my board and, although the wave breaks over me, it does not throw me off-balance or alter the course of my board.

“Woo-hoo!” I screech, punching the air, feeling the euphoria that comes from achieving something challenging. Right, I think to myself, time to get this show on the road.

The rest of my paddle out is not quite as smooth as I would have liked and I am washed off the surfboard twice, but eventually I am bobbing far out past the backline with Tom and a few other surfers. I am feeling very self-conscious but I force myself to focus as Tom gives me his advice.

“Okay,” Tom looks out to sea and then back at the shore, shielding his eyes and then smiling spontaneously when he spots Jax sitting on the beach. “Now, Paige, what you need to do is wait for the right wave.”

I nod, trying to look as though I know what the right wave will look like.

“I’ll tell you when,” he adds and I stop trying.

“Now, when I say go, I want you to paddle as fast as you can, heading straight for the beach, okay?”

“Okay.” I clench my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering. Now that I am not paddling I am feeling the effects of the cold water far more. “Then what?”

“Then, once the wave grabs you, you stand up. That’s it. But get onto your knees first, it makes it easier.”

“That’s it?” I ask, wondering why that sounds so simple.

“That’s it,” he answers, turning to look back at the horizon. “Paige!” he yells immediately and I whip my head around to see a monstrous wave coming straight towards me. I swallow back the sudden terror I am feeling. “Now!” Tom yells, pushing the back of my board in the direction of the shore.

A moment later I am pumping my arms as fast as I can, my little board skimming through the water much faster than it ever did on the way out here. I keep paddling, not quite sure when I should stop and then I feel it. The wave has reached me; I don’t need to paddle at all, my board is cresting the wave and heading back to shore. I get unsteadily to my knees keeping the nose aimed straight for the beach. I am not interested in attempting any tricks at this stage.  I am pleasantly surprised that once I am on my knees it is not as difficult as I thought. Moving a bit faster, I get up onto my feet, assuming what I figure is the 'surf' position.

A second later I whoop in excitement; my arms out beside me and my hair flying behind me I can feel the salty air on my face. It feels like flying. What a rush! I shriek in excitement my adrenalin still pumping. I am so glad that I did this! Eventually my board coasts into the shallows and just before it beaches itself, I hop off and take a few running steps up the beach, laughing wildly. I skip back and pull the board from the shoreline before flopping down next to Jax on the beach.

“Done already?” she asks, her eyebrows raised sceptically. Jax knows me too well.

“Not a chance!” I grin. “I’m just taking a breather.”

Tom comes running up a few minutes later his own board tucked under his arm.

“Well done!” he laughs. “That was pretty good, for a girl!” I grin and Jax shrieks with indignation.

“What do you mean, for a girl?” She smacks Tom on the arm and he plants a kiss full on her mouth.

“I’ll see you in a bit!” I wave, leaving them to it and running back into the sea, my feet spraying the salty water up behind me.

The morning goes by in a blur and by the time I come out of the water for the last time, my body sore and exhilarated, it is almost noon.

“Let’s grab some lunch,” Jacky suggests, “I’m starving.”

“You’re starving?” Tom teases. “You haven’t done a thing all day!” He grabs her and throws her over his shoulder while she tries to hold down her skirt, shrieking at him to put her down.  I smile to myself, pulling my dry clothes over my sopping bikini. It’s so hot it will be dry in no time. I slip my feet back into my flip-flops and throw my towel over my shoulders.

“I’ll meet you girls at Zack’s,” Tom calls, as he jogs off towards the parking-lot, both surfboards tucked under one arm.

“We’ll wait for you babe!” Jax calls after him and we settle into a companionable silence as we wait for him to return.

We take a seat at one of the local burger bars further down the beach; Tom stopping a few times on the way to greet people that he obviously knows through his surfing.

“That was awesome; thanks so much you guys,” I say, taking a bite of my hamburger.

“I’m so glad you called,” Jax replies, eyeing me over the top of her soda. I can see that she is itching to get something off her chest and, after only a moment’s hesitation, she comes out with it, “The truth is, Paige, well, after Kevin, we weren’t sure that you wanted to see us. I wanted to call, to come and visit, but you didn’t seem too keen on the idea and I didn’t want to push you.”

I pop a chip in my mouth and nod thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry. You’re right; I did withdraw. I couldn’t deal with it,” I shrug, “I crawled into a hole. I just missed him so much and I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

“And now?” Jax probes gently and I glance across at Tom before lowering my eyes.

“I’ve met someone,” I admit to her implied question.

“I knew it!” she exclaims triumphantly and I raise my eyebrows at her obvious jubilation.

“Paige,” she begins, wiping her hands on a napkin. “It's been two-and-a-half years.  Kevin is gone. He would want you to be happy.” She looks across at Tom who nods in agreement.

“He would have wanted you to live your life Paige,” he smiles sadly, remembering his friend, and I feel my throat constrict.

“Well, she’s certainly doing that!” Jax claps her hands. “So Paige, surfing, travelling, I overheard your mom in the store the other day saying you were going swimming with whale sharks?” She opens her mouth in astonishment as I nod in confirmation. “What else have you been up to?” she laughs. I sweep all our rubbish off the table and into the bin before I sit back down and face them.

“It’s a pretty long story,” I say, raising my hand at the passing waitress, indicating that we are ready for our check. Jax leans back against Tom. As his arms come around her I instinctively find myself missing Adam.

“Spill,” she instructs, and I laugh before I start talking.

The afternoon with my old friends is cathartic. Being able to speak honestly and openly about Adam to a relatively impartial third party is like someone else taking some of the burden off my shoulders. I feel better after our discussion and I find that I am thinking more clearly and more positively than I have in quite some time. The sun and the fresh air have also been so good for me and by the time I get back home to mom and Frank’s, I am yawning and quite ready for bed. I excuse myself from dinner, take a long hot shower and, pulling on my PJs, I lie back on my bed, picking up my mobile phone from the bedside table.

There's a message from Adam. Opening it, I smile sleepily.

Goodnight beautiful. Hope you’re having a good time. xxx

New York is three hours ahead. I do the math, it's 9 o’clock there, he should still be awake.

Having a great time, babe. Going to bed, busy day. Miss you stax. Xxx

His reply comes through a minute later: xoxox

I smile at the phone then set it down on the bedside table and close my eyes, rolling onto my side and burrowing deeper under the duvet. I love that he is giving me space, he seems to sense that I need a weekend to just be me, without any complications. Adam is my life, but with the circumstances, everything is so intense that I feel overwhelmed at times. I wouldn’t trade what we have for the world but I need time-out to recharge my batteries and clear my head.

I enjoy my first unbroken sleep in months and I wake feeling refreshed and energised.  I leap out of bed and head downstairs in search of coffee and possibly a doughnut. I know my mother is bound to have a cream cake stashed away somewhere. Sammy’s husband Dave is a realtor and he found tenants for my apartment shortly after my departure, so staying at my place now is not an option. It’s better this way, though. At least it gives me ample time to spend with my crazy family.

Today I’m going to see my dad. I fly out later this evening and I will be back in New York tonight. My heart leaps at the thought of seeing Adam. As much as I have enjoyed this time off I have missed him, and I am ready to go home. That is how I think of Adam and our small mismatched apartment now; it is my home. He is my home. I do, however, enjoy driving my little auto Chevy. It feels like no time has passed as I head east toward Fairview, the home that my father resides in. I pull into the parking-lot and feel suddenly nervous. I am apprehensive, I realise, and then I shake myself, mentally, for my silliness. This is my dad, after all, even if he doesn’t remember it. There is nothing to be nervous about. I take a deep breath and step through the automatic glass doors into the cool, air-conditioned interior.

“Hi Dawn!” I greet the receptionist on duty. Dawn is a striking African-American woman with mahogany skin and yellow braids. She is unbelievably empathetic and is brilliant with all the residents of Fairview. Tall and slim she could have easily made it as a runway model, but she claims that it is a privilege to work with the elderly and that when Jesus calls, Dawn answers.

‘Paige!” she calls, jumping up and making her way around the massive reception desk to come and give me a hug. “How’ve you been, girl?”

“Good,” I smile and hug her back.

“You back for good?” she asks, raising her brow.

“No,” I sigh. “Just a visit.”

“Oh, okay. Well don’t take too long, y’hear. Your daddy misses you.”

It’s good to hear and I wave back as I walk toward the gardens, feeling slightly more confident.

I find my dad sitting at our usual table, an empty Scrabble board in front of him. My heart contracts with pity as he glances around looking confused. I make my way to him slowly, giving him plenty of time to notice my approach. As I reach the table he looks up expectantly.

“Hi there!” I say, meeting his eyes.

“Hello,” he answers politely, not a spark of recognition in his familiar brown eyes which are so similar to my own.

“May I play?” I ask, gesturing at the board.

He glances around uncertainly.

“Um, I think I’m waiting for somebody...” It is almost a question and I smile.

“Well, maybe I could play until they get here?” I ask tentatively and after a moment he nods, reaching deep into the bag and extracting seven tiles. I see the plain face of a blank tile between his fingers and I smile. My dad loves to win.

“Seventy two points!” he declares triumphantly, playing out the word 'taxing' on a triple letter for both 'taxing' and 'ex'.  I grin at the smug smirk on his face.

“So,” he continues, “this young man wants to get better.  Well that’s something at least.  Although I must admit, I don’t envy you this remarkably strange situation that you’re in.”

I sigh.  It didn’t take long for my dad to feel comfortable with me – it never does. I always take that as a good sign, that on some subconscious level he still knows who I am. Once we started chatting I proceeded to unload my whole sad story on him, needing to tell someone who would give an unbiased opinion and just desperately wanting some advice.

“It’s not easy,” I admit, “but he desperately wants to get better. He wants what I want – a normal life.”

“Bah!” my dad scoffs. “Nobody wants a normal life. That’s ordinary. You should strive for extra-ordinary. For exceptional. That’s a life worth living.”

“I do try!” I laugh and he chuckles.

“Yes; the surfing, the mountain climbing and the paragliding. You're quite an exceptional young lady. Your parents must be very proud of you.”

“They are,” I smile sadly.

“Do you love him?” he asks.

“Very much,” I nod, placing my tiles down on the board and marking my pitiful 13 word score on the scorecard.

“I loved a woman once,” he says wistfully and my back stiffens. My father often refers to my mother like this and it never ends well. “She was the most beautiful woman I ever saw.” He gazes out at the trees, lost in his memories. Then his eyes cloud over and he looks at me, a flash of fear in his eyes. “I don’t remember her name,” he says, sounding panicked. I place my hand over his.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Why don’t you have your turn?” I point to the board and he stares down at it. I breathe a sigh of relief as I see his shoulders visibly relax and his eyes start to move back and forth between his tiles and the board. The storm has passed.

“You know what I think?” he starts talking again as though nothing has happened and I know that he has reset - he has probably forgotten our entire conversation.

“Yes?” I ask.

“You seem like a lovely girl, Paige,” he shuffles the tiles around on his tile-slate. “I think this Adam is lucky to have you and I think you should do everything in your power to help him.”

I nod, even though he is not looking, he is completely focused on his remaining tiles.

“Just be careful not to lose yourself in the process,” he adds, finally playing out his last tiles, including the second blank tile and winning the game by over 100 points.

Chapter 16

Seeing Adam again is heaven; like coming up for air after being underwater for too long.  His eyes are so blue that I have to consciously remind myself to look away or I would just stand staring up at him for hours, grinning like the village idiot. Apparently he has not had any blackouts over the long weekend, so presumably no alters have made an appearance while I’ve been gone. By the time we get home it’s late and I’m shattered. I don’t even have the energy to pull on my pyjamas I simply drop my pants and my T-shirt next to the bed and crawl between the covers.  Adam chuckles and scoots in beside me, curling his body up against my back. I hold both of his hands which are around my chest, over my heart, and I am asleep within minutes.

It is pitch black when I wake up and for a second I am disoriented, not quite sure what has woken me. Then I grin, leaning back.

“Babe!” I mock-scold, feeling his need pressing against my lower back. I am hardly surprised. I was amazed when he didn’t try and instigate at bedtime, particularly since I had gone to bed naked.

“Hmm?” he murmurs in my ear huskily, and I squirm, goosebumps rising on my back and neck.

His hands roam freely over me just skimming my body and continuously moving, not actually settling anywhere. I arch my back and press back against him, wanting him to focus his attention, but he continues his sensual assault. I move my hands behind my back and feel him shudder as my hand brushes over him. I grin, feeling empowered.

Eventually, when I cannot take it any more I roll over to face him, my mouth opening against his and his tongue sweeping into mine.

One minute we are getting hot and heavy, and necking like a pair of hormonal teenagers, and the next I bring my hand back and release it, landing a ringing, open-palmed slap on his left cheek. He buries his face in the pillows for a minute, a low growl escaping him, and I leap out of bed, flicking on the bed-side lamp as I do.

He rolls over, stretching his arms and then resting his head on his hands and grinning up at me.

“What gave it away?” he asks, seeming completely unconcerned.  I note with a flicker of satisfaction that his cheek is bright red where I hit him.

“You kiss differently.”

“Ah,” he nods knowingly, “I’m better, obviously?”

I roll my eyes.

“Go back to sleep, Kyle,” I sigh. He pats the bed next to him.

“Why don’t you join me? I won’t bite,” he winks at me as he adds, “unless you ask nicely.” I can’t help it and I giggle. Kyle is a pig but there is something attractive about his sarcastic, overly confident manner. I am wide awake now and I know that I will not be able to sleep for some time.

“How about some coffee?” I offer. “Why don’t you go and have a cold shower and I’ll make it?”

“What if I want to go out and have some fun?” he threatens, watching me closely for my reaction.

“You’re not going anywhere at this time,” I scoff, calling his bluff. He looks only mildly irritated for a moment and then he swings his legs off the bed and gets to his feet, yawning widely.

“Three sugars, sweet cheeks.”

He pads down the passage after me, cold shower forgotten, yawning widely. I make the coffee, watching him surreptitiously. He is lounging on the couch, his legs up on the coffee table, flicking through the Sports channels on the TV. Eventually he settles for watching professional poker.

I finish the coffee and make my way across to him. I hand him his mug and then settle down next to him on the couch. He glances over at me, a brief look of surprise crossing his features before he resumes his unconcerned expression and turns his attention back to the TV.  We watch in silence for almost an hour. To my utmost surprise when the tournament is over Kyle flicks off the TV and turns to face me. I wait but he says nothing, just gazes at me steadily.

“More coffee?” I ask; for want of something else to say. I am feeling slightly uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze.

“Sure.” He shrugs, standing and stretching his legs. He follows me to the kitchen, lounging back against the wooden counter and watching me contemplatively.

Under his scrutiny I flush unbecomingly and am suddenly completely uncoordinated.

“Dammit!” I curse, as I spill sugar all over the counter.

Kyle chuckles, unnerving me even more.

“What?” I snap, feeling foolish and irritated. I just want Adam back.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head and those piercing blue eyes meet mine and hold my gaze. I refuse to look away first and after a minute or two Kyle steps forward, crossing the kitchen in three slow strides.

He stands over me, taking the spoon from my hand and placing it on the kitchen counter. I force myself to take slow, calming breaths and not to flinch when he suddenly raises his hand and pushes my dark hair out of my eyes and behind my ear.

I stare up at him, lost in the beauty of the face that I love.

“You’re very pretty,” Kyle murmurs, gazing down at me. I say nothing, I do not have an answer to that and there is a lump in my throat that I am struggling to swallow down. A part of me is terrified that one of my biggest fears may be about to come true – the way that Kyle is looking at me is making me nervous. Another part of me, however small, is exhilarated, which makes me feel guilty at the same time. The moment seems to be dragging on forever and neither of us has said a word.

Kyle stares at my mouth unabashedly and I fight the urge to lick my lips. Almost as if in slow motion, his head drops down towards me and I unconsciously tilt my chin up to meet him. In the instant that our lips are about to meet I close my eyes. It takes only a moment for me to register the change, there is a flicker of light and my eyes fly open. Kyle has moved a few steps away and is regarding me disbelievingly, a small smile playing on his lips. I flush scarlet in mortification and quickly turn back to the counter to busy myself with finishing the coffee.

“Any time,” I hear him murmur, and I turn to glare at him, embarrassment making me even more angry.

“What?” I snap, and he smiles at my loss of temper.

“I said, any time, love,” he answers, knowingly. “I can have you any time I want. It’s like a moth to a flame.” I want to slap him and wipe the smug smile off his face. I am about to argue but then I realise, what would be the point, and I pick up both mugs and make my way back to the lounge. I set both steaming cups down on the coffee table and then I sit down, curling my legs underneath me.

Kyle sits down next to me, slightly too close for comfort. I think he enjoys making me uncomfortable and invading my personal space.

“It’s only because you’re wearing that face,” I say wearily. “I love the man that face belongs to.  It’s hard to separate it all in my mind, you know?” It is true. I have an immense physical pull to Adam’s body. Our relationship is certainly not based on lust, but there is no denying that there is an enormous physical attraction. Unfortunately that doesn’t entirely go away when Adam is absent from the situation.

He regards me steadily, saying nothing.

“What stopped you?” I ask, morbid curiosity getting the better of me. There is no point in denying that I would have kissed him back if he had followed through in the kitchen and I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why he hesitated. He seems slightly taken aback by my question but he soon recovers his usual cockiness.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he answers, shrugging nonchalantly, “maybe I just don’t like the idea of you being in love with him.” He speaks of Adam with such disdain and I force myself not to react defensively.

“What is it that bothers you so much about Adam?” I ask.

“He’s weak,” he answers without hesitation. “He can’t deal with life; he just lets other people fight his battles.”

“And by other people you mean you?” I point out.

“Yeah,” he grins, “me.”

“What do you mean by 'he can’t deal with life'?” I ask innocently, taking a sip of my coffee. I catch a glimpse of the clock, it is well after midnight and I stifle an automatic yawn.

“He can’t,” he frowns, as though it's a stupid question. “I wouldn’t be here if he could.  Obviously.”

“So, what was it that he couldn’t deal with in his childhood?” I ask, mentally cringing. Could I be any more obvious? Kyle, of course, sees right through me and laughs.

“Nice try, Paige but I’m not going to tell you that.” He shakes his head and leans forward, placing his cup back on the table. I sigh in frustration and settle back on the cushions.

“This can’t go on forever,” I say, eyeing him steadily.

“Why not?” he asks, sounding almost bored.

“Because Adam needs to get better; he needs to be whole again.”

“That sounds like a cheesy line from a bad chick-flick,” he says and I heave a dramatic sigh.

“Stop sulking.”

“I can’t,” I admit, knowing I am being childish but unable to help myself. “I’m tired of this mess.”

“So you’d be happier if I simply bowed out, gracefully?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.

“Something like that,” I nod.

“Not going to happen,” he snaps.

“Why?” I whine. “Just let Adam live his life.” Looking back I suppose I wasn’t really thinking. I was tired and I was annoyed and I spoke without considering what it would mean for Kyle. But I wasn’t thinking, that is the bottom line. And that is why I was so shocked by his sudden outburst.

“And what about my life?” His voice is raised and I realise how angry he suddenly is.

“You want me to give Adam back his life but have you even considered what that means?” I blink, understanding dawning on me. “It means I die!” he roars. “You think I’m an asshole for hanging around Paige? Well fuck you! I don’t give a shit what you think. I defy you to find anyone who wouldn’t do exactly the same thing. I - want - to - live.  Got it?” I take an automatic step backwards trying to escape his wrath.

I had not once really considered the situation from Kyle’s perspective and what the implications of a successful integration would mean for him; or for Simon, or Jacob, for that matter; but ultimately Kyle’s theory is correct. It would mean that they would cease to exist – a fate as good as death. I realise how selfish I must seem to them. It all comes down to perspective. I do not really consider them to be 'real' people, but obviously they do not hold the same low regard for their own lives. Well Kyle obviously doesn’t. I am so lost in thought and so horrified by my selfish behaviour that I do not see the kiss coming.

One minute I hear him chuckle, which interrupts my morbid self-persecution, and, as I focus on his face, he leans forward and kisses me. I am so shocked at the turn of events that I forget to react, and for a moment I forget myself and kiss him back. By the time I regain control of my senses he has already pulled away from me, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

I am so gobsmacked that I just sit there, slightly stunned, and stare at him, my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.

“Well if that ain’t living, I don’t know what is,” he drawls.

“How dare you!” I hiss, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

He rolls his eyes and turns on the TV and I realise that, like it or not, our conversation is over.

Chapter 17

The hypnotherapy sessions with Doctor Sheldon are still underway and, despite the events of last night, I am excited to see what progress we will make today.

“Paige, I found him! I found Fergus!” I have never heard Jacob’s voice so animated, and judging by the look on Carl Sheldon’s face, neither has he.

“Oh, Jacob, that’s awesome!” I encourage, amazed that my impromptu 'suggestion' has made such an impression.

“He looked a bit dehydrated. I’ve made sure he has plenty of food and water,” Jacob adds proudly and I nod my head.

“That’s great, Jacob. Really. I feel a lot better now that you've found him, I was getting quite worried.”

“I’ll take good care of him,” he promises.

I stifle a yawn and Carl glances across at me quizzically. I shake my head and he turns back to Adam who is once again under hypnosis.

“Jacob, you sound as though you're feeling better,” the doctor’s voice is soothing and I feel very heavy-lidded. When I woke up this morning with Adam, after spending the evening with Kyle, I told him about the kiss. Suffice it to say he wasn’t pleased. I feel like the past 24 hours has been an emotional rollercoaster, even worse than anything we've been through previously. Carl had warned us that the alters might become more prevalent when we started the hypnotherapy and he was right. I'm feeling more and more like a contestant in a bad reality show. I zone out as Carl continues his conversation with Jacob, feeling frustrated. We seem to be making no headway, although the doc insists we are making startling progress. I can sense that even Adam’s eternal optimism is failing him. It only takes another five minutes for Carl to bring Adam out of the hypnosis, as usual he does not want to push, he wants to take things at Jacob’s own pace. In my mind Jacob is so slow we may as well be going backward, and at this rate Adam and I might be dead before we uncover any secrets, but I keep this to myself, knowing full well that Carl will not appreciate my views.

“I want to take you somewhere,” Adam murmurs in my ear as we leave the Institute, arm in arm.

“Where?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

“Grimaldi’s,” he proclaims, as though the word itself should mean something to me.

“Grimaldi’s?” I raise my brow in question and smile at the look of mock horror that crosses his face.

“You’ve never been to Grimaldi’s?” He places his hand over his heart dramatically, adopting the worst fake Italian accent I have ever heard.

“No!” I laugh, shaking my head, “I've never been to Grimaldi’s.”

“We’ll have to do something about that immediately, Ms Petrova.” He opens my door for me and leans in as I buckle my safety-belt.

“I love you, Paige.” He kisses my nose and I settle back in my seat praying that soon enough it will be just the two of us, that this whole messed-up rollercoaster ride will be worth it.

Twenty minutes later I find myself standing in a line underneath the Brooklyn bridge.

“Pizza?” I ask, and I burst out laughing. I have never seen people queuing for pizza before.

“Not just pizza!” he exclaims, shaking his head at my naiveté. “Grimaldi’s pizza.” He speaks the words with such reverence that I can’t help but giggle again and he rolls his eyes at my utter inability to take him seriously.

“You're in serious need of a New York education,” he chides, taking my hand and drawing me into the small and intimate pizzeria, situated under the Brooklyn bridge, where I have, not that I wanted to admit it, the single best pepperoni pizza I have ever tasted. I tap my foot in time with the Frank Sinatra song coming from the Jukebox in the corner.

“You know legend has it that Sinatra had Grimaldi’s pies flown to him in Vegas,” Adam remarks smugly.

“Oh, really? So how come we had to wait in line?” I ask, taking an enormous bite. Adam throws back his head and laughs, and then he turns serious once more.

“So,” he begins hesitantly, “how’re you holding up?”

“Okay,” I mumble through a mouth crammed full of pizza. He doesn’t say anything else, but he holds my gaze and waits for me to finish. It’s so typical of my Adam; he knows me far too well. I sigh, wiping my mouth with my napkin and take a swig of water. “It’s hard, babe,” I confess. “I just wish it could be you and me, you know? With no distractions?” I glance out of the window, taking in the memorable view of Manhattan and I see that the line is finally dwindling. “Most women have to contend with an annoying mother-in-law at worst. This has got to be some kind of record!” I laugh but it sounds forced and Adam looks physically pained.

“Paige,” he begins and I stop him immediately.

“No, Adam.” I put up a hand to stop him right there. “I want this. I want you. I'm not going anywhere. We'll get through this no matter how hard it is.” He looks about to argue and I shake my head, taking his hand across the table and squeezing it reassuringly. “We'll get through this,” I insist and he smiles sadly, squeezing back.

Later we walk across the street to the Brooklyn ice cream parlour.

“Now, to completely change the subject,” I tease and he eyes me warily, “I have an idea for this weekend.” I laugh at his look of trepidation – Adam is far less adventurous than I am.  “It’ll be fun, I promise!”

We do not make it to the weekend without the reappearance of Kyle. Oddly enough I am relieved that it is him, despite my earlier reservations, he is surprisingly easier to deal with than the others. I am getting dressed for dinner on Wednesday evening when Kyle walks into the bedroom, a Machiavellian grin on his handsome face. I whip my gold strapless dress over my head and it slithers down my body.

“What are you doing here?” I snap, slipping my feet into a pair of gold sandals and sitting down on the edge of the bed to buckle them up. Kyle’s lascivious gaze roams my body freely but I simply ignore him, pulling my hair over my left shoulder so that it cascades down, reaching almost to my navel.

“Going out, I assume?” He raises his eyebrows, gesturing at the smart black pants and dark blue button-up shirt that Adam had donned for our evening out.

“Adam and I are going to dinner,” I answer primly, standing and placing my hands on my hips.

“Correction. You and Adam were going out for dinner.” He looks so cocksure of himself that I want to slap him. Again. “Now, it seems that you'll have to settle for me.”

“No way.”

“Well, okay, in that case I’ll just have to go alone,” he sighs dramatically, running his hands through his hair, and I curse inwardly. He has me beat and we both know it. I would never let Kyle out of my sight if I could help it.

“You better behave yourself,” I warn, stalking past him to the front door and he laughs as he follows me, handing me my purse just as we leave the apartment.

Our reservation at Matteo’s was for 7 p.m. and we arrive only a few minutes late. I cast suspicious glances at Kyle as we are shown to our table, but other than a few curious glances at the prettier clientele, Kyle’s behaviour is impeccable. He even pulls out my chair for me which I find disconcerting. He takes his seat opposite me and picks up the wine list, examining it. As the moment stretches on, I can’t help myself, and I ask him sarcastically; “Do you even know anything about wine?”

He lowers the leather-bound menu slowly, his piercing blue eyes thoughtful and then he laughs out loud.

“Absolutely nothing at all,” he admits, passing it over to me and ordering a beer from a passing waiter. I roll my eyes and select a red blend, the cheapest on the menu. Kyle doesn’t bat an eyelid and, to my immense relief, he thanks the waiter for the proffered beer, displaying far more refined courtesy than I would have given him credit for.

“So,” I begin, once the waiter has poured my wine and moved on to take another table’s order, “what exactly are we doing here?” Kyle looks genuinely confused.

“We're having dinner, I would think?”

“Ha!” I snort, taking a huge slug of the wine. “Nice try, but this doesn’t exactly strike me as your usual scene?” I let the question hang in the air, but to my immense irritation, he ignores me, surveying the food menu.

“May I take your order?” The young waiter asks a short while later and Kyle grins up at him.

“I’ll have the steak, medium-rare, with baby potatoes and French beans, please,” he looks across at me questioningly. Caught on the hop, I haven’t so much as glanced at the menu, I glance up at the hovering waiter and I smile.

“I’ll have the same thank you,” I smile, handing him back the menu and taking another slug of wine. He refills my glass before he departs.

“This is ridiculous,” I say out loud, although I am speaking more to myself than anything.  Kyle appears to be quite amused by my obvious distress and he sits forward, speaking in hushed tones.

“What exactly is it that’s bothering you so much, Paige?”

“You!” I hiss, “You’re bothering me. You shouldn’t be here, I want Adam back.” I am all too aware how petulant I sound and Kyle chuckles under his breath, reminding me so much of Adam that my tirade dies on my lips.

“Well,” he begins calmly, leaning back in his chair, “seeing as Adam isn't here, why don’t we just try and enjoy a pleasant evening together?”

I frown in consternation but I have little choice in the matter. What else can I do?

“Fine,” I answer finally, feeling traitorous, “but promise me that you won’t go skirt-chasing tonight? Please,” I add, begrudgingly.

He glances around the crowded restaurant seeming to be seriously considering this, and then suddenly he nods briskly.

“Deal,” he agrees, and I am so taken aback that I do not speak again until our food arrives.

The steak is delicious, juicy and tender, with perfect, fluffy baby potatoes and crisp, fresh beans, dripping in butter. During dinner Kyle and I chat amiably about random, neutral topics and I am surprised to find that he is quite intelligent and a good conversationalist when he is not being a pig. I know I shouldn’t, but I finish the bottle of wine during dinner.  I am so on edge being in a public place with this volatile man that I drink more than I should, purely out of nervousness. Kyle hails the waiter to order another bottle and this time he joins me, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips at the first sip.

“That’s nasty,” he manages, shaking his head, but he continues manfully, taking tiny sips. Halfway through the second bottle I am feeling decidedly tipsy but my mood has lightened considerably and I am soon screeching with laughter at Kyle’s lewd jokes.

“I feel like dancing,” I comment idly, examining my wine glass.

“Well, let’s go dancing,” he raises his glass and drains the dregs of wine in one swallow.

Summoning the waiter he calls for the tab.

“We can’t,” I hiccup, trying to pull my bag out from underneath the table and knocking my head painfully on its edge. “Ouch!” I rub my head. Kyle ignores my pain, eyes narrowing in irritation.

“Stop being so boring, Paige,” he shakes his head, “I want to go dancing.” There is a finality to his tone that makes me wary but my brain is foggy with all the wine that I’ve shipped and I can’t come up with any argument other than, “No, I don’t need you going off with some blonde and leaving me stranded.”

Kyle throws back his head and laughs. He deliberates for a minute and then seems to come to a decision.

“Okay,” he begins, “if I promise not to go off with any women will you come dancing with me?”

“But...” I begin, and he interrupts me immediately.

“Come on Paige, live a little!”

As we teeter down Main street toward La Vida, a local club, I try and convince myself that this is not a mistake but I know that my pride has got the better of me. This is a bad idea; a very bad idea. As we enter the dark, neon-lit club Kyle gives a slim, gorgeous Asian girl a quick once-over, followed by the ghost of a wink. Seeing her smiling back I narrow my eyes at him and he immediately holds his hands up in mock-surrender before heading toward the bar.  I follow him through the crowd trying to keep up. He doesn’t wait for me or check to see whether I am still behind him, but he does order us a both a drink when we reach the counter. The chivalrous moment only lasts a minute as I hand over my credit card to pay for the round. I also paid for our dinner. Kyle cannot use Adam’s cards; his signature would not match.

Drinks in hand we stand at the bar for a while, my head spinning slightly.

“Let’s dance.” I grab Kyle’s hand and pull him onto the dance floor ignoring his look of shock.

If there is one thing I am good at, it’s dancing. I love it; moving my body to the beat and losing myself in the music. I am soon swaying and turning, my body writhing like an eel, sashaying between other dancers my eyes half-closed. Kyle, surprisingly, has very good rhythm and we move in unison, feet flying, twirling around until I am dizzy. He is on his best behaviour and other than a few admiring glances at the gorgeous women in the room he behaves himself. We drink a lot more and I laugh at his crude, derogatory jokes which, astonishingly, I am drunk enough not to be offended by.

