Contrary to his usual habit, Vincent woke very slowly. He could feel awareness of his surroundings welling up from what seemed to be a very deep place. He saw no need to hurry it, since his present half-awake state was so thoroughly pleasant; he felt more relaxed than he could ever remember. There was also a curious and unaccustomed sensation of ... lightness? ... as if a tether binding him to earth had been cut, or a burden long carried had been relinquished at last. Everything around him was quiet, and he drifted slowly toward consciousness. Then Catherine moved beside him, and his eyes snapped open.

For a moment, the sight that greeted those eyes convinced him he was still asleep and dreaming. Reluctantly he closed and opened them again. The vision was still there ... a very tangible vision, he realized, as she snuggled closer to him, still asleep. The warmth of her body against him, the heady feel of her skin touching his, triggered the memory of the night before in a great flood. The revels of Winterfest, late into the night. Bringing her to this remote chamber afterward, that he had filled with candles and roses ... telling her that he was finally ready to take the risk of loving her. Her joy ... her passion ...

Their bond told him she was awake seconds before the sensuous rubbing of her cheek against his chest, and the cluster of kisses that followed. Sighing in utter contentment, she lifted her head far enough to focus on his face. Her smile was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen--at least since the previous night.

"Good morning." Catherine's voice held a langorous quality he had never heard before. "If it is still morning. If we've been sleeping all day we certainly earned it."

Remembering how they had earned it left Vincent temporarily bereft of speech, and almost of sense. "It's not quite noon," he finally managed to get out, in a voice he barely recognized as his own.

"How can you know that?" Catherine asked, intrigued. "It's quite obvious you're not wearing a watch ..." She smiled wickedly. "Is this yet another hidden talent you've kept from me?"

"The candles. I can tell by how much they've burned down."

Catherine spared a glance for the huge candles on their tall holders at the corners of the bed. "I must have been preoccupied last night. I never thought ... those would have to burn a long time, or we'd be waking up in the dark. Electricity doesn't seem to stretch to this chamber." Catherine propped herself up on one elbow to regard Vincent curiously. "What is this chamber, anyway? Besides a place I'll remember vividly until my dying day."

Her reminiscent smile made it somewhat difficult to frame a reply, but Vincent made a manful effort. "We have a few like this, remote, assigned to no one in particular. They are sometimes used by people who just need to spend time alone to think or meditate. They are quite popular with couples who are ... uh ... courting. Or those newly married, or parents of small children who need to get away once in a while."

"You mean, this is sort of the Tunnel equivalent of a resort?" Catherine laughed delightedly.

"One might describe it in those terms. This chamber in particular." Vincent gave Catherine a secretive smile.

"What do you mean, 'in particular'? Don't tell me you have even more surprises up your sleeve. So to speak." Catherine ran her hand slowly down his arm, as if if to emphasize his current lack of sleeves.

"Did it surprise you that I finally gained the courage to love you? You should have more faith in your powers of persuasion."

"I guess I was afraid to hope too much--it felt like I'd be tempting the gods. Look what happened to all those poor Greeks who let their hubris get out of hand." Catherine's voice was half teasing, half serious.

"Fortunately," Vincent told her gently, "whatever gods watch over us seem to be of a more benevolent turn of mind.""At least lately," Catherine admitted grudgingly. "I hope they'll stay that way."

"They should," Vincent replied in a mock-serious tone. "After all, you just sacrificed a virgin to them ... in a manner of speaking."

"You were a very willing sacrifice, my love." Catherine was unable to take either her hands or eyes away from Vincent, as if she too were afraid he would dissolve into morning light, like her dreams of this moment always had before.

"A willing sacrifice is the kind most pleasing to the gods," Vincent spoke softly as his fingers gently traced the curve of her jaw.

"Then they should be remarkably pleased after last night. Once you realized there was nothing to fear, you were positively eager to be sacrificed. Except ... "

"Except what?" Vincent tried to keep his voice from betraying his sudden worry. Had he failed Catherine somehow? Or worse, hurt her in a way his passion of last night had prevented him from realizing?

Catherine leaned close to him and whispered conspiratorily into his ear. "I'm afraid they won't believe you were a virgin. You were wonderful. Worth waiting years for ... worth waiting a lifetime for."

Both embarassed and pleased, Vincent took refuge in words. "I was not without theoretical knowledge, Catherine, but after Lisa, how could I know that anything I read or heard would be true for me? Until you convinced me otherwise, I never believed I had the right to risk putting that knowledge into practice."

"Well," Catherine announced emphatically, "for someone who's never done this before, you have a remarkable talent. Although I don't know why I should be surprised at that; you've done well at anything else you put your hand to." A stricken look came over Catherine's face as soon as the words were out.

Vincent grinned in delight. "Catherine! I've never seen you blush before." Taking pity on her, he continued. "I haven't succeeded at everything I've tried."

"Such as?"

"William tried to teach me once to bake bread, at my insistence. It was a disaster.""Why? I know you can cook other things, and very well, too."

Vincent raised the hand that curled around her shoulder. "You showed me, Catherine, that these hands are made for loving, after all. But they are not made for kneading dough."

"Dear heart--bread I can get anywhere. Loving I only want from you."

Vincent pulled Catherine close for a slow, gentle kiss. After a while, she lay back against his arm, and he stroked her throat and shoulders with a feather touch as she spoke again.

"Dear love," she said softly. "So many times you told me to follow my heart--and so reluctant you were to follow your own.""No less a sage than Emerson," he replied, "said 'a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.' "

"Mmm. Well, we know there's nothing small about you, Vincent," Catherine told him silkily.

It took a few seconds for her words to sink in, then Vincent gave Catherine the satisfaction of seeing him blush for the first time. This was an aspect of Catherine he had never before seen. He discovered that his surprise quickly gave way to pleasure. His lips found hers again. As they began to work their way downward, he felt her hands tangle in his hair, and his breath began to quicken as hers did. Clearly they were done with conversation for some time.

The candles had burned considerably lower by the time Vincent even thought of resuming their conversation. Catherine was idly stroking the hair that fanned out over his back as he lay with his head on her breast. He briefly considered lying there forever, but reluctantly concluded that they would both have to eat eventually, not to mention ...

"Catherine ... "

"Mmm?"

Reluctantly, Vincent rolled over and attempted a sitting position. "There's something else I would like to show you."

Catherine stretched luxuriously and moved to sit beside him. "Vincent, if you show me anything more I'll have to take a rest cure. That will make Joe very unhappy; practically everyone at work is taking off after Christmas."

"This surprise," he assured her, "is of a different category."

"Well, my love," she replied, "I don't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. But, since I've undeniably enjoyed all your surprises so far, lead on."

Rising from the bed, Vincent held out a hand to her. Curious, she took it and followed him to a door at right angles to the one through which they had entered last night. Moving the tapestry aside, he drew her through and stepped aside to see her reaction.

"Oh, Vincent, this is wonderful! No wonder you said this chamber was special." She turned to him excitedly. "Who built this? How long has it been here?"

Pleased at her reaction, Vincent explained as he retrieved bathing paraphenalia from a small cabinet near the door. "These are natural hot springs, but everything was quite primitive until about fifteen years ago. This was built by a man called Tohiro, who died before we met. He had been born in Japan, and was badly disfigured when Hiroshima was bombed. He lived with us for the last twenty years of his life."

"It just occured to me," Catherine said as she slipped into the warm water, "that I should spend all my extra time Below helping with the laundry. One thing I never considered in all my hopes of us becoming lovers was what an extra burden it would be for whoever washes sheets around around here."

Entering the water himself, Vincent watched as Catherine ducked her head under. Shaking the water out of her eyes as she emerged, she sat next to him on the stone seat carved along the side of the pool. She slipped into the curve of his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. Vincent marveled at how quickly he had become used to having her there.

"Dearest, we are not the only ones down here who engage in activities that increase demands on the laundry. We have lovers, and married couples, and young children, after all." He kissed the top of her head. The last time he had seen her hair wet like this, she had almost drowned. There were so many memories that needed to be replaced with happier ones ...

Catherine insisted on washing every inch of him, from his mane of hair to the furry feet which had so delighted her last night. Returning the favor, he discovered a whole new category of contentment. Supporting her with one arm as she lay back in the water, he watched her hair spread out in the current, rinsing the soap away, and thought of goddesses rising from the sea.

Moving from the washing pool to the soaking one, they settled into the warmth. For a long time they sat without speaking, enjoying the feel of the water. It seemed to Vincent that only the heaviness of his utterly relaxed body kept him from floating away, he felt so light with happiness and relief.

Catherine sat on his lap, one arm curled around his neck and her other hand idly stroking his chest underneath the water. "Vincent?"

"Mm?" Realizing the response fell far short of his usual articulate level, he decided he couldn't care less.

"How did you know this room would be free tonight--did you have to, well, make reservations?" She began to toy with the strands of his hair that floated on the water.

"This room is never used at Winterfest--that's the one time when all our people come together; this place is where people go to be apart."

"Well, what about the roses?" Catherine wondered. "How did you ever manage to get so many? Did you get Mouse to liberate a shipment from the flower market, no questions asked?"

"Actually, one of our Helpers is a flower wholesaler. I've helped her over the years with projects which needed strength, or construction skills. She has been troubled by arthritis for a long time, and such things are difficult for her." Vincent laughed. "I believe I now owe her my services for the next two decades."

"Didn't she wonder why you wanted about ten dozen roses?"

Vincent could feel Catherine smile as her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder.

"Perhaps she wondered at first, but after seeing us together at Winterfest she may have developed a theory or two." Vincent kissed the top of Catherine's head again, just to keep in practice. "Do remember meeting Mrs. Tran?"

"She's the one?" Catherine raised her head. "No wonder she kept looking at me all night and smiling."

Vincent stretched lazily. "I told Father last night that I was going to suggest that you stay Below, since Winterfest was so late. Of course, I didn't mention that I planned to suggest staying with you." Reluctantly, he stood and took Catherine's hand to lead her from the pool. "We should give some thought to making an appearance soon. It's getting late and I do not dry quickly."

"I'll help," Catherine volunteered eagerly.

"If you help too much," Vincent cautioned, "we may not get out of here until dinnertime--and you must be hungry."

Catherine admitted this was so. After the towel drying was completed in as businesslike a manner as circumstances allowed, Vincent led Catherine to a small room off the bathing pool. Its particular configuration channeled and concentrated the air, making it almost a miniature version of the Chamber of the Winds.

"This is wonderful!" Catherine shouted happily to be heard over the whistling winds. "This place even comes with an industrial strength blow dryer." Vincent smiled at her pleasure, watching the flush on her cheeks and the gleaming hair whirling around her face.

When they returned to the bedchamber, Catherine shook her head as she retrieved the velvet dress from where it had fallen the night before. "Lying in heap all night has not improved this one bit," she commented, "even if it weren't unsuitable for day wear. Might that wardrobe have something that wouldn't get me stared at all day?"

Pulling open the wardrobe doors, Vincent retrieved a dress and held it out to Catherine. "The last time you wore this was when you came Below after your father died. There are other things here if it pains you to wear it again. But you did look beautiful in it," he said wistfully.

Catherine took the dress from him and slipped it over her head. "Not all the memories from that time are painful, Vincent." She stroked his face. "And now that we know that there are no limits to the love between us, there is a core of joy at the center of our lives that no sorrow can touch."

Suddenly, the wonder of it was so great she felt unable to hold it; the sudden tears that overflowed her eyes seemed all that kept her from bursting with a happiness of such magnitude she knew no words adequate to express it.

Vincent drew her into his arms, holding her as fiercely as she did him. It was a long time before they were able to part so Vincent could dress. Catherine helped him pull the shirt over his head and slip into a vest. Tying all the ties and buttoning all the buttons on the elaborately piecemeal garments brought her more pleasure than she thought possible. The intimate ordinariness of these acts, even more than than their lovemaking, stunned her with an awareness of the infinite possibilities that had suddenly opened before them. Not a life without limits, but a life together--and who knew what the limits might be?

