He pushed into her body again and fell into her mouth. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, lost in this foreign, delicious desire. “Älskling… Sweet little… So sweet when I fuck you…”

They snarled and snagged and clutched and tore at each other, the air hissing with filth, obscenities whispered like secrets and dares. Turning the windows of the boathouse opaque with steam.

“Jag älskar dig, Fisken,” Astrid said, over and over. “Älskar dig, Fisken. Älskar dig…”

Love you, Fish.

“Christ, woman,” Kennet said through a heaving chest. His rough touch went soft. His dirty mouth turned clean and tender, kissing Astrid’s eyelids, her sweaty temples, her damp, hot nape, the palms of her hands. “Asta…”

She held his head against her pounding heart, legs still wrapped around his waist. “I love you,” she whispered.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Even now?”

“Especially now.” She picked up his head and looked in his eyes. “You pinned the Hildur on Xandro.”

“Yes. We’ll go to Montreal soon. The deWrennes will make him a chain.”

“You want him to have it?”

“Yes.” Kennet took her hands and kissed each of her fingers. “Clayton can be your home. I can be your man.” He put her palms back on his face. “And Xandro can be our boy.”

She wrapped arms around his neck, pulled him against her. He closed his eyes tight, falling into the gold behind his lids.

The evening went from ardent to absurd as they skulked around in the dark, searching for tossed and torn clothing. Stifled giggles and hissed whispers, as if there were any point to being stealthy now. Astrid had to secure her dress back together with a fish hook—“Desenrascanco, darling,” then purloin an old corduroy work jacket to cover her handiwork.

Once they were decent, Kennet flicked on the lights. He collected loose buttons while Astrid stuffed her torn underwear in the bottom of the wastebasket.

“Like you’d never know,” she said.

“Minor will figure it out in six seconds.”

He switched off the electric fire and took Astrid in his arms for one more long, scorching kiss before locking up. He took her hand and they started toward home.

“Wait,” Kennet said. “Come here a minute.” He wheeled them around to walk toward the river instead, to the very edge of the dock. He fished in his pocket and came out with the gold tooth, hefting it a few times on his palm.

“We got our golden time back,” he said. “So many millions won’t.”

“Remember objects don’t have magic. Or power or charm. They have a job.” She put her hand over the tooth. “You don’t need this as a reminder of the things you saw. You won’t ever forget. You don’t need it as a reminder to be good. You’ve never been anything but. So now what’s its job? What’s its purpose?”

“To belong to everyone?”