Much later we make our way home. Only once we are behind the locked door and alone in the apartment do I begin to feel awkward. I realise that I have not thought of Adam once in the past few hours and I am suddenly riddled with guilt.

“Coffee?” I ask and Kyle nods, heading down the passage to the bathroom.

By the time I am finished making the coffee he is settled down in front of the TV, his shoes up on the coffee table, his head back, resting on the plush sofa cushions. His eyes are closed and I hesitate before I set the coffee down in front of him, thinking he may have fallen asleep. He half opens one eye as I place the mug down in front of him.

“You’re more fun than I gave you credit for,” he murmurs.

“Thank you, I think.”

“You know the party doesn’t have to stop,” he waggles his brows suggestively.

“Yes, Kyle, it does,” I say firmly, picking up my mug and heading to the bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I can’t help but smile but as I settle down under the covers my thoughts turn again to Adam, and I am overwhelmed with sadness and an empty feeling that makes me feel very alone. Praying that Adam will be back by the morning in time for our adventure, I close my eyes and will sleep to come quickly.

“Fun?” Adam’s tone is incredulous. It is Saturday. The weekend has finally arrived, and with it, my much anticipated idea of fun. Adam’s eyes are as round as saucers. He has a film of perspiration glistening on his forehead. I glance down and immediately wish I hadn’t. For the first time I consider that this may not be the best idea I have ever had. I force the thought out of my mind – it's a great idea! Here we are, about to do something reckless and crazy and absolutely adrenalin-pumping and the best part is that Adam is right beside me.

I had read about Trapeze School on Google. It was recommended for anyone from the 'thrill seeker' to the 'fear facer'. At the 40th Street Pier in mid-town Manhattan, the school teaches people to 'fly' on the trapeze which sounded like a marvellous thing to do so I booked us a private lesson. Now, standing on a platform 23 feet in the air I am not really so sure. I take a deep breath and smile at Adam who initially insisted that he would go first.

“You ready?” I ask, biting my lip to keep from laughing as what little colour remains drains from his face.

“Ready?” the instructor asks Adam and turns to face him. Not wanting to lose face he manages to nod. “On the count of three,” the instructor calls and then counts up, “one, two, three!”

I have to give Adam credit, I didn’t think that he would go through with it, but he jumped. He jumped and soared through the air screaming like a little girl.

“Knees up!” the instructor yells as Adam streaks downward.

“No way!” Adam hollers back and drops straight down onto the net.

I have not laughed so hard for so long that once I start I just can’t stop. Tears of mirth pour down my face and I clutch my sides trying to control myself. Even the instructor looks amused, but he quickly regains his composure and gestures for me to step forward. Facing my fear quickly sobers me up and I grit my teeth determinedly, stepping forward and peering over the platform. Adam has climbed out of the net and is staring up at me wide-eyed.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and jump. It feels like flying! I feel like a child, like anything is possible. It is freedom and flying and fun. I open my eyes and laugh into the wind.

“Knees up!” I hear the spotter call and without hesitation I swing my knees up and hook them over the bar. Not giving myself time to hesitate I let go of the bar and am hanging upside down by my knees. I catch a glimpse of Adam as I swing by and laugh at the concerned expression on his face. I catch hold of the bar again, swinging my legs off and over and execute a perfect back-flip, just as the instructor has shown us. Landing in the net I feel my face is flushed with exhilaration and I climb down, feeling giddy. I skip toward Adam who has his hand shielding his eyes and is gazing up at the platform.

“Ta-da!” I skid to a stop in front of him.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” he scolds and I look up feeling my heart plummet.  Simon. Simon is back and Adam is gone.

“No!” I wail.  Not now; not in this beautiful carefree moment. I subconsciously put my hand over my ears trying in vain to block out the monotonous drone of Simon’s chastisement.

“Leave it alone, Simon!” I half-yell and, without so much as a second thought, I turn on my heel and head back to the platform ladder.

“This is completely irresponsible behaviour!” he calls after me. “You're being reckless, Paige!” I'm momentarily touched by his concern and then, “Who's going to drive me home if you get yourself killed up there being a show-off?”

“Oooh!” I scream, climbing more quickly.

“What’s up with him?” Chad, the instructor, raises his eyebrows.

“He’s schitzo,” I reply, choking back a half-sob. I'll be damned if I'll let that pompous son-of-a-bitch ruin this for me. I grab hold of the bar and leap, soaring through the air and forgetting, for just a moment, the troubles that await me on the ground.

Probably fearful of saying too much in front of Chad whose disapproval is radiating off him, Simon waits until we are safely ensconced in the Audi before he continues with his lecture. I give him five minutes. As soon as I realise that he will not stop talking for some time, I turn the stereo on full volume and sing along to Kings of Leon. Simon purses his lips into a grim line and winds his body up so tight I begin to fear he might never unravel.

By the time I reach This sex is on fire he has turned an alarming shade of magenta and I have recovered enough of my good spirits to turn down the stereo and risk his wrath once more. As if determined to take the moral high road, he remains silent, staring unblinkingly out of the window.

When we finally turn into the parking-bay at the apartment block, I unbuckle my seat-belt and turn to face him, determined to find some common ground. Unless Simon and I can learn to get along I am in for a very long night.

“Simon,” I begin, firmly. He sniffs, turning his head ever so slightly away from me.

“Simon,” I say, even more firmly, and he deigns to glance over in my general direction.  “What is it exactly that you are so wound up about?”  I ask.

“What do you think?” he snaps. “I wake up to find myself falling through the air. I could have died!”

I contemplate this. Simon must have emerged just before Adam hit the safety-net.  Okay, fair enough, that would have been a shock for anybody.

“How dare you risk my life like that?” he hisses and I recoil.

“There was a safety-net Simon. You were never in any real danger,” I explain gently.

“How was I to know that? I could have had a heart attack! Imagine waking up and plummeting toward the ground?” He shakes his head as though the thought alone is vexing.

“Simon, I’m sorry. But we wanted to do it. Adam wanted to do it.”

“I don’t care what Adam wants to do!” he hisses through clenched teeth and it is the most emotion I have ever seen from him. “This is my body, Paige. Mine! What makes you or Adam,” he speaks the name as though it is a four-letter word, “think you have any right to use it for these ludicrous acts of lunacy?”

I sigh, banging the steering-wheel in frustration. There is no point in arguing with Simon; he is far too rigid and stiff-upper-lipped to ever accept or even understand my way of life.

“Let’s just go inside Simon,” I concede. “I’ll make us some supper.”

He is still bristling with indignation but I know that Adam hasn’t eaten since breakfast – he must be starving. He strides ahead of me into the apartment and perches on the edge of the couch, switching the TV on and immediately flicking over to National Geographic. I heave a sigh and head to the kitchen to make us something to eat.

I am just getting some steaks out of the ice-box when my phone starts ringing. Thank God for the diversion. It is an unknown number and I frown, glancing at the clock on the wall. It is after seven, it had better not be a telemarketer.

“Hello?” I answer, lifting the phone to my ear.

“Is that Ms Paige Petrova?” The voice is feminine but direct and authoritative.

“This is she,” I answer, shutting the refrigerator door and dropping the tomatoes and onions onto the kitchen table. “How may I help you?”

“Ms Petrova, my name is Doctor Jones and I’m calling from Fairways Care facility. You're listed as the emergency contact for Mr Christo Petrova, is that correct?”

“Yes,” I say, in barely more than a whisper.

“Ms Petrova there’s been an emergency; we need you to come into the centre immediately.”   There is a pause, during which I am too terrified to even breathe. Doctor Jones continues in a grave tone, “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

I stand, frozen, in the middle of the kitchen, the paring knife I was using to prepare the salad in mid-air, tears coursing down my cheeks. I don’t know how long I stayed that way, but long enough that Adam, not Simon, found me, much later. He takes the knife from my hand, puts the now defrosted steaks in the refrigerator and then enfolds me in his embrace, letting me cry until my tears run dry.

My father has developed pneumonia and is in Memorial Medical Centre. They are treating him with antibiotics but the prognosis is not good. His dementia has also deteriorated rapidly and he is being permanently sedated. I will be catching the first available flight back to California. Adam will stay in Manhattan. He'll follow as soon as I call for him and we'll fly back together. I need to be alone. In truth, I need to be away from him. From all of him. This is about me. I need to focus solely on myself for a change and, being Adam, I think he understands.

When he drops me at the airport he holds me for a long time then kisses my hair.  Lifting my chin he meets my gaze levelly.

“I’m implementing an escape clause, Paige,” he swallows, forcing back his emotion.

“What?” I ask; I'm so preoccupied with the news of my father that I'm barely paying attention.

“I just want you to know that at any time you can exercise your escape clause,” he smiles sadly. “Think of it as a get-out-of-jail-free card.” He rubs his hands up and down my arms and despite my grief my body responds and the hairs on my arms stand up. I shiver, involuntarily.

“I know the sacrifices you've made for me Paige. I know how hard this is on you.” He pauses, his eyes taking in my eyes, my lips, my hair. “If it ever gets too much I don’t give a damn what Doctor Sheldon may have told you, you get out, do you understand me?” I look down at my feet shaking my head and he rattles me until I look up and meet his gaze. “You get out, Paige.  Promise me!” He is so serious and I am shocked that he is saying these things. I cannot even comprehend being without Adam. It would be like trying to live without my own soul.

“Adam, I don’t... I wouldn’t...” I cannot even put into words what I am thinking and he shakes me again, although more gently this time, and I laugh a little.

“Adam, you're crazy. I could no sooner leave you than leave my own heart. We're in this together.”

“I know you love me, Paige but I won't let this destroy you. You've been through so much, already.” He shakes his head stopping me before I can speak, “Just promise me, please, Paige. If it gets too much, you’ll get out.” He looks so forlorn and so defeated and I don’t have the energy to explain, so I simply take both of his hands, stretch up on my toes to look him straight in the eye and do as he says. I make a promise that I have absolutely no intention of keeping.

My father died a week later. He slipped into a coma the day after I arrived and he never regained consciousness. At least I got to say goodbye or so everyone keeps telling me.  It was early, I keep thinking, over and over. The average life span after the diagnosis of Alzheimer's is eight years. My father didn't make six. I had always known the disease was terminal and that there was no cure, but I had expected to have more time. My father hadn't started to show the symptoms of late progression of the disease, he was still fairly calm and responsive to his environment and was not entirely reliant on caregivers.

Not that any of that matters now.

Adam arrives the day my dad passes away. He holds my hand as I say goodbye and he holds me tightly in his arms that night. We are staying at mom and Frank’s, although in separate bedrooms; my mother, of course, turning a blind eye to the fact that the bed in my own room is unmade every morning. I am grateful for the support but in truth I feel numb. For the first time in a long time I switch off my emotions. I am so close to breaking point and I'm terrified that if I let it all in it will consume me and I will simply give up. I go through all the motions of arranging and executing the funeral which is beautiful; all regal lilies and teal organza.  We hold it in my mother and Frank’s garden. So many well-wishers offer their condolences that I lose track and my jaw aches from smiling. Eventually, just as I think I can take no more, I hear Adam standing beside me utter, “Enough.” Before I can even consider what he means, he grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd, not even bothering to apologise to anyone he knocks out of the way. Not allowing me a moment to say goodbye to anyone, he pulls me into the house and up the stairs. At the top of the stairwell he turns and kisses me with an unbridled passion and I respond with alacrity. I do not give a damn who might see us, and when he asks which room is mine, I don’t hesitate. I pull him by the collar until my back hits the door. Adam reaches around me and turns the doorknob and we practically fall into the room pulling at each other’s clothes frenziedly.

The truth be told, I know it is Kyle. I knew it the moment he asked me which room was mine; before that even. I know when he tears my lace camisole and lowers his head to my breasts. I know when he rams me against the bedroom wall and blazes a trail of hot, searing kisses from my mouth to my throat. It is Kyle who rips off my panties and Kyle who squeezes my bare buttocks so hard that it is sweet agony. It is Kyle who jabs his finger so deep inside of me that I cry out, not caring if the entire gathering downstairs hears it, and it is Kyle who buries himself in me and groans in ecstasy when I scratch my nails down his back so hard that it draws blood.

I know it is Kyle and I don’t care. He nips my lip and I cry out as he drives me to orgasm after orgasm. It is wild and feral and dirty, and for the first time in my life I just don’t give a damn.

I am still coming down to earth and Kyle is already zipping up his pants. I roll over and encounter a handful of lace. Picking up the shreds of what remains of my underwear, I bite the feather pillow in mild hysteria to stop from laughing.

“When did you know?” he asks, buttoning up his shirt and glancing out of the window.

“As soon as you arrived,” I answer and he cocks his head, bemused.  I jump off the bed feeling better than I have in ages. “You said ‘Enough’ and then you dragged me through the crowd like some sort of caveman.” I say, pulling on my skirt.

“So?” he asks, running his hands through his dark curls.

“So Adam would never be so unrestrained,” I pull on my jacket and button it up to hide the lack of a camisole. “He would also never bump into people and not apologise.” I slip on my heels and smooth down my hair. Kyle is staring at my chest and I turn to the mirror, realising that my cleavage is far too visible without anything underneath the jacket. I cross to the wardrobe and pull out a beautiful fawn coloured blouse. Naked from the waist up I bend over to grab a new pair of panties and I feel a warm hand between my legs.

“So if you knew all along why did you show me where your room was?” Kyle asks, his fingers moving intimately and expertly, my knees going weak.

“Why do you think?” I turn around slowly and smirk, my mouth turning up at the corners as I try not to smile.

“Oh, so you’re using me now?” he grins evilly, his other hand coming up to fondle my breast.  I want to tell him to stop. Now that I have regained control of my senses I realise how wrong this is, but Kyle is an amazing lover and I cannot help it, my body responds of its own accord and I part my legs to give him more access. Determined to hang onto what little self-control I have left, I gaze at him through heavy lids and I say huskily, “I still love Adam.”

I watch as the grin fades from his face. He looks irritated for a minute and then he snorts with laughter.

“What?” I ask warily, finally finding the will to try and move away from his still probing fingers. He steps closer and leans forward to whisper in my ear.

“Well then you can explain to him why you’re not wearing any underwear,” he waggles his eyebrows and in the infinitesimal second before it happens I realise what he is about to do.

I see the twitch and a moment later I am staring into the beautiful blue eyes of the man I love.

Chapter 18

Adam blinks a few times then he slowly looks down and takes in my nakedness and the compromising position we are standing in. His eyes widen in shock and then he deliberately takes a few steps backward and runs his hands through his hair.

“So, it finally happened?” he asks and I nod in confirmation. He looks angry and disgusted and accepting all in one, and I reach for him automatically, dropping my hands to my side as he flinches away from me.

“Well,” he half-smiles and I can see the enormous restraint he is exercising to remain calm, “at least we know I won’t have caught anything this way,” he tries and fails to make a joke of it. “That son-of-a-bitch!” he curses softly, shaking his head.

I quickly turn away, dressing hastily, and then I turn back to face him. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

“It wasn’t his fault, Adam,” I confess and he looks at me, a confused expression on his face.

“What?”

“I wanted this. You weren’t in any danger. Kyle wasn’t going anywhere that I couldn’t follow.” I will not keep secrets from Adam. As hard as it is, I have to tell him the truth.

“So,” I can see him trying desperately to justify what has happened in his head, to somehow make it alright. “So, you wanted to...” He is frowning and I can see that he just doesn’t understand.

I heave a sigh and sit on the edge of the bed, and after a moment’s hesitation he sinks down beside me,

“Tell me, Paige.”

“Kyle was my escape clause,” I admit, glancing up at him. He considers this for a moment and then he nods, sadly.

“From me?”

“No,” I shake my head vehemently and his own jerks up in surprise.

“From my life,” I explain, smiling, even as the tears well up in my eyes and spill over to run slowly down my cheeks. “It was just too much; for a moment there I thought...” I swallow, taking a deep breath before I continue, “I thought I might not make it,” I admit, and Adam’s eyes widen in horror as my words sink in. I hold up a hand to stop any protests he is about to make. I need to finish. “This life is almost too much to bear, Adam. I love you; truly I do, and I want to be with you. I can deal with all that that entails – most days; but I buried my father today and, just for today, I wanted to forget. I wanted to escape.” I cast around helplessly for the right words but I come up blank. “Do you understand?” I ask him, the question hanging between us.

Adam runs his fingers through his hair and stands suddenly.

“Son of a bitch!” he yells again, and I jump as his fist slams into the mirror shattering it.  Adam’s knuckles are white as he clenches the sides of the vanity, trying to rein in his temper.

“He'll never touch you again,” he vows, catching my eye in what little remains of the mirror.  “If he so much as lays a finger on you,” he continues, turning around to face me, “I’ll kill him, Paige.”

I let out a hysterical burst of laughter.

“Listen to yourself, Adam. How are you going to do that?  The only way you can kill Kyle is to kill yourself!” I slump back down on the bed.

“No, it’s not.”

The words ring out so determined and so clear that my head jerks up in surprise. I have never heard Adam sound so sure of himself. I realise that he is dripping blood on the carpet; his hand is bleeding from the impact of the mirror. He is standing so upright, his hands balled into fists at his sides.  He looks angry and determined and beautiful.

“I will protect you from him, Paige. It’s my duty to protect you from him and I will not shy away from that.” His chest is heaving with emotion and I stand and take a few uncertain steps toward him, unsure of his response.

I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders as his arms come around me.  His body stiffens for just a moment so I expect the change, and then a low chuckle emanates from deep in his chest.

“Always knew he’d man up in the end,” Kyle murmurs into my hair. “I’ll tell you what you need to know,” he adds, kissing the top of my head, and then, before I can even answer, I am standing once again in the warmth of my Adam’s embrace.

Three days later we fly back to Manhattan. I have prepped Carl Sheldon and he is ready for our next session which, if all goes well, should result in the successful integration of Kyle. I have not been so apprehensive since this whole process began.

Carl still cannot believe that Kyle has offered himself up so willingly for integration and he says as much.

“It was Paige,” Adam explains, unable to meet my eye as he says it. “Paige got through to him.” I frown, wondering if that is really what he believes.

“That’s not true,” I interrupt, and both men turn to stare at me questioningly. I look from Carl to Adam, a smile playing about my lips. “It wasn’t me,” I continue, shaking my head. “It was you.” I turn to face him and I feel my face flush with pride. “Don’t you see, Adam? You finally proved that you don’t need him to defend you. You showed him that you can take care of your own all by yourself.” I am beaming now. I am so proud of Adam, of his strength and his goodness.

“It was all you, babe,” I iterate, coaxing a shy smile out of him.

There is a moment of silence and then Carl breaks it, “Let’s get on with it shall we?” he asks and I nod encouragingly.

While Carl is putting Adam under hypnosis and I have a few moments to myself, I allow myself to feel things that I know I should not be feeling, things that I have been trying to deny that I feel, even to myself. A part of me feels infinitely sad that Kyle will cease to exist from this day forward. He was annoying and loud and very conceited, but there was something about him that got under my skin. Perhaps it is because, despite all that I now know, a part of me still believes that Kyle is a part of Adam, a part that I am losing forever. I feel like I am attending another funeral and I am barely keeping things together after my father’s. To attend another so soon is heartbreaking, even if it is for a greater good.

All too soon Adam is under and Carl calls on Kyle to come forward. This is the first time that the doctor has kept Adam so actively present and I am fascinated by the process.  Doctor Sheldon asks Kyle to introduce himself to Adam, which he does, and I feel a small pull in the pit of my stomach as I hear that husky drawl.

“Kyle, can you explain to Adam what happened the day you first remember emerging to protect him.”

There is a silence so absolute that you could hear a pin drop and I hold my breath. Then Kyle begins to speak, in that casual way of his, and I find that I am riveted. I lean forward in my chair and even Carl looks unusually animated.

“It was at the orphanage,” Kyle begins. Nobody says a word; there is a moment’s silence. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife and then the words pour out of him, as though he cannot bear to hold them in a second longer.

“I was eight and there was a group of older boys, about six of them. They never left me alone.  Wherever I went they appeared; teasing me, pushing me, calling me disgusting names that I knew were wrong, names I could never repeat. They said I was a freak, that there was something wrong with me; that it was no wonder my parents had abandoned me; that I was a runt and they probably threw me out with the trash. It went on for months. The nuns never knew, or if they did they never said anything. The abuse was constant and, because I spent so much time alone, they had plenty of opportunity.” Kyle clears his throat audibly and I am so tense I jump.

“I think it was the fact that I wouldn’t react,” he continues, “I didn’t rise and I didn’t defend myself. It infuriated them, put them on a slow boil. By the time the abuse turned physical they had been building up momentum for months and it all culminated in one final, awful act. I was in the gardens behind a copse of trees reading Doctor Seuss or some other God-awful drivel. They found me and had me surrounded before I even knew they were there.” Kyle, although I think it is Adam’s response, groans softly and moves around on the couch; he seems ill at ease.

“What did they do, Kyle?” Doctor Sheldon prompts, although it seems like a silly question to me; it seems fairly obvious what they did.

“Nothing.” Kyle’s response is nowhere near what I expect. “They started teasing me and calling me names, nothing out of the ordinary. When they started throwing stones I started to panic and tried to get away but they pushed me around, forming a circle and not allowing me to escape. I thought I would black out; the claustrophobic, pressing circle seemed to get smaller and smaller and smaller. Just when I thought they would overwhelm me, he spoke.  Bradley, their 'leader'. He called them off and just like that they were gone.”

I heave a sigh of relief and slump back in my chair. So the bullying had never resulted in Adam being beaten. I had been so sure that it would, giving rise to the creation of Kyle, the protector.

Even Carl seems stunned by the sudden anti-climatic turn of events. I raise my eyebrows at him questioningly and he opens his arms, palms up, indicating that he is as confused as I am. He turns back to Kyle and is about to ask him a question when Kyle continues, speaking as though there had been no pause.

“Bradley cornered me in the boy’s bathroom that evening. He was friendly, which was completely unnerving, asking me how I was feeling and apologising for his friends' behaviour. He got closer and closer to me and he just kept coming until I could not back away any more. The cold, hard wall against my back, I begged him to leave me alone. He was 15 and he seemed to tower over me. He told me to take my pants down; he said it so calmly, I remember that clearly. He said it was the least I could do to thank him for saving me. I was pleading and he was yelling and one thing led to another.” There is absolute silence in the room. I am barely breathing I am so horrified. Kyle takes a deep breath and when he resumes speaking I can hear the change immediately.

“I remember,” Adam says, and my heart constricts. I am not sure what this means and I look to Carl for information.

“Adam?” he asks and Adam nods his head.

“I blacked out,” he repeats. “When I came to, Bradley was lying on the floor; there was blood everywhere. I was holding a copper pipe.” He sounds disgusted. “It was Kyle,” he admits, and I breathe slowly in through my nose and out through my mouth. There it is. The trauma that caused Kyle to surface.

“He didn’t die,” Adam speaks again and I feel my body go weak with relief as he continues. “Bradley survived and he never told anyone who had done it that’s why I wasn’t sent to Juvey. That’s why the nuns never knew that I was involved. Bradley’s humiliation at being beaten by an eight year old obviously kept him quiet. None of them ever messed with me again, or if they did, I don’t remember it, although Kyle might. He fought those battles for me. Either way, the orphanage wasn’t half as frightening a place to be after that day.” He is silent for a moment and then he laughs without a trace of humour, “Although it was pretty lonely. Nobody wants to be friends with the freaky kid.”

I sympathise for only a moment. I am too caught up in the revelation of what has just happened. I realise that Adam can now successfully integrate Kyle and, even as Doctor Sheldon starts to speak, I cut across him, interrupting, and not caring that I am under strict orders never to do so.

“Adam!” I cry out and his head turns toward me.

“Yes?” he asks, sounding very unsure of himself. My heart is breaking for him and how difficult this journey of discovery must be, but I cannot allow this to happen without saying what I need to.

“I need to speak to Kyle.”

“Why?” Adam asks tremulously.

“I can’t tell you that. But I need to speak to him, please. Alone,” I add, as though I'm not already asking too much. I glance across at Carl who is looking thunderous, but he does not say anything or prohibit me from continuing. Adam sighs sadly.

“All right, Paige,” he mutters and, while I watch, I see the slight twitch.

‘Kyle?” I ask, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, sweet cheeks?” he drawls, grinning.

“Thank you,” I say, trying to convey the depth of my gratitude in those two little words.

“Don’t sweat it. So long as he doesn’t turn back into a spineless wimp I’ll die happy.” He licks his lips and I realise he is not half as blasé as he is pretending to be. I cast another glance at Carl and he deliberately stands and walks a few steps away, clearing his throat and feigning interest in a stack of papers on his desk.

“For what it’s worth,” I lift my hand and push the damp curls off his forehead. “I'm truly sorry that you have to go for him to be well again.”

“But you want him whole again?”

I know what he is asking and I also know that he already knows the answer to his own question.

“Yes, Kyle,” I admit sadly, “I want him whole again. More than anything.”

“Well, just remind him, from me, that if he ever acts like a pussy again I’ll be coming back,” he smiles sadly and I choke back a sob. Leaning forward I focus only on Kyle, forcing Adam and the doc from my mind. I lower my face and I kiss Kyle’s mouth softly. Moving across to his ear I brush his hair aside and whisper again, “Thank you.”

Kyle grins, a wicked, naughty grin.

“Bye, sweet cheeks.” The words are barely out of his mouth and I see the twitch. Carl steps forward and engages with Adam and I stumble backward, tears splashing onto my shirt.  I slump back in my chair crying silently and mourning the loss of a man I am not even sure I liked.

Carl continues speaking in a low voice for a few minutes more and when he finally brings him out of the hypnotic state, it is Adam’s brilliant blue eyes that gaze back at me.

Chapter 19

Adam knows how hard it was for me to say goodbye to Kyle. I think he is also moved by Kyle’s selflessness at the end, but more importantly, we are one step closer to the life that we have been dreaming of. Kyle’s integration, as difficult as it was, rejuvenates us both.  It is so good to finally have succeeded, to feel that we are making progress. We go out for dinner, have far too much red wine, have drunken, giggly sex on the couch and sleep until noon the next day. For 24 hours life is peaceful and it is just us, being together. I am woken from my extended slumber by the sound of my mobile phone.

Adam throws two pillows and an empty chocolate box in the general direction of my handbag.

“Turnidoff!” he moans, and I clamber off the bed, standing and toppling over immediately as my feet get caught up in the straps of my discarded bra.

“Ouch!” I yell and Adam’s concerned face peeks at me from under the covers, his beautiful sapphire eyes narrowed.

“Yookay?” he mumbles and I nod, narrowing my own eyes against the sliver of sunlight coming through the curtains. Duly satisfied that I’ll live he burrows back under the covers and pulls a pillow over his head. The ringing is incessant and I grope for my handbag, rummaging around inside it. Triumphantly I pull the mobile phone from its depths and peer at the caller ID. Bill Morris, the Private Investigator I've hired to find out about Adam’s past.

“Adam!” I hiss, but there is no response. I press the answer button and make my way hastily from the room, heading for the kitchen.

“Mr Morris?” I ask immediately, switching on the kettle. I'm going to need coffee, very strong coffee.

“Ms Petrova. I trust you're well?” Bill Morris’s confident, gruff voice comes across the line.

“Yes, fine thanks,” I reply, cursing silently as I spill a heaped teaspoon of coffee granules all over the kitchen counter.  I realise with a start that I am using Kyle’s mug; I hadn’t the heart to throw it out. The moment I pour in the hot water I am treated to the sight of the bare-breasted woman adorning the front of it. I smile and force myself to focus on what the Private Investigator has to say.

“Ms Petrova, I’m afraid the trail has run cold here in the States,” he gets to the point immediately. “If you're determined to get to the bottom of this investigation I’m going to have to travel to Ireland.”

“Ireland?” I practically shout, willing my brain to catch up. This would be so much easier if I weren’t so hung-over. “What do you mean, Ireland?”

“I believe that Mr Parker may have been brought to the States from Ireland as a very young boy,” he says, and I rub my forehead in consternation.

“What makes you think that?” I ask, speaking slowly and clearly.

“I've discovered records that show that an Irish couple travelled from Dublin Airport to JFK International three days before Adam was found in that alley. They were travelling with a small child, a little boy. He travelled as Adam Byrne, the couple’s son.”

“And so?” I ask, wondering if I'm missing something in my delicate state.

“Raymond and Brigid Byrne flew back to Ireland the day after Adam was taken to the orphanage; alone.” Bill gives it a moment for this to sink in.

“You think the boy was Adam?”

“The alley where Mr Parker was found is only a few blocks from the airport,” he explains, “and it’s surrounded by cheap airport hotels. I think it’s worth checking up on.” He places the ball firmly back in my court.

“Ireland,” I say, knowing that this exercise will come at no small price. Bill Morris is no amateur. He is thorough and he is expensive. And his international travel expenses, I am fairly sure, will be nothing short of exorbitant. Adam and I can afford it but it will be a knock.   Ireland. I think of Adam’s black curls and his wicked sapphire blue eyes. Irish. It’s possible.  It would also explain why there were never any leads found; why no one could find any information on Adam’s family. Possibly they were never here – they may have been a whole continent away, all this time.

“Ms Petrova?” Bill’s voice brings me back to the present and I make my decision.

“Go,” I instruct, carrying my steaming cup of coffee over to the window. “Let me know what you find.”

I flip the phone shut gazing down at the street below and the people walking by, then I sigh and return to the kitchen, making Adam a cup of black coffee, choosing the black and white mug.

“Here you go, lazybones.” I wave the mug under his nose and sure enough he opens one bleary eye.

“Did we drink as much as I think we did last night?” he winces, sitting up slowly and leaning back against the wooden slatted head board.

“We did indeed.”

“Did we catch a taxi home?” He rubs the back of his head and yawns, his mouth opening wide before he remembers to cover it with his hand.

“We did indeed,” I nod, sipping my coffee.

“Did we have very kinky sex?” he asks, surveying the disaster that is our bedroom.

I grin over my mug, “We may have.”

He rolls onto his back, his head resting on his arms.

“I don’t really remember, the details are a bit hazy...” He regards me seriously for a minute and then, “it couldn’t have been that great.”

I slap his bare stomach and he grabs me, flipping me over and pinning my arms to my side, a mischievous grin playing about his lips.

“You might have to refresh my memory, Paige,” his lips curl up in a sexy smile.

“I have to do no such thing, Adam,” I answer coyly. “It’s not my fault if you were too drunk to remember. Trust me, though, I rocked your world.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” he slings one leg over my body and uses his own body weight to hold me in place.

I squirm helplessly and he laughs, tickling my sides.

“Adam!” I shriek, doubling my efforts to escape. All I manage to achieve is to I flip myself over so that I am lying on my stomach. Adam laughs.

“If this is a replay of last night I'm seriously gutted that I can’t remember it,” he moans in my ear and I laugh.

“You're a pig, Mr Parker!”

He flips me back over so fast I haven’t got time to think and pulls me up by my arms so that I am now sitting beneath him and he is straddling me.

I lean back on my hands and gaze up at his gorgeous face.

“I love you,” I say simply and he smiles down at me, pure delight crossing his features.

“And I love you,” he replies, lowering his head and kissing me deeply.

“Now tell me you don’t remember that!” I cajole later when we finally leave the bedroom in search of something to eat.

“I remember,” he slaps my butt and I hop a few steps ahead. “I still think I would have preferred it if you’d stayed on your stomach, though.” He winks and I laugh out loud.  I have all but forgotten my conversation with Bill Morris.