They walked back to the central chambers with a sense of amazement at how much had changed between them since they had taken the same path in the early hours of the morning. So few hours, to contain such happiness. Such a short time to change the course of two lives. But then, there was a day less than three years ago they had begun in ignorance of each other's existence, and ended with their lives inexplicably intertwined. They walked in silent wonder, hands clasped, unable to let go of each other even when the passage narrowed too much for them to walk comfortably side by side.

Catherine wondered what Father and the others would think. Surely their new intimacy, the exponential increase in their happiness, would be so obvious that everyone would stop and stare as soon as they entered a room. Catherine was perfectly willing to shout it from the rooftops, but was afraid Vincent would be uncomfortable or embarassed. Looking at him as he walked beside her, it occurred to Catherine that the only beast-like thing about Vincent was not his looks, nor his strength, but his innocence. Whether his passion dealt love or death, it was with the innocence of a beast. Only men could pervert the act of love in rape. Only men could take sick pleasure in torture or kill for such convoluted motives as greed or revenge or politics. Vincent's passion for her was as pure as the crystal that hung around her neck, untainted by the tangle of power games, of user and used, that so often passed for love in her world.

As it turned out, Catherine need not have worried about their reception. Everyone Below was either still groggy from Winterfest or so excited about the holidays still to come they hardly noticed Vincent and Catherine. After all, Catherine had spent so much time Below since Vincent's recovery from near-death last summer they were used to her presence. If the more sensitive of the Tunnel dwellers noticed an extra glow about their favorite couple, it was attributed to the holiday spirit-- or to the lingering effects of too much of another kind of spirit the night before.

Regular mealtimes were fortunately another casualty of the holiday preparations, so Catherine and Vincent were able to scrounge a late lunch without a lecture from William, who seemed to spend all his waking hours baking these days. Tucked into a corner of the kitchen, surrounded by warmth and the smells of yeast and cinnamon, the two lovers shared a meal of odds and ends, wondering if any heaven could possibly be better than this. Emerging from their haven, they were immediately shanghaied by Kipper and Samantha, who took their duties as heads of the decoration detail very seriously.

Catherine was put to work stringing popcorn as Samantha confided in a very loud whisper that Vincent was useless for such a task, since his large hands were not well suited to delicate threading, and besides he ate too much of the popcorn. Catherine made a mental note to load up on popcorn the next time she bought groceries, as memories of just what those hands were good for kept damaging her concentration.

Vincent was dragooned into hanging decorations at a height his diminutive overseers couldn't reach. Happily stringing her popcorn, Catherine decided that the Tunnel dwellers had the right idea. Not only did they celebrate Hanukkah, Christmas and Kwaanza, they even created another holiday of their own for good measure. Depending on when Hanukkah fell, some years they ended up celebrating for almost a month. Suddenly she stopped with her needle poised in mid-air as her face fell. In a moment, Vincent was beside her chair.

"Catherine, is something wrong?"

"Vincent, I just remembered--Hanukkah begins tonight, and I promised Jenny I'd come. They're having a big family celebration at her parents', an open house after dinner. I think they wanted to cheer me up, since it'll be my first holiday season without Dad. Jenny could hardly tell them how I was really spending the holiday."

"That sounds like something you would enjoy, Catherine," Vincent observed with puzzlement. "Why don't you--"

"Vincent, I just can't bear the thought of being away from you, even for a minute, not now, not after ..." She ducked her head in consternation. "Oh, God, I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"No," Vincent said softly, "you're not. I can't bear to be apart from you either, even though I know we must go back to our everyday lives in a little while. But you mustn't disappoint Jenny's family."

"I wish you could come with me," Catherine smiled. "Maybe nobody around here has noticed anything's different with us, but one look at my face and Jenny will know the other shoe has dropped. She'll have a fit not being able to see you right away and give a great big congratulatory hug."

"Then I shall come with you," Vincent stated.

"What?" Catherine was so startled she dropped her string of popcorn. "Vincent, it's in Brooklyn! Even if we had time to walk that far, none of the deep Tunnels go under the river. The ones that do are too public."

"We'll walk part of the way," Vincent explained calmly, "and take the subway for the rest. With the holiday crowds, it should be safe enough for you after dark ... or perhaps you should take a cab."

Catherine began to feel like she had wandered into the Twilight Zone by mistake. Had her beloved taken leave of his senses? Here he was talking about taking the subway together like it was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe her attempts to convince him they could have more of a life together than he was willing to admit had been too successful. As she tried frantically to think of an appropriate response, she suddenly remembered just how Vincent was used to taking the subway.

"Vincent!" she cried, horrified. "You're worried about me riding inside the subway and you plan to ride on it? You can't! It's too dangerous! We're not talking about saving my life here, just going to a party. It's not worth it. I'll call Jenny and tell her I can't come; she'll figure out something to tell her parents--"

"Catherine--" Vincent captured her hands in his and smiled. "I've been riding on the tops of subways for twenty years, and haven't fallen off once. You're in more danger crossing a Manhattan street."

Catherine looked at his sparkling eyes in consternation. One thing she never wanted to do was have Vincent be less than he was out of deference to her. She had a sudden vision of a young boy with wild golden hair, clinging to the train's roof in exhilaration, able to forget for a little while how constricted his life really was. Able to pretend for just a moment that it wouldn't be that way forever.

For so long, all she had been able to think about were the fears and self-doubts that kept Vincent from consummating their love, and how she could convince him that completion was not only possible, but inevitable and right. That was so monumental a task, she had barely given a thought to what came after. Now, feeling the touch of those gentle hands that had at last given her the love she knew they could, Catherine realized that an even greater challenge lay ahead. Building a life with this unique, precious creature before her would be full of such unexpected questions. There was no model for it; they would have to move carefully, making their own path. But make it they would, and the journey began now.

"All right, Vincent," she said, sounding braver than she felt. "But you'd better not make a habit of it if you have any concern for my blood pressure."

A moment after Catherine knocked on the Aaronsons' door, it was opened and a wave of light, sound and delicious smells poured into the corridor and surrounded the smiling figure of Jenny's mother. "Cathy, dear, I'm so glad you were able to come. We don't see enough of you these days."

Catherine gave Leah Aaronson a hug. "I know. I promise one of my New Year's resolutions is to say 'no' a lot more often at work. I know it's important, but so are family and friends."

David Aaronson came to add his greetings to those of his wife, and led Catherine through the throng to say hello to Jenny's oldest brother. His visit from California was the reason for this exceptionally large gathering of the clan. After saying hello to the whole family and admiring the baby, Catherine was handed from one Aaronson to the other, talking to people she hadn't seen in years, and several she was sure she'd never met before. The only Aaronson that didn't seem to be in evidence was Jenny.

Catherine hoped Vincent wasn't too bored, waiting for her in the tunnel that ran below the apartment house across the street. She tried to open herself to all the sights and smells and sounds around her, letting her feelings of warmth and friendship for these people flow through their bond. If he couldn't be here with her, Catherine wanted to share this with him as much as she could.

Suddenly the crowd parted and gave her a glimpse of Jenny, trapped in a corner by a group of young cousins engaged in some cutthroat dreidl-spinning. She was scowling suspiciously at a gangly youth as if she suspected him of rigging the game. Looking up suddenly, her eyes met Catherine's. Doing her best to look nonchalant, Catherine smiled and waved. Jenny stared at Catherine a moment as if puzzled by something, then her eyes widened. Climbing over the Aaronson cousins, oblivious to their protests, she approached with the inevitability of a tsunami.

"Hi, Jenny," Catherine greeted her.

"Hi, nothing, Chandler," Jenny countered. "Come on."

Catherine found herself dragged down the hallway into a bedroom populated solely by a mountain of coats. "All right, pal," Jenny ordered, "give."

"Give what?"

"Cathy, if the electricity went out right now, a room with you in it would still look like a hundred menorahs on the last night of Hannukah."

"Jenny, nobody else seems to have noticed anything. I can't imagine what you mean." Catherine knew this was a game she'd already lost, but it was fun anyway.

"Bull, Chandler. You forget who you're talking to."

"Whom," Catherine corrected primly.

"Whom, schmoom," Jenny dismissed her. "Don't change the subject. Something's happened, and it must be pretty big to get you to look like that. What ... ohmigod." Jenny grabbed Catherine's arms and grinned from ear to ear. "You did it, didn't you."

"Did what?" Catherine couldn't keep this up much longer; an equally flamboyant grin kept struggling to take over her own face.

"You know damn well what! You and Vincent! Tell me this minute or I'll go push your face in the chopped liver."

"Well, if you put it that way ..." Catherine couldn't hold it in any longer. "Yes. YES. YEEESSS!!"

Jenny shrieked and hugged Catherine with such abandon they both fell over on top of the coats. "Good grief, Jenny," Catherine giggled. "If anyone comes in now they'll have a whole new theory about why a nice girl like me doesn't have a boyfriend." That set them both off again, and it was several minutes before either of them could manage to sit up. After wiping her eyes and straightening her hair, Jenny took a deep breath.

"Cath, I am so happy for you. I can tell by the look on your face it was wonderful."

"Yes, it was," Catherine whispered, hugging herself. "I can still hardly believe I'm not dreaming."

"Damn!" Jenny exploded, practically jumping up and down in her excitement. "I wish we weren't stuck at this party. Not only would I like to tell that gorgeous guy of yours how smart he is, I'd like to get you back to him. I can't believe you bothered to come to this shindig--I know you'd rather be with Vincent, especially now. I can't believe you could tear yourself away."

"Jenny, you know your parents really counted on me coming," Catherine reminded her. "They've always been so nice to me, and I've hardly seen them lately. Besides, they're so concerned about me being alone since Dad died." Catherine sighed. "I could hardly tell them I'd be spending the holiday with the city's biggest extended family."

"Turned out to be quite a holiday, didn't it?" Jenny grinned. "You sure got some present, and it's not even Christmas yet. Of course, I guess this qualifies as 'the gift that keeps on giving.' We've gotta get you back to Santa Claus as soon as possible."

"Actually, that won't take as long as you think," Catherine revealed. "You're right about not being able to tear myself away. He's just across the street."

"Across the--" Jenny stared. "You mean there are Tunnels in Brooklyn too?"

"In every borough," Catherine told her, "but only the ones in Manhattan are really lived in."

"But how did Vincent get across--no, don't tell me, I can take only so much at once. Just when I think I've gotten used to the idea of the Magic Kingdom ... "

"Jenny, you learned about it less than two months ago. It does take some getting used to ... although you got used to Vincent amazingly fast."

"Yeah," Jenny agreed, "in some ways that was the easiest part. I already knew you loved the guy, and when I met him, all I could think of was at last you'd found the right one, and he wasn't some egotistical Yuppie clone."

"Understatement of the century," Catherine smiled.

"No, seriously," Jenny insisted. "Remember, I've known you since we were freshies at dear old Radcliffe. Your track record was not too impressive then."

Catherine winced. "I was young ... "

"That's what Nancy and I kept telling ourselves. Then you actually decided to marry Stephen Bass--I can't tell you how relieved I was when that fell apart. And Tom Gunther ... look up 'prick' in the dictionary and there's his picture."

"You really worried about me, didn't you?" Despite the bantering tone, Catherine could hear the seriousness under Jenny's words.

"You bet I did," her friend agreed. "you never believed you were worth much for anything but decoration--everybody assumed you were just a shallow rich kid, until you believed it yourself. You kept picking guys that thought so too." Jenny looked at Catherine thoughtfully for a moment. "I guess that's why when I met Vincent, none of the strangeness mattered. All I could see was that you'd finally met a man who not only thought you were worthwile, but had even gotten you to believe it."

