“I was on some sort of sick, self-destruction thought stream.”

“Jude was the sickness I didn't want to be cured of. He was the intoxicant I never wanted to be clear of.”

“This man was the pope, president, and god of dodging the topic. Too bad for him he was dealing with the queen, holy mother, and empress of seeing through a man’s stream of shit.”

“You can survive alone, or you can *live* together. I know which option William would chose—has chosen,” he said, shaking me as if he wished he could shake some sense into me. “You have to make your choice.”

“You need more time? Fine. I can do that. I could do anything for you, Luce. But, please, for god's sake, just give me some hope." A tear skied down my cheek, bleeding into one of my bandages. "Give me the smallest silver of hope there's still going to be a place for you and me on the other side of this.”

“Something tells me if he thought you wanted the Titanic, he would retrieve it from the depths of the Atlantic for you.”

“Luce," Jude said, unfurling the blanket cinched around me, grabbing my hands when he pulled them free, "you're my girl. The girl." To join the other emotions flashing over over his face, a trace of pain did as well. "When I look at Adriana, or any other girl for that matter, that's all I see. Some other girl who isn't my girl. I don't see them, Luce. I see you," he continued, his skin lining between his brows. "I've only ever seen you.”