Having worked up an appetite we set about making grilled cheese sandwiches.

“We seriously have to do some shopping.” Adam shakes his head, surveying the measly contents of the fridge. His eyes seem almost admonishing.

“And by we, I assume you mean me?” I ask, raising my brow querulously.

“Well, yeah.”

“And why, pray tell, is it my job to check that the fridge is stocked?” I ask, my hands on my hips.

“Well, because you’re the girl,” he answers, gesturing at my chest and raising his eyebrows, as if that should be obvious. I fight the urge to slap him.

“Okay, so I’m the girl. That's an archaic train of thought. What else?” I demand, tapping my foot. Adam, much to my irritation, looks amused.

“Well, I’m not always here,” he says and my eyes widen in surprise before I snort with derisive laughter.

“Oh, you didn’t,” I scold and he grins. “So you’re using the fact that you have Dissociative Identity Disorder to get out of doing the grocery shopping?” I can't believe him!  The cheeky shit! Adam shrugs; yes, that is exactly what he's doing.

“Okay. Fine.” I lift my hands from my hips and cross them in front of me.

“Simon!” I call and Adam’s own eyes widen, half-shocked, half amused.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m calling Simon,” I say innocently, “I bet he'd be more than happy to do the shopping for me.  He’s more a...” I pause, raising my eyes as though searching for the right words, “a new age man.” I finish with aplomb.

Adam narrows his eyes at me sarcastically; he knows how much Simon irritates me, but when he speaks he sounds unsure of himself and it immediately catches my attention.

“That’s not funny, Paige.” The light mood is over in an instant.

“What is it?” I ask, stepping automatically closer to him. He looks troubled and, when he speaks, I find that I am too.

“I don’t know; they just seem to be getting stronger, the other two,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s like with Kyle gone they've expanded to fill up the space,” he sighs in frustration. “Does that even make any sense?”

I nod. It does, kind of, but I'm not sure that it should be happening.

“We need to speak to Carl,” I say and this reminds me of my earlier conversation with Bill Morris.

I relate his story to Adam who looks temporarily stunned and is at a complete loss for words.

“Ireland,” he murmurs. I can imagine him trying to get his head around it – trying to fit this new information into his self-perception.

“I know,” I sympathise. “Weird, right?” If it is odd for me to consider Adam being anything but American, it must be ten times harder for him to consider himself as anything else.  It’s all he’s ever known. Talk about an identity crisis. To my surprise, as I watch, his face slowly changes; the confused, uncertain look being replaced by a gleeful smirk. I frown at him. I know that look.

“What?”

“Chicks love Irish men,” he grins, settling down on the sofa and flicking through the sports channels.

“No,” I counter, “they love Irish accents; which, incidentally, you don’t have.” I pull my tongue at him.

“Well, I got you to fall in love with me pretty easily.” He wags his finger at me and I slap it aside.

“Yes, you did.” I climb onto his lap blocking his view of the television. “Although I’m still not quite sure how you did it,” I grin. “What with your boring black umbrella and all.”

“Ah, the luck of the Irish!” he cackles, switching off the TV and pulling my head down to meet his.

Chapter 20

Adam was right about the other alters becoming stronger after Kyle’s integration.  Simon is becoming far too comfortable in Adam’s 'shoes' and even Jacob has been present three times in as little as two weeks. I studiously avoid Simon who returns the favour, but every time Jacob emerges I try to gain his trust. He is so hesitant and so unsure of himself, that I find myself treating him as I would a child. I even took him for ice cream at Victory Garden but, before we could order, Simon emerged and declared it “Cholesterol in a cup.”  He turned on his heel and walked out leaving me red-faced and furious, facing the raised eyebrow of the store attendant who had witnessed the entire scene. Apologising profusely, I found Simon outside, tapping his foot, and then had to endure a 20 minute rant on the abuse that we insist on inflicting upon his body and whether we are aware just how selfish that is?  I find myself wishing, not for the first time, that Simon and I could get along, even just a little bit, as I could with Kyle and Jacob.

By the time we go to bed, in separate rooms, both bristling with indignation, I am exhausted. Adam’s reappearance the next day is a welcome relief, but it usually takes a few days before I fully recover from any of Simon’s visits.

Going into February the cold is unbearable. I cannot even enjoy the rain, it is far too cold to go outside. The snow and ice everywhere fast loses its appeal; I have never worn so many layers of clothing. Adam, used to it, makes fun of me every time we venture out, but all in all I just want winter over. Never have I so longed for spring.

It is a Tuesday afternoon and we brave the treacherous roads to make our appointment with Doctor Sheldon on time.

“Jacob, how are you?” As usual the hypnosis process almost puts me to sleep but as soon as Jacob emerges I am riveted. Carl goes through the procedure much the same as always, soothing and calming Jacob and working on trying to make him feel safe. I notice, with a burst of pride, that Jacob seems far more at ease and he is far more expressive nowadays than he was originally, when I first met him. It is enormously satisfying to know that I am largely responsible for this progress and Doctor Sheldon smiles warmly at me, expressing his pleasure at the progression.

“Jacob, is there anything you can tell me about the night that you first remember being awake?” Carl asks gently. Jacob, typically, starts to tremble. He seems calmer though than he usually is when asked such a direct question regarding the trauma and I take small comfort from this. Carl seems to notice it too and for the first time he proceeds further.

“Jacob, did somebody hurt you?” he asks and Jacob hesitates for a moment before answering.

“N..No,” he stammers. I release the breath that I wasn’t aware I had been holding and frown in consternation. I did not expect a negative answer. Surely Adam must have been hurt in the event that caused his entire identity to rupture and dissociate?  Even Carl looks taken aback but as he glances across at me, Jacob speaks again and the blood runs cold in my veins.

“But the blood! There was so much blood.”

Jacob’s whimper has me sitting straight up in my chair my eyes widening in shock.  Carl looks about to press on when Jacob’s entire body starts to shake and he begins to whimper and turn his head side to side.

“Let him go!” I command, and after a brief confused glance in my direction Carl immediately starts to back-track, bringing Adam out of the hypnotic state.

I rush forward the moment he blinks his beautiful blue eyes and throw my arms around him.

“Hey!” he exclaims, his arms coming around me automatically, his hands stroking my hair. “What’s it, Paige?  What’s wrong?”

Under the watchful gaze of the doctor I feel suddenly embarrassed by my emotional reaction and I sniff, disengaging myself from Adam and trying desperately not to blush.

“I think that Paige, while she may not particularly like Simon, has developed a very maternal instinct for Jacob,” Carl explains gently and when I finally find the courage to meet his gaze, I see that his eyes are kind and approving. I sit up slightly straighter and nod at Adam.

“I do,” I admit, “I just feel so sorry for him, Adam. He’s so pathetic and so incredibly child-like.”

“Oh Paige!” Adam ruffles my hair fondly. “I know what you mean.” Then he grins and I brace myself – I know Adam, he is about to say something I might not like. “Should I be worried? This isn’t going to be another repeat of Kyle, is it?” He arches his right eyebrow and I slap his arm laughing.

“Shut up!”

I am about to make some smart retort when I remember that Carl is in the room and I flame bright red. We have never mentioned my Kyle episode to the doctor. Although I had run my plan by him beforehand, I think that, up until this moment, he had remained blissfully ignorant, believing that the plan had never come to fruition. Judging by the look on his face I don’t think he is particularly pleased to have been enlightened. He looks mildly disgusted as though there is a bad taste in his mouth. Adam, blissfully unaware of his faux pas is still talking, “Only you could make me jealous of myself, Paige.”

I jab his arm and narrow my eyes at him and he looks confused for about a millisecond before understanding dawns on his face.

“Whoops, sorry Doc!” he grins, looking not nearly as ashamed of himself as he should be.  Although, I suppose, it is not his reputation he is soiling. I cross my arms over my chest wishing I could put my hands over my eyes or sink into the floor.

“That’s quite all right. To his credit, Carl recovers his composure almost immediately and even manages a small, tight smile. “Well, I had better be off, I have another patient at three,” he announces. He shakes Adam’s hand and gives a small jerk of his head in my direction, then he is out of the door.

Adam’s guffaws echo through the room a moment later and I turn to face him petulantly.

“Nice one,” I sulk, striding past him to fetch my bag from the desk and he grabs my arm, pulling me toward him.

“Sorry, babe,” he smiles down at me, not looking in the least bit sorry.

“Liar!” I pout and he drops a loud smacking kiss on my lips.

“You have only yourself to blame,” he preaches, releasing me and fetching my bag from the table. “Let it be a lesson to you, you can’t go jumping into bed with every version of me that might come along, no matter how blue these eyes are!” He indicates his own face, looking absurdly pleased with himself and I can’t help but smile back at him.

“You're a nerd,” I say as he opens the door and ushers me out.

“Ladies first,” he croons, bowing mockingly.  I step aside, refusing to be patronised.

“Apparently, I’m no lady,” I retort.

Adam’s laughter is infectious and by the time we reach the car, arms around each other, my mood has lifted considerably.

Unfortunately it is not long before things start to go wrong again. Later that night Jacob returns; his body wracked with sobs. I can only assume that the small breakthrough this afternoon did not come without a price and Jacob is bearing the emotional brunt of our successful session. I hold him until he has calmed down enough for the sobbing to subside and then I guide him to the kitchen and make us a pot of tea.

“I...I’m glad you’re here,” Jacob declares suddenly, stammering slightly.

“I’m glad to be here,” I say, feeling touched and slightly honoured.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

“Who are you talking about, Jacob?”

“One of them,” he murmurs, so quietly that I struggle to hear him. “One of the others.”

I think about this for a minute before answering; I know how Jacob feels about the other personalities but I am also determined to be truthful. I want Jacob to trust me. I need him to trust me.

“Yes,” I answer honestly, meeting his gaze. “I am.” He regards me intently and I continue, “His name is Adam. He’s really an amazing person. And he cares about you, too,” I add, not entirely sure why.

“Why?” he asks, his face screwed up with concentration. “Why would he care about me?”

The question brings me up short and I consider this. I have not actually thought about it before, but Adam certainly does seem to feel slightly more sympathetic towards Jacob than he does toward the other two alters. I had assumed it was because Jacob’s timid nature appeals to Adam’s softer side but now I realise that this is probably only part of the reason.

“Because you help him,” I answer confidently, knowing it is the truth.

“What?” Jacob looks even more confused.

“You help him,” I repeat, pouring him a fresh cup of tea. “You've taken all the pain and the trauma onto yourself so he’s been able to enjoy his life. He’s been able to function and live while you've carried this heavy burden all on your own.”

Jacob considers this for a moment and then he suddenly seems to grow in stature right before my eyes. He sits up a little bit straighter and seems slightly less timid than before.  I smile behind my cup feeling better than I have in weeks when dealing with Jacob. I have empowered him, even if only a little.

“Could you tell me what happened, Jacob?  Tell me your secret?” I ask, and he hesitates, looking anxious and uncertain. “It would really help,” I hasten to add.

“It’ll make me better?” he asks, and I nod emphatically.

“You would never have to be afraid again, Jacob; ever.” I am speaking the truth. I was saddened by Kyle's departure because his desire to live was so incredibly strong and his decision to integrate was entirely self-sacrificing. With Jacob the opposite is true. His existence is pitiful, and when present, he is in constant fear and has a heightened emotional insecurity that can never be overcome. In holding on to the trauma, his own life is consistently traumatic. A successful integration would free him of that, would let him go.  Adam would have to then deal with the post-traumatic stress that he has avoided through Jacob’s existence, but that is healthy. It is what he should have done all those years ago, what he should have been helped with.

I focus on Jacob’s face and I know before he opens his mouth that he is finally going to tell me what I want to know.

Throughout Jacob’s shocking revelation I force myself to maintain my outer calm even while inside I am stunned and horrified.

“I remember I was playing in the garden when they came,” he begins; a tremor in his voice. I am sitting beside him and I instinctively reach for his hand, holding it in both of my own, lending him strength and support and praying that he finds the courage to go on. He takes a deep, shaky breath and then he continues. “I was in the garden, playing with the dog.  She was white. I can’t remember her name.” He stares out of the window lost in thought for a minute and I keep absolutely silent, knowing that one wrong move might cause him to withdraw and I will have gained nothing. After what seems like an eternity he continues.

“I heard a scream from the house and the sound of breaking glass. I thought my mother might have dropped a vase; she was always making the most beautiful floral arrangements for the house; but then I heard my father yell, and I realised that something was terribly wrong.” Jacob takes another shuddering breath.

“I raced inside to see what the matter was and, as I skidded to a halt in the hall, I saw them. He was holding a knife and my father was kneeling in front of him, blood all over his clothes. It blossomed over his chest and stomach. My mother was screaming, trying to get free of the ropes that bound her to the dining-room chair. She couldn’t take her eyes off my father and she couldn’t stop screaming. It went on and on. There was a woman standing beside her and she looked so bored; I remember wondering how she could possibly be okay with what was happening. The only women I had ever met had loved children and had been kind to each other. My own mother hated the sight of blood – it made her sick. She could barely put a plaster on my knee if I scraped it without having to breathe slowly through her mouth to stop from being ill. The red-headed witch suddenly whirled and hit my mother across the head. It happened so quickly I thought perhaps I had imagined it. My mother’s screams stopped for an infinitesimal moment and then she opened her mouth and howled even louder. My father, though barely conscious, tried to quieten her; he kept telling her to hush, to think of me. As if he had drawn their attention by speaking of me both the strangers turned to stare at me. His eyes were cold, unmoved and unconcerned that I was witnessing this barbaric act of sadism. The woman’s face showed shock for a second, before she quickly recovered herself and her face hardened again. A slow smile stretched across the man’s face.  His eyes were so brown they looked black and his hair was jet-black. He leered at me and said ‘Step forward, Son.’”

“Jacob,” I interrupt firmly. As desperate as I am to hear the rest of the story I can see that Jacob is beginning to unravel. The tell-tale signs of an anxiety attack are showing – his breathing is becoming faster and his eyes are brimming with tears. I cannot let him continue; my conscience will not allow it. In this moment I am responsible for Jacob and I will not let any harm come to him. “Are you okay?  Do you need to take a break?” I ask, squeezing his hand and keeping my tone casual and unhurried. I refuse to make him feel as though he is being forced to continue simply to satisfy my desperate craving for this information. “We can always continue tomorrow, or whenever you feel ready?” I let the question hang, holding my breath and forcing a smile.

Please God let him calm down and continue.

Much to my disappointment he looks relieved and immediately seems calmer.

“Yes, please,” he murmurs, his voice almost breaking. “I would prefer it if we stop now.” He looks so young and so insecure that I smile wider, patting his hand.

“Of course, Jacob. Whatever you're comfortable with. Thank you for confiding in me.” I rise and move across the kitchen to switch on the kettle and make us some tea. Jacob is no doubt exhausted – I am surprised he has managed to hang on for so long, normally he would have withdrawn by now.

I have no sooner had the thought than I hear the nasal, whining voice ringing out behind me.

“Oh, hello Paige,” Simon manages to pronounce my name as if it is a four-letter word too.  “What progress have you made?” His brisk, straight-forward approach annoys me immediately. I roll my eyes, not even bothering to turn around, but I do switch the kettle off.  I'll be damned if I'll make coffee for Simon but my manners dictate that if I make myself I have to make for him. I know I am spiting myself, but I would rather die of thirst than make Simon a cup of coffee.

I also suddenly feel a spiteful urge not to share this new development with him.

“Nothing new,” I snap, “other than you interrupting a romantic evening for two.” I reach for a bottle of red from the wine rack. Unfortunately this blatant reference to my intimacy with Adam does not send Simon back to where he came from and I am rewarded with a very obvious eye roll and a frantic puckering of his lips showing his disapproval.

I pour myself an enormous glass of wine. I sigh and hold the bottle out at arm’s length, swilling it from side to side and raising my eyebrows in question.

“No, not for me,” he sniffs at my implied question. “I don’t drink cheap liquor,” he scoffs, peering at me as though trying to make his point in case it is not already crystal clear.

“Of course you don’t,” I retort. I take a huge swig and then set the glass down.

“Simon,” I begin, stepping around the butcher's block and crossing the lounge to the passage entrance, “I hope you enjoy your evening I'm going to bed.” I take two steps down the passage, then remembering something I retrace my steps. I lean across and swoop up the bottle of wine and, raising my glass in a toast to him, I smirk and make my way to the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Once in our room I snatch up a magazine and fling myself down on the counterpane trying to distract myself. I hate that Simon always gets to me, he is just so irritating. Ten minutes later I hear a door slam and I sit bolt upright. What the hell? I open the door and peer down the passageway. Maybe I imagined it.

“Simon?” I call hesitantly. I am greeted with nothing but the very muted sound of music coming from next door.

“Simon!” I shout, louder this time. Still no answer. There is no way he hasn’t heard me. I rush down the passage, round the corner and gasp in panic. A quick sweep of the kitchen and my worst fear is confirmed. He is not here. Simon has gone.

Chapter 21

I've been searching for hours. I'm exhausted but I'm still driving around searching the streets of Manhattan. I've been to all of Adam’s favourite places but there is no sign of him.  To be honest, I didn't really expect to find him at any of our favourite haunts – Simon is so different to Adam it’s highly unlikely that he would ever go to the same places.

My mobile phone rings and I snatch it up, gripping the steering-wheel tightly with my free hand.

“Carl! Have you heard anything?” I answer.

“No, nothing.” The doc is so calm under pressure; I wish I had the same restraint. “I assume you haven’t had any joy?”

“No.” I secure the steering-wheel for a second with my elbow so that I can wipe away the tears that are blurring my vision.

“Paige, listen to me.” His soft, gruff voice steadies me slightly and I focus on his instruction, hoping that it will somehow lead me to Adam. His words, however, are not what I expect.

“There's nothing more you can do. You need to go home and get some sleep. He’ll come back when he’s ready. Not before.”

“What?” I snap, shaking my head. That's ludicrous. How does he expect me to go home when Adam is out there, somewhere?

“You heard me,” he answers firmly and I shake my head again, even though he can’t see me.  “Go home and get some sleep.”

“I can’t,” I answer, still frantically scanning the streets.

“Paige, this is Simon we're talking about.  If it were Jacob I would understand – Kyle, even, for that matter.” There is an awkward pause and then he continues, “The point I'm trying to make is that Simon is responsible. Probably even more so than Adam himself.  He's cautious and careful by nature. I don't believe Adam will come to any harm. All we can do now is wait. You should go home.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll do that,” I answer insincerely and I jab at the 'end call' button, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. I will find Adam and I will not rest until I do.  While I'm driving I have plenty of time to think. Too much time. I find myself obsessing over the situation with Simon. He gets under my skin so badly; my biggest fear is that Carl is unable to integrate Simon. He is certainly becoming stronger and more present. The thought of Adam and I having to share our lives with Simon is too much to bear. He would drive me insane, with his holier-than-thou attitude and his obsessive-compulsive behaviour.

Hours later I stifle a yawn and rub my eyes. It's no use; if I carry on driving any longer I will be in serious danger of running my car off the road. The faint pink of the approaching dawn is visible on the horizon and, as I glance at the green glow of the digital clock on the dashboard, I'm amazed to see that it is almost 5 a.m. Twenty minutes later I pull the Audi into the lot and make my way upstairs. I am hoping against hope that Adam will be back, although I have checked in every few hours; but the locked door assures me that he has not made his way home yet. His keys are inside the apartment; Simon left them behind in his hasty departure.

I shuffle across to the kitchen and switch on the kettle. It feels like a lifetime ago that I last switched it on to make myself a cup of tea. I had switched it off because of my intense dislike for Simon. I stifle a sob and shut my eyes tightly to hold back the tears. I cannot believe I would let Adam suffer because of my feelings for Simon. Maybe if I had just been civil and friendly Simon might not have left. I behaved like a child and now Adam is suffering the consequences. I stuff my fists into my eyes and bite down on my lip, trying not to let the hysteria take over. I was such a fool! Letting out an audible, animal sob I make my tea and head to the bedroom. Stepping out of my clothes I spend ten minutes in the shower and then I make my way back into the bedroom, burrowing under the covers and breathing in the familiar smell of Adam’s aftershave on the pillow beside me. I lie awake for a long time before eventually, of their own accord, my eyes close and I fall into a restless sleep.

The nightmare is so real. Kyle is laughing at me, pointing at my face and clutching his side.

“Seriously!” he howls and his laughter increases, “You thought I could love you? You! You were just something I wanted to take from him!”  He screws up his face and tears of mirth roll down his cheeks. I cannot say anything – I feel my cheeks flushing, and even more so when Kyle’s blonde friend from the pool approaches from behind him and wraps herself around him like an eel. Kyle kisses her lustily and gropes for her breast and I scream in denial, shaking my head. Another woman appears and curls her arm around him, smirking at me and the lusty blonde disappears.

“I tried to tell you, Paige,” Simon’s voice now says, “it was always Lizzy. You just didn’t want to believe it.” He holds her as tenderly as one would a rare jewel and gazes down at her adoringly. I take a few steps backward but they loom over me filling my vision and I cannot escape them.

The vision morphs again and Jacob is standing over a dead dog, both covered in blood. Jacob has a wicked looking knife in his hand and as I watch helplessly, he plunges it into the soft black fur over and over again. I let out a blood-curdling scream and Jacob glances up curiously.

“I found him, Paige,” he exclaims, “I found Fergus.”

“Paige!  Paige!” Now it is Adam’s voice, but he sounds so far away and so desperate, I don't know how to help him, how to save him and I scream again and again.

“Paige! ...Paige!” Adam’s voice becomes clearer and more urgent and I realise he is shaking me. I blink and take a huge, panicked breath and then I clutch the front of his shirt, taking in the rumpled bedsheets and the light filtering through the curtains.

“Adam!” I'm so filled with relief but my body is still wracked with sobs. I cling to Adam desperately and he holds me until my weeping subsides.

“How did you get in?” I ask eventually, my voice hoarse.

“Spare key behind the extinguisher on the landing,” he murmurs, and I simply nod to let him know I have heard him.

The after-effects of the nightmare linger. I feel weak and I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that I cannot shake. Adam explains that when he came to he was standing in the middle of Times Square. He has no recollection of what he was doing there and no memory of the past 12 hours, but he was holding two cups of Starbucks coffee – two. It is highly unlikely that Simon has a caffeine fetish, so now we have yet another riddle to solve – as if we do not have enough to deal with already. Who was the second coffee for? And if Simon was meeting somebody where did the person disappear to? And, more importantly, where is he or she now?

With all these questions spinning around unanswered in my head I slip into a fitful sleep, Adam curled tightly around me. A few minutes after 7 o'clock, I ease myself out from under the covers as gently as possible so as not to wake him. He needs his rest. The sun rose a few moments ago and I decide that there is no point in trying to sleep. I have probably had two hours of fitful slumber, but there is no way I am going to be able to fall asleep now so I figure I may as well try and get some work done.

Henry had asked me to interview a local celebrity who had appeared on Masterchef and I was quite excited to do it – it would certainly be a welcome break in my monotonous routine of Adam-Simon-Jacob. The 'Celeb' in question lives in New York and is having an open interview on Friday – just two days away. All pre-approved publications, of which The Vine is one, are permitted ten minutes private questioning so long as their questions are submitted beforehand.  I still cannot fathom how in the world Henry has landed himself on the approved list – ours is such a small, insignificant publication – but Henry has a lot of friends in the industry and I can only assume he has called in a favour in an effort to increase our dwindling circulation.  Henry’s envelope, which arrived by mail yesterday, is full of articles and references that I can use to prepare and so, having made myself a steaming cup of coffee, I curl my legs underneath me on the settee and settle down to read.

Completely absorbed over an hour later, it takes a moment before I even register the gentle knocking on the front door. I hear Adam stirring in the bedroom and, jumping up, I hasten to open the door before the persistent knocking wakes him. Swinging the door wide open, I see a pretty, blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman standing in the corridor.  Her eyes are wide and she looks so nervous that I smile automatically, trying to put her at ease. Her eyes are enormous in her heart-shaped face and she is very petite. She looks about 18 and I wonder if she has the wrong room. Another part of me is praying desperately that this astonishingly pretty girl is not looking for Kyle.

“Hi!”  I say brightly. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” she says timidly and I see there is a tiny gap between her front teeth.  I am so fixated on her face and so lost in my own musings as to what she could be doing here, that it takes me a second to register her answer as she continues, “My name is Elizabeth Gabriel I’m looking for Simon, is he here?” I blink three times before I manage to recover my composure.

“I’m sorry,” I start hysterically, “what did you say your name was?”

“Elizabeth,” she murmurs and I recoil physically, hanging onto the doorframe for support.

“Lizzy?” I ask, although it is not really a question.

Her face lights up as she beams and nods her head enthusiastically.

“Yes!” she sighs in relief, oblivious to my turmoil. “I’m Lizzy!  Is Simon here?” She peers past me into the empty room behind me, looking slightly confused when she realises that Simon is not in there.  I close my eyes, gathering my thoughts and thanking God that Adam is closeted in the bedroom.

“Please,” I begin, moving aside and motioning to her to enter the apartment. “Come in.”

I head towards the kitchen and she follows me, surveying the apartment curiously and smoothing down her slightly windswept hair. I wordlessly make two cups of coffee, handing one to her and wondering where to even start. This is not a situation I ever dreamed that I would be in.  I feel so infinitely sorry for this wretched girl – I have been in her shoes. The only difference between us is that she has no possibility of a happy ending.

I sit down at the breakfast table and she sits opposite me.

“How old are you?” I blurt out. Even under the harsh fluorescent kitchen light she looks incredibly youthful.

“I’ll be 24 next month,” she answers and I almost choke on my tea.  My hand flies to my mouth and I cough and splutter as Lizzy looks on in alarm.

“Are you all right?” she asks, concern in her voice.

“I’m fine,” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you don’t look anywhere near 24 years old!” I explain, disbelievingly, and she smiles shyly.

“I know, I get that all the time,” she mumbles, her cheeks reddening. There is an awkward pause and I decide to take the bull by the horns.

“So you know Simon from the orphanage I assume?” I ask and she nods emphatically. “So where have you been all this time?” I ask rather too harshly and her face falls.

“My parents moved us away.” It is barely more than a whisper.

“You weren’t in the orphanage with him?” I ask, wondering how on earth Simon and Lizzy would have known one another if no-one at the orphanage was aware of her existence. She mentioned her parents, so she certainly didn’t grow up in the orphanage.

“I lived next door,” she says, taking a small sip of her coffee. I stay silent, sensing there is a lot more to come. “I was five years old when I met Simon for the first time.  He was eight.  I was playing down at the bottom of my garden – our house bordered on the back of the orphanage. Before then I had never seen any of the other children; they stayed away from the woods but Simon liked to be alone.  He didn’t have many friends.” Her obvious concern and affection for Simon is evident and I feel a pang of guilt that I am allowing this to continue. I should tell her the truth immediately but I just cannot bring myself to do it.  My morbid curiosity wants to hear the rest of the story.

“He heard me singing and he climbed a tree so that he could look over. We started talking,” she smiles, lost in her own memories. “As time went by I became more crafty and I would steal the ladder from my dad’s shed. I used to climb over and spend whole afternoons with him.”

I can just picture the younger Lizzy; a grubby, beautiful little urchin and I find that I am smiling despite myself.

“As we got older, I found that I wanted to be with him more and more often.” She reddens slightly. “I started skipping school and my parents became suspicious. Simon and I have a connection,” she suddenly blurts out and her face is now magenta. She takes a deep breath and has another sip of her coffee then shakes her head and forces a sweet laugh. She is enchanting and I find myself wondering what she sees in Simon. It is obvious that at some point their relationship became romantic. It is a moment before I realise that she is still talking.

“Anyway, they caught us eventually; my parents,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. I was 15. They were horrified. Simon was almost 18. He was about to leave the orphanage and we had planned that we would keep seeing each other until I was old enough to do as I wanted. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve, particularly with his background.  They were quite well-to-do and worried what others might think.” She bites her lip. I think of my own mother and I completely sympathise.

“What happened?” I can’t help but ask. She takes another deep breath.

“Well when they realised that nothing untoward had happened they went over to the orphanage to speak to the nuns. I think they realised that Simon was important to me and they were possibly trying to keep an open mind. I was pleasantly surprised,” she smiles and I find myself smiling back. She pauses for a minute and then her face turns sombre. “I still don’t know what happened,” she shakes her head, “but when they came back they forbade me to ever see Simon again. We moved barely a month later and I was too young to get back. By the time I was 18, I contacted the orphanage but they couldn’t give me any information, even going so far as to say that they had no record of him having attended at all.” She sounds pained and my heart constricts with pity. “Also,” she grins, “18 isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  I was still living with my parents and was very nervous to go against their wishes.”

“What changed?” I ask and she looks saddened.

“They died,” she finally answers, “last fall. It was a car accident; the medics say they died instantly.” She gazes out of the window.

‘I’m sorry.” I do not know what else to say but she seems to visibly pull herself together and forces a smile.

“Well, obviously I got my own place and I had my number listed and then, out of the blue, last night, Simon called me!” The amazing transformation of her face as soon as she mentions Simon is testament to how much he means to her and I feel sick to my stomach. “I met him in Times Square – I don’t live too far from there. “The thing is,” now she looks a bit uncertain, “I had an urgent call from a client – I’m a travel agent and, and I couldn’t hear a thing. I walked away so that I could take the call and when I came back, Simon was gone.”  She glances around the apartment again and raises her eyebrows quizzically at me, looking for answers.

This would have been so much easier if Lizzy had turned out to be more like the man she was so obviously in love with, more like Simon, someone I didn’t get along with. But this amazingly sweet, beautiful woman is so captivating and so open and honest, I feel awful for what I am about to do, what I have to do. Lizzy’s emotions show immediately on her face; she is an open book, and I can see by the concerned look on her face that she senses something is up.

I rise, draining the last of my coffee and crossing the room to put my cup in the sink.  I take a deep breath and turn around, facing her,

“Lizzy, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.” I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat and force myself to meet her big blue eyes.

Chapter 22

“That’s not possible,” Lizzy whispers and I notice that she has a slight lisp. It only adds to her appeal, and makes her seem even more youthful.

“I’m so sorry,” I reach for her hand trying not to look at her eyes which are brimming with tears.

“But he was always there!” she cries, “I mean, I never saw anyone else, it was always Simon. How could I not have known?”

“Lizzy, you were young, remember. You know what it’s like when we’re young. We have no concept of time.  You thought that you spent most of your time with Simon and you remember it that way because he was such a big part of your life; but it wasn’t necessarily as much time as you recall. Also, only Simon would have sought you out. Adam and the others would not have known you existed. You said it yourself, the other children in the orphanage stayed away from the woods. You wouldn’t have met the others because they wouldn’t have come to see you.”

She is nodding slowly, but the tears are still streaming down her cheeks and I can see that she doesn’t really believe this.

“Is there anything that I can do?” she asks in a small voice and I can see that she cannot bear to let Simon go even if he doesn’t really exist. I feel so much older than her at this moment, even though there is less than a two year age gap between us.  I grit my teeth and clear my throat before answering, in the strongest, most decisive voice I can manage.

“The best thing you can do, Lizzy is to stay as far away from Adam as you can.”

She visibly flinches, as though the words alone have caused her pain and then she nods quickly.

“I understand.” She stands suddenly, so abruptly that she knocks over her empty mug and it hits the floor with a crash. Shaking, she begins apologising profusely and, at the same time, her self-control finally snaps and huge, heaving sobs wrack her body. I am about to step forward and fling my arms around her, when out of the corner of my eye I see the bedroom door open and Adam appears wearing nothing but a towel draped over his hips. Rubbing the back of his head and yawning widely, he grins at me.

