"Five years ago, I was raped. In my bedroom. By a man who had been my teacher and mentor. My mother, my sisters, my brother in law, and my neighbor were downstairs, I could hear them laughing, talking--"

"They didn't hear you?" Lilly’s eyes fly up to my face at my interruption, as if she'd forgotten I was there and is surprised to see me. I'm instantly contrite. "I'm sorry." She looks at the floor again.

"I didn't make any noise, Harry." She says and tugs her hand again, halfhearted attempt this time, but I hold on. "I didn't scream. I didn't fight him." Her eyes dart to mine, wide and a little frantic. "I said no. He didn't listen and I think I was in shock after that because, honestly, I stopped feeling anything. Not physically, I felt everything he did to my body. But it was like my mind went blank. He..." she swallows and shuts her eyes; a shudder causes her shoulders to hunch. "I just lay there because I couldn't understand what was happening. This man had been like a surrogate father to me and suddenly, he was fucking me. My mind disconnected. I just remember him on top of me, I remember him inside of me," She pauses and puts her free hand to her throat, gripping it as she speaks as if she has to squeeze the words out. "And when it was over I let him sleep in my bed. He ate breakfast with us the next morning before he left and everyone was so nice to him. No one noticed that I didn't say a word. It was like all I could see was this monster and everyone else was asking him questions about his new job. And then, I just let him leave. I didn't tell anyone Well, except for my boyfriend, Tomas. A couple of days after I got home, he came over. And when he touched me, I had my first panic attack. After it was over, I told him." She is staring blankly at the closed doors. I hold my breath for what I'm afraid is coming next.

"And he didn't believe me. He said I must have slept with someone and was trying to make excuses. Where were my bruises? He asked me why I didn't go to the police. Why hadn't I kicked him out? Why he'd been in my room in the first place? I didn't have any answers. I couldn't say anything that would convince him or myself that maybe I hadn't been clear.” She sneers.

Her hands skim her thighs and then flit up to her arms, covered, as usual and things start to click into place in my mind.

My outrage morphs into rage at this. That she was assaulted is bad enough. That someone she loved said that to her is an insult on top of the injury.

It takes all of my self-control to stand still, to remain quiet. I have to stop listening to her for a few seconds and remind myself that this is not about me. I can't go back and change the past.

"It was like, I died then Harry.” Her voice is low and strained, but I hear her. It’s a punch, with a battering ram, in the gut to hear how much he hurt her.

“I lost my faith when that happened and I thought I’d never get it back. I didn’t believe in anything, or anyone, or myself.” She looks up at me then, her eyes guarded, her chin titled up as if she’s blocking a blow. “I hate him so much." She says angrily.

My eyes leave her face and see her body is rigid. Her posture not as straight as it normally is. Like a deer preparing for flight. That's how she looks and I put a damper on my anger. And I see her clearly now. Everything makes sense.

She's not just hurting, she’s afraid. That someone will blame her or not believer her. She calls it hate and feasts on it because she thinks it's her strength. She pushes her family away because she wants them to chase her. She built a wall and has prayed that someone would care enough to pull it down. To ask her why. To share her rage and to be the subject of her loathing.

"He ruined me." She says softly, so softly that I know she is hoping I didn't hear her. But, I do and I feel blank for a second. And then my rage is back. That this person made this beautiful woman think she is ruined, makes me want to find him and kill him. I don't even breathe as I wait for her to continue. I want to ask her a thousand questions all at once.

She gives me a sidelong glance, but her eyes dart away quickly. But not so quickly that I miss what's in her eyes and it makes me feel completely and utterly useless. She is ashamed and I know from experience that shame is not something anyone can talk you out of.

"He was my high school counselor. It was Christmas and he spent it with us because a few years ago, he'd moved to Australia for the chance to head a really elite high school. I was the one who brought him into our family. My father...wasn't there when I was in high school. We moved my junior year, I told you about that in Ghana,” she says apologetically but continues talking before I can tell her that it's okay. She's talking faster than I've ever heard her speak before. Like she's been waiting forever to tell this story and now can't contain it.

