It’s busy down Bankside, crowds of tourists milling around in the space between The Globe and the Tate Modern. There are at least twenty foreign exchange kids all with matching backpacks on, trying to get in through the doors of the Tate all at once. I hang back and wait for them to wedge themselves through and then I slip past and pace in the opposite direction to whatever they are going in.  The Tate Modern is cavernous, with large blank spaces and elevators that could take you anywhere to see anything. If you want to see Emin’s bed, you can go in one direction, if you want to see Rodin’s kiss—the other.

I wander around not really looking for anything in particular.

I am installing at the Tate. It’s beyond my wildest dreams. Beyond any dream really. A few people glance at me—The Sun readers obviously—but I ignore them and focus on filling my chest with breaths of air, and my heart and mind with art.

I haven’t created a thing since I came back to London. I haven’t created a thing since I smashed the glass heart. What happens if I can’t erase the block in my mind? What would happen if there were ten students here all waiting to create with me and I had nothing?

I can’t think about it because fear will freeze me forever.

As usual when I come to the gallery, I end up standing in front of Rodin’s Kiss. I never used to understand it, but now in the smooth curves of the lovers and the delicate possession of their embrace I do. It’s the way I always want to be held by Eli. A soft touch of lips, a body burning with fire, his hands on my skin and the knowledge that he will be deep inside me, filling me up as our bodies slide together. My own body warms as I stare at the lovers caught in an endless embrace.

I blush a little and move on. I’ve never had that sort of reaction in front of the statue before.

Once I’m done, I head back out onto the busy pathway along the river and head to the cafe where Eli bought everything they owned. After grabbing a sandwich or two and ordering a latte and a double espresso, I go to find Stephen and pass him my small offerings. “Elijah’s girl, right?”

“Yep.” I grin widely. “Guess you haven’t seen The Sun today?”

He shakes his head with a slight smile. “The only thing that rag is good for is sleeping on.”

I quite agree. I settle down next to him and scratch the dog’s ears. “Will you help me with something?” The blankets are filthy, and I make a mental note to get some clean ones.

“What is it, darlin’?”

“I’ve been offered an installation and the chance for other people to participate to win a scholarship. I’ve got an idea for the theme. I thought it could explore the empty hole that is London. Will you walk me around the places you know so I can get some inspiration?”

Stephen’s eyes settle on my face. “You want to highlight homelessness?”

I nod and sip my coffee. I forgot to sweeten the coffee and it’s as bitter as anything. “Yes. And then I have another favour?”

“What’s that?” He pulls some ham from his sandwich and feeds it to the dog.

“Eli told me you were into art before you left home. He said you loved it.”

“Art is only for the rich, Faith.”

“Well that’s not true, look at Elijah. You guys knew each other at school and neither of you are creating anymore. Even though you live out here it must still be inside you the way it was when you were both young boys?” Elijah whispered his tales of school to me in the depth of night as he tangled his naked body around mine. I wanted to hug him tight and never let him go.

“You know what I mean. It’s an exclusive society and I gave up doodling when I couldn’t afford the paper it to do it on anymore. I reckon Elijah gave it up when he was told it wasn’t a suitable career.”

My cheeks warm a bit but I shrug. “Yeah, well not if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

Stephen shakes his head. “So Elijah is the rescuer of the poor and you are the saviour of art? What a pair.”

I snort. “Will you come for a walk with me?”

“Well my diary is packed today.”

“I can see that.”

“But I think I can squeeze you in.”

I grin and stand up from the cold floor. I can’t even imagine sleeping like that, sitting on it was bad enough. Maybe I can change that? Or maybe I can’t change anything at all. I don’t know.

But every opportunity has got to be worth something, and I’ve got to make this the best opportunity there is.

I head to the flat, my feet are killing me. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to find in the flat I don’t seem to sleep in anymore.

“Hey?” I call as I shut the door behind me and put my bags on the floor. “Anyone here?”

“Yep.” Tabs is on the sofa which is where I left her yesterday.

“How you doing?” I thought a lot about Tabitha and Lewis as Stephen and I walked around London.

I can’t imagine what she must be feeling. How are you supposed to feel when you lose a baby that was a surprise in the first place?

Yesterday she’d cried, and the ordeal had sounded traumatic.

“I’m okay, feeling kind of normal now.”

I nod and squeeze her hand. “I guess normal is good, right?”

She snickers a bit and I pretend to glare. “Are you implying I’m not normal?”

She quirks an eyebrow that is all Eli and I pull a face. “Has mum called you yet? I figured she’d be hunting you down once that newspaper article broke.”

I shrug. “Nope. Maybe I’m too lowly for her to worry about.”

Tabitha shakes her head. “Nope, I doubt that. Eli is going to fight for you, you know that, right?”

“Yes, I think so. Although I’m not sure why.”

“Because he loves you.” She rolls her eyes but her bottom lip wobbles.

“Where is Lewis?”

“He went to Philip’s; said we needed some space.”

I nod my head slowly. “And do you need some space? It must be odd, right, you’ve known each other a few weeks and for most of that you were pregnant?”

