[Their first and last parting. It sounds like another toast, another vow, or a curse or a blessing. His ambition leaves no hope of his life becoming less violent in the near future. He's not sure he can countenance taking the same risks with her by his side as he would without. But that's a consideration for when, or indeed if, she returns.

During their time apart she might awaken to who and what he really is, and decide she wants nothing more to do with him. It wouldn't even have to mean a falling out of love, merely coming to her senses and using the better judgment he knows she has.

But she's not gone yet. She's still here, bearing a gift. He wants to take Grace into his arms. He wants to do things to her that they can't do in public. He might be thinking it loudly, such that she could see it in his eyes.

He knows the scent would be very recognisably hers. He remembers it well. It's a light fragrance, floral he thinks, though he couldn't name the flower. He'd been meaning to ask her about it, to file that information quietly away. It was overpowered at the pub, if she wore it there at all. He first became aware of it when he took her to the races. It's never left his mind completely since. He swallows, feeling his throat constrict a little with emotion better unexpressed.]

No, you're not ridiculous.

[The gift isn't, at any rate. She might be, for thinking anyone could forget her in the space of a few months. He holds his hand out, palm upturned, for her to place the vial in. He already has a plan for it. He'll pull the cork for a minute or so when he goes to bed and hope it's enough to let him dream of her.]

I was thinking how I'd have to get by without you. One less thing to do without, now.

[It isn't quite as good as when the perfume is on her very skin, or when it's in the air to signify that she's just left or entered the room. It's a good keepsake nonetheless.]

I'll miss your voice, but that you can't bottle.