"He helped me through a really hard time. My whole family was falling apart, and I felt like I had to be strong for them. But he listened. He kept my secrets and soon became someone my whole family knew. It was nice. To have an older man to talk to. It was my last night and we’d celebrated, had champagne, hung out in the hot tub and had a big family dinner. After dinner, when he followed me up to my bedroom- I'd gone up to pack because I was leaving for Miami the next day - I hadn't thought anything of it. He sat on my bed, asking me about Tomas and work. And then when I went into my closet to get the rest of my things he followed me and that was where he tried to kiss me. I was so confused, I didn't know how to react. So, I let him. I thought it was harmless. We'd all been drinking a little. But he didn't stop."

"I didn't fight him. I didn't yell. But I said "no" explicitly. I did." Her voice is pleading but not soft. She's looking at me intently as if to see if I understand.

"I wasn't aroused, I wasn't wet, I didn't participate. But, I let him lie there until he woke up, got up and left. I haven't been back to that house. I haven't told anyone, except my ex, Aiden, and my therapist. I started seeing her when I got back from Ghana. After you…” she smiles shyly at me, gazing at me through her thick lashes.

“I decided that I had to find a way to get beyond this. I wasn't living. I wanted to tell my family. But, I haven't been able to. I'm not sure they'd believe me."

"Why?”

"Because, Harry. I liked sex.” She says, exasperated, as if I should have known the reason. “I'd had plenty of lovers and I loved to talk about it. I thought they would think what Tomas did."

My temper spikes, my pulse pounds in my head.

"What does how many people you’d willingly slept with have to do with the one who raped you?” I demand, annoyed and dismayed at her story.

“I know that in here, Harry.” She taps the side of her head, “But, I was afraid that’s what they would think.” She explains, almost pleading for me to understand.

I don’t.

“But, they're your family."

"They don't know me." She says through gritted teeth. “My father was gone. My mother became a martyr to his memory. My sisters fell apart. I didn't feel like I could indulge in my own feelings.”

I recall Dean’s comment the other night. I tell her what he said and she laughs, humorlessly.

"Oh, there's no binding strong enough to hold the weight of our story.” She chuckles. “Is that what they think? That I'm holding them together? They're clueless." Her tone has lost its sadness and has picked up an edge of rancor now.

"They never asked me what happened. Not even when I didn't see any of them for more than a year. When I didn't come home for Christmas the next year, Milly asked me what was wrong. Like she was asking if I had a cold. And when I'd told her I didn't want to talk about it, she dropped. Just like that. I’ve seen what happens to women who report things like that. My family had their fair share of scandal and I didn’t want to do draw more attention to us. " She shrugs and I hold her hand, so sorry that she's gone through so much alone.

"And, I spent a good two years doubting myself. How could I have told them if I wasn’t sure if I believed it myself. It took me a long time to realize that violence doesn’t mean that something causes physical pain. I know now that my “no.” should have been enough to stop him.” Her voice pulses with righteousness and pain. But, when she looks up at me, all I see in her honey gold eyes is a certainty that amazes me. I put a hand on her shoulder, hoping it’s a small comfort, and she expels a big breath.

Her body relaxes visibly even though she's still staring out the window, as she speaks in a more muted tone, “Now, that I know all of that, I don't know what good it would do to tell them. Five years later. It would only hurt them. And change the way they see me. I’m so afraid of that."

Her voice breaks on this last word and she swallows hard. I want to pull her close to me and hold her.

I was numb with anger after Zara died and everything I believed turned upside down. I know what that feels like. It’s hard to tell your story honestly. It takes effort to not paint the other person as a villain, to own the role you played in your own demise. To admit that you’re weak and don’t understand. But, she’d made me feel safe enough to tell her my story. In that elevator. I got to say, out loud, all of the things I'd been too scared - no, too ashamed - to say. I remember how cathartic and character building that was. She gave me that, when I hadn’t been particularly nice to her and when we were still strangers. This woman’s capacity for love is fathomless. I see that now. She has thought of everyone she loves before herself.

I want to say that to her, but I remember how much I appreciated her silence while I talked. So, I don’t say a word. I just hold her hand and give her the space to talk.

"I know it sounds crazy.” And her eyes flick to mine. Gauging my reaction. I just shake my head slightly and smile at her to continue.

"That does sound crazy,” I acknowledge. And she looks up at me, her eyes startled and wide as if she'd forgotten I was there. "Your boyfriend was a pig and you're well shot of him. As for that piece of shit who raped you, he's living free on borrowed time. Whether it's you or someone else, this shit will catch up with him."

"He's dead." She says, her voice devoid of emotion. For a second, I’m afraid she’s about to tell me she killed him and my heart stops.