“Babe, if you want my undivided attention, all you have to do is ask!” he winks and then finally registering that we are not alone, he turns his gaze on Lizzy.

Lizzy takes almost three full steps toward him before she realises what she is doing and she clasps her hands to her chest, her mouth opening in shocked embarrassment as her gaze is torn between Adam and myself. Finally, covering her hand with her mouth, she turns and flees, uttering a very emotional “I’m sorry” as she rushes from the room.

“Lizzy!” I call, following her, but she is already flying down the stairs and I cannot summon the energy to go after her. What good would it do, anyway? This is something that she has to deal with – nothing that I can possibly say will make it any easier on her.

I walk slowly back into the apartment closing the door behind me and leaning back against it for support. My legs are feeling very weak all of a sudden.

“You called her Lizzy?” Adam’s question rings out and I nod my head.

“Lizzy,” I reply sadly, feeling like the last 24 hours have been the longest of my life.

It takes only a few minutes to fill Adam in on what has transpired and he is surprisingly calm about it.

“I can’t believe he managed to see her so often without me knowing,” he muses, heading in the direction of the shower. “Or that he managed to land such a hottie in the first place!” I slap him as he walks past. “Want to join me?” he adds over his shoulder. I can’t believe I am about to say this, given that I am usually keen for all things Adam, but I shake my head.

“No, I’ve got work to do.” I smile and head back to the sofa. I can feel Adam’s eyes on me but I don’t look up. I know what he is silently asking but I do not have an answer for him. I need me time. As soon as I hear the shower turn on, knowing full well that Henry is probably going to kill me for being unprepared, I cast aside the folder he sent and open the Google search engine on my laptop.

Five minutes later I grin at the screen. It’s perfect. The write-up claimed: “We are a group of Brooklyn extremists testing the bounds of gravity and the ultimate adrenalin rush.”  Jetty Jumpers run private Jet-ski tours and operate on the Hudson River. I sign myself up for the first tour in March, and then, on second thoughts, I book another spot. If Adam is around I want him to share this with me, and if not, I will do it on my own and leave Simon or Jacob at the Institute. I feel better already.

On Friday I interview the celebrity who has just launched his own cook book.  Despite my misgivings, I am well-prepared and it goes very well. I file my piece, feeling reassured that Henry may just keep me on as a freelancer, and then, feeling I deserve a bit of a treat, I open a bottle of wine and Adam and I enjoy our own little private party.

The week passes by without incident and I relish having Adam around, only Adam. It is a taste of the life to come and it is perfect. One Thursday evening we go ice-skating in Central Park and I fall about laughing at Adam’s gallant but ungainly manoeuvres across the ice. He looks like a baby giraffe, his legs going out from under him with every attempt, as he battles to find purchase with his rented skates.

“It’s not funny!” he grates out, cursing as he topples over once more.

“It’s pretty funny,” I protest, and then, seeing the look on his face, I try desperately to assume the sombre face one would have at the bedside of a dying man.

“Okay,” I give in, skating gracefully up to him and taking both his hands in mine, feeling the cold of his bare skin even through my mittens, “the problem is that you are trying to run, babe. What you need to do, is glide” I skate slowly backwards, pulling him along and although he wobbles to and fro, his arms almost jerking mine from their sockets, he stays upright.

“That’s it!” I smile encouragingly and pick up the pace a little.

“Show off!” Adam snorts, but it is his undoing. His arms windmill wildly and I retreat to a safe distance as he falls flat on his backside. My peal of laughter echoes around the rink and a few passers-by smile fondly.

“I think I’m done, Paige,” Adam grins up at me, his dark hair in his eyes, “how about we go and get a cup of coffee?”

“Okay,” I consent, stepping forward and offering him both my hands to pull him to his feet.  Too late I notice the mischievous smirk playing about his lips.

“Adam!” I warn, but with one swift tug, he pulls me off-balance and I collapse in a heap on top of him.

“Hush love,” he whispers, his warm mouth coming up to meet mine, “you’ll frighten the children.”

I lose myself in the kiss, a slow fire building in my belly. When I come up for air a few minutes later, feeling heady and faint with longing, I notice a mother a few feet away trying to draw her ogling children’s attention away from us and I blush to the roots of my hair.

Rising unsteadily to my feet, ignoring Adam’s knowing chuckle, I help him up and we make our way carefully to the edge of the ice. We remove our skates in silence and put our shoes back on, Adam taking slightly longer to do up the laces of his sneakers.

“You are incorrigible,” I giggle when we are out of earshot of the other ice-skaters, and particularly of the disapproving mother.

“Don’t use such big words, Paige,” he teases, “we both know that you're much cleverer than I am.” He nudges my shoulder and I crab-walk a few steps before he takes my hand and pulls me back to his side. I sigh contentedly as we head for Starbucks and order two Grandes to go.

“I’m thinking movies and popcorn,” I announce as I turn from the counter, coffees in hand, to find Adam’s gaze unabashedly roaming up and down my body. It reminds me of the first night we met, and, as it did then, it gets me far too hot under the collar.

“I can think of much nicer things to occupy our time,” he challenges, and I bite my lip, trying not to make his victory too obvious.

Chapter 23

Spring

In the second week of March one Saturday morning the alarm goes off at 5.30 a.m. and Adam curses, throwing his discarded sneaker at it and missing my head by only an inch as I sit upright in bed.

“Up!” I shake his shoulder, his body rocking from side to side and he grumbles, twisting out of my reach and burrowing like a mole deeper under the covers.

“Up!” I insist, pulling the duvet off him. Ignoring his bellows of protest, I carry it with me down the passage and toss it on the sofa. I pad into the kitchen and switch the kettle on, popping two slices of bread in the toaster and getting the butter dish from the pantry. It is so cold in winter in New York that there is no need to refrigerate it. Even now that spring is here it is still far colder than I am used to. I am excited for today. It’s the day we take the jet-ski tour on the Hudson River, and, having had no sight of Jacob or Simon for a whole week, I am positive that Adam and I will be sharing this thrill ride together. I am getting better at dealing with Simon who appears every now and again, but there has been no sign of Jacob since our last emotional visit and I am getting slightly concerned. Pushing all thoughts of the others aside, I focus on the day ahead. We are meeting our guide at Coney Island where we start our full, three-hour city tour.

“Why, Paige? Why?” Adam grumbles as he comes down the passage, rubbing the back of his head and yawning widely. Casting slitty-eyed, angry looks in my direction, he settles down on the sofa and pulls the duvet over him.

I smile contentedly and pull two of the black and white mugs I bought him for Christmas from the cupboard.

“Here,” I nudge him with the steaming cup and he sticks one hand out of the depths of the duvet to take it from me.

“I love you,” he says, by way of thanks and I nod.

“We have to leave in half an hour,” I remind him, padding back down the passage to the bedroom to get ready.

The tour operator provides wetsuits and all gear, so, wearing jeans and sweaters we pull into the parking-lot. The directions I pulled off the internet were easy enough to follow and we arrive with plenty of time to spare. Each jet-ski run by the tours company has a two-person capacity but Adam and I opted to each have our own. Spending a day looking at the back of Adam’s head did not sound like much fun to me, and besides, I didn’t want to be a passenger. That isn’t my M.O. I want to live the moment not go along for the ride. It cost us slightly more but it’s not as if we can’t afford it and this is exactly the type of thing that I enjoy spending money on.

Twenty minutes later we are given a demonstration on how to handle the jet-skis, which I am not at all intimidated by and Adam is positively raring to go. A short safety brief later and we hit the surf, taking a few minutes to adjust and master the jet-skis. Although chilly, it is a beautiful day for it, the sun is shining and the water is smooth. Adam and I dance around one another frolicking in the wake our skis are leaving behind us, cresting the waves and soaring down the other side.

Adam is definitely better at this than I am; he is a natural; his body curved over his jet-ski like a pro, water glistening on his tanned skin. Laughing, flicking his wet hair out of his eyes, his mouth curved up in a delighted smile, he makes my heart turn flip-flops in my chest. I notice, as we cruise under the Verrazano Bridge and later get up close and personal with Lady Liberty, that the other ladies on the tour keep casting surreptitious glances at Adam.  My heart swells with pride that this handsome, courageous lion of a man is all mine.

Despite my initial determination to have a jet-ski of my own I am delighted when mine suddenly sputters and dies. The tour guide comes over to check it out and soon announces that he cannot fix the problem out here and will have to send for someone to fetch it. I vault gleefully onto the back of Adam’s hovering jet-ski, wrapping my arms around him, to the collective sigh of the ladies around us, their husbands looking more than a little relieved. Once out of the marina Adam speeds up, turning this way and that, flying through the waves and having the time of his life. I hang onto him for dear life, feeling terrified and exhilarated and yet oddly, safe. Adam will not let any harm come to me, I think, closing my eyes and grinning as he yells in excitement over the roar of the engine.

Later we all enjoy a seafood lunch in Jersey City. Adam chats happily away to the other members of our tour, the ladies positively hanging on his every word and I am content to sit and pick at my food, one hand resting on Adam’s leg. I sigh contentedly and lean my head against his shoulder, revelling in the midday sun warming my face and the perfection of this amazing day.

We head back at a far more leisurely pace and I throw my arms out to the side, leaning my head back and I feel almost as though I could be flying.

By the time we reach Coney Island, despite the sunshine, I am shivering with cold and I dress as quickly as possible in the ladies' changing room before meeting Adam at the reception. We thank our guide and stroll, hand in hand, back to the car. Adam opens my door and I sit back in my seat, feeling relaxed, tired and sublimely happy, hardly able to summon the energy to start the engine and back out of the parking-lot.

We spend the afternoon watching DVDs and ordering pizza, neither of us feeling much like cooking. Finally, at a little after eight we switch off the TV and Adam stands, stretching like a cat.

“I’m going to jump in the shower,” he leans forward, kissing the top of my head, and I nod, yawning. Figuring I have earned some much-needed sleep I pad through the house and collapse on the bed. I listen to the sound of the shower running and I heave a sigh. There is a massive rainstorm coming if the dark clouds rolling in are anything to go by. I drift gently into that world between sleep and consciousness and I see Kevin walking toward me. I smile and throw my arms around him and he grins down at me.

“I’ve missed you,” I murmur, burying my nose in his neck. Kevin is not as tall as Adam, we are almost the same height and I pull back and stare into his eyes. “You’re not real,” I chastise and he laughs.

“No, Paige, I’m not real. Glad to see you’re still paying attention,” he answers and I pout childishly.

“You left me.”

“I didn’t want to,” he replies.

“I know.” I take a few steps away, “Walk with me?” I extend my hand and he takes it. We are walking along the beach back home just as we used to and I feel more peaceful than I have in some time.

Eventually Kevin breaks the companionable silence.

“He’s the one, Paige,” he says and I nod in agreement, feeling no guilt. My love for Adam is pure and beautiful, and above all, so right. I know that Kevin would want nothing less for me and he would never judge me for moving on without him.

“He is,” I smile at him and he smiles back.

“Tell me about him,” he says, kicking aside some driftwood.

“He’s amazing,” I begin, knowing that my face is alive with the excitement that only Adam can elicit, “he’s charming and funny and gorgeous.”

“Better looking than me?” He raises his eyebrow mockingly and I laugh and swat at his arm.

“I love him,” I say simply and my face falls for a moment, “it’s just so hard.” He nods and I press on, “it was so much simpler with you. Life was simple and it was easy.”

“Maybe it was too easy, Paige,” he interrupts and I am taken aback.

“What?” I ask in confusion. The water is swirling around our feet, tugging at my toes as it rushes back out to sea.

“Maybe we were too simple, too easy,” he says, “maybe in time we might have grown out of each other. We were so young, maybe we just didn’t know any better. I’m not saying it would have ended!” he hastens to add, seeing my scowl. “I’m just saying that maybe he’s the one, maybe this is what was supposed to happen.”

I do not have an answer to this, I am brought up short – I have had similar feelings before. I loved Kevin, I did, but what I feel for Adam is so much more than that. It is as if he is the air that I breathe. When he isn’t around I feel almost dizzy like I can’t breathe properly and I know he feels exactly the same. I look up and realise that Kevin is smiling down at me, knowingly.

“Know-it-all!” I snap playfully and he laughs before he turns serious once more.

“You have to fix him, Paige, you need to help him and you need to be happy.”  He turns and starts walking away and I try to run after him, but my feet are stuck in the backwash and I can’t move.

“Kevin!” I shout, raising my arm towards him but he doesn’t turn around. “Kevin!” I scream again and I wake with a start, sitting bolt upright in my bed before I realise that it was only a dream.

As I rub my eyes I realise I must have just dozed off because I can still hear the water running in the bathroom. I smile fondly; Adam always takes far too long in the shower, he almost always uses up all the hot water. Luckily we can afford the gas bill. Pondering as to whether I should join him, I glance across at the bedside clock and I freeze in horror. It is well past 10 o’clock. I must have been sleeping for over two hours. Adam! I leap off the bed assuming the worst and throw open the bathroom door. My heart lurches as I take in the pitiful scene before me. The shower is still running although the water must be freezing by now.  Huddled in the corner of the cubicle, almost blue with cold, sits a shuddering Jacob.

I lunge forward to turn off the faucet and the icy water hits me like needles stabbing at my skin. Oh God! I grab two towels from the rack and jump into the cubicle throwing them over Jacob’s body. I crouch down beside him, rubbing his arms and his back – any part of his body that I can reach. How long has he been curled up in here? My mind races frantically, trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation. Jacob’s physical needs are primary – he is freezing, his body is wracked with convulsions of cold and I need to warm him, quickly, but there are also the mental needs that need to be taken into consideration. Jacob is naked.  This means nothing to me, but he is so fragile that it could traumatise him. The whole time I'm thinking of this, I'm speaking soft words of comfort and soothing him with hushing sounds, exactly, I think hysterically, as I do my step-nieces and nephews when they are hurt or frightened. Jacob is truly like a child. I drape the towels over his body and gently place my arms around his back and under his right arm on the other side of his body. I start to stand, saying softly, “Come on, Jacob, let’s get you out of here.”

Through his confusion he seems to understand what I am trying to do and he gingerly starts to rise, working with me instead of resisting and sobbing pitifully the whole while. It takes a few minutes to get him onto the bed and I pull the towels off him, at the same time throwing the duvet over his lower half.  I pull it up to his neck and then I throw blanket after blanket on top of him. I switch on the bedside lamp which casts a soft warm light over the room but which only accentuates the blue, stricken face before me. Standing back, satisfied that I cannot do any more here, I keep my voice calm, “Jacob, I'm just going to get you something warm to drink.” I walk slowly from the room and the moment I'm out of sight I hurtle down the passage. I don't want to wait for the kettle to boil, so I microwave a mug of water for a minute and then toss in a tea bag and three heaped spoonfuls of sugar. Sugar is good for shock; I remember reading it somewhere. I fly back down the passage skidding to a halt just before the bedroom door and then I enter as calmly as I left.

“Drink this, Jacob,” I instruct, then realising that he cannot control his shivering enough to hold the mug, I hold it for him, placing one arm behind his head guiding him.  After a few small sips he lies back on the bed exhausted and closes his eyes.

I take a moment to examine him, careful not to touch his body, but it seems that his colour is returning and although he is still shivering, it is not the same uncontrollable shuddering of before. I heave a sigh and pull up the dressing-table chair, taking a seat next to the bed and not taking my eyes off of him. My body becomes stiff and sore and the mental fatigue of being constantly vigilant is taking its toll but I refuse to move even for a second.  I cannot bear the thought of Jacob waking up again alone and terrified. I am startled when my phone starts ringing and I snatch it up off the bedside table. The caller ID flashes Bill Morris just as he stirs. I punch the mute button and cast the phone aside.

“Paige?” It is Adam’s blue eyes that gaze up at me and I feel a huge wave of relief pass over me, before his face contorts and he yells, “No!” I blink in surprise and, in an instant, Jacob is back, cowering against the wooden headboard, his eyes darting back and forth before finally settling on me.

I cannot believe this. Jacob has forced his way through and taken over. I didn’t think it was possible – Jacob is so weak and reserved. Even as I'm thinking this, a part of me is relieved to see that he appears to visibly calm down, seeming far less frantic when he realises that I am here. It seems that I am finally starting to earn his trust.

“Jacob?” I question, even though I know it’s him. He's panting slightly with the exertion, just as Adam once had when he forcefully subdued Kyle.

“I-need-to-tell-you,” he speaks through slightly gritted teeth and, despite his recent cold, a sweat has broken out across his brow. I sit forward in anticipation; obviously Jacob wants to finish his story. The trauma. This is it! All thoughts of Bill Morris’s call forgotten, I release a deep breath and focus all my attention on Jacob.

“Tell me, Jacob,” I coax gently.

After a shaky start he seems to become more comfortable and the words flow out of him readily as though he cannot get them out fast enough.  He repeats some of what he has already told me, he speaks of the man who stabbed his father and the woman who stood by and watched, slapping his mother in the process. I have already heard this part of the story and I am desperately praying that Jacob does not disappear again before he can finish, but I force myself to bite my tongue and not interrupt. Jacob is so fragile that any interruption could result in his withdrawal. Eventually he continues where we had previously left off.

“Step forward, Son,” he says, and I hold my breath – this is where Jacob previously became too emotional to continue. I scan his face but he does not appear quite as distressed as he did that day. He is playing obsessively with the blankets that cover him, pulling on strands of wool compulsively. “'I’m not your son,' I said,” he continues and I exhale slowly.  It seems that Jacob will be able to continue.

“He laughed out loud then. He threw his head back and laughed. The witch just stared at me as if she was thinking things that I didn’t know. My mom was begging, pleading with them to let me go. My father had gone so quiet; so quiet and so still. And there was blood everywhere. The man grabbed me by the hair and pulled me further into the room and I slipped on it. It got on my clothes and on my hands and it was red, so red and the smell made me feel sick.”

I can picture the scene only too well and my head swims with dizziness and I swallow hard; I want to be sick myself. I put my hand on Jacob’s knee and clear my throat.

“Go on, Jacob. It’s okay; I’m here,” I whisper and he looks like a child trying to be brave as he nods and continues.

“He made me watch. He slit her throat.” I recoil in horror and fresh tears spring to Jacob’s eyes but he continues; it is as though he is a runaway train that has suddenly gained momentum and is unable to stop, and for the first time it is me that wants the story to end. I fight the urge to put my hands over my ears and be strong for Jacob. “I screamed,” he says, “I screamed and he laughed, and my mom went as still as my dad. They both lay there, doing nothing. And I realised that the only reason my mom wouldn’t answer me if I screamed for her was if she couldn’t, and I realised that she must be in heaven; but I didn’t want her to be in heaven, I wanted her to be with me in the house but she wasn’t, and so I screamed for her and I called her to come back, to please come back!” After this non-stop raving Jacob seems to finally run out of air and he curls forward, pulling the blanket that he has practically destroyed with him, sobbing wildly, curling himself tighter and tighter into a ball.

I leap forward, sitting on the edge of the bed and curling my own body around him, hushing him and rubbing his back and crying my own silent, appalled tears.

Surprisingly, Jacob recovers sooner than I expect and he sits up abruptly.

“He wants to come back,” he blurts out and I blink in confusion which turns to shock as he continues. “He wants to come back but I need to finish first. He needs to wait.” It dawns on me that he means Adam or Simon. One of the others. Jacob is fighting – for the first time he is finding the strength and the will to stay. To tell me his story; to finish it, once and for all.  Jacob wants it over. My heart practically bursts with pride; I feel like a mother watching her son go off to the first day of school putting on a brave face. I cannot believe how much he has grown since the first day I met him and a part of me wishes, as I did with Kyle, that he didn’t have to go; that he could exist, in some way, in some other form, but not in this body – the body that I love and need. Thinking of Adam gives me the strength to help Jacob go on, to listen to the end no matter how hard it may be. He takes a deep breath.

“They took me,” he says. “That was the worst part. They took me and they pretended that they were my mom and dad. And I knew that they would hurt me if I told anyone, so I didn’t. Even when we went on the big aeroplane, even when I saw the policeman in his uniform, I didn’t tell. I stayed quiet. She was nicer than he was; she pretended real well but I knew she was ugly inside and I made myself remember that. Then they started fighting. They were shouting at each other and I could hear them, even over the noise of the aeroplanes and I shut my ears with my hands.” Jacob looks down at his hands suddenly and then seems to realise what he has been doing.

‘I’ve ruined your blanket,” he murmurs, eyeing me nervously.

I smile, “That’s okay, Jacob. It doesn’t matter now,” I answer and he nods.

“When I woke up they were gone.” I am surprised by the sudden turn of events but I force myself to keep my face neutral as he goes on, “It took me about a hundred tries but I eventually managed to unlock the door. I climbed down the stairs and ended up outside.  It was dirty and it smelled.” He wrinkles his nose at the memory and I smile despite myself.

“I’m sure it did, Jacob,” I say. This must have been the alley near the orphanage where Adam was found.

“Can I go now please Paige?” he asks and he looks almost grey with exhaustion. I smile sadly. I know what he is asking; he wants to know if it is all over, if he can go, if he can integrate and finally be at peace.

“Soon, Jacob,” I promise. “Tomorrow I need you to tell your story to Doctor Sheldon.  He can help you. And then you can go. I promise. Can you do that for me, Jacob?”

“Yes,” his answer is hesitant at first, but then he sits up straighter and looks me in the eye. “Yes,” he repeats, much more confidently. “And now?” he asks querulously.

“For now, Jacob you can rest,” I answer, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth I see the twitch and Adam’s beautiful blue eyes are staring back at me.

“What’s going on, Paige?” Adam can obviously see the vestige of the tears that have not yet dried on my face. He leans forward wanting to comfort me but I smile at him and he pauses, confusion replacing the concern on his beautiful face.

“Paige?” he asks hesitantly.

“I’ve got it,” I whisper, almost unable to fully comprehend what this means. It’s going to be over; finally, ultimately and wonderfully over. As hard as it was to hear Jacob’s story, through the hurt Adam will heal and be whole again.

“Got what?” Adam asks.

“The truth,” I smile, “Jacob gave me the truth.”

Chapter 24

It is a little after midnight when Adam finally drifts into a restless sleep. I feel like this has been the longest day of my life. It seems like so long ago that we were snuggling on the couch eating pizza like any other normal couple, but here is the proof that we are not. The darkness that is Adam’s life has reared its ugly head, only this time there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  It will soon be over. I am so drained I could put my head down and sleep for days but my concern for Adam will not let me sleep and I settle myself onto the winged-backed chair that I use at the dresser next to Adam’s side of the bed.

I settle myself as comfortably as I can and pull a blanket over me keeping vigil beside Adam until the early hours of the morning, until finally my exhaustion wins out and my eyes close of their own accord.

“Paige!” Adam gently shakes me awake and I slowly become aware of my surroundings.  I blink up at him, yawning and feeling the pain in my neck and shoulders from having slept in my awkward perch.

“Are you okay?” I ask automatically searching his face. His colour has returned to normal and he looks fine; I breathe a sigh of relief. He hands me a cup of tea and sits down on the edge of the bed his blue eyes boring into mine.

“What happened, Paige? You said you know the truth? What is it?” He had asked me the same question last night but I had refused to tell him, claiming he needed his sleep. He had been emotionally drained, worn-out enough not to push for an answer. Now, however, he sounds determined and a little afraid, and I swallow back my own emotions.

I cannot tell Adam the truth of what happened to him. He needs to hear it from Jacob and relive the trauma in order to be able to deal with it and for Jacob to successfully integrate.  Simon’s disappearance in the process is just an added bonus. I do not know how the process works, but I do not want to jeopardise the return of a healthy, integrated Adam, so I tell him that he will have to wait to learn the truth until we see Carl Sheldon. It is going to be agony for him learning the truth, the secret that has been buried for so long, and it is not something that I am looking forward to. Surprisingly he doesn’t press the issue but he seems to sense that I am putting on a brave face.

“Is it bad?” is all he asks and, unable to lie to him, I give a quick nod of my head. He takes a deep breath his jaw clenching automatically, and then he nods grimly. Adam is also ready; ready to get on with our lives. He dresses quickly while I search for my phone as I need to get hold of Carl. Eventually I locate it just under the bed – it obviously slipped off the bedside table last night when I cast it aside in my panic over the freezing Jacob. I think sadly for a minute about Jacob. I am surprised at how much compassion these alters have drawn out of me. I take no pleasure in their integration although I so badly want Adam to be well. Each one feels like I am losing someone close to me. I shake myself and force myself to focus on Adam and the task at hand. He has an awful time ahead of him and I need to be strong for his sake.  That is why I am here – I am here for Adam. I am about to hit 2 for Carl’s speed-dial when I see the missed call from Bill Morris. I had forgotten all about him. I check the bedside clock and mentally calculate the time difference between New York and Ireland- we are five hours behind which would make it just after noon in Dublin. Bill Morris can wait – I have so much to do. I will call him later this afternoon. I ignore the flashing envelope that alerts me that there is a voice message and I hit 2 and the call button.

“Paige?” Carl’s voice is the most welcoming sound.

“He told me!” I blurt out, unable to contain myself. Carl is silent and I keep going, “Jacob!  Jacob told me the trauma! It’s awful!” I can’t help but add, and out of the corner of my eye I see Adam stiffen.

“Where are you?” Carl asks calmly.

“At home. We’re leaving now; we’re on our way to you,” I finish.

“Paige, don’t you want to wait for tomorrow? I have a few clients later this morning and then again this afternoon. Why don’t you just relax and we can sort this out first thing tomorrow?  Adam has lived with his disorder for over 20 years; I'm sure he can wait one more day?”

“No!” I shake my head vehemently even though he can’t see me. He must be crazy if he thinks I can sleep knowing what I know. “You said your clients are only later this morning? We’re on our way. Meet us at the Institute. We want this over Carl. It ends, now.”

The Audi flies through rush-hour traffic and Adam holds on to his passenger hand-hold for dear life, chuckling.

“Paige, the doc will take as long as he takes, us getting there at lightning speed isn’t going to make this process go any faster.”

“He lives closer,” I retort, taking a gap and narrowly missing swiping the side of a Maserati convertible. The driver hoots in anger and I force myself to ease my foot ever-so-slightly off the accelerator.

“Okay, okay,” I grumble.

Twenty minutes later we pull into the parking-lot at the Institute. As Adam intimated, the doc hasn’t arrived. I set about pacing frantically until Adam grabs my arm and pulls me up against him, his arms coming around me. I feel calmer immediately and I relax against his chest; the soft cotton of his T-shirt smells like fabric softener and his aftershave. He smells good enough to eat and I smile despite my anxiety.

“Shouldn’t I be the one stressing, love?” he murmurs into my hair and I shake my head, rubbing my nose against his chest.

“I can’t help it.”

“I know,” he rubs my back. “But...” he pauses and I gaze up at him.

“But what, Adam?” For the first time I see the fear and the trepidation in his eyes and I realise how selfish I am being and how incredibly brave and patient Adam is. “Oh,” I'm brought up short, not knowing what to say.

“Twenty years,” he murmurs, “twenty years! I haven’t been able to remember a thing from the first six years of my life now I'm about to find out why.” There is a deadly silence and then he forces a humourless laugh, “Jesus, what a mind-fuck.”Adam hardly ever curses – he must be terrified. I squeeze him as tightly as I can.

“I’m here, Adam. I’m here and you're going to be fine. We'll get through this together, I promise.”

“And then it will be just the two of us,” he murmurs and I smile up at him.

“Two boring normal people getting married and starting a family,” I laugh and feel his grip on me tighten, just as his blue eyes blaze with excitement.

“Really?” he gasps, his eyes frantically searching my face and I realise what I have just said.

“Absolutely!” I laugh, knowing that it is the truth. I want to be with Adam forever.  I want to marry him, have babies with him and grow old with him. He is my other half; I will not live without him. Adam looks so delighted that I instinctively reach up to kiss him, a kiss that soon turns serious. I press up against him and am lost in the moment when I hear the polite throat-clearing behind me. Mortified I close my eyes even tighter and disentangle myself from Adam, my cheeks burning.

“I got here as soon as I could,” Carl is the first to break the silence. “Evidently it wasn’t quite fast enough,” he muses and Adam drapes his arms around my shoulders.

“You’re just in time, Doc,” he grins, gesturing at the entrance to the Institute. “Just in time,” he repeats grinning down at me.

Chapter 25

For the first time ever Doctor Sheldon’s lethargy-inspiring, hypnosis-inducing speech does not make me sleepy. I am far too anxious. I'm worried about Adam for what he is about to learn; saddened by the inevitable loss of Jacob and thrilled by the imminent disappearance of Simon. I am on the edge of my seat, literally and figuratively. It seems that all too soon Carl is calling on Jacob to come forward. I am so proud of Jacob, he 'appears' almost immediately, and when Carl asks him if he can repeat his story he does not hesitate. It's almost as though speaking the words aloud is the catharsis that Jacob has always needed to heal. He seems to grow in stature with every word, and he sits up straighter, his voice growing stronger and stronger until he sounds almost like, well, Adam. I barely have time to ponder this when Jacob concludes his story. Carl Sheldon looks nauseated and more than a little shocked. We are both aware that this is not the end of Adam’s ordeal – the shocking discovery of the murder of Adam’s parents will result in a criminal case, one that may be investigated for years to come. It will have to be reported to the police immediately so that they can find the murderers and justice can be served.

“Jacob,” Carl is speaking, “thank you for all your help. Thank you for trusting us with this,” he turns to me and I smile fleetingly. Turning back to Jacob he seems to gather himself together before speaking.

“Jacob, you may go now. Adam does not need you anymore. He can deal with this problem on his own. You have served your purpose.” Jacob nods and heaves an enormous sigh as though he has been waiting his whole life for this moment, which, come to think of it, he probably has.

“Jacob,” I interject, and Carl glances across at me worry etched on his brow. I raise my hand to assure him that I know what I am doing. “Jacob, do you remember Fergus?” I ask and Jacob nods almost immediately.

“Yes, Paige, of course I do. He keeps me company.”

Tears well in my eyes and I bite my lip to stop from crying.

“Well, Jacob,” I continue, keeping my voice as normal as possible, “I think you should keep him.” There is an audible gasp from the couch and I know I have done the right thing. “He told me he really likes it with you so I think he would like to stay there,” I finish and Jacob beams.

“I’ll take good care of him, Paige.”

“I know you will,” I answer.

“Paige?” he asks.

“Yes, Jacob?”

“I’m going to miss you.” I am almost unable to keep it together but I clench my teeth and dig my nails so deeply into the palm of my hands that I almost draw blood.

“I’m going to miss you too, Jacob.” I give in to a silent sob and Carl Sheldon, sensing that our goodbyes are over, addresses Adam directly.

“Adam, you now know the truth. You know what happened that caused your personality to dissociate, that caused the emergence of the alters that you know as Kyle, Simon and Jacob,” he pauses, and Adam nods. “You are more prepared now to deal with these traumas. There are other mechanisms available to you, you do not need these alters anymore. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Adam answers confidently.

“And do you agree, Adam?” the doctor asks and Adam grins.

“Absolutely,” he answers, sounding strong and certain and I know, finally, that everything is going to be okay.

Adam and the doc are saying their farewells and I leave them to it, heading for the car. I think they need a moment alone; they have been working towards this moment since long before I came along and I cannot imagine how they must feel. I will have my moment with Adam later – we will have thousands of moments – we will have a lifetime. I hug myself, giddy at the mere thought. A lifetime with Adam, just Adam. It is almost too much to comprehend. I wonder idly if I should report the murder of Adam’s parents to the police or if Carl will do it as part of his report. I forgot to ask him. I’ll phone him in the morning. We'll still be having our weekly sessions until Adam has dealt with the post-traumatic stress that will arise from his finally learning the truth, but the next session is not until next Tuesday.

