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We drained our drinks, I grabbed my bag and coat and he took my hand, as we headed for the stairs. He had rung ahead and booked one of the rooms at this small country inn. It was a pretty room, low ceiling with rustic country furniture and a bed covered in floral chintz and lacy cushions. Tom had placed a single red rose on a cushion in the middle of the bed, a small, but perfect gesture of his love for me. I sat on the bed, picked up the rose and sighed; it was so beautiful, not only visually, but in what it represented. But I couldn't take it home with me as I could not risk my husband seeing it. Tom was the man I was falling in love with, but he was not the man I was married to. We had met a few months back, when he came to my home to advise my husband and myself on some financial issues. We had been seeing each other in secret ever since, we messaged each other every day, our conversations sometimes deep, often light hearted and always flirtatious. Tom smiled down at me, he took. In an attempt to make me laugh, he whispered absurd things to me in an overly sophisticated accent. I found myself playing along with him as he pretended to be a nobleman touring the continent. Laughing quietly, we continued strolling arm in arm through the corridors until we arrived at our train carriage. Stopping at the door, he let go of my hand and ended the charade. Suddenly, I felt panic set upon me. I was a woman traveling alone at night with a soldier. I was vulnerable. What if his intention was not just friendly play? What if he were to close the door and ravish me? My heart began to race, and I felt an anxious tightness in my belly. I glanced apprehensively at him, but in return he smiled almost bashfully. ‘Anna, I must thank you.’ He turned to face me. ‘In the past few hours, you have made me happier than I thought possible. So much in this last year has reduced my heart to ruin, but the kindness and patience you have shown me tonight have begun to rebuild it. I know the.
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