I have to stifle my relieved sigh when she says, "He died a year ago. Bitten by a snake. When I heard, I was so happy." She frowns and looks up at me "Is that evil? Then she shrugs and looks back at the window, “Actually, I’m not so sure I care anymore. It’s how I felt."

I turn her toward me I look her in the eye. And as soon as I do that, everything else disappears. I can feel every nerve ending in my hands as they touch hers. I’m aware of the thrum of the pulse point in her wrist. Her hands fit perfectly into mine. I don't want to let go. Her eyes hold an expression akin to wonder in them as we stare at each other. I can see her having some sort of struggle, but her hands relax in my grasp.

"It's when I got my tattoo. I was wearing my necklace that night and I never wanted to put it on me again, but I thought that I was finally free. I got that tattoo. I cut my hair, dyed it blond.” She gives a snort of a laugh and looks up at the ceiling. “I thought I was reinventing myself. I even went home.” She shakes her head, regret all over her face. “When I got there, I realized that I was choking on more than the memories of the rape. It wasn’t just my bedroom I was avoiding. They weren’t even living in the same house anymore. I still couldn’t stand being there.”

Her lips quiver and her face crumbles. “I’m so angry at my family. They look at me and can't see that a part of me is ruined." She's sobbing now. Her pain spills out like the carbonated liquid in a bottle that has been shaken and then abruptly yanked open. I hold her and let her cry. I’m relieved to have one more piece of the puzzle.

Her crying subsides, and she sniffles into my shoulder and as much as I hate to ask, I need to know.

"Why do you call yourself ruined?" I ask her, and hold my breath, sure that I’ve offended her.

She answers immediately and without breaking eye contact.

"Because I can't look at my body without thinking about what he did to me and how much I hate myself for letting it happen. Because I lie to everyone I love. I don't know how to tell them the truth after lying for so many years. I’m alone because this is part of my history. When I met you, I wanted to just enjoy you without having that taint it. And then, when it was time to leave, I didn’t know how to come clean.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” I say.

She turns to look at me, her eyes ablaze. “That’s not why. I know that. It’s not my shame to carry. I know that no one does anything to deserve what happened to me.” She turns back to look out of the window. Her profile is grave and tense as she speaks.

“It’s because what he did is part of my life history now. Forever. I hate having to tell you that a man who’d been like a father to me, put his penis inside of me. That he fucked me.” I flinch at the words, at the thought at the pain in her voice.

“He touched me in places no one has the right to touch.” She punches the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. “He came inside of me.” My throat clenches, my pulse quickening as I try to hold back my anger. I want to shout, I want to weep. That someone hurt her this way, is unfathomable.

“I hate him.” Her voice is ice. Her anger is white hot. Besides her punching fist, she doesn’t move as she speaks, but her voice is so raw with emotion that I can feel it, like hot stone in my chest, burning me from the inside out. I don’t know how to help her, I don’t know what to say.

“I hate having to tell anyone that. I don't want to see the change in their eyes when they start to think of me as a victim instead of a woman, or sister or a daughter." She is breathing heavily and her fists are clenched at her sides and watches my face.

She expects that from me. She's looking at me as if she's waiting for the transformation. “You’re never going to see that from me. It doesn’t change who you are. Not then, not five years later. And it doesn’t change how I see you. And you need to come clean to your family.”

She pulls back a little, but I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her from moving. “Hear me out. Please.” She nods and I start talking again.

“If you think you know everything about them, you're delusional. No one can know everything about another person. There are things that are just ours, and not for anyone else to know.” I rub my hand down her back and I see a flicker of relief in her eyes.

She shakes her head and the smile on her face is the first one I've seen since she's been here. It's as if she's so happy she can't stand it. "When we were in Ghana, spending time together. Exploring, talking, making love… I remembered myself. The person I'd been, and oh God,” she exhales the last word. “The way I feel about you.”

A shot of relief and gratitude course through me at her words, hope shows it’s fearless face and I feel like I’m standing on top of the world.

"Tell me." I ask, eager to hear more.

Gladly.” Her fingers sift into the hair at the nape of my neck and she gazes into my eyes and…just like that, I know I’m falling for her.

"When you kiss me, it’s like shot of sunshine- straight to my center.” Her sigh is very close to a moan and her hand comes up to caress the back of her neck. Her eyes are glowing. Before she drapes her arms around my shoulder and then clasps her fingers together behind my neck.