As I'm thinking this my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out and, to my surprise, it is Bill Morris. Again. I glance at the digital clock on the phone and it is almost 10 o’clock – 3 p.m. his time.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Ms Petrova? Bill Morris,” he barks into the phone, and then, without waiting for my response, he adds, “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

I suddenly see Adam approaching, a broad grin stretched across his handsome face.

“Hold on, please,” I hiss into the phone and then I hold it against my jacket.

“I think you and I should get home and do some cuddling,” Adam crows, smacking my backside. I smile at him, kissing his mouth and then I indicate the phone.

“Just give me a minute, babe.” I take a few steps away and then raise the phone to my ear.

“Yes, Mr Morris what is it?” I ask.

“I was right,” he announces, getting straight to the point. There is no hint of arrogance in his tone; he is very professional. “They did bring the boy over from Ireland. I’m afraid all evidence suggests that Raymond and Brigid Byrne may have murdered the boy’s parents.”

I give a gasp of astonishment.

“How do you know that?”

“The Byrnes were well-known members of an organisation called the Provisional Irish Republican Army. From 1969 until 1997, the provisional IRA conducted an armed campaign with the intention of ending British rule in Northern Ireland. They wanted to create a united Ireland.”

“Are you talking about the IRA, as in the IRA?” I interrupt, wondering what on earth this has got to do with Adam. I have a bad feeling building in the pit of my stomach that I cannot shake off.

“Similar, but not the same,” Bill Morris clarifies, “the Provisional IRA split from the Irish Republican Army in 1969, the reasons for which have no bearing on this case. The point is that they did; and in the 1980s the Provisionals made attempts to escalate the conflict with the English with the aid of weapons they imported from Libya. The English called this the 'terrorist phase' of the Provisional IRA’s campaign. Unfortunately many people were hurt and many were killed.”  Bill Morris gives me a moment to consider this.

“So Adam’s parents? They were casualties of this 'terrorist phase'?" I ask, trying to make sense of it all.

“I believe so,” the investigator replies. “I found evidence that suggests your young man’s father may have been an informant, an Irishman working for the English. He and his wife were murdered. They were found dead in their Dublin home a few days before the boy was picked up in downtown Manhattanville; a whole continent away.”

“How do you figure it was the Byrnes who did it?” I ask, curiously. Just then I notice Adam gesturing to me from next to the car. “Sorry, hang on a sec,” I tell Bill Morris and I make my way back to the Audi. I indicate that Adam should drive and I get into the passenger seat. We may as well be on our way; I can continue this conversation in the car.

“It’s the investigator,” I whisper. “He has information.” Adam nods to indicate that he understands that I need to pay attention. He amazes me; I would never have such restraint.

“Sorry about that,” I say as soon as I have buckled my seat-belt, “please continue; why do you think the Byrnes are involved?”

“Raymond and Brigid were well-known activists in the IRA. They were eventually caught and imprisoned for life on eight counts of murder and four counts of attempted murder among other charges. It was also the boy that gave them away. The Byrnes never had any children – they must have taken the boy from the house that night.” I feel a pang of satisfaction that at least Adam’s parents' killers were brought to justice and are paying for their crimes. It will mean one less thing for Adam to deal with.

“Why did nobody put it together? Why was there no missing person's report?” I ask, still not entirely following. Why had Adam not been returned to Ireland when he was found? Why had no-one gone looking for the young boy?

“Well,” for the first time Bill Morris sounds slightly uncomfortable, the boy’s parents were not on speaking terms with their relative families. He was an only child and his parents were deceased. Her family didn’t approve of the marriage and had not spoken to her since her wedding. They didn't know of the child’s existence. I managed to track down one of her sisters who admitted, eventually, that she had once glimpsed the child in a supermarket. She had not known for sure, but had assumed that the boy was her nephew. When her sister and her husband turned up dead and no mention was made of the boy, she assumed she had been mistaken. She did not want to bring it up for fear of her father’s ire. He had a violent temper, one of the reasons that his daughter had cut all ties with the family.”

There is another pause and I try to piece the puzzle together. So Adam’s mother had never told her family of his existence and his father had no family to tell. When they were murdered, nobody even knew to look for him, although clearly there must have been an oversight by the authorities as there ought to have been some evidence that a child had been residing in the house. In the meantime, however, his parents' murderers had taken him and fled to the States where they abandoned him after only a few days.

“Why did they take him?” I whisper, almost to myself.

“She wanted children,” the answer, to my surprise, comes not from the phone, but from Adam sitting beside me.

“What?” I hiss, feeling like I may just have entered the twilight zone.

“The woman wanted a child,” he continues, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I remember now, remember?” He smiles sadly and it dawns on me that Adam now has his memories back. I can’t believe this is only dawning on me now. “She insisted they take me. She wanted us to be a happy family,” Adam shakes his head in disgust. “Anyway, she soon realised that I wouldn’t play along. The man started getting angry; it culminated in a fight. I never saw them again.”

Okay. So they killed Adam’s parents; brought him to the States and then abandoned him. It is starting to make more sense and I take a deep breath, one hand on Adam’s leg.

“Thank you, Mr Morris you’ve been an amazing help,” I say politely.

“Just doing my job,” he replies stereotypically and I fight the urge to laugh. I am about to cut the call when he barks, “I have her number if you'd like it. She asked to see him.”

“Who?” I ask, not having a clue who he is talking about.

“Her name is Elinor; she’s Mr Harris’s aunt.”

“Elinor?” I repeat, not realising exactly what he has said until a moment later. Harris.

“Wait a minute - you must have the wrong information, Adam’s surname isn’t...” I trail off, a sick feeling in my stomach. The investigator continues, blissfully unaware of the hornet’s nest he has just stirred up.

“I thought as much. I’m afraid the Byrnes must have given your young man a new name when they arrived in the States. The boy must have remembered it. But I managed to get a copy of the birth certificate. James and Judith Harris had a baby boy on the 8th of June 1985. A boy they named Simon.”

Chapter 26

All the while Bill Morris was talking I did not take my eyes off Adam. It was the name Elinor that finally did it. I see the twitch and a moment later Simon is staring back at me, his dislike glimmering in his blue eyes which are as cold as steel.

“Yes, Elinor!” he hisses, through clenched teeth, “My Aunt! I told you!” He is staring at me, paying no attention to the road and I am too astounded and shocked to realise the danger we are in. And then chaos erupts.

I am still trying to process what Bill Morris has just said when our car swerves off the road. Doctor Sheldon had always warned us that Adam should not drive – it could be very dangerous in the event of a personality switch while behind the wheel. The disorientation could result in an accident. I had not even considered this when I asked Adam to drive – by all accounts, there should not be any personalities left to switch. I barely have a moment to register that Simon has lost control of the car when we slam into a tree headfirst and everything mercifully goes black.

“I told you! I told you!” Simon’s face hovers in front of me, his smug look makes me want to slap him but I can’t move my hands. I glance down and see they are strapped to the metal sides of the hospital bed I am lying on. My legs are also restrained. Carl Sheldon walks in and, glancing down at me, he shakes his head, filling a syringe with amber liquid.

“What are you doing?” I yell, as Simon continues his relentless tirade.

“I told her! I told her! She just wouldn’t listen!” he roars and my vision blurs. Carl clicks his tongue, casting a disapproving glance in my direction before plunging the needle into my thigh.  I scream in pain and shock and to my utter disbelief he shakes his head at me.

“You should have told me Paige,” he rebukes.

“I didn’t know!” I shriek, thrashing frantically against the restraints. “How could I have known?  You didn’t even know! Carl! Carl! What are you doing?” He doesn’t answer and I can feel the drugs taking effect, everything is going hazy, and then, suddenly, the dream is gone and I can hear someone calling my name.

“Paige,” the voice is soft and feminine and slightly familiar. I fight the urge to go back to sleep and I force my eyes open. They flutter and I groan as a stab of pain explodes in my temple. The dream was so vivid I feel sick and I find that I'm rubbing my thigh in the place where the imaginary injection stabbed my skin even though it wasn’t real.

“Ow,” I moan. On my second attempt I manage to open my eyes long enough to see who is standing over me. Lizzy. What is Lizzy doing here? Then suddenly I remember. Oh God!   Adam! Adam doesn’t exist. He never did. Everything I have been trying to accomplish has been in vain. I have been fighting for a man who was never real to begin with. In my head I am screaming, the agony of the pain is like nothing I have ever experienced and I am honestly afraid that I might lose my mind. I don’t think the human body can withstand this torture and I experience a very real terror that I might just die of a broken heart. With all these thoughts running through my head and Lizzy rubbing my arm and whispering, “Paige, Paige?” I give way to the darkness that has been licking at the fringes of my consciousness and I drift away into the sweet, black nothing.

I drift in and out of consciousness, slowly becoming more and more aware and what strikes me most of all is that Lizzy is always here every time I open my eyes. I do not think much time has passed but there is eventually no point in delaying any longer what I know I must do.

“Lizzy,” I croak and she smiles.

“Paige!” she gushes, sounding relieved.

“Where’s...” I trail off, not able to speak his name but Lizzy understands immediately.

“He’s fine. He’s having a few X-rays. They almost couldn’t convince him to go; he was determined not to leave your side.”

That doesn’t make any sense; Simon hates me. There is no way he would sacrifice his own well-being to ensure that I was okay. Which can only mean...Oh! She doesn’t know.

“What are you doing here, Lizzy?” I ask, and her cheeks redden. She tucks a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“I’m sorry,” she admits sheepishly. “I know I shouldn’t have come, but when he called, he just sounded so desperate...” She trails off biting her lip. “It’s still so hard to accept,” she continues, and I know exactly how she feels.

“Simon called you?” I ask and she nods.

“From your phone, right after it happened. When he said there had been an accident I couldn’t stay away. I’m sorry, Paige, I was just so worried.”

I don’t answer. I have no right to admonish her, the tables are completely turned only she doesn’t know it. Lizzy is so nervous; she cannot seem to handle the silence and she continues hastily.

“By the time I got here Adam was back. He hit his head pretty hard in the crash; he was going beserk trying to reach you. They had to sedate him eventually,” she smiles wistfully, and I feel tears well in my eyes; just thinking of Adam hurts. I think irrationally of my mother and her warning – she had been so worried that I wouldn’t survive this. I think she may have been right.  The thought of letting Adam go is more than I can possibly bear.

In times of crisis the body’s natural reaction is to do one of two things; fight or flight. I need to do what is necessary to protect my fragile heart and the delicate grip I have on my sanity.  I take in Lizzy’s heart-shaped face and her big blue eyes and I draw in a deep breath.

“Lizzy,” I begin, shutting off my guilt, “Lizzy, you need to go. It’s not right that you're here; you know that. You need to stay as far away from Adam as possible and let him live his life.”

Her eyes brim with unshed tears and she nods her head bravely but before she can speak I continue. “Adam is getting better. Simon will be gone soon but you being here could confuse him. You have to go,” I repeat firmly, leaving no room for argument. Not that Lizzy would ever argue – she is far too soft, and, apparently, a far better person than I am.

“I wish you all the best,” she murmurs, smiling gently through her tears. “I really am sorry for the trouble I may have caused you. Both of you.” She stands, stumbling slightly in her haste to pick up her bag and coat, and then, with a brief wave, she is gone.

I do not wait a moment; I leap from the bed ignoring the blinding pain in my head and, finding my clothes in the bedside cupboard, I pull them on hastily. As I am pulling my hair up into a ponytail a nurse rushes in.

“And just what do you think you are doing?” she squawks, taking in my fully dressed state.

“I’m leaving,” I announce, grabbing my bag from the top shelf.

“You can’t leave.” Hers is the voice of authority, “The doctor hasn’t discharged you yet.”

“Sorry. No can do,” I stand my ground turning to face her. “I’m out of here.” Without so much as a backward glance I push past her and out into the hallway. I need to find Adam. I head for the main reception area and follow the signs to Radiology. I hear the flustered nurse behind me, her heels clicking on the clinically white-tiled floors, calling after me. I ignore her, my adrenalin pumping hard and fast through my entire body. All of my senses are heightened and I feel like a criminal. One foot in front of the other Paige, one step at a time, I tell myself, wondering if I have finally lost my mind. What am I doing? I take the stairs two at a time and finally leave the outraged nurse behind, feeling very grateful that I am wearing sneakers.

My mind is running riot with all the information that I have learned. Simon. It was Simon all along. I am trying to understand what this all means. Obviously, as early as the day he arrived at the orphanage Simon had already dissociated. Probably even before that, as it is Adam’s memory of the Byrnes wanting a child, which happened only a few short days after Simon’s parents were killed. When Adam gave the orphanage his name Simon had already retreated from the life that he could not bear to deal with. The orphanage would never have thought to question and, by the time they realised that there was more than one personality, they would have already accepted that Adam was the original. Why would they think any differently?  Carl Sheldon had been treating Adam for almost two years and even he had not realised this colossal mistake. But why is Adam so dominant? Why is he so present? Is Simon really so weak-willed? I wish I could ask Carl how this is possible, but I cannot tell him. I can’t. I cannot bear to think of what this means. I don’t think I can survive the consequences of the truth. I have lost so much, I can’t lose any more. I won’t lose Adam; he is all I have left. I still cannot really grasp it.  It is unimaginable and even trying to comprehend what this means results in my heart racing and a feeling of nausea and dizziness threatens to overcome me.

At the radiology reception counter I will myself to calm down and I take a few deep, steadying breaths before I put on my most dazzling smile.

“Can I help you, love?” The matronly-looking nurse behind the counter smiles back.

“Yes please I’m looking for my boyfriend, Adam Parker?” The concern in my voice is obvious and she smiles kindly.

“Don’t fret, dear, he’s fine. They're finished; he’s just filling out some forms and then he's free to go.”

I heave a sigh; at least I don’t have to worry about both of us being hunted down in the hospital for discharging ourselves without doctor’s consent and I don’t want to alarm Adam or arouse his suspicion.

“Paige!” I hear his voice behind me and I whirl around, my heart leaping at the sight of him. He looks exactly the same, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners in delight at seeing me and his black hair all mussed up. I wonder why I had expected him to look different. I rush into his open arms and I breathe in his familiar scent.

“Are you okay?” he asks, holding me at arm’s length and looking me up and down as though he is conducting a thorough inspection.

“I’m fine,” I wave away his concern. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You’re allowed to go?” he sounds incredulous and I cringe. Adam and I do not lie to one another but at this point I have no choice.

“Yes!” I force myself to sound light-hearted but Adam knows me too well and his eyes narrow suspiciously.

“What’s going on, Paige?”

“Nothing!” I shake my head nonchalantly as though I have no idea what he is talking about, praying that he buys my act. “What do you mean?”

He regards me doubtfully for a moment and then his features relax and he throws his arm around my shoulders.

“Nothing, babe, sorry,” he waves cheerily to the nurse behind the counter who gives us a knowing smile and waves back. We take the elevator down to the main reception and I spend the short trip down praying that the determined nurse is not waiting to pounce as soon as the doors open.

I’m in luck; no-one stops us as we head out of the automated doors and into the parking-lot.

“The car’s not too bad but we won’t get it back for at least a week,” Adam comments as we head for the street but I'm not paying too much attention. It doesn’t take too long to hail a cab and I begin to relax slightly, as we get further and further away from the hospital.

“What happened, Paige?” Adam asks suddenly and I turn to look at him, taking in every detail of his exquisite face. I will not lose him I promise myself.

“What do you mean?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“The accident?” he prompts.

“Oh!” I shake my head, brushing aside his concern, “it was an accident, Adam, these things happen. We’re fine.”

“But I had a blackout. I figured one of the alters was back?” he muses. I contemplate this for only a fraction of a second and then the lies pour out of my mouth.

“You figured right, babe; it was Simon. I spoke to Carl while you were in Radiology and he said that sometimes there may be some lingering of alters after the reliving of the trauma; the stress of uncovering the truth sometimes stirs things up a bit, but he also says that although the result might not always be instantaneous, it shouldn’t take long for things to settle down and for Simon to integrate.” I beam up at him encouragingly and, to my disbelief, he nods his head, seemingly unconcerned.

“Well,” he smiles tiredly, “we’ve waited this long I guess we can afford to wait a few more days.”

“Exactly!” I proclaim, relieved that he has so easily believed my feeble story. I feel my face flush red with shame but I turn to gaze out of the window, my mind racing, trying to come up with a plan to save Adam; to save myself.

“But Paige,” he adds, sounding serious and I reluctantly turn back to face him. To my surprise he is grinning, “I think maybe you should do the driving from now on.” He winks, and I laugh, my laughter sounding forced even to my own ears, but Adam pulls my head onto his shoulder, affectionately ruffling my hair. I listen to the steady drum of his heart beating and I try to justify what I’m about to do.

Chapter 27

As soon as we enter the apartment I head straight for my laptop, scouring the internet until I find what I am looking for.  I book two tickets to Dublin departing tomorrow, and I book us a week’s stay in what appears to be a charming Guest House. I'm not sure why I chose Ireland.  Maybe it's morbid curiosity, perhaps it's just that I know it will be easier to convince Adam if he has the added lure of finding out more about his origins.  Either way, I have absolutely no intention of letting Adam discover the truth in Ireland, but I have every intention of getting him as far away from Lizzy and Carl Sheldon as I can.

I take a much-needed shower leaving Adam watching the game in the lounge.  The sky is dark and gloomy but without a drop of rain and I resent the symbolism.  Something else that I love that is just out of reach. The shower jets revive me but, as I get out of the cubicle, water dripping onto the sodden mat, I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror.  I look pale and tired.  There are dark circles under my eyes and my eyes look hollow and empty.  I grab my make-up bag defiantly and slap on some foundation.  Better.  I add bronzer and a touch of blush, and then I think, why the hell not, and I apply full war-paint, outlining my big brown eyes in black eyeliner, making them appear enormous.  Two layers of mascara finish off the look.  I add a dark, glossy lipstick the color of crushed berries for good measure, and pull a comb through my tangled hair.

I stare at my reflection feeling an angry rage burning in the pit of my stomach and spreading through my entire body.  I am angry at the world, angry at this life and the unfairness of it all.  I am done being nice; I am done being the victim.  I will not lose the thing I love most in this world, not again.  The sexy siren who stares back at me in the mirror raises her ruby lips in a knowing smile and I give a burst of hysterical laughter, wondering if perhaps I am the one with the hidden persona.  I flick off the light as I leave the bathroom, not caring that my clothes are littering the floor and my make-up is scattered all over the dresser.

In the bedroom I rummage through my closet in frustration, searching for the perfect outfit to suit my dark reckless mood.  At the back I discover a little black dress with a high neck at the front and a back so plunging that even the tiny black scrap of lace underwear I am wearing peeks out cheekily.  I do not bother with a bra, my craving for Adam is growing with each second.  I slip my feet into a pair of three-inch heels and I head straight for the lounge, my blood coursing through my body.

Adam does a double-take when I walk into the lounge, a low wolf-whistle emanating from deep in his chest.

“And now?” he asks, his eyes roving my body unashamedly. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Ireland,” I announce, and his eyes widen in surprise. “Tomorrow,” I continue, still advancing on him, feeling desirable and predatory. “But tonight,” I lift the glass of wine that he has poured for me from the table and bring it slowly to my lips, breathing in the aroma and feeling more alive than I have in weeks, “tonight you're not going anywhere,”  I murmur huskily.  I come to a stop as my legs touch his knees. He gazes up at me hungrily, his eyes dark and passionate.  I take another swallow of the wine feeling it warming my body from the inside.  My skin is tingling all over.  I want him to touch me so badly that it hurts. Adam leans forward and I hold my breath in expectation, but he leans deliberately around me and picks up his own glass, bringing it to his mouth, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“What did you have in mind?” he asks deliberately casual, leaning back on the couch.

I don’t say anything. I simply set my glass down on the table beside him and untie the satin ribbon from behind my head.  The soft satin dress slithers down my body like a caress and I feel my nipples harden with desire.  The dress pools at my feet and I kick it aside with one heel.  Adam cannot hide the swift intake of breath as he takes in my black lace underwear and my naked body, the color of caramel.  My body is aching and I shiver in anticipation.  The apartment is warm; Adam must have turned the heating on.  Feeling very empowered, I lift my stiletto-clad foot and place it on his knee, raising my eyebrow in an obvious challenge.  Adam gazes hungrily at my bare leg, and then, infinitely slowly, he raises his hand and touches my foot with one finger.  I feel a jolt of lust but I meet his gaze steadily, daring him to go further.  He runs his finger up my leg, over my knee and up my thigh, and I cannot help myself, I let out a low groan of desire.  Adam smiles up at me through eyes that are heavy-lidded with lust and then he grabs my hips in his strong hands, jerking my body forward and burying his face in my groin.  In an instant the mood changes from seductive to frenzied and I grab fistfuls of his hair, pulling his head even closer, my body on fire.  Adam pulls his head back and, sliding both his hands up the back of my legs, he cups my buttocks, squeezing my flesh.  He sits forward on the chair, his tongue tracing lazy circles on my bare stomach and I tilt my head back, my long dark hair cascading down my back.

“Adam!”  I pant, my eyes glazed with desire.  I have a physical need that is almost painful and only Adam can satisfy it.

He stands suddenly, releasing me, and I stumble backward in confusion.  His arm shoots out to steady me and he takes my hand, jerking me forwards and then spinning me around so that I am standing with my back to him.  He pulls me against his body aggressively and I lean back against him, wishing I could melt into his very skin. He bends his head and nips my earlobe and my knees go weak.  If it weren’t for his strong arms around me, I think I would probably collapse in a heap at his feet.

“What do you want, Paige?” he whispers thickly in my ear and I have to swallow before I can answer him, my throat is so dry with longing.

“You,” I whisper and he jerks me against him.  I can feel the hardness of him behind me and I moan, moving my head from side to side.

“I can’t hear you, Paige,” he coaxes, his hands moving slowly up and down my quivering body.  I feel as though I might explode.

There is no-one else on earth who could make me feel this way.  No-one else I would rather die than be without.  This is what I am fighting for.  Adam is not a figment of someone else’s sick imagination, he is a man – flesh and blood and heat and he belongs to me.  I give a primal growl of possession and twist around to face him, a predatory smile on my face.

“I said,” I speak clearly and with purpose, stepping quickly forward to nip his lip with my teeth before I lean back and meet his surprised gaze, “I - want - you.”

Passion flares once more in his eyes and I push him forcefully back onto the sofa.  Without a moment’s hesitation I step forward and up onto the sofa, placing one foot on each side of Adam, then I drop to my knees so I am straddling him.  It is like setting a match to kindling and passion explodes between us.  Adam’s mouth, tongue and teeth kiss, nip and sear my naked skin and our breathing becomes more and more gasping.  Adam flings me off him, leaving me lying on the couch, my hand over my chest, as he unzips his jeans and drops them at his feet.  It is only a moment that he is gone but I feel cold and empty in that short space of time.  And then he is back and our bodies are pressing and pounding against each other; it is rough and the most unbearable, beautiful pain I have ever experienced.  I cry out as my body finally reaches its peak, shuddering, over and over again, and Adam’s gorgeous face moving above me is the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Chapter 28

By the time we board the plane the next day my body is feeling slightly battered and bruised but absolutely sated, and I have had three missed calls from Bill Morris and two from Doctor Sheldon.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”  Adam gestures at the ringing phone but I turn it on silent and smile up at him.

“Nope.  No intrusions, no distractions.”  I rise up onto my toes and plant a kiss on his mouth, not caring who is watching.  “We're on holiday Mr Parker.”

The flight is seven hours and by the time we arrive in Dublin I am exhausted.  It is raining, which is not in itself a surprise; Ireland is known for its year-round rain, but February is known as the driest month of the year.  The temperature is similar to what we left behind in Manhattan and I am grateful for my coat.

We hire a car and it only takes us 40 minutes to reach the quaint Guest House.  Ireland is breathtaking. The unspoiled countryside and the beauty of the rolling hills and glistening lakes takes my breath away.  I can sense that Adam, beside me, is taking everything in and I wonder what he must be thinking.  For the first time I wonder if this was a good idea.  I want to get away from the truth and yet here we are, right where it all began.  No!  I push the thought aside.  I knew getting Adam here would be the easiest way out of the States but I have no intention of letting him discover my awful secret.

“It’s so beautiful,” I murmur and he smiles at me in that secret way of his.

“This was a great idea, Miss Petrova.”

“I’m full of them,” I reply boastfully.

Mr and Mrs O’Reilly, who own and operate O’Reilly’s Guest House, are friendly and fun and are everything I had expected.  Both red-haired and green-eyed, in their mid-50s, they are jovial and funny and they keep us entertained throughout dinner.  We are the only guests until the weekend and they welcome us in true Irish tradition. We are soon sitting around a fire in the main house, drinking Guinness, and being plied with Irish Stew which is delicious.  I draw the line at black pudding, but Adam, embracing his newly discovered Irish heritage, braves his way through an enormous helping.

Adam and Mr O’Reilly are soon waxing lyrical over all things Irish and I smile behind my glass feeling ridiculously content.

“That’s Arthur Guinness talking,” Shannon O’Reilly stage whispers to me and Mr O’Reilly’s head comes up, eyeing us narrowly. “You must excuse Conor, he’s a bit of a lush,” she continues, a twinkle in her green eyes.

“Lay off woman!” he addresses his wife, winking at me. “I’m just living...”

“The life of Reilly... yea, yea...” she finishes his sentence fondly.  “That’s his favorite saying,” she explains to me, “although, God alone knows what he would have said if we were called the Durkins.”  She gives a tinkling laugh and we all join in.

Adam and I are staying in a delightful cottage only a short way from the main house.  After all the food and drink I am feeling full and very sleepy and I head out to the cottage, looking forward to resting my head on the fluffy white feather pillows.  Adam lets me go on ahead, he is being very cloak-and-dagger and wants to speak with our hosts in private.  I smile sleepily at him; I know Adam, he is no doubt planning on surprising me with some sight-seeing tomorrow.

“Don’t be too long,” I call, as I make my way down the moss-covered pathway.

Once in the cottage I do not even have the energy for a shower and I pull on my PJs, slip between the covers and heave a sigh of contentment as I close my eyes hoping Adam will not be too long.

I wake in the morning to the sounds of Adam taking a shower.   Feeling ridiculously at peace I take off my pyjamas and slip into the bathroom.  Seeing Adam’s lean, bronzed body through the frosted glass is too much for me and, without so much as a second thought, I open the door and step in beside him.

“Good morning beautiful,” he croons and I smile lazily as he soaps up the sponge.

“May I have the honour?” he asks, his brow raised, holding the sponge up and out of the deluge.

“Absolutely,” I murmur, stepping forward and letting the hot water rain down on me.  His lips meet mine and the sponge drops to the floor, forgotten.

Half an hour later, dressed and holding hands, we make our way back down the path toward the main house.  I can smell the bacon from here and I laugh up at Adam.

“I am going to get so fat here,” I moan and Adam ruffles my hair.  His sky-blue sweater brings out the light in his eyes.  He is ridiculously good-looking I think to myself, wondering how on earth I was lucky enough to be the one that he picked.  No sooner has the thought crossed my mind than I feel a pang of guilt.  You weren’t, a small voice in my head reminds me and I see a beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed, angelic face in my mind.  Lizzy.  He actually chose Lizzy.  I brush the thought aside, pushing back the guilt and I lean into Adam, letting his warmth and his strength ease my conscience.

When we enter the kitchen Mr and Mrs O’Reilly beam at the two of us, but I cannot miss the secret look that passes between Adam and Mrs O’Reilly.  Looking between them, I frown.

“Am I missing something?”  I ask and Mrs O’Reilly waves her dishcloth at me.

“Pah!  Nothing child, don’t be ridiculous.  Now come and sit down and have some brekkie, you need some fattening up.  Skin and bone, ye are.”

“I told you!” I whisper to Adam as we enter the dining-room and he chuckles, pulling back a chair for me.

After breakfast, feeling about 20 pounds heavier, we make our way into the garden.

“What would you like to do today?”  He asks, and I shrug, feeling relaxed and content.

“Let’s do some sightseeing,” he suggests.

We say goodbye to our hosts, and set off in our hire car, towards the beach.  The day is mild, and as we walk along the sandy strip, I close my eyes, picturing in my head that we are back in California, walking along Long Beach.  It is such a simple, normal image, what every girl wants, to be with the man that she loves, why does it have to be impossible for me.

We walk down to the shore, letting the icy water gush over our feet.  Adam spots a lone canoeist out at sea and he raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“Not today,” I smile sadly, and a frown crosses over his face.  It is not like me to miss the opportunity to do something fun.  I sigh softly, wishing I could explain, that I could share reason for my sadness.

We spend most of the day at the beach, enjoying the sun and the sand.  By the time we reach the car, my hair is a windswept mess and Adam laughs at my feeble attempts to untangle it using my fingers.  Back in the Guest House garden, we stop and take a moment to just enjoy the scenery.  It is so beautiful; a green oasis surrounded by a low stone wall.  The grass is so soft and so thick it looks like a carpet.  I swing around, my arms out, laughing as I did when I was a child.  Stopping, I find Adam is regarding me fondly, love shining in his eyes.

“Let’s stay forever,” I say, wishing that we could.

“Paige,” his face is suddenly serious and, as he approaches, my heart lurches in my chest not knowing what to expect.  I don’t say a word, not releasing the breath I am holding until he reaches me and his arms come around me.  I gaze up at him, wonderingly.

“Paige,” he begins again, sounding slightly unsure of himself, “you're everything I want in this life,” he continues and I smile in relief.  “You're the only person I've ever loved, the only person I'll ever love.  You've stood beside me through the most unimaginable, stressful time in my life and you've never faltered.  Without you I'd be lost,” his voice breaks and I reflect on the journey that has brought us here, seeing it through his eyes, believing that it is almost over.

Looking back, I should have seen it coming, but, as it was, I was so distracted by the fear of the secret that I was keeping that he took me by complete surprise with his next words.

“I want to marry you Paige. Here; now; in Ireland.”

I am so shocked that I take an involuntarily step backward.  Adam looks so hurt and so fearful of rejection that I immediately step closer to him and take his hand, reassuringly, but before I can speak he does.

“I know it’s sudden and I’m sure you want your family with you, but I just think that this,” he gestures at the garden with a sweep of his arm, “this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.  I’ve spoken to the O’Reilly’s; they’ve had loads of weddings here; they can arrange the whole thing.”  He smiles down at me, “All you have to do is get yourself a dress?”  He lets the question hang and I consider my options.

How can I possibly marry a man against his will?  Simon hates me.  This would be the lowest, most dreadful thing I could do to him.  It takes away his free will.  But Simon isn’t here.  Adam is here. Adam is the one who is asking me this beautiful question and looking down at me with all the love in the world reflecting in his eyes.  And I can’t tell him the truth.  I can’t lose him.  I think of the new, ever-increasingly frantic messages from Carl Sheldon that have been coming through on my phone, messages that I am hiding from Adam.

I think of my father and what he would think, what advice he would give me and I can almost hear his voice in my head, “Tell the truth, Paige.”  I think of Kevin, of how much he loved me and yet his voice joins my father's, “Tell the truth, Paige.”  I think of my mother and the earful she would give me if she knew what I was considering.  No! I force them all from my mind and I focus only on what is right in front of me. I think of Adam, of our journey and our past, of the future that we could have together. Why is what I want so very, very wrong?  It’s like the universe is plotting against me, like nothing I want or need matters. I feel like I am living in some higher power’s idea of a sick, sick joke. I shake my head sadly, knowing that what I am about to do, what I have to do, will alter the course of our lives forever, and unwillingly, a tear tracks its way down my cheek. Adam cradles my face in his strong hands, his thumb wiping it away, his eyes searching mine for the cause of my despair.