Catherine was so moved by Jenny's revelation she didn't know what to say; she sat with her eyes on her lap, stroking someone's fur muff.

Jenny stood up decisively. "Come on, if we don't get out of here soon people are going to talk. You can mingle for a little while longer, then we'll sneak out of here so I can get you back to Mr. Right and tell him how good he is at picking women. Besides, I'm dying to see if he looks as pie-eyed as you do."

Less than an hour later, Jenny and Catherine were climbing a ladder down into the tunnel where Vincent waited. Jenny clutched a large bag of Hanukkah cookies in her teeth, since Catherine had mentioned how much he liked them. Jenny was a little worried about her reception--this was not exactly an occasion covered by Miss Manners. What was the appropriate way for congratulating a furry hunk on having the good sense to start sleeping with your best friend? She'd only met the guy six weeks ago, after all, even though she'd been dreaming about him and Cathy since the beginning. When she finally met him, his appearance neither frightened nor repelled her. She was too delighted to discover that for once her dreams hadn't been full of the ambiguous symbolism that so often frustrated her, but perfectly literal.

After that first night when they had talked for hours, Cathy had told her that Vincent felt the way Jenny did, like they had known each other for years. Maybe it wasn't so surprising, after all. They had one very important thing in common. They both loved Catherine and wanted her to have the happiness she deserved. Jenny was almost as ecstatic as Catherine that Vincent had finally decided only a life with him would give her that happiness. She grinned as well as she could with a bag of cookies in her mouth. Boy, the next fifty years or so were going to be real interesting. She was determined she'd be around to watch.

Reaching the tunnel floor, Jenny turned around, bag of cookies still in her teeth, to find Vincent's smiling eyes looking directly into hers over Catherine's shoulder. They were hugging as if they'd been apart for about a year. With a final squeeze they separated enough so both could face Jenny, who saw that Vincent's smile wasn't limited to his eyes. Realizing Miss Manners was sure to advise against speaking with a bag in one's mouth, Jenny hurriedly removed it and extended it toward Vincent. "Happy Hanukkah," she managed to croak out. "L'chaim."

"L'chaim," Vincent repeated. "A very appropriate sentiment, since I have never felt more alive." He looked at Catherine, who gazed up at him like he was a combination of God and lunch.

Jenny couldn't stand it anymore. Miss Manners be damned. She threw her arms around the two of them, almost in tears. "God, I am so happy for both of you!"

Entangled in a three-way hug, Catherine and Jenny weren't sure whether to laugh, cry or both. Vincent was dazed by the feelings coursing through him, both Catherine's and his own. Having spent his whole life preparing to face pain, he found himself inundated by more joy than it seemed he could possibly hold. He realized in some amazement that he would have to learn at last to deal with happiness. What a welcome task that would be ...

Jenny extricated herself and attempted to regain her composure. "Those are Hanukkah cookies," she explained, gesturing toward the rather damp and now very wrinkled bag."Cathy said you really liked them. I know you likelatkes even better, but they don't exactly travel well."

Vincent acknowledged her gift with a smile. So far, he'd done more smiling in the last ten minutes than in the six weeks he'd known Jenny. "Perhaps soon you can come and make some for us." Us. What a lovely word.

"Oh, you bet!" Jenny agreed. "Any time!" She took Vincent's hand, and Catherine's. "Look, I have to get back to the party, or my parents will call the cops. I'll come and see you soon, OK?" She shook her head in wonder. "You know, Hanukkah presents are supposed to be just for kids. But you two have given me the best one I've ever had."

The trip back to Manhattan was uneventful, but Catherine didn't breathe easy until she descended the ladder in her basement and found Vincent waiting as calmly as if he'd taken a more conventional means of transportation. She insisted she didn't need Vincent's help to retrieve things from her apartment. Riding on the subway was enough excitement for one night. She made him promise to stay rooted to the spot until she returned.

Catherine had always intended to spend Christmas Below, but she had counted on going home the night of Winterfest and coming back later. Now she was planning to stay right through until Christmas night. Too bad Cinderella was going to turn back into an overworked ADA on December 26. Catherine smiled happily as she packed a small suitcase. True, she and Vincent would have to take up the duties of their daily lives all too soon ... but they would never be the same again. Discovering the shape and direction of those lives--that life--was going to be a glorious adventure.

They stopped by Vincent's chamber so he could pick up more clothes also, then took themselves to the room full of roses where they had spent the previous night. They had intended only to drop off the clothes and return to help with the holiday preparations. They did manage to get the extra clothes put away, but the presence of the huge bed, and the roses, and the fact that it had been hours since ... It was a long time later before Catherine realized neither of them had really had any dinner. She sighed happily as Vincent began nuzzling her neck again. They had water, they had each other, and they had a whole bag of Hanukkah cookies. Who could possibly need more?

They made up for it at breakfast the next morning. Going to bed as early as they had meant they were actually able to squeeze in some sleep. Catherine was discovering to her great pleasure that Vincent's reknowned stamina was good for much more than running through tunnels, but it wasn't infinite. Now that she and Vincent were one in every way possible, Catherine felt even more a part of his world. Although both duty and friends kept her tied to the world Above, her father's death had severed the last family tie. Neither his family nor her mother's had been large, and now there was no one left.

Sometimes, wrapped in the love of Vincent's world, it truly felt like Father and Mary were her parents, Jamie and Rebecca her sisters, Mouse the somewhat disreputable younger brother. Now that the last barrier between her and Vincent had crumbled, now that their dream of a life together was beginning to take on the texture of reality, Catherine realized how relieved she felt, knowing this world, like Vincent, could be part of her life forever.

William was pleased to see Catherine devouring twice as much breakfast as usual. He took it as a compliment to his cooking, since clearly she didn't eat enough Topside. Maybe Vincent thought she was perfect, but William believed she needed fattening up. As a reward for her appetite, he allowed her one of the coveted spots on the cookie-decorating crew, while Mouse dragged Vincent off, reminding him of his duties as director of the children's production of A Christmas Carol.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Father found himself awake very early. He had been much in demand during the furious holiday preparations to give advice, mediate disputes, and patch up children whose urge to decorate inaccessible corners was greater than their balance. Years as the Tunnels' only resident physician had long ago cured him of the need for much sleep, so he made himself a pot of tea and brought it to the study. The peace and quiet was like a balm; there had been precious little of it this holiday season.

He sat back in his favorite chair, letting the tea warm both his hands and his insides. The midwinter festivities seemed more lavish than usual this year, and Father began to examine why this was so. He thought back to Winterfest, where Vincent had seemed to be the center of attention. The children had surrounded him all evening. Every girl-child old enough to walk wanted to dance with Vincent; time and again Catherine had to drag him away from partners who barely came up to his waist. It didn't take a great deal of insight to recognize that the community knew only too well how close they had come to losing Vincent this year.Paracelsus' death, and Vincent's close escape from it, were cause for rejoicing. This year was the darkest they had known for a long time; it made sense that their yearly celebration of light would be greater.

Father suddenly realized how little he had seen of Vincent since Winterfest. He smiled, thinking that Catherine's presence Below had something to do with that. Unlike the days after her father died, when her constant closeness had been so troubling to his son, Vincent now seemed content, even happy to have her here. Father admitted to himself how much he had come to rely on her presence as well.

Suddenly Father had an overwhelming desire to talk to his son. Vincent usually woke quite early, but often stayed in his room reading, so as not to disturb others. Reaching his son's chamber, Father was surprised to find it empty. Where could he be at such an hour? As he continued to stand there, it slowly occurred to him that this chamber felt like it had been uninhabited for some time. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Vincent near this room since before Winterfest. No emergency could have called him away; the pipes would be full of such an event. Surely he had not gone to find Catherine so early in the morning ... He stared at the empty room for a long time, then went back to sit in his study with his pot of tea and think.

The morning of Christmas Day found him there again after breakfast, but this time his peripatetic son made an appearance. Father motioned Vincent to sit in the chair beside him. "I'm glad to see you," he smiled. "We seem to have been ships that pass in the night of late."

"Indeed, Father," Vincent agreed. "The children seem to think of me as a freighter, since I spent most of yesterday moving furniture and carrying heavy objects from place to place."

"After the year we've had," Father said with feeling, "it gives me great happiness to see you enjoying this time of celebration. Catherine, too. She seems to be in the spirit of the holidays as well. I'm glad that being among us has helped ease her pain over the family she has lost."

"She loves us all very much," Vincent answered softly. "I believe she truly regards us as her family now."

Father spoke again in an even tone, looking at the table rather than at his son. "Her closeness was so troubling to you when she stayed Below with us after her father died. I'm glad to see that now you seem content to have her here."

Vincent said nothing. "You know," Father continued, "I have finally admitted to myself how much I have come to be grateful for her presence as well. When you were having those terrible nightmares this past summer, and took so long to recover, I came to rely on her greatly."

"She has been reluctant to talk of it to me," Vincent confided. "I remember being convinced the Beast would win this time, and being weary of the battle ... I remember deciding there was only one way to protect those I loved. I remember Catherine suddenly there before me, screaming my name as she saw my claws aimed at my own throat. I remember thinking, just before I lost consciousness, that I could not bear to give her the pain my death would cause."

Father closed his eyes at the memory of how close Vincent had come to the brink, and how only Catherine's love had kept him from taking that last leap into the dark. Half a year later, the recollection could still cause him to shudder. "When you were in the coma, she was down here every night, watching you, talking to you. Even after you came out of it and the nightmares began, she stayed, hoping her presence would somehow soothe you."

Vincent shook his head in wonder at being loved so much. "All she would say to me about that time was that it gave her the opportunity to become closer to you."

"It did," Father agreed. "During your convalesence she came Below night after night, even though you were asleep most of the time. We would sit here, alert for any sounds of distress from you, and talk for hours on end."

"About what?"

"Mostly about you, of course." Father seemed a million miles--or six months--away. "She was hungry for every scrap of information about your past, especially the time you almost died before, after Lisa left. Anything that could help her understand your pain and help you deal with it."

"It surprises me," Vincent admitted, "that you told her. You were never so forthcoming before."

"I was well aware," Father replied emphatically, "that I owed your life to her. She more than earned the right, by her love for you and her courage. I told her everything I knew." He was silent for a moment, then continued. "At the time, I was too preoccupied with your health to notice ... it was only afterward that I realized her questions had a pattern to them."

"A pattern?" Vincent asked, suddenly alert.

At first, Father seemed to have changed the subject. "Once I was so certain I knew the answers where you were concerned, and if I didn't I thought it prudent to err on the side of caution. If it were necessary to curtail your life to preserve it, what choice did I have?"

"But Catherine saw things differently." It was not a question.

"She never said so in so many words," Father recalled, "but the questions she asked made it clear she believed my fears for you, my certainties about what was and was not possible for you, were based less on evidence than on long-unexamined habits of thinking."

"And that disturbed you."

"More than I ever admitted to her. Good grief, Vincent!" Father's eyes met his son's at last."My whole life Above crumbled into ruin because my scientific training wouldn't allow me to deny the truth of the evidence before me. Now I had to face the probability that for years I had been allowing my affection for you, my fears for you, to cloud my judgment."

Vincent smiled fondly at his his Father. "That explains the change I found in you when I recovered enough to talk. Your answers to my questions had always been full of 'definitely nots.' I was amazed at the sudden plethora of 'maybes' and 'I don't knows.'"

"Catherine," Father said emphatically, "made me examine all my cherished certainties. It became painfully clear how much I had represented my interpretations as facts. Even though she never told me directly, I came to realize she had her own theory. Did she ever tell you what it was?"

"Yes," Vincent replied, looking over his Father's shoulder into the distance. "Simply put, she believed that what I saw as the problem was the solution. That my killing for her was the

only outlet I allowed to express my passion. That our bond would never let me hurt her. That giving our love the physical expression it demanded would not be dangerous, but would only heal us both. Eros over Thanatos."