Her voice is husky and sweet. “You're a marvel and a wonder of a man. The way you love your family and the way you're here for them inspires me. I've been falling for you since that night in the elevator and… I'm not afraid to say any of that out loud.” She sounds like she’s surprised herself. I grin at her and she keeps talking.

“I want everything." She shakes our joined hands for emphasis. Her gaze is direct and open. "Everything."

"It's yours." I tell her right away. And her smile turns into a grin.

She grasps my hands and her smile softens as do her eyes. "I'm so sorry about Ghana. I'm sorry I started off with the lie about my name. But I'd decided that before I even met you. Porsha, that's Bambi's real name -"

I laugh out loud at that. "Oh my God, who chooses the name Bambi."

"She thought it was sexy." She laughs.

"Why Emma?" I ask her.

"She's one of the most misunderstood characters in all of literature, in my humble opinion, and I’ve always liked her a lot.”

"You mean Jane Austen's Emma?" I ask and shake my head in awe. "Wasn’t she also a compulsive liar?”

“She was misunderstood.” She pokes me in the rib with her elbow and I laugh.

My laughter fades in a heartbeat when I see how solemn her expression has become again.

"I swear to you,” she implores as she looks at me with bright, earnest eyes. “That nothing else between us was false. Every kiss, every touch, every laugh was borne of real feelings and I hope you can forgive me. For not telling you the truth. I didn't expect any of that to happen. I didn't think anything could grow in such a short amount of time.” My heart gives a little “boom.” Those words could have been mine.

Her smile turns rueful, “I didn't think anything or anyone could penetrate the walls I'd constructed and so when you slid right past my defenses, I didn't know what to do with it. I didn’t think I could tell you all of this. So, I didn’t come back the next day and I knew you wouldn’t be able to find me if you decided to come looking.”

Her eyes come to me now. The normally clear gold of them clouded by trepidation. " You deserve better. I know you probably think..."

“I think you're a dream come true." I tell her, honestly and earnestly. “I'm honored you told me. I want to know the rest of it." I squeeze her hand.

"There's so much...I want to say." She says quietly but squeezes it back.

"You've got to talk to your family.” I insist, without thinking first.

Her eyes dim, her smile fades and she steps back.

"I can't. That's the one thing I know I cannot do. At least not now," her voice is resolute.

"But you told me."

"You asked." She shoots back.

"How can they ask if they have no clue something is wrong?"

She turns to face me. Takes my other hand in hers and steps into me.

"Harry. I've been a walking wound for five years. They know something is wrong.”

"Would you be too afraid to ask them what was wrong?" She blinks up at me like I've splashed cold water in her eyes.

"No. I wouldn't." She says her voice contemplative. "It's been a rough couple of years for all of us. I've sort of been the one without a crisis that needed attention." Her eyes drift and lose focus as if she's recalling something.

At my incredulous scoff she looks at me again.

"Lilly. You're amazing, but I have to break it to you. You’ve been an actual crisis for a lot longer than a couple of years. Maybe they’ve had their own problems, too but that doesn’t mean they can’t be there for you. Give them a chance"

She rolls her eyes dismissively, but I see her lips fight the urge to curve upward at the corners.

"It's your turn to lean on them."

She shakes her head fast and hard. "I can't, Harry. Do you know why I was out there?" She cocks her head toward the door.

"No. But I saw you and your father arguing on the dance floor. I went to get a drink for Ca--" I feel a flush rise on my neck as I remember Camille.

She purses her lips but doesn't say anything.

"I came back to the table and you were gone. Your father was staring at the front door. I walked out and I saw you crying in the snow."

"He told me whatever happened was my fault, too. Before I even told him what it was.." She says with a twist to her lips that belies the mournful expression in her eyes. "They wouldn't understand. I can't tell them."

"You don't have to decide tonight. But maybe now that you've told me, it might be easier." I prod.

She takes a steadying breath and smiles up at me. This time it reaches all the way to her eyes. I relax the grasp my hands have on hers and run them up the soft cashmere of her sweater's sleeves. I skim her collarbone and slide my hands inside the neck of the cardigan's open front.

I drag the material off her. Exposing her skin, all bronzed and perfect. The tips of my fingers skim her lightly, and a trail of gooseflesh erupts when the air touches her. I dip my nose and inhale, and she shivers.