“Paige?” he asks, panic marring his features, and I clear my throat, nodding my head determinedly and lifting my face to meet his.

“Yes, Adam,” I murmur, shutting my eyes and clearing my head of all the reasons why I should not be doing this. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Chapter 29

Within 24 hours preparations are in full swing.  Mrs O’Reilly has proven herself a force to be reckoned with.  She has thrown herself into the wedding planning with full Irish gusto and by Thursday the sweet, wonderful garden has been transformed.  There is a gorgeous, ornate, Celtic wedding arch and a few quaint wooden benches lined up for the few guests who are due in this evening.  This morning she ferried me into town and I chose a simple, white dress with delicate white straps and a long, floaty, soft skirt and a gorgeous silk wrap to ward off the evening chill.  White beaded sandals were the only other accessory; I politely declined the gorgeous, delicate silver cross that the saleslady tried to sell me, thinking that God might not take kindly to being so obviously included in my hypocrisy.

Adam is like a man possessed.  He is so obviously delighted and his happiness is so infectious that I find my spirits lifting just being around him and I have convinced myself that everything is going to be okay.  Simon is not around to enjoy his own life so why shouldn’t Adam be allowed to make the most of it?   If Simon lacked the gumption to fight why should we suffer for it?

On Thursday morning, at Mrs O’Reilly’s insistence, we head out for some sightseeing.  As our little car ambles through the glorious countryside, I navigate the winding, rustic road, Adam directing.  His eyes scan the road-map, one hand resting lightly on my knee and I almost manage to forget the terrible truth.  I find myself imagining Adam and I growing old together in this gorgeous setting, maybe running our own little bed and breakfast or farming cows or sheep.  Whatever, I think, making a mental note to brush up on some Irish trivia.  Once we reach Dublin we program the GPS and head for Dublin Castle.  I am eager to see it; I have never been to a real castle before.

“There’s no moat,” are the first words out of my mouth as we stand before Dublin Castle.  Adam laughs at my obvious disappointment.

“It’s not a castle in the traditional sense, babe,” he says, a twinkle in his eye, “all the buildings have been modified and restored.”  He gazes up at the collection of buildings thoughtfully.

“You read the guide book didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he admits, offering me his arm.

Despite the lack of a moat the castle is amazing.  It is more a collection of 18th century administration buildings than a castle, but it is steeped in history and is well worth the trip.  We take in the Chapel Royal, famous for its vaulting, its fine plaster decorations and its carved oaks. Next to it I admire the Record Tower; the sole surviving tower of the medieval castle which goes some way to appeasing my craving for a traditional castle.  We spend over an hour in the Garda Museum where I am fascinated by the antiquated REWARD posters and, much to Adam’s dismay, I become obsessive about reading each one in detail.

“Come on, Paige,” he whines, tugging my hand and eventually I let him lead me back out into the grounds.  The Revenue Museum is boring; I really don’t want to know about old Irish taxes, so we sneak out halfway through the guide’s long-winded and slightly nasal rhetoric.  Giggling, we emerge into the sunshine and Adam pulls me behind one of the smaller buildings into a cobbled lane.

Pushing my hair back behind my ears, he lowers his head, a wicked gleam in his eyes and slowly brings his lips to mine.  Bad idea, I think, my body responding, as always, to Adam’s touch.  I curl my fingers in his hair and arch my body up to meet his, standing on my toes.

“Excuse me!” a loud, disapproving voice booms from behind me and I bury my face in Adam’s shirt, not wanting to meet the eye of the furious castle official.

“Sorry,” Adam grins up at him, looking anything but, and I giggle nervously, scampering past the indignant man and rejoining the group, catching the end of the duties and tariffs presentation.

We have a leisurely lunch at The Silk Road Café which is situated in the Chester Beatty Library where I dine on the most delectable red snapper.  Adam tucks into his Lebanese chicken and I laugh, asking him why he is forsaking his Irish heritage.  The wicked gleam in his eye and his casual observation that “I'm going to pay for that later,” leaves me breathless with anticipation and quite ready to head home.  After lunch we just manage to catch the last guided tour of the State Apartments and the Medieval Undercroft but throughout the tour my body feels as though I am on a slow boil and Adam continually fans my desire, grazing my breast when he leans across me, stroking the inside of my arm as he guides me down the stairs, and sending me dark, meaningful glances which have my insides squirming.  If I wasn’t so scared of being stumbled upon, I would jump his bones down here in the musty dark of the undercroft.

By the time we make our way back to our little rental car my body is on high alert, conscious of every move that Adam makes and I cannot even look at him.  He seems to sense this and he deliberately brushes the bare skin of my back under my lemon-yellow, angora cardigan as he helps me into the car.  Raising his brows at me in open invitation, he whistles casually as he makes his way around the car and gets into the passenger seat.   With an almost frantic desire to get home, I test the little Fiesta’s limits as I soar through the countryside, not taking a thing in and Adam chuckles knowingly under his breath.

Twenty minutes later I howl in frustration and bang the steering-wheel; a short, sharp blare of the horn emanating from the little car.  The enormous black and white cow standing next to my window raises her head and observes me with huge brown eyes and I fight the urge to snap at her. Adam is having hysterics next to me, tears pouring from his eyes.  The herd of cattle has all but surrounded our car and no amount of honking or yelling has so much as budged them.

“This is ridiculous!” I moan; winding down my window and, engaging in act which is the height of futility, roaring at the enormous female on my right, “Move, you stupid cow!”  She regards me steadily, her mouth chewing on a clump of grass, and then, with a gentle low, she slowly turns herself around so that I am treated to the sight of her backside.  I don’t believe this is happening!

I turn to Adam who is still laughing, perfectly relaxed and at ease, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“You find this very funny, don’t you,” I accuse and he grins at me.

“I see this as an opportunity Paige,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“An opportunity for what?”  I ask, baffled.  “We can’t go anywhere.  And how long do you think we can just sit here, doing nothing?”

His raises his hand and, ever so slowly, he takes hold of the zipper of my cardigan pulling it down slowly, his fingers tickling my chest and my eyes widen in understanding.

“As long as it takes Paige,” he murmurs, leaning forward over the gear-shift and kissing me with a passion that has been building all day.

“Oh!” I sigh against his mouth, catching the cow’s baleful eye as she turns her head to glare back at me.  “That’s what you get,” I pull a tongue at her before Adam claims my mouth once more and I forget everything else but him.

By the time we are finished the windows have completely misted up and when I use my sleeve to clear a circle on the windshield I see that the cattle are gone.   The mist is picking up too. I start the engine and we make our way back considerably more slowly, partly because of the mist, and partly because my original sense of urgency has been sated.  We pass close by another herd of cattle and Adam clicks his tongue in mock-annoyance that they are not blocking our path.  We get back to the Guest House and more delicious home-cooked fare, then we head down the mossy path together, under cover of the beautiful starry night and I wonder if life could possibly be any more beautiful than this.

The only dark clouds hanging over my head are the incessant, unanswered calls from Carl Sheldon.  By Friday evening I cannot ignore him any longer and, excusing myself from the jovial, pre-wedding dinner for a moment, I make my way down to the cottage, determined to finally get him off my back.

I sit on the comfortable bed regretting that Adam will not be sharing it with me tonight. Every minute without him is agony but Mrs O’Reilly has very strong views about the bride and groom not seeing one another on the wedding day, so Adam has been relegated to the Manor house for this evening.  Mr O’Reilly has taken a paternal shine to Adam, so it appears, and seems intent on teaching Adam to drink like an Irishman.  The O’Reilly’s have no children of their own though not for lack of trying.  Mrs O’Reilly suffered eight heart-breaking miscarriages before they finally conceded that it was not to be and decided that God must have a different plan for them.  It still doesn’t stop them from their parental fussing over their guests.  I think the guest house is a way for them to fill the void and gives them the opportunity to take care of people.  Privately, I think Adam is loving it.  He certainly seems to have developed a penchant for Irish beer.

I pick up my cell phone.  Unsurprisingly there is a new missed call from Carl.   I glance at the clock display; it is almost 7 p.m. so only 2 in the afternoon in New York.  Taking a deep breath I hit the call button.

“Paige!”  Carl sounds frantic and I wince; Carl is never panicked, worried or rushed.  He is the most steadfast person I have ever met.

“Hi Carl,” I try to sound as casual and unconcerned as possible, “What’s up?”

There is an interminable silence and I can sense that he is choosing his words carefully.  Carl is not one to blow up and he never speaks without thinking.  I have always admired his restraint in this regard.

“What are you doing?” he sounds tired, and, more worryingly, resigned.

“What do you mean?”  I ask lightly.

“Paige, I went to the hospital when I heard about the accident.  I wanted to check up on you.   I bumped into Lizzy,” he sighs, “Simon didn’t integrate.” There is so much meaning conveyed in those three little words but I choose to feign ignorance.

“No, he didn’t,” I say breezily, “it’s probably going to take a bit more time.  I was going to call you, but Adam and I, well, we both needed a bit of a break.”

Carl Sheldon is silent for so long that I think perhaps our connection has been lost and then I hear him heave a deep breath.

“I spoke to Bill Morris, Paige,” he sighs, and it hits me like a shot in the heart.  He knows.  Carl continues unaware of the anxiety attack that I'm having, “Now just tell me where you are.”

“Why?” it is barely more than a whisper but he hears me.

“You know why.”

“No!” My voice is much louder, more forceful.

“Paige,” Carl’s voice has taken on the gentle timbre that one would use to soothe a young child, “he has to integrate.  We have to finish this.”

“I can’t!”  I sob; I don’t want to hear any more.

“I know how hard this must be on you but you have to do the right thing.  I think you know that?” he prods and I wipe away my tears, angrily.

“You know what I know, Carl?”  I hiss his name into the phone.  “I know that I'm happy.  Adam is happy.  Oh, and Simon Harris is an asshole,” I add for good measure.

“That’s your opinion Paige,” he says, not unkindly.

“No, it’s not!” I choke out, “it’s a fact!  And he doesn’t want his life, Doc!  He never wanted it; not since he was a child.  Adam fought for his existence and he won!  Doesn’t he deserve to enjoy the spoils?”

“Adam is a coping mechanism,” he chides gently.

“Adam is a man!”  I yell, “he’s real, Carl.  A real person!  You're the one who kept explaining that to me, remember!”

“I do, Paige and you’re right, Adam is real... to Adam.  And obviously to you.  But Simon Harris is the rightful owner of that body and he needs to get it back.”

“Go to hell!”  I hiss, wiping more tears from my face.  Carl is silent for a long, thoughtful moment and when he speaks again he sounds saddened but firm.

“Paige, if you don’t get him back here by the end of the weekend I’ll have to go to the police.” There is an awful pause, and then, “I’ll have no choice but to have you cited for kidnapping.” I recoil at his words; the true realisation of the consequences of my actions dawning on me. I had not given any thought to the legal implications. I did not think I would ever need to concern myself with these; nobody was ever supposed to know what I had done.  Damn Lizzy!  Damn Simon for calling her!  “Please,” Carl continues, “bring him back.  Do the right thing.”  There is another pause and then, “I’m so sorry.”  The line goes dead and I am left holding the phone, wondering what on earth I can do to stop my world from imploding.

I hear the front door slam and I quickly stow the cell phone in my handbag, wiping my face with the sleeve of my sweater and forcing a smile onto my face, which turns out to be a pointless exercise as it is Simon and not Adam who stalks through the bedroom door.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, his features distorted in an angry snarl. I stand abruptly, my eyes darting back toward the door, terrified that Mr and Mrs O’Reilly may be just behind him.  “I wouldn’t tell those people anything,” he answers my unspoken question angrily and I breathe a sigh of relief.  “Are they in on it Paige?” he demands and I realise that the reason he wouldn’t confide in the O’Reillys is that Simon doesn’t like anyone.  He is instinctively and naturally distrustful.

“No,” I shake my head, stammering, “they don’t know anything.  Please,” I add, desperately, “please don’t say anything to them.”  The thought of the wonderful couple being dragged into this sordid mess fills me with dread after everything they have done for Adam and I.  A smug smile crosses Simon’s face, and, too late, I realise I have given him a weapon to use against me.

“You will call off this disgusting charade of a wedding,” he spits out the word, “immediately; or I will go outside and tell everyone what a revolting, despicable human being you really are!”

I close my eyes and hang my head in defeat.  Simon holds all the cards. There is nothing for it but to do as he says.  I hate him, I realise.  I hate him for being him and not Adam.  For one crazy moment I long for Kyle or even Jacob.  Both of them I could have dealt with; I had come to care for them both.  But Simon!  Despicable, revolting, inflexible Simon!

Heaving a sigh I stand, resisting the urge to slap the smug smile off Simon’s face.

“I hate you,” I mutter as I pass him, but typically he doesn’t stoop to my level and just ignores me.  I have lost, Simon has won and he knows it.  My charade is over.   Shoulders stooped, I make my way up the moss-covered path, feeling like I'm bearing the weight of the world on my shoulders.  I do not cry, I refuse to give him that satisfaction.  I can hear his footfalls just behind me and I can just imagine how much he is enjoying this.  Just as we are about to exit the tree-lined path into the beautifully prepared garden I feel his hand on my shoulder.  I whirl around, shocked that he has dared to touch me.

“Paige, where are you going?”  Adam’s gentle voice asks and I feel my legs collapse beneath me.

Chapter 30

I sob myself into oblivion; the sodden feather pillow my only ally.  Adam accepted my feeble excuse that I was just upset about Simon appearing the night before my big day but I could see that he didn’t really believe me.  It is the first time that he knows I am not being entirely truthful and it pains me to see the reproach in his blue eyes.  Mr O’Reilly soon hauled him off and I retired to the cottage to lick my wounds and cry myself to sleep.

A sharp rapping on the door interrupts my self-absorbed breakdown and I sit up, sniffing.  I glance at the bedside clock, it is only 8 pm. We all enjoyed an early supper and parted company.  Not wanting Adam to see me like this, I quickly splash my face with cold water in the bathroom and then I try and compose myself as best I can.  Before I can get to the door there is another knock, louder this time.

“Coming,” I call, which is completely unnecessary as I open the door only a second later.  Shannon O’Reilly beams at me, her hands full.  She is carrying a wicker basket, a hairdryer and three enormous, flower-patterned cosmetic bags.

“Mrs O’Reilly!”  I exclaim, wiping my eyes frantically, “What... what are you doing here?”  She ignores the question taking in my swollen eyes and red face.

“What on earth is the matter, child?” she asks, stepping into the cottage and closing the door behind her, concern etched on her kind, round face.  I sniff and force a smile onto my own face.

“It’s nothing,” I reply, trying to pretend that everything is okay.

“Oh Blarney!” she declares, setting down her basket and other items and turning to face me.  “You’ve got a face on you like a well-slapped baby’s backside!”

I turn to the mirror in the hall and I laugh humourlessly.  She is right.  My face is red and blotchy and my eyes are so swollen they are practically sealed shut.  I ball my fists in my eyes and cry out in frustration and despair.

“Oh, Paige!” she grabs me by the arm and steers me from the hall into the kitchen.  ‘Sit,” she orders, pushing me gently into one of the wicker chairs surrounding the scrubbed wooden table.  After a minute or two, during which I hear her fetching her basket and bags and the kitchen tap running, she is back with a cool, damp face-cloth.  I hear the screech of a chair on the tiled floor and then she sits down, facing me.

“Look at me lass,” her voice is gentle but authoritative and I lift my face to meet her steady gaze.  Clicking her tongue, she sets about cleansing my face, wiping away all traces of my tears. I sit like a child, completely still and let the human contact soothe me.  Eventually she ceases her ministrations and I have no choice but to open my eyes and face her.  She regards me intently for a moment before she speaks.

“Out with it lass.  It’ll do you far more harm in than out, trust me.”  Taking a huge, shaky breath I nod in agreement.  It is time to unburden my secret, I cannot carry it alone for a minute longer.

It takes almost an hour to get it all out and Shannon O’Reilly does not say a word the entire time.  As hard as it is to admit the horror of what I’ve done, a part of me feels nothing but relief at getting it off my chest.  When I am done, the tears fall freely and she holds me in her arms, stroking my hair and whispering sweet Irish words of comfort until eventually my tears run dry and I find the courage to look up and meet her gaze.

Surprisingly, I do not see condemnation or judgement in her wise green eyes.  Instead, she stands briskly, patting my shoulder.

“I think it’s high time for a cup of tea Paige,” she says, and then sets about making a pot.  Only once we are both seated again, a cup of steaming brew clasped in our hands, does she continue.

“Well it’s a right mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” she smiles sadly, sympathy shining in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” I begin, but she cuts me short.

“Well, of course you didn’t!” she exclaims, as though the very idea is absurd.  “But what’s done is done Paige.  It’s where you go from here that matters.”

I take a sip of tea, the liquid warming me from the inside.  I suddenly wish Adam was here, holding me in his arms and reassuring me that everything is going to be okay.

“What should I do?” I plead.  I'm so lost and I feel so out of my depth. I almost wish my own mother was here to take this burden from my shoulders.  Even more so, I miss my father and his sage advice.  He would know exactly what to say, how to help me.

“I think you already know the answer to that question, dear,” Mrs O’Reilly answers and I close my eyes.  Of course I do.  I have known since the moment I realised that Adam didn’t really exist.

“I have to tell him,” I breathe, the tears welling up fresh in my eyes.

“Yes, Paige,” she confirms gently, “you have to tell him the truth.”

“He’ll die,” I whisper, speaking the words out loud for the first time and she takes my hand, squeezing it gently, but she doesn’t contradict me.  I put my hands to my temples, pressing against the pressure points, trying in vain to eliminate the tension headache that has been building for days and has now reached its peak.  Dropping my hands I nod determinedly.

“Okay.”  My voice sounds stronger than I expected.  “You’re right, I have to tell Adam the truth.  I need to get him back to LA and to Doctor Sheldon.”  I stand abruptly, almost knocking over my chair in my haste.

“Heaven’s child!” Mrs O’Reilly exclaims, “Where on earth are you going?”

“To find him,” I answer obviously.

“What for?”

“To tell him the truth, what else?”  I ask, wondering if perhaps Shannon O’Reilly has been hitting the Guinness too.

“Why would you possibly do it right now, Paige, it’s the eve of your wedding?  Of Adam’s wedding,” she sounds horrified and I open my arms wide in bewilderment.

“Mrs O’Reilly, haven’t you heard anything I’ve just told you?  I have to tell him the truth.  Tonight.  I can’t marry Adam; he doesn’t exist!” To my surprise a small smile lifts the corner of her mouth and she looks almost smug.

“Exactly!” she declares triumphantly and I sit back down, intrigued.

Frustratingly, I have to wait for her to fetch her basket and all her bags which she dumps unceremoniously on the kitchen table before she continues.

“Let’s get started,” she beams, opening the various packages to reveal an enormous assortment of skin and hair care products, make-up, hairdryer, brushes and combs.

“Started on what?” I ask, mystified as to where she could possibly be going with this.

“Preparing you for your wedding day, of course!” She sounds so convincing that it takes me a minute to find my voice.  Feeling once again as though I've entered the twilight zone, I hesitate before finding my voice, but before I can say anything, she dons a floral apron and takes me by the shoulders.

“Paige,” she begins, looking me straight in the eye, “you're right.  You need to tell Adam the truth and then you need to let him go.  Simon needs to be able to live his life as hard as that may be for you to accept.  But,” she smiles suddenly, completely disarming me and the argument that is on the tip of my tongue is silenced instantly, “if Adam is going to die, then why not give him this last gift?  He loves you, any fool can see that.  He is so looking forward to the wedding; marrying you is everything to him.  So why not go through with it?  Let him enjoy this one day with you before you have to tell him that his whole life is a farce.”

“But it would be illegal!” I protest.  “I can’t marry someone against their will!  Simon would have me arrested the second he gets back or worse!”  I can’t even think of Simon without feeling sick to my stomach and it shows on my face.  Mrs O’Reilly pats my knee, a knowing smile on her kind, open face.

“Simon would never know, Paige,” she murmurs, “and as to the legalities, this marriage will only be a marriage in your heart and Adam's.  The ceremony won't be binding in the eyes of the law.  It won’t be recognised as a proper union.  You won’t even need to get an annulment or a divorce.  The only record will be the memories that you carry with you after Adam is gone.”

I cock my head to one side contemplating this.  She is right, I realise, hope flaring again in my chest.  Shannon O’Reilly grins at me.

“You’re right,” I breathe.

“I usually am, love,” she boasts.  “Although Conor wouldn’t admit it even if his life depended on it,” she frowns before continuing. “The love that the two of you share is special, Paige.  I've seen more couples come through this place than I can count and I've never seen two that are so perfect for each other, so in tune with each other’s needs.  I can’t begin to imagine how hard this must be for you; the least you deserve is to enjoy this wedding. You deserve it.  Both of you do.”

I take a deep breath.

“Shall we get started?” I ask, gesturing at the mish-mash of items cluttering up the table. She rubs her hands together excitedly.

“Let’s make you a bride!”

Chapter 31

I wake up slowly, stretching my arms and legs luxuriously.  There is a calming drumming noise that I can’t quite place and I burrow deeper under the covers, about to go back to sleep before I realise what it is, and I throw off the covers, jump from the bed and rush to the window.  It’s raining!  It’s pelting down; so hard that I cannot even see the main house.  I clutch myself delightedly.  It’s like a good omen; and for the first time I feel that I am truly making the right decision.   Pushing aside any nerves and reservations, I tell myself that today I will do the thing that scares me the most; terrifies and exhilarates me, scares me to death, and at the same time makes me feel more alive than I ever have before.  And the rain just makes it so right and so perfect.  I smile, thinking that most bridal couples would curse a rainy wedding day.  It just goes to show that Adam and I are hardly a normal bride and groom.  I am fairly certain that there has never been anything like us before.

I spend almost an hour in the bath scrubbing my skin until it is red and tingling.  I shave my legs and put a calming mask on my face.  Eventually I let out the water and step into a cool shower to wash all the remnants of soapy water from my body. My toenails are painted a gorgeous, muted coral and my fingernails are beautifully french-manicured, courtesy of Mrs O’Reilly’s ceaseless beauty regime last night.  As if on cue there is a knock at the door, and, without waiting for an answer, she bustles in looking delightful in a beautiful sage green skirt and matching jersey top.

“I hope you’re decent Paige!” she calls over her shoulder as she shuts the door.

“I am,” I laugh, safely ensconced in my gown.  “I was just going to make a cup of tea, would you like one?”

“Pish-tosh love!” she scolds, “I’ll make the tea, you go and sit down and relax.  It’s your big day after all!”

I flop onto the sofa, putting my warm, slipper-clad feet up onto the coffee table.  At some point during my self-indulgent bath it has stopped raining.  Oh well, at least I won’t need an umbrella for my walk down the aisle.

“How’s Adam?”  I ask as she pours the tea and she beams up at me.

“Oh, he’s full of the joys of spring, as you can well imagine!” she says. “And doesn’t he clean up nicely?  He’s a fine thing, your Adam,” she concludes and I smile proudly at the compliment.

“Right,” she sets the tea down in front of me and takes a minute to look me over.  “Time to get started, I think,” she glances at her wristwatch and I can see her doing the mental calculation in her head.  “We have plenty of time,” she adds, “but we don’t want to be rushing.”

An hour later she finally lets me look into the mirror and I do a double-take.  Any reservations I may have had about allowing Shannon full control over my hair and make-up are forgotten.  The woman is clearly a genius!  My dark hair is pulled back at the nape of my neck and falls in heavy tresses over my left shoulder.  It is braided with wildflowers, an Irish tradition, and a few soft curls frame my face.  My eyes are almost luminous and seem enormous, beautifully shaded in soft taupe and ringed with smoky black kohl.  My lips are painted the same coral as my toes and are finished with a shimmering gloss.  I look amazing, even if I say so myself; serene and wistful and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined possible.

“Oh!”  I whisper, tears springing to my eyes.  Impulsively I turn and throw my arms around Mrs O’Reilly.  “Thank you!” I murmur in her ear, trying to convey all the meaning I can with those two little words.  She laughs, patting my back.

“It’s my pleasure dear,” she mutters before clicking her tongue briskly. “Now!  No crying or you’ll ruin it!”  I step back, taking a huge, calming breath and risk another vain glance in the mirror as she continues, “Let’s get your dress on it’s almost time.”

I leave my shoes off although I don’t dare tell Mrs O’Reilly.  I know I'll never navigate the grassy oasis of the garden even in the low heels and my dress is just long enough that she won’t notice.  The caress of the soft moss on my feet feels wonderful and I really don’t care that the soft hem of the dress is catching on the wildflowers; I'm far too preoccupied with what awaits me. Even the gorgeous, porcelain horseshoe that I'm carrying along with my posy of wildflowers doesn’t seem odd.  This is an Irish wedding after all.  I pause for a moment behind a small copse of trees and Mrs O’Reilly turns to face me.  Nobody is walking me down the aisle; no-one will be giving me away.  I gave myself to Adam a long time ago; I don’t need anyone’s permission or blessing.

“Good luck, Paige,” she whispers, brushing a tear from her eye.  I wish for a second that my own mother was here but Mrs O’Reilly has come to mean so much to me over the past week that the thought is gone almost as quickly.   I blink and she is gone and I am standing alone in the beautiful setting.  I glance up through the trees at the sky and then I hear the first bars of the Irish wedding song. That’s my cue.  It’s time.  I hold my head high, pushing away my nerves as I round the corner.

There are only a handful of people seated on the wooden benches; all of the guest house’s patrons have come out to celebrate with us and a few of the O’Reilly’s friends, including Mr O’Reilly’s uncle Arthur who drinks like a fish and has already fallen over three times since I met him on Wednesday.  I lose my breath as I catch sight of Adam standing under the wedding arch.  He is dressed in a suit, not a kilt, which I must admit I had been seriously worried about and he looks like something out of every girl’s fantasy.  He is so gorgeous, his eyes alive with excitement, gleaming sapphire in his strong, tanned face.  His black hair is not quite as scruffy as usual and he is standing tall and proud.  His face, when he sees me, splits into a dazzling grin and his eyes open wide in wonder.  All my life I have dreamed that a man would look at me the way that Adam is looking at me right now.  It’s as though everything else fades away and it is just him and I; nothing else exists.  My knees go weak with love and I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.  And then, finally, I am standing right in front of him and I reach out my arm, almost to assure myself that he is real.  He does exactly the same and I giggle.

“You're exquisite,” he murmurs touching my face and the Minister clears his throat loudly, bringing us both back into the present.  I tear my eyes from Adam’s face to look at the elderly clergyman and Adam does the same, although throughout the entire ceremony I feel my eyes drawn back to his face.  His voice breaks more than once as he recites his wedding vows, and tears stream down my cheeks as I do the same, inwardly thanking God for Mrs O’Reilly and her waterproof mascara.

Finally I hear the words that I've been waiting for, “You may kiss the bride” and Adam grabs hold of me like a man possessed, dipping me over his knee and kissing me long and hard.  I do not want the moment to end; it is only when the Minister eventually hisses, “that’s quite enough” that we both come up for air; Adam’s throaty laugh warming my already racing heart.

We turn to face the smiling, clapping congregation and I duck as an old shoe comes whizzing over my head.  I turn to face Adam, confusion on my face, and he laughs, pulling me close against him and whispering in my ear, “It’s an Irish thing.”

The ceremony is a riot of colour and music, and of course, Guinness.  Uncle Arthur falls over twice more and Adam doesn’t leave my side, dropping kisses on my bare shoulders and squeezing my waist.  I drink champagne and we dance until my shoeless feet are aching.  Mrs O’Reilly has organised traditional Irish dancers, resplendent in their full regalia, who entertain us with a glorious display and I clap until my hands are red.  When Adam starts murmuring sweet nothings in my ear and I feel my insides squirm in anticipation of my wedding night, I realise it is time for us to take our leave.  I kiss and hug every member of our wedding party, most of whom I do not even know by name, but who already feel like family, having shared this special day with us.  We are already on the mossy path to the cottage when we hear Mrs O’Reilly calling us back and we turn to find her rushing down the path toward us, her beautiful beaded skirt flapping around her ankles. Panting slightly, she holds out a beautifully wrapped silver box.

“Your wedding gift, from the both of us,” she gestures up the path to where Conor O’Reilly is standing, smiling at us knowingly.

“Oh, Mrs O’Reilly, you shouldn’t have!”  I scold. “You've done so much already!”

“It’s tradition, dear,” she smiles knowingly and Adam takes the box as I give her a tight squeeze.

“Thank you for everything,” I whisper in her ear.

“It’s my pleasure,” she smiles and then she takes a step back grinning, “now shoo! I'm sure you have better things to be doing on your wedding night!”  She winks as I blush, and then Adam takes me by the hand and leads me back down the path.

“Paige, wait,” he murmurs as we approach the cottage and I turn to face him expectantly.  “You are...” he trails off, running his gaze up and down my body.  “You're so beautiful it hurts,” he finishes and I smile lazily up at him, curling my arms around his neck and pressing my body against his.

Without warning, he scoops me up in his arms and makes his way to the front door, kicking it open and carrying me over the threshold, my laughter ringing out into the night.

As Adam sets me on my feet and pulls the door shut behind him, I turn and give a gasp of surprise.  There are candles everywhere; hundreds of them, all casting the most gorgeous warm light throughout the room.

“Oh, Adam!”  I breathe, walking further into the room. “It’s so beautiful!”  I exclaim, turning to face him and my heart skips a beat when I see the look on his face.  It is hungry and sexy and I feel my insides go weak.  He advances slowly holding my gaze intensely.  Taking my hand he raises it slowly to his lips then he heads for the bedroom pulling me behind him, his fingers entwined with mine.

The bedroom is also filled with candles flickering on the bedside tables and the dresser.  The room is pristine; there is no sign of the mayhem that I left behind this afternoon getting ready for the ceremony.

“Do you want to take a bath?”  Adam asks, his eyebrow raised, but I shake my head swallowing the lump that has formed in my throat and licking my suddenly dry lips.

“No,” I shake my head at him, “I just want you.”

Adam's eyes are liquid with desire and he needs no further invitation. Taking two strides he stands right in front of me and my body trembles in anticipation.  Dropping a kiss on my shoulder, he puts both hands behind my back and slowly undoes my zipper.  He hooks one finger under the thin strap of my dress and slides it slowly across my shoulder so that it falls down my arm, then he repeats the process on the other side.  The hairs on my neck stand up and my legs feel unsteady.  Slowly, he runs his hands down both of my arms, pulling the straps of my dress with him, so that the bodice peels off of me like a shedding skin.  I am not wearing a bra and Adam draws in a deep, unsteady breath before exhaling.  The air on my naked breasts sends a jolt of lust through my body and my nipples harden with desire.  His hands at my waist give a gentle tug, then my dress is lying discarded and forgotten on the floor at my feet.  Threading his fingers through mine he fastens first one and then the other hand behind my back, his hard torso pressing against mine and grazing my already over-sensitive breasts.  I moan, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt as, leaning forward, I trace a lazy circle on his chest with my tongue, tasting the saltiness of his skin.  Dropping my hands he cups my neck with his hands and lifts my face to his, kissing my mouth softly before opening my lips with his tongue and exploring my mouth more intimately than ever before.  I put my arms around his neck, more for support than anything else, I am so dizzy with lust.  The kiss deepens and a hungry moan emanates from Adam’s chest.  I raise my hands and ease his jacket from his shoulders, dropping it to the ground. Adam's tongue is still exploring; his kisses slow and languorous; there will be no rushing tonight. Tonight we have all the time in the world.

