He takes my hand. I feel him rub the diamond under his thumb in a slow, languorous circle. “I’m telling you with this.” He looks at me somberly.

My reaction is visceral, instinctive, there is no doubt in my mind as I grab his shirt, boost up and I’m shaking all over and press my mouth to his, answering with my wet kiss. He lifts me up by the waist and my skirt hikes up as I curl my legs around him.

“Yes,” I breathe, grabbing his jaw in my hands and drowning in the lights inside those green forests of his that I swear to god contain the sun right now.

He nuzzles my nose. “Yes?”

“Yes, Malcolm. Always yes.” I press my lips to his, no tongue, just lips, and I squeeze my legs and arms around him as tight as I can as we hug . . . for a long time. Simply hold each other. For a long time.

The wind teases my hair, and I feel it wrap around our faces as we lean our foreheads against each other.

I’m crying and laughing and, suddenly, raining wet kisses all over his jaw, his temple, his forehead, his nose, his lips again . . .

He stops me with his hands to look into my eyes. “Two more times.”

“You want me to say yes four times?”

God. What do you do when the man you love asks you something?

You say yes.

Four times yes.

What do you do when a Saint loves you? You love him with all that you possess.

What do you do when Sin comes calling?

You do him.