"Do you think," Father asked very carefully, "that she might be right?"

For a long moment, the silence hung between them like something that could be touched. Then Vincent met his Father's eyes again, calmly, proudly. "I know she is."

Father let out the breath he didn't remember holding, closing his eyes against the sudden threat of tears. Thank God, it was true. Love was stronger than Death after all. He opened his eyes to find Vincent leaving his own chair to kneel on the floor beside him. He hugged Vincent as fiercely as he could, weak as he was with relief, and giddy with joy.

This was the sight that met Catherine's eyes when she entered the study. Slowly she walked toward them, sinking to her knees beside Vincent. She looked up at Father and smiled at him, half shy, half triumphant. "I guess you know."

"Oh, Catherine," he cried, "I have no words ... "

"Then we have your blessing?" Vincent asked with a smile in his voice.

"My blessing, my congratulations, and my everlasting gratitude to Catherine!" He touched her hair. "To think, I once told my son to forget you, that you could bring him nothing but pain."

"I think we're both grateful," Catherine laughed tearfully, "that Vincent can be very stubborn at times."

That Christmas morning, Catherine thought how different this was from any Christmas she had spent before. Not only being without her father, or being secure in the knowledge that she and Vincent were together at last. Christmas Below was so different. Instead of the disorderly mounds of ripped paper and ribbons scattered among expensive presents, there were small piles of brightly colored paper or fabric, carefully removed and folded to be used again. There were few presents, since most of the gifts were exchanged at Winterfest. Those that were in evidence were simple, homemade or recycled, but imbued with more love than anything F. A. O. Schwartz ever sold.

Watching the children and not a few of the adults enjoying their presents, Catherine laid her head happily on Vincent's shoulder and thought about last night. She and Vincent had exchanged their tangible presents after Winterfest and before Catherine knew about the greater gift that was in store for her.

Last night and this morning they had given that gift to each other many times. Afterwards, they had packed their things to take back to Vincent's chamber. Just before cleaning up the room in readiness for its next occupant, they had carefully picked all the petals from ten dozen roses. Although they couldn't resist the romantic gesture of tossing a few into the bathing pool with them, the rest would be dried for potpourri and sachets. Catherine made Vincent promise to save some for her. She planned to buy the most beautiful fabric and lace she could find and make one for herself, something to treasure for the rest of her life, as she would treasure the memories of the past three nights.

Lost in those memories and the delicious feel of Vincent's nearness, Catherine gradually began to pay attention to faces around her. Although many were absorbed in thoughts and conversations of their own, she began to intercept more than a few surprised and speculative glances. Mary looked oblivious, and Mouse bubbled along in happy innocence. But Jamie--Catherine nuzzled Vincent's neck and grinned at Jamie, whose eyes got so big they threatened to eclipse her face. Lena was looking awfully knowing, and Catherine knew she couldn't face Cullen's wicked grin for more than three seconds without blushing. Even if the increased intimacy between her and Vincent weren't becoming more obvious every day, the looks that Father kept giving them would give the least observant of their friends a pretty big hint. Poor Vincent was going to be the object of considerable speculation by tomorrow.

Catherine lifted her head to speak softly into Vincent's ear. "Since I have to go back to work tomorrow ... could I interest you in coming to my place tonight to see my Christmas tree?"

"Most people," Vincent asked innocently, "use etchings, do they not?"

"I," Catherine replied loftily, "am not most people."

"No. You are not."

Catherine remembered what she had planned to say with some difficulty. "You've only been in my bed once before, when you hardly realized where you were. Even under those circumstances, worried as I was, I remembered thinking how well you fit there."

"Yet another memory that needs to be replaced with a happier one," Vincent said. "When would you like me to come? So to speak."

"Vincent!" Catherine whispered in astonishment. "I had no idea you were such a bawd. It's wonderful."

"You forget," he smiled, "how well acquainted I am with Elizabethan literature. If more people understood Elizabethan English better they would be quite shocked at Shakespeare."

"That sounds promising," Catherine mused. "You can read me all the naughty bits and explain what they mean if I don't know."

"I shall begin a careful review of the Complete Works tomorrow."

"To return to the subject," Catherine went on, "I should like you to arrive as soon as possible after dark. Since A Christmas Carol is a matinee, that should give you time to accept everyone's kudos on your brilliant direction. Just give me an hour's head start so I get the apartment ready."

"I accept your gracious invitation with pleasure," Vincent purred, kissing the top of Catherine's head.

"I wish I didn't have to go back to work tomorrow," she sighed. "I hate to think of you alone down here, with everybody indulging in heavy speculation."

"I think speculation is fast changing into certainty," Vincent countered. "After I leave tonight and don't come back until dawn, it will only accelerate the process."

"You've stayed out that late lots of times before," Catherine reminded him, "walking the city streets, or looking at the lights."

"True," Vincent agreed. "But I didn't come back with the look I expect to have on my face tomorrow morning."

"Jenny!" Catherine exclaimed as she opened the door to her friend. "You're early."

"I know, I wanted to ask you a favor before we go out to lunch." She leered comically. "Since it's the middle of the day I knew I wouldn't be interrupting anything."

"You've been enjoying yourself altogether too much this past month," Catherine laughed. "Ever since Vincent and I got together you haven't stopped smirking."

"You should see the look that's been on your face since Winterfest," Jenny countered. "I can't believe everybody at the DA's office isn't wondering what's going on."

"I'm sure they are," Catherine said, "but they know better than to ask by now. Joe's curious as can be--I keep catching myself grinning like an idiot at the oddest moments, and being so distracted at others people have to ask me things three times.

So, what favor do you want? You can have anything but Vincent."

"Rats!" Jenny exclaimed. "Well, as my second choice, can I borrow a dress?"

"Any one in particular?"

"My idiot employers have decided to have a posh reception for one of our most obnoxious but profitable authors. Attendance for lowly editors is not optional, but we're supposed to wear evening dress. Do they really think I can afford to buy an evening gown on what they pay me? I suppose I could rent something, but--"

"But that would be silly when I have a whole closetful I hardly ever wear anymore. My lifestyle doesn't require them much these days. Come on, let's raid my closet."

Jenny rummaged among Catherine's clothes, picking out dresses she thought would flatter her and handing them to Catherine, who spread them out on the bed. Suddenly Jenny began to chuckle. "Well, well, Cath, what have we here? This looks a bit large for you." Jenny held up the dark green hooded robe. It looked about a foot too long and miles too big.

"That," Catherine informed her, "is Vincent's birthday present. He needed something comfortable to keep up here, for the times he stays in my apartment."

"Nice color for him," Jenny mused. "Bet it looks great with his hair. Does he stay here often?"

"Too often for my peace of mind," Catherine confided, sitting on the bed.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Jenny asked in concern as she sat next to her friend.

"Oh, Jenny--ever since we became lovers everything seems so much more intense. I'm happier than I've ever been, but more worried too. Even though my hours are more regular at work now since I stopped that dangerous investigative stuff, the domestic violence and child abuse workload is tremendous. I can't spare the time to go Below every night, but Vincent finds it harder than ever to stay away now."

"So what's the problem?"

Catherine clutched Jenny's arm. "It's so dangerous! I worry constantly about him falling--the weather's so awful. Or he might be seen, it's happened before. I can't believe I've been letting him do it for over two years."

"Let hardly seems the right word," Jenny pointed out. "I doubt you could have stopped him. So what are you going to do?"

"What makes you think I'm going to do anything?" Catherine asked innocently.

"Because I know you," Jenny replied. "From what you told me, ever since last summer you've been making things happen. You saved Vincent's life and helped him recover. You changed your work so it wouldn't put you--and him--in danger anymore. You convinced him not to be afraid of making love to you. I can't believe you're not planning to do something about this."

"Well," Catherine admitted with a smile, "I am. But you'll have to wait until after lunch to find out. So--why don't you try on this one?"

Jenny looked around as the neighborhood began to seem familiar. "Haven't I been here before? There aren't many places like this left in your part of New York. Most of them are apartments now."

Catherine unlocked the front door of the handsome old townhouse as the late-January wind whipped around them. "You've got quite a memory," Catherine said in admiration as they entered the foyer. "I don't think we've been here together since college."

"Right!" exclaimed Jenny. "You brought me here during vacations a couple of times. I remember I was scared to death the first time--humble Jewish scholarship student meets scion of Old New York family, wife of famous actor."

"Who turned out to be an absolute sweetheart, to your surprise," Catherine reminded her.

"True, true. I couldn't believe those stories she told about herself and your grandmother when they were young."

Suddenly Jenny turned to Catherine in alarm. "The house looks empty--and you've got a key. She's not--"

"Oh, no," Catherine reassured her. "Edna's fine. She just didn't want to stay in New York anymore after her husband died. She went to live with her son's family in Florida."

Jenny gave a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I know she must be almost eighty by now, but I hope she lives forever. Are you doing some legal things for her?" They moved into the main part of the house after depositing their coats in the closet.

"Sort of," said Catherine casually. "I bought her house."

It took a moment for that to sink in. Then Jenny grabbed Catherine and shrieked. "You what? Of course! What a dolt I am! This is the solution, isn't it?"

"I hope so," Catherine said fervently, hugging Jenny. "But I need your help."

"Anything!" Jenny vowed. "Move furniture--strip wallpaper-I'll even clean basements."

"Nothing like that," Catherine laughed. "Come on, let me show you the place first and then I'll explain."

After the tour, Catherine led Jenny to the kitchen. Only after they were seated at the large table with coffee in front of them did she begin to talk. "The thing that bothers me a little, Jenny," she explained, "is that I haven't told Vincent about this because I want to surprise him. But it's a pretty big step to take without consulting him."

"Good grief, Cath, how can he not love it? It gives you both what you need most--a safe place to be together. It's got the best security system I've ever seen, access to the Tunnels-- not only can he get here without going outside, he can come any time of day. There isn't a window in this place that isn't frosted or curtained. It's perfect."

"That's what I thought," Catherine agreed. "I even asked Father, and he thought it was wonderful too. But just in case, I want you to be my insurance policy."

"Your what?" Jenny was at a loss. "What can I do?"

"Take my old apartment."

"Take your--as a favor? My God--twice the rent I could afford to pay wouldn't half cover the mortgage on that place." Jenny scowled. "And if you were about to suggest I take it rent free--"

"I would if I thought you'd do it," Catherine retorted, "but I know you too well for that. You can pay the same rent you're paying where you are now--and don't worry about covering the mortgage, there isn't any."

Jenny's face fell. "Oh, Cath, I forgot ... it was in your father's name, wasn't it?

Catherine nodded. "And he had mortgage insurance on it. Don't forget," Catherine said almost bitterly, "I'm an heiress now. I've got more money and real estate than I know what to do with."

"Cath--"

Catherine took Jenny's hand. "I'm sorry. I just get upset sometimes, thinking how hard my father worked to give me everything that money could buy. Maybe he thought it would help make up for losing Mother."

"Maybe he thought it would help him forget," Jenny suggested gently.

"Maybe. I can't help but think it helped kill him years before his time ... and regret that I didn't tell him I'd rather have had more of him and less of the money. Now it's too late."

Jenny still held Catherine's hand. "Don't you think it pleases him to see what it's doing for you now?"

Catherine squeezed Jenny's hand. "Oh, I hope so. I hope he sees how happy we're going to be here."

"So--what about the house in Connecticut? Do you have to sell that?"

"No, I'm selling Dad's duplex. Edna probably would have been happy to give me this place--it meant a lot to her, and she hated the thought of a stranger living in it. But she knew I wouldn't allow it." Catherine looked far away for a moment. "I couldn't bear to sell the Connecticut place, even though I hardly get to go there any more."