“You smell so good.” I want to let my lips brush her skin, but I restrain myself. I want to make sure we’re done talking before I let myself touch her the way I want to.

"You are a vision, Lilly...you're so aptly named. Beautiful, a symbol of hope, it's just... right."

She sighs, long and heavy- as if she's been holding her breath as the sweater flutters softly to the ground. It's landing is silent, but I can feel the heaviness of the effect it's having on her. "How do you feel?"

"Sensual." She says and a beautiful blush makes her bronze skin glow and she looks down. "My mind knows that there's nothing wrong with that. I know that what happened isn't my fault. But I still worry that someone will misunderstand and that it'll happen again. So I cover up. No skin showing, no one can think I’m giving off the wrong vibes. And I’m very explicit about what I want in bed. " She whispers this to the floor, her voice quiet and heavy.

"Look at me, Lilly." I keep my hands at my side as I speak. "Lilly, the only people who wouldn’t understand are people who don't know right from wrong. People who don't respect anyone, not even themselves. That has nothing to do with you and nothing you do, nothing you wear can make those people see you any differently.”

She lifts my hand in hers and brings it up and lays it in the center of her chest.

“I want you to touch me. I love the way you look at me." She whispers, a small grin on her face, and it transforms her face. She's radiant.

"How do I look at you?"

“Like I'm a treasure.” She beams at me.

"You are.” She glitters. “I want to touch you, more than I want my next heart beat.”

She puts my hand on her bare shoulder and sighs as my fingers close around her.

"I want to put my mouth here." My fingers traces circles on her skin. My heart is thumping in my chest. I've touched her before but this time, with all of those words we've spoken, feels like the first time.

She nods, her eyes hooded and lazy now as they watch me.

"Is that a yes, Lilly?"

"Yes." She rasps, "Please." That last word so soft, yet so fucking loaded.

I lay my lips on her skin, it's so hot, as soft as an apricots skin and she smells like citrus. I let my tongue dart out to taste her and the salty sweetness of her makes my body tightens as it remembers how the rest of her tastes.

Her hands come up and grab my shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of my tuxedo's shoulders. Her forehead lands on my shoulder and hair covers us in a sweet fragrance that I know I'll never get tired of smelling. I sink my teeth into her shoulder and her fingers move from my shoulders to my hair. She holds my head tightly in place and whimpers

"Harry, I love that so much. Your mouth on me feels so..."

The crackle and pop of fireworks break burst our bubble, as surely as pin had pricked it. Like rabbits when they hear the crack of a twig under a hunter's boot, we freeze. The burst of light that illuminate the sky and send shimmers of light pouring in through the windows of the temple seem to break the spell that froze us.

We jump apart.

"Oh, God. It's midnight." She breathes and then a smile, as beautiful as the day is long spreads across her face.

"Happy New Year, Harry." She beams at me.

"Happy New Year, Lilly. What a way to start it."

"Together." We say in unison, our hands joined as we watch the fireworks out of the window. The fireworks feel like a sign that this is a moment to celebrate. That tonight is the beginning of something real and important. We’re making a memory we’ll look back on for a long time to come. It’s an amazing feeling.

After a few minutes, she sighs, "It's almost over. You need to go back." She says as she bends down to pick up her sweater. I jolt with a start as I remember that the fireworks also signal the end of the wedding reception. I was supposed to be standing with my parents when they were set off.

"Shit! Okay. But..." I look at her helplessly. I know I need to go. It's my brother's wedding. My mother is probably out of her mind with fury that I'm not there and, Camille. I groan.

"Let's go. I'll talk to Camille tonight."

"No, oh God. No. Wait. It's late and I don't want her or Freya to come try to kill me in my sleep." She says lightly but I can see the worry in her eyes.

"Tomorrow's fine. It's the wedding breakfast and I can wait until afterwards. Everyone will be so busy, she'll hardly even notice me." I straighten my tuxedo's lapels and she slips her sweater back on and wipes at her tear stains face. I'm glad the evening is over.

"You okay?" I ask her and she looks up at me, smiling.

"I am. Thank you." She squeezes my hand and then heads for the door. I switch off the lights and follow her out.

"Tomorrow,” I say as we step out into the frigid night. The smile she shoots over her shoulder at me is like a jolt of electricity.

"Yes."

When she says that, I want to snatch her back inside, kiss that sweet mouth until neither one of us can breathe and then make love to her. I know I can't, but God, I can't wait to.