I undo the rest of the buttons of his shirt slowly forcing myself not to hurry, but my body feels like a ticking time bomb; it is taking a huge amount of willpower not to give in to the frantic desire that is beating between my legs and my whole body is trembling with anticipation.  Eventually I ease off his white shirt and feast my eyes on his naked chest, his flat stomach and the fine, dark hair trailing downward below his belt.  His hand cups my breasts and I feel a fire ignite deep in my belly. Taking hold of his leather belt I give a tug towards me and he raises one eyebrow challengingly. I undo his buckle and pull the belt and it slides around his waist, slithering like a snake to the floor. A moment later his pants follow and we are both naked.  The heat that the candles are giving off has warmed the room and I see tiny beads of sweat forming on his bronze chest.

I dip my head and kiss him right over his heart as he runs his fingers up and down my back, gooseflesh rising wherever he touches.  I curl my lips around his nipple and bite down and Adam shudders.  Feeling empowered, I bend my knees, kissing his chest, his flat stomach and burying my face in the soft hair below his navel.

“Paige,” he warns, through clenched teeth, burying his hands in my hair.  I ignore him, moving lower still and taking him in my mouth, kissing and sucking until he suddenly pulls me back, a pained expression on his face.  “You seriously test my self-control love,” he admonishes and then lifts me in his arms and throws me down on the bed.  “My turn,” he adds huskily, and before I can even grasp the meaning of this, his mouth comes down and his lips are at my breast.  I arch up to meet him, his hot, wet tongue lapping and biting at my hypersensitive skin, leaving a blazing trail of heat that moves steadily lower, until I am squirming beneath him in desire.  When he finally lowers his head between my legs I cry out, my hands grabbing fistfuls of the sheets beneath me and my head rolling from side to side.  It feels as though my whole body is on fire and I don’t know whether I can stand it.  I grab Adam’s hair with one hand, pulling at him frantically.

“Please, Adam!” I pant and then he is above me, a maniacal look on his beautiful face, and in one swift movement I feel him inside of me and I let out a moan of pure, unadulterated ecstasy before he is moving and I rise up to meet him, wondering if this is what heaven feels like.

Chapter 32

I can feel Adam’s hand running up and down my spine and I smile, without opening my eyes.

“Good morning, Mrs Parker,” he murmurs in my ear and I open my eyes to smile at him.

“I like the sound of that,” I grin and he smiles back at me.   He lowers his head and kisses me and through the sheets I can feel his arousal.

“How about round two?” he asks and I kiss him hard on the mouth.

“I like the sound of that even more,” I answer, throwing my leg over his body and straddling him.

It is almost lunch time when we finally venture down the cobbled pathway, bow-legged and starry-eyed, unable to keep our hands off one another even for a short period of time.  Mrs O’Reilly makes us a full Irish breakfast, her round face filled with delight, while a knowing smirk plays around Mr O’Reilly’s lips that soon has me blushing.

The rest of the weekend passes without incident, but it is not long before my secret rears its ugly head.  On Sunday afternoon Mr O’Reilly has gone down to the store for supplies as instructed by Shannon and most of the guests had left shortly after lunch to make their way back home.  Adam and I are sitting by a fire drinking red wine while Mrs O’Reilly regales us with stories of previous guests and weddings they have hosted.  Mid-way through a particularly interesting story about a bride whose boyfriend turned up in the middle of her ceremony and challenged the groom to a fist-fight, I see the twitch out of the corner of my eye and my blood runs cold.  Oblivious, Shannon is still speaking when the thunderous voice of Simon rings through the room.

“Why are we still here, Paige!” he yells, standing and throwing the rest of Adam’s wine into a nearby pot-plant.  I cast an anxious glance at his ring finger, feeling an enormous sense of relief that Adam has left his simple gold band in the cottage this afternoon.  It was slightly loose and he was worried he might lose it.  Simon seems to have the same train of thought and he narrows his eyes, bringing his hand up to examine it.  Seemingly satisfied, he rounds on me, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“Well?” he asks, tapping his foot.

I glance across at Shannon whose mouth is wide open in surprise, staring up at Simon in shock.

“Simon, um, I'd like you to meet Shannon O’Reilly; she runs this establishment.  Mrs O’Reilly, this is Simon Harris,” I make the introductions praying that Simon will be polite.  Alas, Simon is no such thing and he ignores Shannon completely.

“Why are we still here?” he demands. “I told you to take me back to Doctor Sheldon, but of course you have absolutely no respect for my wishes.  Just goes to show the kind of person that you are,” the look that he gives me makes it glaringly obvious what he thinks of me and I flush in mortification as he continues, “at least now that we all know the truth we can get rid of that revolting hanger-on!”  His dismissive attitude toward Adam infuriates me and I am on my feet in a flash, but before I can say a word, Mrs O’Reilly cuts across me.

“Now you listen here sonny!” she roars and even Simon flinches, blinking at her in sudden alarm.  “This is my house and ye’ll hold a civil tongue in your mouth or ye’ll be thrown out on yer arse!” she snaps and I beam with pride.  I love how much more pronounced her accent becomes when she is angry and the look on Simon’s face is priceless.

“I beg your pardon?”  Simon draws himself up to his full height trying to regain the upper hand.  Shannon waves her ever-present tea towel at him.

“You heard me!” she shrieks and Simon takes a step backward.

“You don’t understand, Madam.," he begins, obviously realising that he needs to seriously change his tactic if he intends getting Shannon on his side, “this woman has been lying to all of you!  She's not who you think.  She's keeping me a prisoner here against my will.  That man that she's parading around in front of you doesn’t even exist, he’s merely a...” he trails off as he finally catches sight of Shannon’s face.

“I know exactly what's going on here, young man,” she snaps and Simon’s confusion shows on his face. “Paige has told me all about you,” she continues, and Simon looks slightly mollified before her next words sink in, “and it appears you are just as pompous and irritating as she made out!”

“I will not be spoken to like that,” Simon insists, “I want to speak to Doctor Sheldon,” he turns to me and the smile dies on my face. “Now!” he continues and I cringe.  Doctor Sheldon had given me until this evening to get Simon back to the Institute or he would call the police.  Reality asserts itself and comes crashing down around me.  This is the ugly truth.  Adam does not exist.  The revolting man standing in front of me does, and as much as I have loved playing Cinderella, this is not a fairy tale.  The fairy tale has to end.  Tears prick at my eyes and I slowly nod my head.

“I’ll get my phone,” I mumble, stumbling from the room, tears blurring my vision as I make my way down the mossy path wondering at just how far the earth has shifted since last night, when Adam and I walked this path together on the first night of what he believed would be the rest of our lives.  I don’t hesitate; there is no time to dwell on it, I snatch my phone from where I had left it on the rumpled sheets and head straight back.

“Just so you know, I do know that what I'm doing is wrong,” I say as I walk back into the guest house, ignoring Mrs O’Reilly’s frantic hiss of “Paige!”  Determined to get it off my chest for once and for all, I continue, closing the door and staring down at the cell phone that is about to be my undoing.  “I know and I intend to set things right.  But you could never be half the man that Adam is...”

“Paige!”  I cannot ignore her this time and I lift my eyes to stare at her questioningly.  She is standing behind the arm chair near the fire, pointing down at it, and, sitting there, looking confused and slightly afraid, is Adam.

“Paige?”  It is Adam’s voice this time and I freeze, my blood running cold in my veins.

“Adam...” I trail off, replaying what I have just said.  Mrs O’Reilly gives me a sympathetic, teary look, pursing her lips then, turning on her heel she flees into the kitchen her tea towel flapping in her wake.

“Paige, what is going on?” Adam asks and I glance down at the phone.  This is it; I am out of time.  No more play-pretend, no more hiding from the truth.  I pinch the bridge of my nose and then, closing my eyes, I press my fingers into my eye sockets almost painfully, determined that I will not cry.  I will be strong. For once. For Adam.

“Adam, we have to talk.”

“That’s not possible!”  Adam is almost yelling and I take his hand, squeezing it as tightly as I can.

“It is, Adam,” I answer gently.  He jerks his hand out of my grasp and gets to his feet, pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

“Adam...” I begin, but he cuts me off almost immediately,

“No, Paige! No!  This is not okay!  How could you not tell me about this?  How long have you known?”  I don’t answer him and he takes a few quick steps towards me, grabbing me by my shoulders and shaking me back and forth.  “How long?” he yells and I flinch.  I shut my eyes, not wanting to see the hurt and despair in his blue eyes.

“Paige!” he howls and I bite down on my lip, shaking my head.

“I’m so sorry, Adam,” I begin and he lets me go abruptly.  When he speaks again he sounds only moderately calmer.

“I remember so much.  How can I remember so much if it’s not my life?”

“Because you lived most of it,” I answer truthfully.  “Simon must have withdrawn so far after the death of his parents that he was practically non-existent.  He may have been around more often when you were children; it would explain how he spent so much time with Lizzy.”

“Why would I not remember that?”  Adam asks in obvious frustration.

“We have no concept of time in our childhood, Adam.  We measure it from one happy memory to the next.”

“Or one unhappy memory to the next,” he muses and I remember that Adam’s childhood in the orphanage was hardly the stuff fairy tales are made of.  I glance at the old grandfather clock in the hall; we have been talking for over an hour.  Mr O’Reilly returned about half an hour ago but his wife quickly shepherded him from the room, casting an apologetic glance at us over her shoulder.

“I don’t want to go,” Adam whispers catching my eye.  “Please Paige, let’s stay here.  Let’s live our lives, you and me, together, forever.”  He looks so earnest that for a split second I am tempted to just throw myself into his arms and agree.

“We can’t,” I shake my head. I'm starting to feel dizzy. “He won’t let us.”

“He can go to hell!”  Adam yells. “What right does he have to this life?  He hasn’t earned it!”  This is so close to the reasons I used myself to try and justify keeping Simon buried, but I know better now.

“Adam, we have to give him his life back.  We have to go back to Doctor Sheldon,” I pause, knowing that what I am about to say next will be the key to finally convincing him.  A huge part of me wants to stay silent and let him convince me to stay, but deep down I know how wrong that would be.

“Doctor Sheldon is going to report me to the authorities,” I begin hesitantly and Adam’s head jerks up, “he’s going to have me arrested for kidnapping.  For holding Simon against his will.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Adam scoffs, “he’s our friend.”

“He’s a doctor, Adam.  He took an oath.  He has an obligation to Simon.  He’ll do it,” I add, resignedly.

“Aaargh!” he roars, running his hands through his hair, not pausing in his relentless pacing.

I get to my feet and walk straight up to him.

“Stop,” I murmur, taking his arm and pulling him towards me, ‘please, just stop.”  He surveys my face, his eyes darting from my hair, to my eyes, to my nose, my mouth and back again.  Eventually he closes his eyes and pulls me against him, burying his face in my hair.  Finally I cannot hold the tears back any longer and I let them fall freely, knowing what he is going to say even before he says it.  After a long moment he finally pulls away, tears shining in his own eyes.

“I can’t let you get into trouble, Paige.  Not because of me,” he sighs in defeat.  “We’ll go back.  I’ll give him his life back.”

Chapter 33

The flight back to New York is a far cry from the flight that carried us to Ireland, full of life and possibility.  Adam is subdued; he has barely said a word since our discussion yesterday and last night he barely touched me in bed, flinching away when his arm accidentally brushed my back.

I cannot bring myself to say anything either; my heart is heavy and I know that if I open my mouth to speak I will not be able to stop the tears that are threatening to flow.  I twist my wedding ring around and around on my finger, my mind filled with every memory I have of the two of us.  I cannot believe that it has come to this; that our journey is coming to an end.  Along with the despair, a cold, black hatred of Simon Harris is festering inside of me.  This is his fault; all his fault.  I would rather he die than inhabit the body that I worship with my entire being.

“Paige,” Adam’s croaky whisper in my ear brings me to the present with a start.  He clears his throat and his eyes look bruised they are so black underneath.  I realise that neither of us managed to get a wink of sleep last night.  We just lay, back to back in the enormous bed, each lost in our own inner turmoil; in too much pain to even turn to the other for comfort.

“Yes?”  I ask, my own voice sounding hoarse with the lack of use over the past 24 hours.

“I just...” he trails off, gazing towards the front of the plane.  “Never mind,” he shakes his head and settles back in his seat, determinedly turning his head away, as though the very sight of me is too much for him to bear.  I swallow down the lump in my throat and gaze out of the window at the clouds, wanting and wishing for something that can never be.

Carl meets us at the airport a grim expression on his kind face.

“Adam. Paige,” he nods at each of us in turn and then relieves me of my suitcase, walking briskly out of the automated doors and to the car without once glancing back.  I follow meekly behind Adam, feeling my anger at Simon stretching, spreading out like an elastic band to engulf Carl Sheldon, who is also in on it, who wants to kill the man I love.

I am so lost in thought that it takes a moment to register that we are not headed for the apartment.  I take in the familiar scenery and a jolt of panic courses through my body as I realise that we are heading straight for the Institute. Not now!  Not so soon!

“Carl, please!” I lean forward between the two front seats, pleading.  It suddenly occurs to me that there is so much left unsaid.  Adam and I have wasted so much time last night on the plane; it can’t end like this.  “Please, can we do this tomorrow?”

Carl doesn’t take his eyes off the road and when he speaks he sounds tired.

“Paige, what’s the point?”

“You said yourself that Adam has lived with his disorder his whole life; what's one more day?”  I almost yell, in the confined space of the car. “Doesn’t the same apply to Simon?”  I am desperate. I have to convince him!

“Paige,” he sighs, “you're only hurting yourself.”  He shakes his head sadly but he has not said no and I cling to this tiny shred of hope.

“Lizzy!” I breathe, and he finally turns to glance at me, confusion etched on his face.  “Lizzy should be there when Simon comes around,” I turn to Adam looking for support, but he is staring at his feet, his face a mask of acceptance and despair.  I take a breath, “She needs to be there, Carl. She's Simon’s Paige. You know that I’m right.”  That is all I can do. I have played my last card.  Praying fervently that it is enough, I force myself to sit back on my seat and let Carl make up his mind.

“And if you run?”  The question comes out of the blue and I blink, bewildered.  I had not even considered that, but now that he mentions it I feel a spark of excitement in my chest.  We could run again.  This time we could go somewhere where nobody could ever find us.  But no sooner has the thought occurred to me than the heaviness returns to my chest and I lift my chin, meeting Carl’s watchful eyes in the rearview mirror.

“We won’t,” I promise and I mean it.

My heart is in my throat as we approach the next set of street lights but, to my amazement, Carl indicates to turn left and I exhale, tears brimming in my eyes.  He is taking us home.

“Thank you,” I whisper, the words seeming insignificant in light of the trust and the faith that he is showing us. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

At the apartment block Carl hands us our luggage.

“Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock,” he instructs, casting a meaningful look in my direction.  I nod, I will not let him down.  “I’ll get hold of Lizzy,” he adds before driving off and I feel a pang of guilt and shame.  I will have to face Lizzy.  After all the lies I will have to look into her trusting blue eyes and own up to my deceit.  She will hate me I realise.  I would certainly hate her if she had kept Adam from me.

In the apartment I wearily unpack the suitcases and then I have a shower.  Dressing in my comfy pajamas I risk a glance at the bedside clock.  It is almost 7 p.m.  We only have 14 hours.  Time, I realise, is my enemy.  I wish I could stop the clock or turn it back, but what I want, what I wish doesn’t matter.  My shoulders sag in defeat and I make my way back down the passage.  Adam is sitting in the armchair, his shoulders stooped, his head hanging.  He has not moved or said a word since we arrived.  My chest tight with emotion I kneel before him, taking his hand in my own.

“Adam,” I urge, trying to get him to look at me.  “Adam,” I repeat, tugging at his arm, but he is staring at the floor, his eyes hollow.

“Adam, please,” I beg, taking hold of his face and forcing him to look at me.  He stares through me as if I am invisible and I bite my lip, my face crumpling.  I am so close to the edge, the emotional precipice that has beaten me once before.  In 14 hours I think to myself.  In 14 hours you can have me.   I will leave this life when he does.  I have no intention of coming back without Adam.

I force myself to stand, my legs feeling weak and I head for the kitchen.  I make two cups of tea, using the short time to collect myself and regain control of my emotions.  Making my way back to the lounge I stub my toe on the edge of the sofa and give a yelp of pain, my eyes and nose starting to water instantly.  Adam glances up, concern crossing his face and makes as though to stand, then seems to think better of it and sinks back into the armchair.

“Enough!” I shout at him, anger coursing through my veins.  “Don’t act as though you don’t exist Adam, please!”  He lifts his head, an ugly, sinister smile spreading across his handsome face.

“But I don’t exist, Paige,” he says calmly.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I mutter angrily, setting the cups down, not concerned that half the tea sloshes onto the wooden table.  “Don’t you dare do this to me, Adam Parker,” I round the table and sit down on the opposite end of it, facing him.

“Do what, Paige?”  His tone is sarcastic. “I don’t exist.  You know it, I know it.  In fact, I don’t even know why you brought me back here. Is this some sort of self-persecuting act of pity?” He raises his eyebrows and opens his arms, gesturing at the apartment.  “This is not my house,” he laughs without humour.

“Adam!” I half-sob. “This is your house; this is our home!”

“These are not my clothes,” he continues as though I haven’t even spoken, pulling at his cotton shirt, “this is not even my body,” he adds, gesturing at himself.

“Adam, please,” I beg, and he regards me with a disgusted look on his face, “and you?” his tone is accusatory and I brace myself for what is coming next. “You are not my wife!” he hisses, standing and stalking into the kitchen as I cover my face with my hands, the pain of his words too much for me to even voice a denial.

“These!” he yells, opening the kitchen cabinet and pulling out two of the mugs that I gave him for Christmas.  “These don’t belong here!”

“Adam, no!” I mewl, shaking my head.  He ignores me, smashing them to the ground before reaching into the cabinet and retrieving another two.  I jump off the table, tears blurring my vision and fling myself at him just as the mugs crash to the ground.

“Stop it!” I yell, clinging to him with all my strength as he tries desperately to push me away.

“Stop it!  Stop it! Stop it!” I keep yelling, ignoring his enraged cries and his fingers digging painfully into my arms as he tries to extricate me.

“I am not Adam!” he roars, the sound filling the entire apartment and echoing down the passage. “I am not your husband!” he continues and I turn my head from side to side, refusing to let him go and gasping, “Please Adam,” over and over again like a mantra.

Finally his superior strength wins and he disentangles me, holding me at arm’s length and hissing into my face.

“Adam Parker doesn’t exist, Paige!  My name is Simon Harris!”

Something inside of me snaps and I claw at his face, his chest, his clothes, anything I can reach.  I hate, hate, hate him right now and all the anger that I feel towards Simon is unleashed on Adam like a river of hot, scalding lava.  I feel my nails tearing at his skin as he tries in vain to subdue me, the anger adding a hysterical strength to my efforts.  When he finally hits me, it is so hard that I spin almost a full 180 º before landing hard on the tiled floor in a crumpled, broken mess.

“Paige?” Adam’s voice has returned to normal and soft hands are pushing my hair out of my face.  My cheek is aching and I lift my hand gingerly, wincing as I touch the bruised area.

“Oh God,” Adam sounds forlorn and I open my eyes to see his beautiful blue eyes gazing down at me with an eternity of regret reflected in their depths.  “Paige, I am so, so sorry,” he whispers, and I sit up, feeling a sharp pain in my hand as I do so.  I realise that we are both sitting on the shattered remains of the smashed mugs.  Adam seems to realise this at the same time and he scoops me up into his arms, treading carefully as he makes his way through the kitchen, then deposits me gently on the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats leaving my side for a moment.  I hear the crunch of him walking through the broken ceramic and the sound of the ice-box opening and then he is back with a frozen bag of peas which he presses up against my cheek.

“Can you give me a sec?” he asks, searching my face, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak, terrified that I might say something that will cause him to behave like before, to deny that he is Adam.

I am momentarily alarmed when I hear the front door open but before I can say anything, he is gone. I lie back on the couch praying that he is not leaving me.  A few minutes later I hear the door again and I glance up to see Adam re-entering the apartment.  He heads over to me immediately, dropping to sit cross-legged in front of me and taking my hand.

“The neighbours,” he murmurs, by way of explanation, his eyes never leaving my face, “I just wanted to give them an explanation before they called the cops.”

“What did you tell them?” I ask, curious, and he smiles for the first time since Ireland.

“I told them we were playing X-Box and that we take it very seriously,” he says solemnly and I gaze up at him in disbelief.  He chuckles, ruffling my hair before he adds, “I told them the truth,” and his face becomes serious again.

I am about to ask what their reaction was when I realise that I don’t actually give a damn and I sit up, swinging my legs off the chair and slipping down onto the floor beside him.

“I really am sorry, Paige,” he says, sounding so apologetic that I smile at him.

“I know that, Adam,” I deliberately place my hand on his cheek and turn his head to face me, “don’t you think I know that?”  I whisper, dropping a feather-light kiss on his lips.

I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes.  I don’t want to spend my life dreaming of all the things that never were and feeling the pain of his loss.  Adam’s hand cups my face tenderly, dropping kisses on my forehead, my nose, my cheeks.  He sighs, pulling me onto his lap and cradling me like a child.

“How did we end up here?” he whispers softly.

I press my face into his chest, breathing in deeply, trying to fill my senses with him, with Adam.  There is no answer to his question, no answer to the myriad questions that I want to scream into the air; that I want answers for.  The universe is cruel.  Life is not fair.  Our ability to feel and to love is our weakness; this is what it means to be human.

We sit like this for ages, clinging to each other as if this is the last night on earth; which, of course, for Adam, it is. For both of us I remind myself.  Eventually Adam disengages me, depositing me gently on the floor beside him so that he can get to his feet.  His beautiful eyes, the windows to his beautiful soul, look down at me with infinite sadness.  He offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet, wrapping me in his arms and holding me tightly.

“Come,” he finally murmurs, leading me by the hand to the bedroom and I fight the urge to succumb to the darkness that lingers just beyond the realm of my subconscious, dancing in the shadows. Not yet, Paige. I push it away, focusing only on Adam and what little time we have left.

Chapter 34

“Why don’t you drive?” I offer Adam the keys and he gapes at me disbelievingly.

“Paige, don’t be ridiculous!” he scolds, opening the passenger door and scowling at me over the roof of the Audi. “We could be killed!” he finishes, placing one leg inside the car and my face falls, involuntarily.

“Oh my God,” Adam freezes, catching my eye and then he straightens up, standing and facing me across the car.  “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”  His eyes widen; understanding dawning in the sapphire orbs.

“No!” I protest, but it is too late, he knows the truth; I can read it on his face.  He slams the door shut and I flinch as he takes a few determined strides and comes around to stand before me.

“Tell me you aren't that stupid, Paige!”  He sounds panicked and disgusted and he takes me by the shoulders and shakes me. “Tell me!” he repeats, sounding angrier than I have ever heard him, even angrier than he was during last night’s breakdown.

“Adam, I...” I trail off. I do not have the strength to deny it and what would be the point?  Lying to Adam would be futile, he knows me too well.  Instead, I draw myself up to my full height and meet his gaze head-on.  “I will not live without you,” I state, simply.

“You will!” he roars and I jut out my chin like an obstinate child.

“I won’t,” I insist, and his eyes are afire with rage.

“Paige, you will live,” he lowers his voice as an elderly couple walks by, eyeing us anxiously. “You will live. You will go on to get married and have babies and enjoy every single minute that you have, do you understand me?”  He is instructing and pleading all at once and I lower my eyes, not wanting to see the desperation in his.

“I can’t, Adam,” I admit, opening my arms wide and shaking my head. “I physically and emotionally can’t! Don’t you understand?  I can’t recover from this!  I won’t be able to come back again whether I want to or not. And I don’t,” I add, sniffing loudly, “I don’t want to be without you.”

“Paige, look at me,” his voice is so unexpectedly gentle that I raise my eyes.  Adam takes a deep breath before he continues, “I know,” he says gently, pushing my hair back behind my ear, “I know that what you’ve been through... what you’ve lost; it hasn’t been easy.  Kevin, your dad, me...” he swallows determinedly, “you've lost so much; I get that.  But you...” he smiles proudly, “you're the strongest, most amazing person I know.  You can get through this!” he takes my hands and squeezes them.  “Please, Paige, for me.  I need to know that you're going to be okay.  Please!  Don’t condemn me to an eternity of worry,” he raises his brows in question.

I cover my face with my hands, rubbing up and down, trying to think of the words to say.

“I’m just emotional,” I eventually look up at him, “I'll be fine.”  I smile encouragingly and he looks unconvinced.  I force myself to smile, placing my hands on either side of his face.  “I'll get through this Adam, I promise.”  I kiss his lips and then I glance down at my watch and deliberately change the subject, “We’re going to be late,” is all I can manage and I turn away, jumping in the car and starting the engine.

The drive to the Institute is agony and when we finally pull into the parking-lot, I switch off the car and rest my head on the steering-wheel.  Adam and I sit in silence for a few moments, we are still slightly early despite my concern about the time.

“Paige,” Adam begins hesitantly and I raise my head, turning to look at him.

“I’m sorry, Adam,” I smile tentatively, “of course you're right.  I promise I won't do anything stupid.  I love you,” my voice breaks at the last and Adam leans forward, reaching for me. Our lips meet and the kiss deepens, my body responding to Adam’s touch.

“I thought you might have got enough of me last night,” Adam chuckles and I smile despite my sombre mood.  “It could never be enough,” I whisper against his mouth, and I kiss him again, letting all my emotions, all my passion and all my love flow through, until it is so overwhelming that I feel dizzy.  I pull back slowly, my eyes still closed.

“Remember me just like this, Paige.” Adam’s voice is husky and I can sense that he too is trying not to be overcome with emotion.

“I will,” I promise, opening my eyes.

“I will love you forever,” he promises and I blink back the tears.

“I will love you a lot longer than that Adam.”

Carl is waiting for us in his office.  Never before has the room felt so cold, so clinical.  There is an ominous atmosphere and I almost feel as though I am about to witness an execution; as if this is the punishment for wanting to be happy; punishment for having loved – the death penalty.   Carl regards us both with empathy and I see something in his eyes, a sadness of his own.  I suppose this is his cross to bear. In his own way I believe that Carl cares very deeply for Adam too and I realise that his task is hardly an easy one.

“Are you ready, Adam?” he asks gently and Adam meets my eyes across the room, his own blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“I’m ready,” he answers brusquely, lying back on the doctor’s couch and placing his hands by his sides.

I cross the room, not caring in the least about the rules and settle down on the floor next to Adam, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m here,” I whisper unnecessarily and Adam gives a brisk nod of his head, squeezing my hand so tightly in his shaking one that I feel the circulation stop.  He looks up at me his eyes hollow and anguished but somehow proud, and I am consumed by this brave, wonderful man who would sacrifice everything to do what is right.  Choking back a sob, I wait until the moment that he finally closes his eyes, before I let the silent tears fall freely down my cheeks as Carl Sheldon begins to speak.

I tune out; self-preservation allowing me to hear nothing but the steady sound of Adam’s breathing which becomes calmer and calmer as time goes by and he succumbs to the hypnosis.  Carl’s rhetoric is white noise; and I search Adam’s face, trying to remember every single detail, from the tiny scar on his forehead, to his long, black lashes sweeping his cheeks; his beautiful mouth so soft in repose and the full lips which have brought me so much pleasure; his strong jaw; the dimple in his chin; the beautiful tanned curve of his neck and the hollow where it meets his strong chest; his broad shoulders, his beautiful hands. Adam.  All things Adam.  My Adam.  I close my eyes and wait for the world to end.

I am so lost in thought that I do not even hear Carl bringing the session to a close.  I feel peaceful as if I might have died and almost as if, even if I never open my eyes again, it will be okay.  Adam’s hand is suddenly snatched from my grip and a thunderous voice festering with hatred booms through the room.

“Don’t touch me!” Simon roars, wiping his hand on his shirt as though it might be contaminated. I resist the urge to meet his eyes. I will not look at his face.  “Don’t you ever touch me!” he hisses and I hear Carl clear his throat.

“Paige, it might be best if you leave,” he says gently, his eyes filled with compassion.  I nod, still refusing to look at Simon.  I will not let my last memory of Adam be the sight of Simon’s hateful gaze.  I rise slowly to my feet placing a hand on Carl’s arm as I pass and smiling sadly up at him.

“Take care, Carl,” I murmur, heading towards the door.

I smile sadly at Lizzy who is sitting on a chair just outside the office in the hall and I nod quickly, to let her know that she can go in.  She spares me a sincere, sympathetic look and then, in a flash, she yanks open the door and rushes inside.  I stifle a sob and turn to make my way toward the parking-lot, away from my future, away from my soul.

“Paige, wait!” Carl races up to me, his face stricken.

“I’m so sorry.” His eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. “This is my fault, Adam was my patient. I made a mistake, I don’t know how I never picked it up.” He pauses, shaking his head, and then he takes hold of my shoulders. “I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me.  I never meant to cause you any pain. If I had known, if I had suspected, please believe me I would never have dragged you into all of this. That day at your house, when I asked you to help...I genuinely believed that there would be a happy ending for both of you.”  His voice breaks slightly and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from breaking down.  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before,” he continues, “I had to be harsh, I was worried that you would run again, that you wouldn’t let me finish it.  As much as I care deeply for Adam, I have a professional obligation to Simon.”  He sounds almost regretful; as though he wishes this was not the case.  “Anyway, I understand entirely if you want to report me to the Medical Board.”  The last words stun me, and I stare up at him, flabbergasted.  The thought had never crossed my mind, but I suppose it makes sense.  A mistake of that magnitude would not be taken lightly. Of course I would never do that.  I know that Carl was not neglectful or derelict in his duty.  And besides, it would not bring Adam back.  What would be the point?  To punish someone who is obviously punishing himself enough.

“It’s okay, Carl.  You were right.  And I probably wouldn’t have brought him back if I’d thought I could get away with it.”  He smiles sadly and then presses a small bottle of pills into my hand.

“Please, take them. They’re mild antidepressants, they’ll help.”  He nods encouragingly, “and I would like to offer you counselling.  No charge, obviously.” He attempts a joke, and I thank him before I turn around and head for the car.

“Paige, I can get somebody to drive you,” he calls, but I shake my head and I wave away his offer.

I have only taken a few steps when I feel something inside of me cave in; the pillar of strength that I have been hanging onto finally falls away and my soul seems to shear in half, in a blinding, torturous moment of pain so bad that I realise that this is truly something I will not come back from.  The world is empty without Adam; a cold, barren, wasteland that I want no part of.  I will not live in a world where love does not exist.  I refuse.  Promise or no promise; this is my choice, nobody else’s.

Chapter 35

I don’t know how I make it to my mother’s house but I find myself parked in the driveway, my face wet with tears.

“Paige!” My mother’s squawk rouses me from my reverie and I turn as she yanks open the door, her face appearing a moment later, panic etched all over it. “Paige! Honey! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” is all I can manage before the blackness that has been threatening to overcome me finally wins, the darkness engulfs me and everything mercifully turns to black.

When I come to I am lying in my old bed surrounded by memories of my childhood.  For some reason, it only strikes me now, that although my mother converted my step-sisters' rooms at the first chance she got, she has not changed a thing in my own bedroom.  Even my faded Paula Abdul poster is still stuck on the far wall and the pink dream-catcher is still hanging from the ceiling.  Before I have a chance to ponder what this means, the door opens and my mother bustles in, a tray of tea and biscuits in her hands.