"Only when Vincent's busy and your impoverished friends need time in the country," Jenny smiled.

"You know you can go there anytime you want, with or without me," Catherine smiled back. "Besides, it's a great place for groups of Tunnel kids to go. And ... "

"And what?"

"It's silly, I know. I just can't help but hope I can take Vincent there some day. I know Father's right, it's much too dangerous--but I still keep hoping."

"It's important for you to give you and Vincent a place of your own, isn't it?" Jenny asked. "Away from the Tunnels."

"God, you scare me," Catherine said in awe.

"Hey, this is Ms. Intuition you're talking to. I agree with you." Jenny stared into her coffee cup. "I realize I've only known those people for a few months, but it didn't take long for me to see that place is as much a prison for Vincent as a refuge. Of course, everybody loves him, but they also take him for granted a lot. It wouldn't take much for them to become overdependent on him--if they aren't already."

"You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that," Catherine said fervently. "I thought maybe I was seeing things that weren't there."

"No, I think this is just what both of you need. You know, I've wondered ..."

"What?" Catherine asked, curious.

"Were you ever tempted to just chuck it all and move Below?"

"Twice," Catherine admitted. "Both times at emotionally vulnerable moments. One of the things I admire most about Vincent is that he didn't take advantage of that. He's always believed more in me than I did in myself."

"Do you think you could do it?"

"If something happened Above that gave me no choice, yes. But you must remember, I'm not just the woman Vincent loves, I'm a Helper. It took me a long time to earn that trust, and it's a responsibility I take very seriously. Down there, I'm just another brain and pair of hands. Right now, I can do more for all of them--including Vincent--where I am.'

"I think this house is the ideal solution," Jenny said. "Vincent can spend the day Below while you're at work. You can go there as often as you have time, and he can stay here with you when you can't. Rub your shoulders when you're hunched over those briefs. Bring you tea and sympathy. Curl up in a chair by the fire with a book and watch you all night instead--hey, Cath!" Jenny reached over to put an arm around her friend's shoulders. "That's not supposed to make you cry!"

Catherine wiped her eyes with a napkin. "I'm sorry, Jenny," Catherine sniffled. "It's just--what you were describing--it sounds like Paradise. I can't believe it could really come true at last."

"Well, we're gonna see that it does, pal. I guess I can trade my little dump for a grossly expensive co-op if you insist, just to do you a favor," Jenny grinned. "And you can come visit the balcony any time you get nostalgic. But I think you're worrying for nothing, Cath. Vincent's gonna love this place."

A month later, Catherine paused in the door of the library, tea tray in hand, to drink in the sight before her. Vincent sat on the sofa, wearing the green robe, absorbed in the book he held. The firelight brought out the highlights in his hair and the rich patina of Edna's old furniture. He loves it, Catherine thought. He really loves it. The wave of happiness that suddenly overwhelmed her caused Vincent to look up. He came toward her and took the tray, setting it down to gather her in his arms. Paradise indeed, Catherine thought. Or almost ...

There was one great thing left unspoken between them, and Catherine feared it would remain so unless she set things in motion. The past two months of loving had not been enough to dissolve that iron core of doubt that still hid in the center of Vincent's heart; the belief, unvoiced and perhaps unrecognized, that there were still things he dared not wish for, dared not believe he could deserve. Catherine wasn't about to delay any longer; it was time to show him just how much he did deserve.

She kissed Vincent lightly as she pulled away. "Our tea will get cold."

"We musn't allow that," Vincent laughed. "Father would never forgive me if I showed disrespect for a good pot of tea." Vincent released her and they settled comfortably on the sofa, facing the fire. Catherine tucked her feet under her and sipped the tea quietly for a moment. She sensed Vincent's contentment as it settled over him like a blanket. Holding the cup in both hands, she began to speak very casually.

"I had a chance to talk to Lena for a long time last night while you were helping Mouse," Catherine began.

"Do I dare ask the subject of your conversation?" Vincent asked.

"Actually, we hardly talked about you at all. In fact, I mostly listened while Lena went on about how wonderful Julio was. Those two are really serious, aren't they?"

"That is quite obvious to everyone Below," Vincent agreed.

"It gives me great pleasure to see Lena happy." "It gives me even greater pleasure," Catherine chuckled, "to see her get over you.""She did that some time ago--shortly after she met Julio."

Catherine became absorbed in smoothing the sofa pillow. "So--what are they going to do now?"

"Continue what they have been doing for some time, I imagine," Vincent suggested as he nuzzled her ear.

"My, haven't we gotten over our shyness quickly!" Catherine said in mock surprise. "That's not what I was talking about and you know it. Are they going to ... well, get married?"

"Married? You mean, Above?"

"I mean anywhere," Catherine replied. "I suppose they could get married Above if they wanted to, since they both had lives there at one time. But neither of them seems much inclined to go Topside ever again."

"No," Vincent mused. "Their lives there were quite painful ... and Julio has been with us for over ten years. He has shown no interest in going back."

"So, what do you think they'll do? Has this sort of thing happened before?"

"Sometimes," Vincent explained. His concentration on refilling their teacups seemed excessive for the task at hand.

"In the past, some members of our community have married legally Above. They use a Helper's address to obtain the proper documents. We also have a number of Helpers authorized to officiate at marriages."

"That seems a good idea, for those who thought they might want to return Topside someday," Catherine replied in her best professional voice. "But about those who are sure they never want to? Or somebody like Pascal, or Rebecca, who've never lived anyplace but Below? I can't believe the people who came up with Winterfest, and that beautiful naming ceremony, haven't invented something suitable for the occasion."

"You remember Lin and Henry--"

"But that wasn't a real Below wedding," Catherine interrupted. "They only held the ceremony there for safety. You must have something for those who've never had a life Above. And what about Kanin and Olivia? He'd been Above, but she never had. What did they do?"

"We do have our own ceremony," Vincent admitted softly. "The union is recognized Below, but of course has no validity in your world."

"Which world is that?" Catherine asked quietly. "I have two now."

"I only have one," Vincent said, not looking at her.

"A little more than that, surely. We share a small part of my world, even if most of it's within these walls."

Catherine stole a glance at Vincent's face. He sat staring at the fire, the flames washing his still profile with molten gold. After a moment's silence she continued. "I had a friend in college who was Catholic. She told me that in the past, when people sometimes lived in remote places without a priest, it was perfectly legitimate to marry without one. The true marriage was in the hearts of the couple, and the vows they made. A priest doesn't really marry people, they marry each other. Did you know that?"

"I believe I've read something to that effect," Vincent almost whispered.

Catherine continued in the same even voice, "It sounds like the really important part is making that commitment to each other, and acknowledging it in front of their community, people who mean something to them. It's as binding as any set of legal papers. More, actually--a contract can be broken. But a true union of minds and hearts is forever." Catherine stopped suddenly, no longer trusting her voice.

Vincent took a deep breath and spoke again. "What you say is true when both people have chosen a life Below. But for someone who had to maintain a life Topside as well, it would be very difficult."

"Would it?"

"Above, such a person would not be viewed as married at all."

"Well, what would that really matter?" Catherine asked, her voice back under control. "Lots of people stay single nowadays, especially if they have careers. Oh, I suppose people around them might speculate. Maybe they'd assume the person was afraid of being married just for her--or his--money. If the person were a woman, say, they might think she'd just missed the boat, since there are more single women than men. Maybe they'd think she was gay ... or carrying on a long-time affair with a married man."

"Surely it would be uncomfortable for someone to be the object of such speculation."

"Vincent," Catherine replied, "I think you overestimate people's curiosity about others,especially those they only know casually. Most people are much too concerned about their own problems, or acid rain, or the stock market, to spend much time wondering about their colleagues' private lives ... especially if they seem to lead very dull ones."

"Surely it would be difficult for ... for a woman such as you describe to keep such an important part of her life hidden."

"Perhaps," Catherine agreed huskily, "but only because she would be so happy, and so proud of her husband she'd want to shout the news out to everyone. But silence would be an awfully small price to pay to protect something that meant so much to her."

Suddenly Vincent rose and stood with his back to her, his hands gripping the mantle. For a long moment, there was nothing to be heard but the crackling of the logs. Vincent's voice was so low Catherine could barely hear it, but there was no mistaking the undertone of astonished wonder. "Her husband ..." In one fluid movement, he turned and sank to his knees before her. "Catherine--dearest Catherine--will you marry me?"

Unaware of the tears that ran unchecked down her face, Catherine sank into the depths of his eyes. "Yes. Oh, yes. Yes!" She threw her arms around his neck, burying her damp face in a cloud of gold. Home at last.

"Catherine, perhaps we should move. You must be cold." Without exactly discussing it, they seemed to have decided to seal their bargain immediately--too immediately to take the time to climb an entire flight of stairs. Vincent was still puzzling out Catherine's remark that 'right here on the Oriental' was the perfect spot. It sounded like a quote, but Vincent was quite sure it must be from something he hadn't read ... not that he'd been in any mood to request footnotes at the time. Vincent really didn't want to move, but he didn't feel the cold like Catherine did--besides, he was supremely comfortable, with her draped over him like a blanket. Still, it would be ungentlemanly not to make another attempt.

"Catherine--dearest--wouldn't you like to move? The fire has gotten quite low, since we haven't been paying attention to it."

"We haven't?" Catherine mumbled into his chest. Raising her head, she grinned at him. "Oh--you mean the one in the fireplace over there. I guess it could stand another log. But don't you dare move from this spot until I get back. We have things to talk about."

"Surely," Vincent suggested as she stood reluctantly and moved toward the fire, "there are more appropriate places to talk?" Watching Catherine stoke up the fire wearing nothing but earrings was really quite pleasant. He stretched luxuriously, unaware that the unconscious seductiveness of that action nearly caused Catherine to drop the poker as she turned toward him from the now-blazing fire. Grabbing an afghan from the sofa, she spread it over them both as she quickly settled into her former position.

"Vincent, dear," she informed him, "the most appropriate place to do something is not necessarily the only place."

"Are you by any chance referring to our recent activities?"

"Beds are fine places to make love," Catherine announced, "but floors in front of fireplaces make a nice change, don't you think? You certainly seemed ... energized by the novelty." Since Vincent could not contradict that argument, he said nothing. "As a matter of fact," Catherine continued, "I was noticing how sturdy the kitchen table is."

"Catherine!"

Between Vincent's startled twitch and her own laughter, Catherine managed to fall off her beloved and land beside him on her back, still giggling helplessly. "Oh, Vincent," she managed to gasp, "the look on your face!" Getting herself under some semblance of control, she kissed the tip of his nose apologetically before continuing. "I was only kidding. I have too much respect for the nation's artistic heritage to risk a Stickley table that way. Besides, how would we ever explain to Father how we got the splinters?"

"I am sure he is a sufficiently skilled diagnostician to determine that," Vincent replied drily. "It occurs to me," he continued, "that being married to you is going to be even more interesting than I dreamed."

"You don't know the half of it." Catherine promised. "So-when do you want to do it?"

"Do it?" Vincent asked, astonished. The woman was insatiable.

"Get married," Catherine reminded him. "Remember?"

"Well--" Vincent stalled for time as he switched mental gears. "We should allow enough time for everyone Below to prepare. This will be a very important occasion for them."

Catherine hugged Vincent. "I can hardly wait to tell everybody. Knowing how happy this will make them gives me almost as much pleasure as knowing how happy it will make us."

Vincent hugged Catherine back, rubbing his cheek against her head. "We need to allow enough time for Devin and Charles to make the necessary arrangements. I would like Devin to stand beside me."

"I thought you might. And I'd like Jenny. Do we get more than one each?"

"If you wish," Vincent replied. "Do you have someone else in mind?"

"Yes--and I think you do, too. Someone to whom it would mean a lot."

"Mouse."

