"I am a Man" . . . "I need," Danny paused, an emphasis built in repetition, "I need to feel married to you," he hesitated again and between clenched teeth and a shake of his head, he finished emphatically, "in, well, in every way."

Michelle let out an exhalation of breath in frustration, her gaze cast away and downward. She closed her eyes briefly, confusion and upset dancing across her face.

"You mean, that I -- that I have no choice? I have to?" she asked worriedly, disbelief in her voice as she anxiously rubbed at her neck.

"No, no," Danny responded immediately, "no, let me explain this," he offered as he slipped from the edge of the bed and onto his knees, kneeling beside her chair. "I want this to come out right. I don't want to sound like a pig," he said almost to himself.

"Okay, I'm listening, so . . ." she prompted, her gaze on his turned-away face. He remained silent for a moment, still not meeting her eyes. She nodded her head and the movement got him started. "Look, you don't think that I understand how difficult this is for you, I do, you're wrong, I do," and he looked her in the eyes before glancing away again. "I know that you didn't sign up for me. I know that I'm not the man of your dreams, I know that, but I am a," he paused, seeming to weigh his words, not wanting to scare her, simply make her understand. At last, he settled with a simple, direct statement: "I'm a man."

She looked at him, her eyes wide and sincere, and then upon seeing the raw intensity of his face, she looked away . . . and then back again as he continued to speak, his voice growing thick with need.

"And when we, when you and I," he glanced at her quickly, "go into our room at night," he paused, still searching for the right words. "I know, I can't just turn myself into some sort of automaton with no feelings and no . . ." again, he hesitated before offering, "desires." Michelle looked down, a slight blush invading her ivory skin. "I just -- I can't do that," he repeated.

She looked up and away from him, hearing him, but not sure how to act or respond. Danny shifted beside her, his arm circling around her chair as he moved in behind her.

"You know, when you -- you take a shower," he leaned in close, his voice sliding into her ear like honey, his breath warm against her skin as a smile lit his face and as flushed confusion swept across hers, "and you comb your hair. You -- you rub lotion into your arms, into your shoulders," and his hand played in the air above her shoulders and her eyes were searching as she caught her breath.

"And you slip into a nightgown and I'm -- I'm sitting in bed, pretending to read or listen to music or whatever, but that's not what I'm doing. I -- I'm watching you," her breathing came quicker and her eyes glazed over, a rush of heat enveloping her as his words -- his whispered and warm words of desire -- spun a spell of wanting about her.

"I'm trying not to, but I am. I do. I am a man and when you climb into bed with me, beside me, never touching, never touching," her eyes danced in warring confusion as if she wanted to move, wanted to break the spell he was casting, but she found herself immobile, caught in his need.

"I lie there awake, staring into the dark, aware of everything that you're doing," her lips parted slightly as common sense and reality fled. Michelle was lost in a world of his sensual words, his husky voice, the intimate images he was creating in her mind. " . . . Of how you breathe, of the rustle of the sheets," her eyes shut close, as she grappled for solid ground, but still he spoke and she was gone and he was her only guide in this uncharted territory.

"And it takes every ounce of my being to not want to reach out to you." His face was mere inches away from the curve of her cheek, his arm wrapped firmly about her. "I care about you. I desire you," he paused, his breath hovering over her, "I want to reach out to you," and his voice was slightly slurred as his mouth parted and he grazed the sensitive flesh of her ear with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Michelle's eyes widened and she arched her neck, her eyes then closing and falling open in flustered desire.

"Just Look at Me." . . . "Daniel and Michelle now wish to exchange their own personal vows," Father Tomas intoned solemnly as Michelle handed Drew her bouquet. She and Danny rose to their feet and faced one another.

With trembling fingers, Michelle held onto a slip of paper containing her troth, her gaze cast downward. Danny reached out a steadying hand upon her elbow, "you nervous?" he asked with a quick glance towards Father Tomas.

Michelle answered with a slight laugh, "yeah, I feel like I'm gonna faint."

Danny smiled, "it's okay. Just, uh, just look at me," and he lifted his hand to her chin, gently raising her face. Their eyes met as he finished softly, "'kay? you'll be fine."

"Secret Smile" . . . "Move in closer," the photographer cajoled the newlywed couple as they stood away from their guests, wrapped in each other's arms, posing for posterity.

A huge grin lit Danny's face, "okay," and a slightly self-conscious smile curved Michelle's lips as the photographer commanded, "okay, now hold hands." Danny and Michelle clasped hands rather awkwardly and the cameraman demurred, "nah, nah, nah, not like this."

"Okay, not like this," Danny repeated as they tried a different hand hold. The photographer stepped over to them and re-arranged their hands, laying one on top of the other, "like this, both hands," he explained.

With laughter in his voice, Danny commented to Michelle, "I guess we should have skipped psych and taken, uh, wedding reception 101."

Michelle laughed at his joke as the photographer stepped back and they leaned their heads in close, smiling broadly as the camera snapped. "Alright, now, I want you to look into each other's eyes, come'on." Danny's smile dimmed slightly, but obediently they turned to look at each other, "look into each other's eyes," the photographer repeated, "and smile your secret smile."

Laughter danced at the edges of their grins as Michelle repeated in bemusement, "secret smile?" and a slight chuckle emerged from Danny as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Michelle's. And her lips were taut withholding brimming laughter and her face was shining.

"Alright, right there. Beautiful!" the photographer congratulated as he shot their shared mirth in pose.

"Goodbye" . . . As he once again guaranteed her safety, Michelle, with misery etched onto every line of her face, looked down and away from him. Danny stared at her bent head, her sorrowful mein, and he knew that he could not just walk away from her. With an exhalation of frustration, he threw his hands out in front of him and walked back to where she was standing, looking lost and alone.

She turned to meet his advance and as he took her in his arms desperately, sobs built in her throat and she clung to him. His arms wound about her tightly. Sighing in capitulation, he pulled away slightly and looked down at her tear-tracked face and without words, he bent to kiss her. Hungrily she met his lips, her sobs melting into the contact.

Her hand came up, resting against the side of his neck, rushing into his hair and then once more clutching at the side of his face. As he pulled away, her lips held onto his a moment longer, reluctant to let go, but he had already stepped away, taking his arms from around her. With a catch of tears in his voice and around his eyes, looking down, he removed his wedding band and grabbing her hand, placed it in her palm. Tears began to slowly build anew in the corner of her eyes.

A husky, hoarse anguish filled the solitary word he spoke to her, "goodbye," and their gazes were locked on one another. He turned and walked out the door. She slowly, painfully clenched her first together and brought her hand, still holding his ring, to her face as tears engulfed her once more.

"Friday" . . . They sat snuggled together in the Company booth; matching smiles alight upon their faces. She had one arm wrapped about his neck, her hand lying upon his shoulder. The other was pressed against his throat, her fingers splayed across his flesh.

His voice was low, for her ears only, "we're gonna be really," and he paused, ecstatic joy filling the space with the grin upon his face, the gurgle of laughter emanating from her, "really married." And his lips curved as he met her gaze before adding softly, "on Friday."

She repeated the upcoming day in a happy whisper, her nose crinkling as he leaned his head to the side, his mouth lowering for a long kiss. She leaned into him, the fall of her honey hair a shield for their intimacy. Pulling back slightly, a grin lifted the corners of his lips and he stole another kiss - one that was short and sweet.

Breaking away for a second's breath, another giggle burst from her before the merry sound was muted by renewed pressure of his lips upon hers.