She rubs at her face. Abi should be here having this talk, not me. I’m not a suitable representative of the female race.

“I love him.” There’s a wobble beneath the statement.

“I know you do.” I pick up her slender hand. “I think it’s amazing. When I was your age, I was so twisted and messed up I was promising not to ever love anyone.” I sigh, my head dropping under the weight of cement filled memories, until I raise my head and meet her eyes. “And I didn’t until I met Elijah. He’s the only person outside of my extensive friendships group of three I’ve ever allowed in.”

Her gaze lifts to my face but I carry on.

“And now look at me. I’ve got you as well, and I’m thankful for that, but love isn’t something instant, well not for me anyway.”

“What happened to you, Faith?”

I give a wry chuckle. “You probably don’t want to know, and I don’t talk about it.”

“But Elijah knows? And your friend in Brighton?”

“All two of them.” She knows this, she lived there with me for a couple of days. I was never overwhelmed with an influx of visitors. It’s just me, Al, Dan, and Abi.

I swallow hard. It’s just me, Dan, and Abi.

Pausing for a moment, I try to think. I haven’t seen one person come to see Tabitha, not a friend, not her mother. It’s just been Eli and me.

She’s as lonely as I’ve been, and I’ve been blind to it. No wonder she loves Lewis with so much intensity; it’s the way my heart has exploded for Eli. When your heart has nothing, it loves with everything—I didn’t know this until very recently.

I squeeze her hand and take a deep breath. “It’s not pretty.”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

Reaching forward I smooth her hair. “I want to.” Turning for the window, I glance at the darkening sky. Eli will be on his way to Bowsley soon and then we shall see the mess we end up in.

“When I was fourteen, a boy came into my life; into my home under the pretence of being a brother figure.” It still burns. Still hurts. Telling Eli hasn’t healed the wounds. The way he loves me still hasn’t soothed the pain in its entirety. “He abused me, under my dad’s roof. For a long time, I didn’t tell anyone because I thought I was in the wrong. I believed the lies he spun and whispered into my ear like poison.”

“What did he do to you?” Her voice wobbles.

I shrug and blow out a mouthful of air, but I make sure to meet her eyes, showing my sincerity and feelings for her. I trust her. Love her even. “He touched, played with me, I guess. With my body and my emotions. Then he raped me.” A tear slides down my face, but I still refuse to move my gaze from her eyes. “He made me believe I’d asked for it. More than once.”

The colour drains from her face. “Faith, I’m sorry.” Pools of water fill her eyes. “I’m sorry. You should have told me.”

“No.” I squeeze her hand and breathe hard to push back the tide of tears. “No, your brother taught me to feel. For a long time, I was numb, locked inside bitter darkness. But I’m not like that anymore.”

“And the boy?” She hesitates. “I guess he’s a man now. Is he in prison?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve never done anything about it.”

“But Eli—”

“What about Eli?”

Tabitha chews on her bottom lip. “That would kill him, knowing you hadn’t received justice. He wants justice for everyone. I remember the row at home when they pushed him into his career path. He fought them so hard, but no one wins against the Faircloughs, so he said he’d follow their wishes, but not because of them, but because he wanted to help people.”

My chest tightens. “He can’t fix everything. My history is too buried now, I don’t want to bring it all up again, and it’s caused enough pain.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well I don’t speak to my dad. What happened shaped my life every day until I met your brother. I tried to erase the past by telling myself I was in charge, that I could decide who I would sleep with and when, and I prevented anyone from getting close.”

“But you let me in.”

I lean closer and squeeze her in my arms. “Sure did, Sister.” Her eyes light on my face and she goes to open her mouth.

“Don’t even think it. He hasn’t asked, and I haven’t answered.” I need to change this subject sharp.

“What do you want to do now?” I meet her gaze. “Tabitha, I am so sorry for what’s happened to you.”

Her bottom lip wobbles and I fight back a flurry of tears. “I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

We slip into one another’s arms and hug tight, both of us swept away as we hug as tight as two long lost sisters, and I stare at the darkening sky wondering what is going to happen to all of us, and whether there is the slightest chance any of us can break free from the Faircloughs once and for all.

I’m in the studio. I gave up trying to sleep at midnight when Eli still wasn’t home.

I’ve got one of Eli’s easels pulled under a spotlight, and on my palette I have a mix of grey, every shade I could make. My heart feels heavy after an afternoon walking London with Stephen, seeing the truth under the city that most people turn a blind eye to. My conversation with Tabitha is weighing on my heart although I’m pleased in a way she’s decided to stay on in London and not run back to Bowsley. She even talked of going out and getting a job, just something in a shop, something she can call her own. Jennifer Fairclough is going to spit fire, but good on Tabs for taking a stand. Maybe me telling her about my past helped her to see that it is possible to be free. I don’t know.

The handle clicks softly, and I turn, my gaze falling on Eli. I catch my breath. He’s something else stood there in a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck; and dark suit trousers. His feet are just covered in black socks and it’s endearing and sexy all at once.

He comes closer, the blues on my face. “What are you doing up?”