"Yes," Catherine agreed. "He absolutely worships you; he'll be beside himself when you ask him. And I'd like to ask Jamie. She's a good friend to me Below--and besides, she's the only one who can keep Mouse in line."

Vincent tilted Catherine's chin so he could look into her face. "Do you think six weeks would be long enough?"

Catherine smiled lovingly at her husband-to-be. "Great minds with but a single thought. Our anniversary?"

"Are you sure," Vincent asked, "that it would not cause you pain? You have other memories of that day that are not pleasant."

"All the more reason," Catherine announced emphatically, "to exorcise those demons once and for all."

They lay quietly for a long time after that, listening to the crackling of the fire as it died to embers. Finally they rose, collected their robes, and turned out the lights. As they sleepily mounted the stairs toward their bedroom, they speculated on the effect their announcement would have Below. Basking in the glow of anticipation, they finally slept.

"Oh, Cath, tell me everything," Jenny begged. "What did Mouse say? Jamie? Father? Did they go as crazy as I did?"

"At least," Catherine laughed. "I don't think Father was surprised, exactly, but he knows Vincent. I'm sure he wondered how long it would take his stubborn son to allow himself to dream of the next logical step. My guess is he thought it would take a lot longer."

"He may know Vincent," Jenny admitted, "but he doesn't know you as well as I do. You lawyers are a devious bunch, putting ideas into people's heads in that sneaky way you have."

"Vincent would have dared to think of it himself, eventually," Catherine replied seriously. "But it would have taken a long time. He still had some idiot notions about tying me to a limited life with him instead of all the dazzling possibilities I could have Above. I knew after we agreed to get married he'd have a reaction."

"So what did you do about it?"

Catherine looked astonished at herself, and a little sheepish. "I got mad. Would you believe I actually yelled at him?"

"Yes, I would. What did you yell, exactly?"

"First I set him him straight about my dazzling life Topside. I've tried to tell him before, but I guess I was a bit more ... emphatic this time. I let him know in no uncertain terms how shallow and unsatisfying it was ... how I've done more real living since I've known him than I did in the three decades before."

"Good start," Jenny said admiringly. "Then what?"

"Then I accused him of insulting me by assuming I was still so shallow that I'd come to regret my choice if I got a better offer. I pointed out that I'd had one from Elliot I thought I couldn't refuse, and the prospect made me so miserable I could hardly bear it. I told him I'd never been happier in my life, goddammit, than I was with him, and then I threw a pillow at him and started to cry."

"Wow!" Jenny exclaimed, impressed. "What happened then?"

"I think he finally got the point," Catherine smiled. "And then we made up. Exactly how is none of your business," she said firmly, forestalling her friend's next question.

"Oh, I can imagine." Jenny looked at Catherine speculatively. "It must be pretty wonderful, given the way you've been looking and acting ever since Winterfest."

Catherine looked at her hands. "It is. I find myself thinking the most astonishingly trite things."

"Like, 'I never thought it could be like this?' I'd be willing to bet you've even said it.'"

Catherine groaned and hid her face in her hands. "Guilty," she mumbled through her fingers. She removed her hands to reveal a suspiciously pink face to her erstwhile Maid of Honor. "But it's true! Making love with Vincent bears about as much resemblance to making love with anyone else as--as Chartres does to a McDonald's."

"Do you think it's just because you love him so much more?"

Catherine leaned back in her chair and pondered for a moment. "That's certainly part of it. But not all. For one thing, Vincent's more concerned with pleasing me than himself."

"And ditto for you, I'm sure.Catherine smiled. "I suppose so," she admitted. "There's also the bond. He can always tell through that what I like best. But I've also gotten pretty good at knowing what he likes. Not that it's difficult ... his responses are so innocent, so completely honest."

"No trying to be cool? No looking like he's trying to remember what that diagram on page fifty-six looked like?"

"Hardly. I also wonder ..."

"What?" Jenny prompted when Catherine remained quiet.

"I wonder if the bond isn't beginning to work a little in the other direction. Lots of times it seems like I can sense his feelings in a way I couldn't before--at least not often. Maybe it's just that being around Vincent has developed my intuition."

"Could be all of the above," Jenny suggested. "If I were you I wouldn't worry too much about analyzing it. Just be grateful for it."

"Oh, I am," Catherine assured her. "I am." Catherine's reverie and Jenny's amused contemplation of her friend were suddenly interrupted by the doorbell. Jenny stayed alert as Catherine went to answer, hoping it was something innocuous. She relaxed as Catherine re-entered the library, grinning and shaking her head.

"What is it?" Jenny was dying of curiosity.

"Would you believe a telegram?" Catherine replied. "From Devin."

"A telegram? You're kidding! Who sends telegrams any more?" Jenny was looking forward to meeting this strange brother of Vincent's. "Why didn't he just call you? The Adirondacks aren't that far away."

"Devin never got over all the Sherlock Holmes stories he read as a child." Catherine handed the piece of paper to Jenny. "Besides, Vincent will enjoy this better than a phone call."

Jenny took the paper and read.

HOT DAMN STOP SMARTS RUN IN FAMILY STOP CHARLES AND SELF BE THERE BELLS ON STOP LOVE TO BE BEST MAN STOP CAN ALSO OFFICIATE IF NEEDED STOP SEE YOU APRIL FOOL

"Can also officiate?" Jenny looked confused. "What does he mean?"

"God," Catherine realized, "I'd better not show Father that part. I presume he means he paid twenty-five dollars once to become a Minister in the Universal Life Church," Catherine laughed. "Strange as it seems, that lets you perform legal marriages."

"Are you going to take him up on it?" Jenny asked dubiously.

"No--only one role to a customer in this wedding."

"So who is going to do the honors?Father?"

"That's what I thought at first," Catherine replied. "But then I came up with another idea, and talked to Father and Vincent about it." Catherine curled up on the sofa next to Jenny. "Most of the time, for a strictly 'Below' wedding, Father or another Council member officiates. But the more I thought about it, the more I decided to have it done by clergy. One of the Helpers is an Episcopal priest. I've met him before, he's a really fine man."

"Is that so important to you?" Jenny asked. "You're a good person, Cathy, but you never struck me as being terribly religious, in the formal sense."

"I'm not, particularly," Catherine agreed. "But I want this to be as much of a marriage as possible without endangering Vincent. Maybe we can't have a marriage that's exactly legal-- but at least it will be sacramental."

Jenny touched Catherine's hand. "I think that's wonderful. I'm sure it will mean a lot to Vincent."

Catherine squeezed Jenny's hand gratefully. "It will mean a lot to both of us." She was quiet for a moment. "But there's more to it than even that."

Jenny looked at her friend sharply. "Do I detect a shift into lawyer mode?"

"There you go, being intuitive again." Catherine's face suddenly looked serious, and more that a little pained. "I've never been able to forget that time Vincent was captured by Hughes, and how lucky we were that I got him back before word got out. I keep wondering what I could do if something like that happened again, and we weren't so lucky."

"What do you mean?"

"Vincent's greatest protection is the fact that, legally--as far as Topside is concerned--he doesn't exist. But if he ever did get captured, that could work against him."

Jenny's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "You mean, if he has no legal existence, he has no rights either."

Catherine nodded. "And with a dubiously legal marriage, I might have no rights as his wife, no way to protect him. But there's church law, and civil law. If we were married in a religious ceremony, that could make for an interesting legal tangle. At least it would give me some ammunition."

"Wow. What a thought." Jenny shuddered. "Let's hope it never comes to that."

"Amen," Catherine agreed emphatically. "But if it did--well, Vincent's protected me more times than I can count. I have to protect him in any way I can." They sat in silence for a moment, then Catherine shook her head as if to clear it. She stood and turned toward Jenny. "Enough of this. It's getting late, and we have a dinner reservation Chez Tunnel. Let's go."

After dinner, the members of the wedding party split up according to sex. Vincent and Mouse went off with Father, while Catherine, Jenny and Jamie huddled in Jamie's chamber. Catherine remained standing while her two attendants flopped onto the bed. "Well, your brideship," Jenny inquired brightly, "what's the plan? Are we going to wear pink chiffon and picture hats?"

"Bite your tongue, Aaronson," the bride replied, looking like she'd bitten into a lemon. "This is a Below wedding, and it's going to look like one." Catherine began to pace. "Since the bride's family traditionally pays for the wedding, I'm being indulged. But I don't want things to get too fancy--it would make me uncomfortable in front of people who have so little."

"Catherine," Jamie reassured her, "I told you not to worry so much about that. Everybody Below is so happy you're marrying Vincent you could wear a dress made of dollar bills and nobody would care."

"Now that would be an interesting fashion statement," Jenny offered.

Catherine couldn't help but smile. "Well, I did compromise. I bought tons of old fabrics from some antique clothing dealers, and all sorts of remnants--but they're remnants from very expensive shops. Don't tell."

"Mary and Sarah," Jamie explained, "are looking it all over and they promised to give us some ideas of what they'd like to do by next week. Then we can all decide which we like best. I know they'll come up with something wonderful."

"OK with me," Jenny agreed. "I love the stuff people wear around here. But what about the bride?"

Catherine inclined her head toward the door and Jamie jumped up to pull the heavy tapestry over the opening. To any Tunnel resident, that was as inviolate as a closed door would be Above. Catherine opened Jamie's wardrobe, which never had much in it, and reached back in the corner. Jamie helped her pull out the large garment bag and extract the dress it held. Shaking it out, Catherine held it up against herself and looked at Jenny. "What do you think?"

"It's gorgeous!" Jenny exclaimed. "And unusual--I've never seen a wedding dress made of raw silk before."

"My mother," Catherine said softly, "was an unusual woman."

"Oh, Cath--" Jenny found that the lump in her throat kept her from saying more.

Catherine stroked the fabric lovingly as she continued speaking. "Mom had very simple tastes. She didn't like things that were too fancy or glittery. It's funny--she couldn't have picked a better dress for me to get married in if she were with me now. It almost makes me believe she had a glimpse of the future, and knew that I'd wear it someday--and for whom." Catherine gave an embarassed laugh. "Silly, isn't it?"

Jenny found her voice again. "I don't think it's silly at all. I didn't know you had your mother's dress."

"I didn't. I found it at Dad's place when I went to clean out the last of his stuff."

"And I gave you a hard time because you wouldn't let me come with you," Jenny remembered.

"You came all the other times, and I couldn't have done it without you. But that last time--I had to do that alone."

Catherine continued to stroke the fabric tenderly. "I found this tucked away in an out-of-the-way closet. I guess I always assumed it was in storage somewhere; I never dreamed Dad kept it at home all these years."

"Maybe he liked keeping it close by," Jamie suggested, "because it made your Mother feel closer."

"I'm sure that's right," Catherine nodded. "There wasn't as much dust on this as you'd expect for something tucked away for a quarter-century or so. It makes me wonder how often he took it out to look at it."

"Hey," Jenny admonished, "save the tears for your own wedding, huh?"

Catherine squared her shoulders in determination as Jamie helped her put the dress back in its protective covering. "Right. I've got enough to worry about without that."

"Such as what?" Jenny asked. "Wondering if the groom's going to pass out from excess of ecstacy before the ceremony?"

Catherine tried to pretend she wasn't blushing even as Jamie's chuckle told her otherwise. "Such as what the bride's present to the groom is going to be--don't even think it,Aaronson--and the rings."

"What about the rings?" Jamie was concerned at Catherine's sudden unhappy look.

Catherine dropped heavily into the chair and sighed. "I could afford to buy them, but I'm afraid that would make Vincent uncomfortable. I know it disturbs him that he has 'so little to give me,' as he puts it. Even though I've told him a million times that all I need is him ... there's nothing more precious to me than that."

Jenny looked thoughtful. "Cath--your intended has a selfesteem problem that's been decades in the making. You're not going to get rid of it overnight."