“Oh good, you’re up!” she announces before placing the tray on the bedside table next to my old clock radio.

She sits down awkwardly on the edge of the bed, smelling of White Linen and slightly of cigarettes. I smile; I bet the stress has her puffing away like crazy.  I start to giggle and then find that I cannot stop.  Soon, tears are streaming down my cheeks and my mother, looking suddenly afraid and regarding me with all the concern one would a psychiatric patient, only serves to fuel my laughter.  I laugh out loud, long and hard, clutching my sides, a stitch forming in my stomach.  Slowly the laughter gives way to tears and great choking sobs wrack my body.  I gag suddenly and my mother reaches for the plastic dustbin under my desk, bringing it to my mouth just in time.  I heave, throwing up what little I have in my stomach.

“There, there,” my mother rubs my back as I vomit again and again until there is nothing left and I am gagging and spitting up nothing but bile.  She rises, taking the soiled bin with her and returns a moment later with a warm facecloth which she uses to wipe my face and neck.  I feel so cold and my body is shivering.  She helps me to sit up, propping me up with pillows behind me and then pulls my duvet over me, adding my old crocheted blanket for good measure.

“Now,” she hands me a steaming mug of tea, “get this down Paige, you’ll feel better,” she orders and I smile, thinking how often I have used tea as a remedy for any bad situation.  I take a small sip, grateful to be rid of the terrible taste in my mouth.  My mother hands me a ginger biscuit and I nibble on it, my thoughts a whirl of confusion in my head.

“Paige,” she sounds so worried that I finally meet her gaze, surprised at the raw emotion on her face. “What's going on love?” she asks gently and hesitantly, as though unsure of her reception, and I realise for the first time in my life, that the distance between us may not have been entirely her fault.

“I can’t...” I whisper, not knowing how to tell her the story, where to even start.

“You can,” she instructs, her tone leaving no room for argument, “you can and you will.”

Once I start I cannot stop and the whole story pours out of me, hurting me over and over again as if I am being tortured by a relentless agony that will never cease.  My mother does not interrupt me except to yell at Frank to “get out” when he unwittingly sticks his head around the door to check how I am doing.  Reminding me of a lioness protecting her cub, my mother sits still by my side, her hand on my leg, the only sign of any emotion on her part being the supportive squeezing of my thigh whenever the story becomes too much for me to bear.  This, and her unflappable, steadfast determination gives me the strength to finish.  Exhausted with so much emotional unveiling I flop back onto the pillows closing my eyes.  I feel like I could sleep forever.

There is silence for the longest time, then I hear her take a deep breath and I mentally prepare myself for what must be coming.

“Some things are not meant to be, Paige,” she begins, “trust me, I know.  Look at me and your father.”  I jerk my head up in shock; my mother avoids speaking of my dad at all costs and for her to voluntarily bring him up is very surprising.

“It’s different, Mom,” I insist.  “I love him.  I loved him,” I correct and my voice breaks.  I take a moment to compose myself.  “I loved him so much.”

“Do you think I didn’t love your father?” she asks and I frown, sniffing loudly. “Of course you do,” she answers her own question, shaking her head sadly from side to side. “Paige, you judge me so harshly.  I know you’ve always held this against me.  I know how much you loved him.  He was an amazing man.  I loved him too; once.”  She is right, I realise.  I have always held it against her.  I know how devastated he was when she left him and how he never got over her.  Even at the height of his disease he always remembered her, even more than me. Maybe I was jealous of that and for the first time I feel ashamed that I gave her so little chance. I cast my eyes down to the floor but she notices immediately.

“Look at me sweetheart,” she murmurs, and I slowly raise my eyes to hers.

“I did love your father and he gave me the greatest gift of my life.  He gave me you,” she inclines her head towards me and she sounds so sincere that I find that I am smiling, even as the tears are welling in my eyes.  “I fell out of love, Paige,” she shrugs helplessly, and now I see that real tears are glistening in her own eyes and she bites her cheek, trying to curb her emotions.  This is a side of my mother I have never seen.  “I didn’t want to; I tried to see things through but I couldn’t live a lie.” She takes a deep breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  I ask, in a small voice.  Maybe if she had been honest with me I would have seen things differently, our relationship could have been so different.

“Would you have listened?” she asks, a sad smile on her face.  “You loved him so very, very much, and you needed someone to blame,” she shrugs her shoulders and I want to cry even more, at her selflessness.

“I couldn’t live a lie,” she continues, “just like you couldn’t, Paigey.”

She is right. I couldn’t live with Adam knowing it was a lie; knowing that it wasn’t the truth and that the fairy tale was not who he was meant to be, not who we were meant to be.  I had to do the right thing.  I had to let him go; for him, as well as for myself.  I see my mother through new eyes and for the first time I realise that perhaps we are not so different after all.  Perhaps my strength is not solely the legacy of my father.  I bite my lip trying to hold back my own tears and I nod my head, trying to convey that I finally understand.

“I’m sorry, mom,” I whisper.  I'm sorry that I've judged her so harshly.  She's silly and she's fickle, but her heart is beautiful and she has always wanted what is best for me.

“Paige,” my mother’s voice is more gentle than I have ever heard and, as her arms come around me, the dam that I've been trying so hard to keep up bursts.  “Some things just aren’t meant to be, my angel; no matter how badly you want them to be.”  I close my eyes and sob into her shoulder, clinging to her silk shirt and drenching it in my tears.

“I don’t want you to do anything stupid,” she continues, and I know exactly what she is referring to. She has seen me broken before and that was nowhere near as bad as this.  “Promise me you won’t do anything reckless,” she adds, and I wish she didn’t look so earnest, so sincere.  I cannot make any promises yet.  I don’t know how this story is going to end.  Right now I cannot comprehend living; living without Adam.  How will I go on?  What will I become?  I don't have the answers and I am far too tired to try and figure it all out.

I close my eyes and lie back letting my mother’s presence soothe me and, as I cross the line between the real world and the land of dreams, Adam’s face swims in my vision, my favourite smile lighting up his handsome face.  He looks exactly as I remember him and he is holding a boring, black umbrella.

“You didn’t really think I would be gone for good, did you?” he asks chuckling.

The following morning I wake up almost wishing I hadn’t.  An empty, barren life stretches before me and I want nothing to do with it.  Just as I am about to curl up on my side and go back to sleep there is a sharp rapping and Frank’s head pops around my bedroom door.

“Your mum sent me to wake you Paige, breakfast is ready,” he winks and I nod in acknowledgement.

I drag myself out of bed, wrapping my blanket around my shoulders and, pulling on my old purple slippers with the pom-poms on the front, I head downstairs.

Frank is reading the morning newspaper in the kitchen and mom is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s she?” I yawn, taking in the broken eggshells and assortment of bacon, mushrooms and chopped tomatoes littering the kitchen table.

“Sneaking a puff,” he doesn’t look up from the paper, but points over his shoulder to where my mother's shadow is clearly visible behind the sheets hanging on the washing-line, smoke billowing over the line and its contents.  A giggle escapes me and Frank glances up, regarding me over the paper.

“You gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know,” I take a piece of bacon from the plate, nibbling it while I wait.  Frank nods and folds the paper tossing it onto the sofa behind him.

“Eat up, she’s really gone to town.”

I start loading my plate, watching my mother who is now taking down the washing.

“She loves you, you know,” Frank interrupts my reverie.  “Do you know what she said to me when we were dating?” I shake my head. “She said, ‘Love me, love my child'. She said that if I wanted to marry her I had better be prepared to love you like my own.  Surprised?” he asks; my confusion obvious.  I had always thought mom married Frank for his money and security and that my wellbeing had not come into the equation.

“A little bit,” I admit and Frank smiles fondly.

“Luckily Paige, you were a very easy child to love; I didn’t need any prompting.”

“You've been amazing, Frank, I couldn’t have asked for a better father figure.”

“Do you know why she never visited your father?”

“No,” I answer truthfully.  I have always believed that my mom couldn’t be bothered but now I'm not so sure.  I'm not sure if I really know her at all.

“She couldn’t take it,” Frank explains, “she would get ready to go and then she would collapse, crying.  It broke her heart to see him like that.  It was easier for her to stay away.”

I finish my breakfast which is surprisingly delicious and do the washing up. The mindless chore at least gives me something to do.  As soon as I'm finished I head straight back up to my room, burrowing under the covers and closing my eyes, although I know I will not be able to sleep.  I lie for hours just staring at the ceiling still adorned with glow stars from my childhood.  At lunch time it is my mom, not Frank, who pokes her head around the door.

“Lunch is ready.”

I repeat the same process for two days; heaving myself out of bed, wandering downstairs, eating something, washing dishes and climbing back upstairs and into bed.  I am merely biding my time; this is no life, this is simply existence on a plain far removed from the beauty and excitement I had imagined my life would be; my life with Adam.

On the fourth day my mother's head appears around my door, a frown creasing her forehead.

“You have a visitor,” she announces. This is so unexpected that I sit bolt upright in my bed almost decapitating myself on the wooden headboard.

“Who is it?”

“See for yourself,” she instructs and then, just before she closes the door, “and for heaven's sake Paige brush your hair before you come downstairs, you look awful.”

Chapter 36

I swing my legs out of bed and shuffle into the bathroom.  My mother is right, I look terrible.  Dark circles ring my eyes from lack of sleep and my hair is sticking up at all angles.  I pull on a pair of jeans and my yellow sweater which reminds me painfully of Adam, and I try, half-heartedly, to pull a comb through my tangled locks before I give up and scrape it back into a messy bun.  I walk down the stairs without any real anticipation of who my visitor could be.  No doubt it is Carl come to check if I am okay or maybe Jax. I wouldn’t put it past my mom to invite her around to try and cheer me up.

To my surprise when I enter the sitting-room it’s neither Jax nor Carl who stands to greet me.

“Hi, Paige,” Lizzy’s shy smile is the last thing I expected and I stand, temporarily speechless, before I scan the room, half-desperate, half-terrified of what I might find.

“He’s not here,” Lizzy assures me hastily, “he didn’t even want me to come, but I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”  I slump down on the sofa clutching one of the gold scatter cushions to my chest and pulling idly at the tassels.

“To see if you're okay.”

I laugh at that; a forced, angry sound.

“I’m fine.”

“You really don't look fine,” she prompts timidly and I stop fiddling with the cushion to glare at her.

“How do you think I am, Lizzy?”  She draws in a deep breath.

“I think you’re heartbroken.  I think you’re wondering what reason you have to wake up in the morning.  I think you hate me and you hate Simon.”

“Why are you here?”  I ask again, wanting nothing more than to go back to bed.

“Because I know how you feel,” she says simply, and I open my mouth to yell at her, to tell her that she has no idea how I feel, no idea what it’s like to lose the thing you love most in the world and then I remember that she does.

“You didn’t really lose him,” I point out.

“I thought I had,” she counters immediately and we lapse into silence once more.

“How did you deal with it?”  I ask eventually, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“A lot like this,” she gestures at me with one arm, “for a while.  Then I realised that this would be the last thing he would want me to do.”

“Simon would probably want you to clean out the pantry,” I snap childishly but she ignores me, fixing me with her huge luminous blue eyes.

“What would Adam want you to do, Paige?”

“It doesn’t matter; he’s not here.” I wipe furiously at the tears that are welling in my eyes.

“Why do you love him?”  I ask viciously.  I have never been able to fathom what this wonderful girl sees in Simon. She smiles, seeming to know exactly what I am thinking.

“He’s warm, and kind, and he treats me like gold.  I know what you must think, Paige.  I’m sure you didn’t see him at his best. But imagine how you would have acted, if you were in his situation?  If your life had been commandeered by someone else, and every time you came around, you were with people you didn’t know, doing things you didn’t want to do?  Simon was like a puppet on a string.”

I am about to snap at her, to protect Adam and the accusation that he was the cause of Simon’s awful attitude, but the words die on my lips.  I have never thought about it like this before. Jacob and Kyle didn’t have a life of their own to get back to, that’s why they never really resisted, or disliked me. Simon knew better. He hated me for being a farce, an unwilling accomplice to Adam’s existence. He had a life to get back to, he had Lizzy. And he never waivered in his search for her.

Sensing the subtle shift in my mood, Lizzy changes the subject abruptly.

“Carl says that they may appear in time; the others. He says that as long as Simon stays in counselling it's unlikely but not impossible.”

I don’t react. I don’t want to think about it; it's Lizzy’s problem.

“What should I do if they come back?” she asks and I shrug.

“Ask Carl.”

“I’m asking you.”

“This isn’t going to work Lizzy. I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not going to play this game with you. Just leave, please.”

“I will if you answer the question,” she stands her ground and I sigh.

“Don’t get too close to Jacob; keep your distance. He doesn’t like to be touched. He’s like a little boy; he’s in a lot of pain and needs special handling. Ask him about Fergus. He’s Jacob’s dog,” I explain, in answer to her puzzled look.

“Just keep him calm, make him tea. He won’t stay long.” I can hear the compassion in my own words and I hate Lizzy for what she is doing.

“And Kyle?” she asks.

“Shag him,” I chuckle, and her own peal of laughter resonates around the room.

“Get him a beer, turn on ESPN, flirt with him,” I smile at her look of alarm.

“Above all; keep him entertained. Show him your boobs if you have to he’ll love that. Don’t tell Simon,” I grin and she shakes her head, her blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders.

“Kyle is fun; he’s not a bad person, he’s just a chauvinist.”

“You cared about them all.” It’s not a question but I correct her anyway.

“No, Lizzy; not all of them.” I never cared for Simon, she knows that.

“Thanks,” she puts her hands on her knees and I can see she is just as nervous as I am for what is coming. I have to hand it to her, though, she's determined.

“What about Adam?” she asks, her voice breaking only slightly at the end.  I stand abruptly, my lighter mood gone in an instant.

“You need to leave.”

She gets to her feet her voice imploring.

“Please Paige, what do I do?”

“I can’t!” I hiss, my self-control slipping.

“You can,” she takes a tentative step towards me and I shrink back against the sofa.

“It’s Adam we’re talking about. Adam. You have to tell me what to do if he ever comes back.  I want to help him,” she is so sincere and I shake my head.

“Like I helped Simon? I hated Simon! You don’t owe Adam anything, Lizzy, you don’t owe me anything!”

“I want to help him,” she insists, her whole body trembling. I sit back on the sofa closing my eyes. She needs an answer; she will not leave without one. But what can I say? There is nothing we can do for Adam; he is gone. And if he comes back one day, he'll just have to die all over again. I may not even be here if that happens. The tears that have been threatening to surface win and spill through my closed eyes, running down my cheeks and dripping off my chin onto my sweater.

I know the answer that Lizzy is looking for. Of course I do, I’m not a fool. She wants to know that I'm going to be okay, that I’m not going to do anything stupid. This kind, sweet, wonderful girl truly does care, for Jacob, for Kyle, for me, even for Adam, who threatened her own happiness. Simon is a lucky man, to have her in his life. I can see why he loves her.

Lizzy stands quietly, not saying a word, as all these things are going around in my head. Eventually, resignedly, I open my eyes and get to my feet. Tilting my chin almost defiantly, I stare her straight in the eyes and answer her question.

“You bring him to me.”

Her sweet smile is the only answer she gives me. Picking up her purse she crosses the room and gives me a timid hug.

“I hope you’ll be happy Paige,” she whispers, and then she is gone.

I race up the stairs, hurt, pain and anger coursing through me. I have not felt this much emotion since the moment Adam integrated and it threatens to consume me, overwhelm me.  I lock the bathroom door behind me, my breathing coming in harsh, laboured sobs.  I claw at my face, my clothes, dropping to my knees and pounding the cold, tiled floor with my fists.  Adam, Adam, Adam! Will I ever be able to get past this?

The answer in my head is a resounding no!  I clutch the edge of the marble counter and haul myself to my feet, my eyes scanning the countertops for something, anything to numb the pain. I yank open the vanity; pulling out make-up and hairbrushes and a medley of face creams. Half a dozen packs of medication fall to the floor along with perfumes and shower caps, body lotions and aspirin. In a blind fury I open my cosmetics bag and shake it, showering the floor with its contents, then I throw the bag at the mirror and drive my fist into it, shattering my reflection.

I sink back to the floor surrounded by an assortment of meaningless things.  Meaningless. My life is meaningless. I curl my knees up to my chest and rest my head, saturating my jeans with tears. I cannot even comprehend any future. Unending days stretch ahead of me, weeks, months, years. Empty. Lonely. Painful. What’s the point? What was the point of loving him?

I rest my head back against the cupboard door wondering if it’s possible to die of a broken heart. My eye comes to rest on one particular item amongst the chaos and I reach for it, something sparking in my chest, a sense of release. I smash the razor against the hard floor, cracking the plastic sheath, which I pull off with my fingers, cutting myself more than once. My hands, I notice, are bloodied; the fresh blood on my right hand mingling with the darker crimson of the damage from smashing the mirror.  Scarlet droplets mar the white tiles and show as dark stains on my blue denims. "Bring him to me"; my earlier words echo in my head as, with a trembling hand, I bring the blade to my left wrist, pulling back the yellow sweater to reveal the soft white skin. A blue vein is easily visible, so vulnerable, so simple. I wince as the blade just pierces the skin and I withdraw my hand for a second, watching the droplet of blood form.  I think briefly of the pills that Carl gave me, but that will take too long, I need this over. "Bring him to me"; I draw in a steadying breath and bring the blade back, determined to finish this for once and for all.

I close my eyes and in the final moment before I act, I hear Lizzy’s question in my head as clearly as if she is sitting right beside me.

“What would Adam want you to do, Paige?”

“Adam would want me to live,” I whisper into the cold room and, dropping the blade, I let the tears fall.

When there are no tears left to cry I stand, unsteadily and, leaving the cluttered chaos behind me, I open the bathroom door and step out into my very uncertain future.

Epilogue

Summer

“We’re almost there,” the soft feminine voice says and I nod, although she cannot see me and then I push the call end button and set my phone down on the kitchen counter.  I take a deep breath and, crossing to the kitchen sink, I turn on the cold water tap and wet the back of my neck, trying to slow my breathing and relax.  I stand that way for a few moments and then the sound of a car pulling up reaches me and I lift my head to see the unassuming blue Toyota Camry pull into the driveway. I feel a jolt in the pit of my stomach and I cross quickly to the front door, yanking it open and practically running down the front steps.

Lizzy smiles sadly at me as she opens the passenger door and I catch my breath as the curly dark head emerges and Adam glances around in confusion before his eyes find me.

“Paige!” There is such relief in his tone and he bounds forward, grabbing me around my waist and swinging me high in the air, just as he used to do. He settles me back on my feet and turns to face Lizzy, his tone almost accusatory, “Thank you. You can leave now,” he addresses her rudely, before he turns his attention back to me.

I glance over his shoulder and see the resigned pain etched on her face and I know only too well how she feels. I nod sadly at her and then I put my arm around Adam and turn back to the house.

“Come inside, Adam, we need to talk.”

As I close the front door I see Lizzy getting back into the car wiping frantically at her eyes.  I close the blind in the kitchen so that Adam will not notice that she has not left.

He pulls me toward him and gazes down at me with such love in his eyes that I can barely stand to see it and I lower my gaze. He is still so beautiful.

“Paige, what's going on?” he asks in confusion. “Where are we?”

I take a deep breath before I look back up and answer him.

“This is my home Adam.”

He glances around as though trying to recall. A look of frustration crosses his face before he rests his gaze on me once more. It’s like he cannot bear to look away from me for more than a few seconds. His arms around me are tanned and strong and my heart swells with the realisation that he must be very happy and well taken care of.

“Paige,” I hear the warning of the hesitancy in his voice and I realise that he has registered.  “You look different.” The alarm is creeping into his voice and he pushes me away slightly, holding me at arm’s length and studying my face intently. “Why do you look different?” He is starting to sound panicked and I place my hands on his shoulders to reassure him.

“Adam,” I begin, drawing up and trying to be strong. “You’re not supposed to be here, remember?” He frowns and looks at me as though I am losing my mind. I meet his gaze levelly and speak slowly and deliberately.

“Adam you integrated, remember? Simon has learned to deal with his traumas and he no longer needs you. You can’t be here. I know it’s been a long time. I know you’re confused, but try and remember. You have to go back,” my voice breaks and I see understanding starting to dawn on his face and his eyes look infinitely sad.

“But I don’t want to leave you.” He sounds so pitiful and so unsure of himself.

“I know you don’t, Adam, but you have to.”

“Paige, please. I want to stay. I need to stay with you.” He is pleading now and a tear spills over, making its way slowly down my cheek. I press my lips together determinedly and force myself to be hard.

“You can’t stay Adam. You have to go back.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears and I turn away from him.

“How long has it been?” he asks, touching my hair.

“Eight years,” I whisper. I could tell him to the day how long it has been since he left me.

“Eight years,” he repeats disbelievingly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Mommy!” a young voice shrieks and I whirl around as she comes running in through the front door. I glance at the clock above the mantel and my heart sinks. I had lost track of time and forgot that our neighbours were dropping her off on the way back from movies.

“Abby!” I bend down and hug her, her warm young body giving me strength.

She glances up at Adam shyly and I see it the moment it happens. Adam’s blue eyes meet Abby’s and understanding dawns so quickly on his face that he reels back in shock. It is a mirror image. Abby is her father’s double and her eyes are exactly the same shape and colour. Adam is retreating so fast that he bumps into a coffee table and knocks over a vase which shatters on the wooden floor. The sound brings him to his senses and he immediately bends to pick up the pieces, apologising profusely.

Abby steps forward to help and Adam throws out an arm to stop her.

“No!” he yells and she stops dead in her tracks, looking at me with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” Adam adds flustered. “I just...I don’t want you to cut yourself.” He gestures at her bare feet and Abby smiles, nodding.

“Abby,” I say, bending down behind her and placing my hands on her shoulders, “this is Adam, a friend of mommy’s. Adam,” I continue the introduction, “this is Abby. My daughter.” I nod over her shoulder at him, answering his unspoken question and he closes his eyes for a minute before he gains control of himself.

“Nice to meet you.” Abby smiles politely, extending her hand. Adam hesitates for a minute and then takes it, shaking it and smiling warmly at her.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Abby,” he replies. “How old are you?” he asks the obvious question although he knows the truth.

“I’m eight, but I’ll be nine in March,” she answers proudly.

“Eight years,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

“Why don’t you go outside and set the table for lunch?” I ask Abby, running my hands up and down her arms. Adam and I both stand as she skips out of the room, Adam’s eyes following her departure and then lingering on the spot where she disappears around a corner.

“Eight years,” he repeats, the heartbreak in his voice undeniable. He turns to face me.

“My daughter?” he asks, looking for confirmation.

“Your daughter.” I nod and his face crumples. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and it is such an Adam thing to do that the tears well up in my eyes again.

“I’m sorry Adam,” I say helplessly, and he presses his lips into a tight line, trying desperately to stop himself from crying. As if trying to distract himself he moves quietly around the room. Reaching the mantel he pauses and too late I realise what he is looking at: The bell; the beautiful, silver bell that Mrs O’Reilly gave us all those years ago. Our wedding gift.

“Is this the first time I’ve been back?” he asks quietly.

“No,” I answer. “You came back once before, about four years ago. She always brings you to me; it's the only thing that calms you down.”

“Lizzy?” he asks.

“Lizzy.” I nod.

“So Simon was right all along,” he sits down on the couch running his fingers through his curls.  It’s harder that he doesn’t remember. I think that so much time passing between causes confusion; he forgets and needs to be retold, to relive the whole awful truth.

“I wish you could have loved him too,” he says suddenly and I know exactly what he means. I had thought the same thing for a very long time. How much easier things would have been if I could have loved Simon the way I had Adam; even cared deeply for him the way I had for Jacob and for Kyle.  But I didn’t.  Simon was the one alter I could never get along with.  We were two different people, as different as night and day.

I know the exact moment that he catches sight of the photograph in its beautiful gilded frame.  He catches his breath and picks it up gingerly with a hand that is trembling, a sadness coming over him that I cannot protect him from.

“Do you love him, Paige?”  He stares down at the photograph and I swallow back the emotions that have lain dormant for so long, the emotions that only Adam can ignite.

“I do,” I answer honestly, wishing I could give him a different answer, if only to spare him the hurt that my words will inflict.  But I was only ever dishonest with Adam once and it was my undoing.  I will not lie to this beautiful, strong man.  Never again.  He is silent for a long moment, tracing the image of me in the frame, following the lines of the beautiful white dress.  He places the frame back on the mantel abruptly and turns to face me.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, feeling as though I have failed him somehow.

“It’s his life,” he says, and I think he is starting to remember.  “It’s Simon’s life.”  There is a finality and acceptance in his voice.

“It is,” I say, sitting down beside him and taking his hand.

He brings my hand immediately to his lips, turning to stare at me sadly.

“Are you happy, Paige?” he asks and I smile.

“I am, Adam. I’m happy.”

“Well, that’s all that matters,” he answers selflessly.

I fight the urge to wrap my arms around him. Despite the time that has passed, I will never forget how I felt about Adam. He was my everything. My whole world. No amount of time can diminish my feelings but I cannot hide from the truth. I chose to stand up and fight, to move on, and to live, truly live, the best way I know how.

“You did it,” he whispers, his lips curving into a smile. “You did everything I asked. You got married and you had a baby.”

“I did,” I answer simply and truthfully.

It had taken me a long time to be okay. The loss of Adam was the one thing that I thought I would not recover from. There had been so much tragedy, so much emotion, so much pain, and through it all I had managed to find my way back to myself, to my family, to my life. But Adam’s loss was like nothing I had ever experienced. I almost didn’t make it back. It was Abby who had given me the will to go on. I had not known that I was pregnant with her when Simon had finally successfully integrated. About two weeks later I had become ill and the doctor had confirmed it. I was having a baby; Adam’s baby. I had learned how to live again, determined that I would be the best mother to this little piece of Adam growing inside of me. This little piece of him that would live on, even though he was gone.  I had taken Carl up on his free counselling after all. I had spent a year in therapy with him, learning to deal with the loss of Adam, so that I could be the best mother that I possibly could be to my impending bundle.

Life throws us curve balls all the time. Sometimes it gets so hard that we think we will not survive. But mankind is made of sterner stuff than that. Our will to survive will not go unchallenged. We rise up again and again to fight for this precious, amazing and delicate gift we have been given. For life, for love, and for everything in between.

I stayed talking with Adam for two hours and then I kissed him and said goodbye.  Again. He kissed me gently at the car and held my face in his hands, tears streaming down his own. Adam would always do the right thing.  He was just made that way. He was the perfect man. The perfect man for me. I learned the hard way that nothing is perfect. Perfection is a facade. A very true reflection is one that lacks self-deception; one that strips away the layers and exposes the truth that is in our very core.

Lizzy hugged me before they left. Although Simon wanted nothing to do with us, Lizzy had stayed in contact through the years and I always kept her updated as to Abby’s progress. They had never had children of their own. Simon did not want any and Lizzy accepted that, although I suspect that she might have made a different decision if given the choice. I still think that Simon Harris is a horrible person. Some things never change. But, erring on the side of caution, I also always made sure that Lizzy knew exactly where I was, so that if ever the need arose I could be there for Adam.

“I’m sure we'll see you again,” she whispered in my ear and I smiled at her, waving as they drove back down the driveway.

Turning back to the house I take a huge, shuddering breath and make my way inside.  I head for the mantel and lift the beautiful silver bell, holding it delicately in my hand and allowing myself a moment to lose myself in the memory. Giving it a little shake, the sweet chime brings back the day of my wedding as though it was yesterday. Wiping away the tears I set it gently back down. I hear Abby’s shriek of excitement from outside and I walk out to the back garden, towards my family, my future. Adam is my past; my beautiful, torturous, bittersweet past, one that I wouldn’t change for all the world. The year that we had together is something that I will cherish forever. I will remember, forever.

Steven is throwing Abby high into the air and catching her and she is giggling and squirming. It is a beautiful summer’s day but clouds are gathering on the horizon.

Steven catches my eye and whispers in Abby’s ear, lowering her to the ground. She runs over and throws her arms around me squeezing me tightly.

“Go and wash your hands, sweetheart; Granny and Grandpa are on their way.” My mother and Frank come to us every second Sunday for lunch. My mother is now my best friend and has been since the day I let her in.

I kiss Abby’s cheek and she hurtles inside with all the energy of youth.

Steven comes over and takes my hand.

“How did it go?” he asks gently and I take a deep breath, the tears finally flowing.

“Okay,” I answer, my voice breaking.

His strong arms come around me and he rubs my back while I cry.

Steven and I were married a month after Abby’s fourth birthday.  Adam’s sudden and unexpected appearance that day had made me two hours late for my own wedding.  Steven understood. He was still waiting when I finally made it to the altar and his first words were to interrupt the Minister’s opening address when I reached him and ask me if I was okay.  Then he had asked how Adam was and at last had asked the Minister to please continue.  Steven was not threatened by Adam and he respected that a part of me would always love Adam Parker.  Just as a part of me would always love Kevin.

Steven loved Abby like his own and had officially adopted her a year after our wedding.  Simon had signed all rights over to me as soon as she was born; he had wanted nothing to do with the “offspring of our incestuous union”.

I still wasn’t sure whether I would tell Abby the truth when she was older or whether I would let her believe that Steven is in fact her dad.  There is so much pain in this world that she will have to deal with, I do not want to burden her with any more.  Despite that though, I think I will probably tell her the truth in the end, when she is old enough to deal with it and realise that Simon Harris is not her father and that Adam was a separate person altogether.

I have never told anybody about what happened in Ireland, not even Steven. It was between me and Adam, our little piece of forever that can never be taken away; our beautiful, life-altering secret. We all have our secrets I know that now. If there is one thing I've learned, it's that life doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be lived.

“It looks like rain,” Steven’s calm, strong voice interrupts my reverie and I smile, lifting my head and gazing out at the clouds.

I look up at him, so grateful that we found each other and I smile through my tears.

“Will you dance with me if it does?”  I ask.

“Don’t I always?” he answers, dropping a kiss on my forehead.

I still dance in the rain. I still try and live every day as though it is my last, because now, more than ever, I realise that it could be. I understand now how precious life is and how we should grab it with both hands and let it consume us. I still love to write; Harry offered me my old job back without any hesitation, but I turned it down, preferring the flexibility of freelancing. This allowed me the freedom to dedicate most of my time to my family and the Foundation. I used almost all of my invested money to open the Adam Parker Foundation the year after Adam integrated. Its two primary functions are research into Dissociative Identity Disorder and Alzheimer’s Disease. It gives me a sense of purpose, knowing that, because of me, someone else might possibly not have to suffer the way I had.

I rest my head on my husband’s shoulder as we stand with our arms around each other.

“Are you sure about tomorrow?” he asks and I grin.

“We’ve discussed this babe, you're not backing out now," I scold.

“But really, Paige. I just think we might be being a bit hasty.”

I laugh out loud.

“Coward.” I nudge him with my shoulder and he looks down at me with love and adoration.

“So, jumping out of an aeroplane at 12 000 feet sounds like fun to you?” he asks, raising his eyes incredulously.

I pretend to give this some serious thought and then I grin wickedly, “Absolutely!”

About The Author

Melissa Delport graduated from the University of South Africa with a degree in English Literature and now lives with her husband and three children in Hillcrest, KwaZulu-Natal.

For more information visit www.melissadelport.com

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Thank you for taking the time to read my book, I so hope that you enjoyed it. If at all possible, please head over to Amazon and conduct a review.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

About The Author