"Honestly, Five." Belle said, exasperated.

Luckily, her love life was Five, that one weekend with Harry, and Rumplestiltskin. She was used to impossible men.

"I assure you I am not suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, nor have I been coerced, or brainwashed, or anything else. I am in this room, and this bed of my own free will."

And she was quite willing to spend longer in this bed. They did still have more to talk about.