He smiles and I breathe in the scent of him as he reels me into his arms, his hard body pressing into mine, his hold strong and secure. My nose skims the warm skin of this throat. “Worrying about you.”

His lips press against my hair, my nose, and then my lips. I fall into his kiss, my hands in his hair, my body coming alive as it presses against his, all firm lines and hidden strength. “Faith,” he whispers my name into my mouth and it sparks a wildfire spreading through my limbs.

“I missed you.” I kiss him harder, trying to give him everything while inside I’m swept into a molten lava of desire.

His hands slip under my shirt, palming the skin on my tummy.

“Wait.” I break the kiss although my body chastises me with a sting of separation. “How did it go?”

His eyes flash, swirling with desire. “Well, you’re no longer my mistress.” His lips quirk. “For which my mother sincerely apologises by the way.”

I tilt my head while my blood pumps fast, my heart clangs, wanting to soar free of the chains I’ve tethered it down with. “What does that mean?”

His hands slide to my hips, anchoring me against him. “It means you’re mine, but then I’ve always known that.”

“What?”

“You are mine, Faith, always mine, until the day I die.”

A tear slips down my face. “This is happening. No more hiding?”

“Faith, you will never have to hide again.”

His lips crash into mine, dragging me into the dream he can weave with his words. Our tongues dance, hot breath mingling as he lifts me, and I straddle my legs around his waist as he walks us out of the studio and back into the house.

He pauses to lock up and I slip out of his embrace, my fingers slipping over the buttons of his shirt, gliding over the smooth skin I find underneath.

He’s mine.

Tomorrow we will wake and there will be nothing holding us back, and the day after that, and the day after that.

I unhook his suit trousers pushing them over his hips with his boxers and he stands stock still as I strip him down to nothing more than skin and bone. I think of Rodin’s Kiss, two lovers intertwined with delicate passion. Stepping back from Eli, I pull my oversized sweatshirt over my head and discard it on the floor, left only in my knickers. We watch one another; his eyes absorb my ink, the patterns and swirls he is beginning to know so well. My eyes skim down his tall frame at the hidden strength that lurks beneath, the steely determination and power that has overwhelmed me from the moment we met. Between us, his erection stands proud and dominating and an almost painful heat tingles between my legs.

“Take me.” I hold his gaze. “Everything I am I give to you.”

His gaze is deep, depths of understanding and desire. His arms sweep me back up and he takes us to his bed, placing me with delicate care on the mattress.

“Lay still.” His words burn through me, awakening my body. My nipples stand to attention before they’ve even been touched and the heat between my legs grows until I want to rub them together to ease the sting.

His gaze drops to my feet, to the delicate chain of daisies I have there around my ankles that travels up my thigh. The further his searching stare rises, the hotter my body becomes. When he reaches the soft mound of hair at the apex of my thighs, I scrunch the sheets between my hands, willing myself not to move. He leans forward and pushes my legs apart, his hands on my calves. I want to fight him, want to hide myself. I’ve never been stared at this way, not even with my art work on my skin. No one has ever searched for the me underneath—not until him.

Leaning down, his nose skims up the tip of my thigh, and I know what he’s going to do. I want it, want him desperately. He moves so slow I lift my hips off the bed. Put your tongue there already. “Lay still.”

I fall back with his words, succumbing to his direction and in reward he strokes his firm tongue between my folds, freeing my clit and teasing it with a gentle suck of his lips. I whimper, trying hard not to squirm my hips.

The next stroke is stronger, deeper, and when he centres back on my core, he circles his tongue, pulsing and playing. His hands slip under my arse and he lifts me, widening my legs so his tongue can thrust deep within me, flicking and delving while his teeth graze my hardened bud. “Oh, God.” A wave of an orgasm threatens to pull me down, but I fight it off. I don’t want this to end. I try not to concentrate on its lulling pull, but it’s hard when he’s devouring me with his mouth. When I can’t hang on and that wave is edging higher and higher and my hands are dragging at the sheets he pulls away, lifting me with strong hands. Like a puppet, I follow his command. I’m dying. I want him. Need him. He pulls me closer, his lips on my mouth. The musky taste of my juices tingle against my lips. I straddle his lap and he pushes me down on his erection and slowly slides deep. My legs and arms wrap around him tight and I push my hips with a gentle rhythm. My face is pressed into his neck, his hands run along my spine, but it’s slow and sweet. The wave builds again, and I lean back. His eyes burn as I position myself where he can go so deep it is on the verge of pain.

I can’t hold it.

It’s too much.

His fingers tangle in my hair, his palm against my cheek. “Scream my name.”

I do. It pours out of me.

He throws me back onto the bed, ramming himself to the hilt, his own groans deepening with every thrust of his hips.

“Faith,” he pants my name like a prayer as his mouth crashes into mine and his back arches.

When he’s done, he collapses on me, his breath coming hard. I’m shivering with aftershocks and release. His lips skim my neck and trail to my mouth, then he looks back, his eyes holding mine.

“I’m going to love you forever.”

The promise is deep and unflinching and I know he will.

I don’t say a word. The tears slipping from my eyes say it all.