Jamie nodded sagely. "Men can get funny ideas sometimes."

That remark brought a smile back to Catherine's face, but only fleetingly. "Even if I could buy them without hurting his feelings, can you see me waltzing into a jewelry store to buy wedding rings? Catherine Chandler, darling of the tabloids?"

"Ouch," Jenny winced. "I never thought of that. You've been doing your best to keep a low profile so they'll forget about you, but that would sure set them off again."

"And I couldn't wear a ring that was too obvious, anyway. Think of what fuel that would be for the DA's office gossip mill."

Jamie had been sitting silently in deep concentration. Suddenly, her face brightened. "Catherine?"

"What is it, Jamie?"

"I think I have an idea. Will you trust me to take care of it? It can be my wedding present to you."

Catherine looked at Jamie in surprise. Jamie was a resourceful young woman, but to depend on her for something so important ... but then, what was family for? "If you're sure, Jamie ... yes, I'll leave it to you."

"Well, Vincent," Father observed, "your plans seem to be moving forward apace. William, of course, has been complaining that six weeks' notice was barely enough to prepare for an occasion of this magnitude, but he's exaggerating."

"He usually does," Vincent observed drily. "I was more concerned about Father Atwood being available."

"Nigel wouldn't miss the chance to officiate at your wedding if the Archbishop of Canterbury were in town," Father beamed. "I'm very pleased that you and Catherine wanted him."

"Can't get license," Mouse pointed out. "God's better."

Vincent stared at Mouse. Sometimes that young man's insights amazed him. Vincent himself had suspected Catherine had several layers of motivation in her choice of Nigel Atwood; he had not expected to have his suspicions confirmed by Mouse, of all people.

"I find it all too appropriate," Father went on, "that your prodigal brother has decided to arrive on April first."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Father, you're extremely pleased he plans to spend so much time with us, you needn't try to hide it. And he has hardly been prodigal of late."

Father's face softened. "No--his care of Charles has been exemplary. I admit I was worried about his choice to live in a rather remote area, given Charles' medical needs. But Peter's report of his visit was very reassuring. The local doctor seems a good man, and Charles has come to trust him."

"Besides," Vincent reminded him, "didn't Peter say the man's daughter planned to join him in the practice when she finished her residency? It appears Charles will have the best of care."

Mouse spoke from his Buddha-like pose on Vincent's bed. "Glad Charles is coming too. Sorry everybody messed up last time."

"Yes," Father agreed. "There are many Below that feel we could have been more patient, more understanding."

"Charles is calmer now," Vincent added, "more secure. Both Devin and I were guilty of underestimating the burden of fear and confusion he still carried."

"What about clothes?" Mouse interrupted, ready to move on to topics of more immediate interest. "Have to wear fancy stuff?"

Vincent smiled. "Not too fancy, Mouse. Not for you and Devin. I only hope Sarah and Mary practice restraint where the groom is concerned."

"Well," Father beamed, "it sounds like everything is going splendidly."

Vincent nodded, but Mouse's eyes were on his hero's face, and what he saw there gave him concern. "Something else, Vincent. Something wrong."

Father looked sharply at his son. "Mouse is right, isn't he, Vincent? There is something."

Vincent sighed. "A minor thing," he admitted. "I don't know what to do about a ring. The crystal cavern holds many wonders, but gold ore is not among them. Catherine knows we have little of value to her world here Below, and would be uncomfortable knowing we used part of our scarce resources for her."

"Mouse won't get caught. Not again."

"Bailing you out of jail is not the only situation that would require us to use such resources," Father informed Mouse.

"Catherine could certainly afford to provide what was needed," Vincent continued, "but she fears hurting my pride. Rationally, I know her wealth means little to her, except as a way to make life easier for those she loves, or who need help."

"But it still bothers you." Father reaches out to touch his son's bowed shoulders. "Vincent, it's only human nature." As Vincent raised his head, Father met his son's implacable gaze.

"Yes, Vincent," he insisted. "Human nature."

Suddenly their mutual concentration was broken when Mouse leaped up and began hugging himself gleefully. "OK good, OK fine! Mouse can fix! No problem."

"Mouse, whatever are you talking about?" Father exclaimed in exasperation.

"Rings. For Catherine. For Vincent too. All figured out. Let Mouse do it--OK, Vincent? My present."

"Mouse, what makes you think--" Father stopped abruptly at Vincent's touch.

"Mouse, do you mean you will provide the wedding rings?"

Mouse beamed at Vincent, nodding his head so vigorously his hair fell into his eyes. Vincent thought hard for a moment. To trust something this important to the unpredictable Mouse ... Vincent made his decision. Better for him and Catherine to wear cigar bands for all the years of their marriage than extinguish the light that suffused that young face. "All right, Mouse. And thank you."

Father sank back into the chair, appalled. He hoped against hope that Vincent didn't regret this.

On the streets of Manhattan, March was trying to decide whether it was a lion or a lamb, and changing its mind frequently. Below those streets, Catherine and Vincent were curled up on his bed, surrounded by piles of books. Catherine rummaged enthusiastically, increasing the disarray. Finally Vincent could stand it no longer. "Catherine, what are you searching for?"

"That book that talked about Quaker weddings. I wanted to check the wording again." She turned her attention to the bookcase next to Vincent's bed, hoping the elusive volume might have migrated over there. Suddenly she reached out and drew something from the shelf, turning to her fiancé with an indulgent smile. "Vincent, I didn't know you brought this down here."

Vincent shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted more time to look at them. When we looked at them together, I found myself too easily distracted from the past by the present."

Catherine opened the photo album with a fond smile. "May it always be so, love," she announced firmly. "I want us to concentrate on present and future ... but it's nice to remember, especially the good parts."

Vincent slipped an arm around Catherine's shoulders. "It gives me great pleasure to see what you looked like as a child. It seems amazing that we shared the same city for so many years, with no idea of what we would be to each other some day."

Catherine turned to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. "The fact that we managed to find each other at all is the really amazing thing. I think it happened at just the right moment in our lives. I don't think I could have appreciated you properly when I was younger and even shallower, and I can't imagine you would have seen anything worthwile in me."

Catherine," Vincent admonished, "you have often expressed your concern about my self-image, but you are hardly immune to--"

"Let's change the subject," Catherine interrupted hastily. "What about that book?"

Vincent sighed but began helping her look. In a sudden burst of inspiration, he leaned over the edge of the bed and spied the volume in question resting on the floor in company with several of its fellows. Retrieving it, he handed it to Catherine with a shake of his head. "My love, you are one of the most energetic researchers I have ever known. You must have left your law books in ruins."

"Guilty. I have to restrain myself when the books belong to somebody else, like the library or the DA's office. This feels more like my carefree college days." She flipped through the pages looking for the passage she remembered. "Here it is! All you'd have to do is stand up during the regular Sunday meeting and say, 'Friends, I take this my friend Catherine Chandler to be my wife, promising through divine assistance, to be unto her a loving and faithful husband, until it should please the Lord by death to separate us,' in about fifty or sixty years." Catherine looked at Vincent lovingly. "I added the last part."

Vincent kissed her forehead. "It has a sweet simplicity to it," he agreed. "Would you say the same to me?"

"Suitably adjusted for 'husband' and 'wife,' yes." Catherine sighed. "I'm afraid it's a little too simple. I just liked the part about friends. You were my friend first, after all. Or at least I thought that's all you were at the time." She took Vincent's hand, twining her fingers around his, but didn't look at his face. "When did you fall in love with me? At the very beginning?"

Vincent looked at their entwined hands, speaking so softly Catherine could just hear him. "Yes. I didn't recognize it at the time--after all, I had spent years convincing myself that kind of love was something I would never know. All I knew then was that I couldn't get you out of my mind--literally or figuratively."

"When did you recognize it?"

"When you were falling in love with Elliot Burch."

Catherine blinked back tears as she put her arms around Vincent. "Oh, my love--I can't bear the knowledge that I caused you pain, however inadvertently."

Vincent held her close. "Catherine--dearest--how could you have known, when I tried so hard to convince you, and myself, that kind of love was impossible between us? Part of me wanted nothing but your happiness--but another part screamed in pain at the thought of you finding that happiness with anyone else."

"If it's any consolation, I think it was already too late. I think I fell in love with you as early as you did with me; it just took me even longer to figure it out."

"Catherine, for all those months I kept away from you--you had no reason to believe you'd ever see me again. You must have wondered sometimes if it all hadn't been a dream."

"No. I knew it was real. I doubted I'd ever see you again, and hadn't the faintest idea of how to find you, although I thought of looking more than once. I told myself it was just because I wanted to be your friend, to thank you more for all you'd done ... but I was lying to myself. I never told you before, Vincent, but after I met you I never slept with anyone else. I gave myself other explanations at the time, but now I know it was because some part of me knew from the first there was no one for me but you."

Vincent looked at Catherine in wonder. "I never realized ... when I discovered the bond I had with you, at first I tried hard to ignore it; it felt like I was invading your privacy. Ijust assumed ... but now that I think about it, I should have known. If you had been with anyone else, I don't think I could have escaped knowing." He shuddered helplessly at the prospect.

"I should have known when everything fell apart with Elliot." Catherine continued. "I turned against him so fast, without listening to his explanations, and he did nothing worse than Tom Gunther or countless others like him did every day. But by then I knew you, and without realizing it, measured every man I met against you. None ever came close."

"When did you realize you loved me as more than a friend?"

"I came pretty close when Hughes captured you, but you'd done such a good job of convincing me that going to Providence was a good idea, I didn't trust my perceptions of what was between us. But when you were in that cave-in, and I thought you might be dead--after that, there was no doubt. It took me awhile to figure out what to do about it, but after that I never again doubted that I loved you."

Vincent drew Catherine close again. "Sometimes I think we made the path to true love even rougher than it's supposed to be."

Catherine snuggled happily against him. "Maybe," she agreed. "But who knows? Maybe that's the only path that would have gotten us here--and since I like where we are, I'm not about to quibble over the route. I'm counting my blessings."

They held each other quietly for awhile, each reliving the torturous road that had led them to their present joy. After a time they reluctantly separated to continue their research. There was after all, a wedding to plan. Some time later, Vincent began to chuckle.

"What?" Catherine demanded.

"If you wish simplicity," Vincent grinned, "the customs of the Trobriand Islands should be perfect. It says here that even couples who have been sleeping together for some time are not considered married until they perform a certain act in public."

"What act?" Catherine attempted to look her most seductive.

"Eating yams," Vincent answered, straight-faced.

He had only seconds to enjoy Catherine's reaction before the pillow impacted his head. Her attempts to pulverize her intended ended when she was weakened by an unvoidable fit of the giggles.

Vincent struggled for composure. "Catherine, we really should keep our minds on the job at hand."

Catherine regarded him indignantly. "You're the one who brought up yams," she reminded him.

Eventually they settled down to some serious research, identifying poetry and other readings for their wedding, taking bits and pieces from various sources to construct as ecumenical a ceremony as possible. When Catherine suddenly frowned, Vincent asked her what was wrong.

"Don't we have the older version of The Book of Common Prayer somewhere?"

Nodding, Vincent dug into the pile and handed her a well-worn volume. "The 1928 edition," he announced. "Father refuses to acknowledge the 1977 revision."

"Really?" Catherine smiled. "Why doesn't that surprise me? Actually my father liked the older version better, too. I can't decide which to use for the exchange of rings. There's a beautiful, straightforward simplicity about the new version ... "

"I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you ..." Vincent quoted from memory, in a voice that caused Catherine to lose her train of thought completely.

"And the old version?" Vincent prompted.

"The what? Oh ..." Catherine tried to collect herself. "I never liked that obey business much," she admitted. "And that bit about endowing with wordly goods seems terribly materialistic. But there's a part they left out of the revision that I always loved ... do you think we could combine the two?"

