When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.

Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.

I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face.

I am beginning to think that love itself is never wrong. It is what love can drive people to do that is the problem.

When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.

The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.

He barks out a laugh. "My little rebel.