There was an awkward moment when my father pointed at the ripped and bare-chested Tudor and proclaimed, "Feckin' hell, wud ya look at the size of that bugger! I betcha he would pack a few punches tae ya mooth and yer wud'nae even ken before ya lost ya teeth! At least he's not one of these namby-pamby wee snotty-nosed shits that usually poison ma screen. He cud've stood b'side Wallace and took off a few Sassenach heeds! I'll tell ya noo, he'll be from gud Scottish stock! That’s the kinda man ya need, Natasha, one that can scare the shit outta folk!"

I smiled inwardly, knowing that my dad would have approved of us as a couple – every girl wants her father to like the one she loves, err... likes, I mean likes, people!

The next ten days at home continued in a blur of food, wine and laughter, going by far too fast but I loved every minute of it. Way too soon, it was time to get back to normality. Well, whatever normal was these days…

So there we were, back in Calgary. The third of January and minus twenty degrees – toasty!

Tink had parked Bumblebee (now sporting some excellent new snow tyres) at the airport, and we were settled in our heated seats ready to head home.

Tink was bouncing with excitement at seeing Tater-Tot again, who had already been back in Calgary for a week and was meeting us at the condo. I, on the other hand, was not looking forward to hearing their reunion all afternoon, but as Tink had already told me on the flight, "You have to like it or lump it, I’m still scarred after seeing you get pummeled against the wall by Tudor’s mammoth thighs. A little bit of fairy sex-singing you can take, think of it as penance!" He did have a point, I guessed.

As we hit the highway, I decided that I had better switch my Canadian phone back on. I was surprised to see several missed calls and voicemails in my mailbox from Tudor, the latest listed two days ago. I took a deep breath and pressed my phone to my ear, bracing myself to hear his voice once more.

"Hey, Sunshine." Shit, he didn't sound too good. "I’ve tried calling a few times but I suppose you’ve switched off your phone, being back in the UK. I... I just wanted to speak to you, see if you have had a good Christmas break? I... I'm sorry to call you, after everything, I probably shouldn't, but… I'm having a rough time at the minute, family stuff, and you always make me feel better. Anyway, I... I just want to tell you that I've been thinking of you and... I miss you... a lot. Okay, well... ‘bye, Sunshine," and the message went off.

Tink looked at my torn face from the driver’s side. "Tudor?" he guessed, and I nodded, not speaking while I swallowed the lump in my throat.

He was having family issues? That was the most he had ever told me about what was going on, how he was feeling. But we weren’t even together and it was on a friggin’ voice mail! How many times had I begged him to tell me something, anything, and he finally sheds some light on his problems to my phone’s answering machine while I’m four thousand miles away. Frustrating is not the word!

I wondered what he meant by family issues? Jesus! Ten minutes back in Calgary and I’m thinking of the hulking man already – I need professional help!

I decided to file away dealing with the voicemail until later when I was in the safety of my own home and I could comfortably cope with the ever present Tudor-related issues.

We were heading downtown on Deerfoot Trail when Tink’s in-car Bluetooth phone went off – ‘Pookie’.

He pressed the accept button and Tate's gentle voice filled the car. "Hey, baby. You back yet?" Tate’s dismembered voice asked.

I eyed Tink and saw by his expression that he too had noticed that his boy sounded off, not his usual cheery self.

"Hey, sugar tits. Yep, we are about twenty minutes from the condo. Where are you, everything okay? Wait, what's that noise?"

There was shouting and banging in the background, and Tate rushed out his next sentence in a hushed and panicked tone. "Look, I'm calling as I can't come around tonight, something’s come up. I'll call you later, okay?"

I could hear police sirens wailing in the background, getting louder by the second, obviously heading closer to where Tate was.

Tink looked frantic, his hands shaking on the steering wheel. "Tatey, honey, what's wrong? Are you okay? I'm scared!"

So was I.

"I'm fine, baby, look I have to go–" There was loud shouting, banging and someone swearing.

"Tudor, no!" screamed a feminine voice, a voice that sounded absolutely petrified. I gripped the seat belt at hearing Tudor’s name.

"Look I have to go..." The phone went dead.

I whipped my head to Tink. "Oh my God, what was all of that about? What if something’s wrong with Tudor?" My voice was scaling a few octaves higher and my heart was pounding in my chest.

Tink bit the nails on his right hand. He must be really worried if he was putting his Shellac at risk. "I-I don't know," he said in a quiet, shaky voice.

I narrowed my eyes – the little liar! "What do you know? And don't lie. I can see you're hiding something by the way you can't keep your perfectly polished talons out of your mouth," I demanded.

Without checking his wing mirrors, he pulled over onto the hard shoulder, ignoring the horns and name-calling from the other drivers on the road. He laid his head on the steering wheel and groaned. "He made me promise not to tell!"

My breathing grew laboured. "Tell me what?" I screamed, shaking Tink's arm.