"I don't see why not--it's our wedding, after all." Vincent gently trailed the back of a finger down her cheek. "What part would you like to keep?"

Catherine leaned into his touch, her eyes fixed on his face.

" 'With my body I thee worship'--I never understood what it meant--until you."

Like spontaneous combustion, the sudden wave of passion that engulfed them seemed to erupt from nowhere--but in seconds, they were both on fire. Books went flying as they sank into the bed, arms and legs entwined, lips seeking hungrily. As Catherine's mouth opened under Vincent's, his hand slipped under her sweater. As she tangled one hand in his hair, the other began a frantic tugging on his shirt ...

"Vincent, have you--oh!"

Father stopped dead in his tracks, transfixed by the scene before him. Disentanglingthemselves in record time, Catherine and Vincent stared at him in turn. For a moment, all held still like a Victorian tableau, then all began to talk at once.

"Forgive me, the tapestry was up so I thought--"

"I'm sorry, Father, we didn't expect--"

"We didn't expect to ... I mean, we were just--"

They stopped talking all at once, as if on cue. Choosing the better part of valor, Catherine buried her face in a pillow, trying unsuccessfully to hide the fact she was having hysterics. Vincent ran his fingers through his hair, attempting with no more success to make himself look less disheveled.

Recovering first, Father began to appreciate the humor in the situation. He began to chuckle. "Vincent--dear Grace had a favorite expression: 'if you hadn't seen it before, you wouldn't know what it was.' "

"Thank, you, Father," Vincent replied fervently. "We did not expect to need privacy; we only intended to work on the ceremony."

"That should be quite a ceremony," Father observed, undeterred by his son's pained expression. "What account of exotic marrriage customs led to such ... enthusiasm?"

Catherine emerged from the pillow. "Actually--" she looked Father right in the eye--"it was The Book of Common Prayer."

Father looked startled, but quickly decided not to pursue this conversation. He began moving toward the door. "Well, I'll take my leave and allow you to continue your theological discussion. Shall I put the tapestry down?"

"Perhaps that would be wise," Vincent agreed. "Father--what were you about to ask when you came in?"

The older man looked puzzled for a moment, then began to laugh. "You know, I haven't the faintest idea! Something seems to have driven it quite out of my head." He was still laughing as he pulled the heavy tapestry down over the open door.

"Oh, my God," Catherine groaned. "I've never been so mortified."

"Look at it this way, Catherine," Vincent attempted to reassure his beloved. "For all those years, Father thought this kind of love would be denied to me, and that caused him great sorrow. He's really very pleased that you and I became lovers."

"I know that, Vincent," Catherine sighed, "and I'm glad. But he seemed willing to accept hearsay evidence. I hadn't intended to give him a demonstration."

"Perhaps," Vincent decided, "this would be a good time to tell you about Rebecca's wedding present."

"Another one? I thought the special wedding candles were her present--that's more than enough."

"Well," Vincent admitted, "the second present is only a byproduct of something else."

Catherine tugged on Vincent's hair. "Well, come on, tell me! I'm dying of curiosity."

Vincent capitulated. "Rebecca has decided to move in with Gregory."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Catherine threw her arms around Vincent's neck and squeezed. "I'm so happy for them--they're crazy about each other. Maybe we'll have another wedding Below pretty soon."

"It wouldn't surprise me at all," Vincent agreed.

"But what does that have to do with a wedding present for us?" Vincent was silent, but Catherine's face suddenly lit up as she put two and two together. "Vincent! Rebecca's moving out!"

Vincent nodded sagely. "Moving in with Gregory would entail moving out of her present quarters, yes."

"Which happen to be right next door to yours!" Catherine almost jumped up and down in her excitement. "That means--"

Vincent wrapped his arms around her, partly to keep her from bouncing off the bed, partly because he found it undeniably pleasurable. "That means that within the week I can start blocking the current door to that chamber and carving out a new one that will link it to this. We can make Rebecca's old room our bedroom, and this into an anteroom."

"Hallelujah!" Catherine exclaimed. "Much as I love you, and like staying Below--there are times when this place feels less like the honeymoon suite and more like the lobby." She resumed her interrupted task of removing Vincent's shirt. "Now, where were we ...?"

Vincent slipped his hands under her sweater again. "With my body I thee worship ... "

"Let us worship together," Catherine intoned, just before her mouth found better things to do.

Catherine sat at her kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea as she gazed dreamily at the tiny garden. It was definitely starting to feel like Spring. Even though this winter had been a remarkably mild one, and an even more remarkably happy one, she was still glad to see the change of seasons. Only Spring could due justice to the feelings of rebirth and renewal that made her feel too full to hold any more. For two years she had been planting seeds of hope in Vincent's disbelieving heart--at last, it was time for their love to bloom.

She stretched luxuriously. It really was time to be getting upstairs and back to work, but it felt too good to sit here. Weekends were usually spent Below. Only the need to get ahead at work so she could take a week off this month kept her nose more or less to the grindstone. Joe probably thought she was going to the Bahamas or some such tropical paradise. She had implied she was going out of town, after all, but had otherwise ignored her boss's unsubtle attempts to learn more. Catherine rested her chin in one hand and smiled. She certainly wouldn't be getting any tan where she was going; not many people spent their honeymoon underground.

The ring of the telephone startled Catherine out of her reverie. Normally she would have let the answering machine pick it up to see who was calling, but she jumped at the chance to avoid facing the pile of work in her study. Vincent was busy preparing their new chamber, so she couldn't count on him to rescue her for some time.

"Cathy!" Jenny began eagerly as soon as Catherine said hello. "You've got to get down here right away."

"What? Jenny, where is 'here?' What's going on?"

"I'm at that antique shop in the Village, the one you told me about. Where you bought Vincent's Winterfest present, remember?"

"Of course I remember," Catherine replied. "But why are you there? Why do I have to come all the way down there now? Jenny, are you in trouble? Is something wrong?"

"Heck, no! I just saved your buns, that's all. You know how you've having fits because you haven't found the perfect wedding present for Vincent? Well, I'm looking at it."

Catherine didn't hesitate. "I'll be down there as soon as I can get a cab."

Jenny laughed. "If you can't get one to stop, pull out your gun and commandeer one. But hurry--if I have to stay here much longer, my VISA bill is on your head."

Catherine had lived in Manhattan long enough to know how to get a cab without resorting to firearms. Before Jenny's will power could break under the strain, Catherine entered the shop she had stumbled across last December. Spotting Jenny in a corner, she rushed to her eagerly, wondering if her friend's intuition was correct again.

Jenny grabbed Catherine's arm as soon as she was within range, pointing to the wall. "Well, is that it?" she asked.

Catherine was silent as she read the words, then gingerly took the frame off its hook and moved to where the light was better. After looking at it carefully for several minutes, she sighed. "Oh, Jenny, this is most definitely it. Bless you--you've done it again."

Jenny grinned happily. "Hey, when I'm a Maid of Honor I don't fool around; all part of the service. Have you ever seen such beautiful calligraphy?"

"It's exquisite," Catherine breathed. "And Vincent loves John Donne. I'm glad whoever did this used the Elizabethan spelling; he'll like that too."

"Look at the design of that border," Jenny pointed out. "It looks like Arts & Crafts period. It might have been made about the same time as the furniture in your house."

"Or earlier, if it's English." Catherine turned the frame over, but the back yielded no clues. Turning it over again, Catherine shook her head in wonder. "This was obviously done with a great deal of love, as well as talent. I wonder how it got here? How could anyone bear to part with it?"

"Would you like to know?"

Catherine and Jenny both turned to face the tall, soft-spoken man who appeared behind them.

"This is your shop, isn't it?" Catherine asked. "I remember you from when I was here before Christmas."

The man nodded in agreement. "Jonathan Sykes of Sykes and Moore, Inc., at your service. Ah, I remember you now--the nineteenth-century bronze of Sekhmet."

"I'm impressed," Catherine admitted as she shook his hand. "You have a remarkable memory. Especially since it wasn't even you who waited on me."

"I imagine it was your unusual reaction to the statue which caused me to remember," Mr. Sykes mused. "The lion-headed goddess is a powerful deity. Most people react with derision or awe, depending on their attitude toward other people's religions. I can recall no one else who grinned in obvious delight."

Catherine looked uncomfortable and Jenny suddenly became fascinated by a Victorian chamber pot. "You know the story behind this piece? I'm surprised anyone would let it out of the family."

"It belonged to my late partner," Sykes explained. "He had no close relatives to will it to."

"He didn't leave it to you?" Jenny asked.

Catherine winced. "Jenny, that's none of your business."

"Sorry," Jenny apologized. "I'm a hopeless romantic."

Jonathan Sykes only smiled. "Mr. Moore was my business partner only, and my good friend. He did have a companion of many years, but that gentleman prececeased him."

"Still ... " Catherine looked at the beautiful poem again.

"I would have thought he would rather have left it to a friend than have it sold."

"Patrick Moore was convinced it would find its proper owner," Sykes explained. "It was made by his grandmother for his grandfather. There was considerable family opposition to the marriage. His grandmother was a descendant of English aristocracy--no doubt disreputable younger sons who fled to the New World--but aristocracy nonetheless. They wouldn't hear of her marrying a poor Irish immigrant. But she did."

Catherine and Jenny both stared at him in fascination as he continued the narrative. "Then Patrick's father carried on the tradition by falling in love with a Black woman. His grandparents didn't object, but most of the world certainly did back then. Patrick's mother and father passed this on to him, and he carried on the tradition in his own way. He had an almost mystical belief that whoever bought this would be led to it-- would be someone who appreciated its history."

When he finished, Catherine was too stunned to say anything for a moment. Sykes wondered if she realized that she was clutching the poem so close to her chest she looked like she would kill anyone who tried to take it away. Finally, she found her voice. "Believe me, Mr. Sykes--there isn't anyone in New York who could appreciate this as much as I do."

"I had a feeling that was the case," he admitted. "I'm sure Patrick would have been very pleased. And please call me Jonathan."

Catherine was still dazed as they left the shop, the precious parcel well wrapped and held tightly in her arms, but not too dazed to thank her friend. "Jenny, I owe you one--I owe you ten! First, I'm taking you home in a cab, then I'm taking you out to dinner. Name the place, I'll get reservations if I have to bribe someone."

"Whoa," Jenny laughed. "I'll take you up on the cab ride, but just drop me at my place--which used to be your place not too long ago. I'll take a rain check on dinner. There's somebody I have to see tonight."

"Oh?" Catherine pressed. "Business someone or pleasure someone?"

"Business, and none of yours. You concentrate on where you're going to hide that present until the wedding."

Jenny was so eager to get back to her apartment she let Catherine refuse her contribution to the cab fare without an argument that would take time she couldn't spare. Jenny hadn't been raised by a Jewish mother for nothing. Invite a man for dinner, even strictly a business one, and certain standards had to be upheld. She grabbed an apron and faced the kitchen like a general preparing for battle.

By the time the doorman announced her visitor, the smells that filled the apartment were enough to make strong men weep with anticipation. Checking the peephole, Jenny determined that her visitor was the one she expected. Even though Catherine claimed security in this building was much improved, Jenny was dubious. Despite the "Aaronson" prominently displayed on the directory downstairs, Jenny kept expecting anyone from wandering gypsies to voodoo cultists to crooked cops dropping by unannounced. Undoing various locks and deadbolts, Jenny opened the door.

The man's grin didn't quite disguise his curiosity. "Hi, Jenny. You know, I've never actually been in this apartment before? Although I did end up butt-first in the elevator once."

Jenny smiled as she motioned him in. "I know, Cathy told me that story. Come on in, Devin."

As they worked their way through appetizers, dinner, and a bottle of wine, Jenny and Devin traded stories about Vincent and Catherine as well as each other. As the level in the wine bottle got lower, the stori