“What do you think of this" he asked, indicating the painting nearby.She gave him an odd look. "I think it's an enormous painting of a dog."He made a show of considering the picture and nodded seriously. "An astute observation.”

“You once accused me of never considering the consequences,” she said, willing him to understand. To see. “Of never thinking of what comes next.”“What comes next is, we marry.”She shook her head. “Now you are not considering the consequences. I shall always be your scandal, Simon. Never entirely worthy.”

“She accused him of not thinking she was enough for him? The woman was entirely too much for him! She made him want to bellow with rage and hit things, then lock her in a room and kiss her senseless, until she gave in.”

“He missed you just as I did. He worried about you just as I worried. He looked for you. Tried to find you. Just as I did. But you were gone.” She took a step toward him. “You think he left you? It was you who left, Michael. You left us.” Her voice was shaking now, all the anger and sadness and fear she had felt in those months, those years after Michael had disappeared. “You left me.” She put her hands to his chest, pushing him with all her might, with all her anger. “And I missed you so much. I missed you so much. I still do, damn you.”

“Juliana?” the words were low and far—too calm for her husband, who had found that he rather enjoyed the full spectrum of emotion now that he had experienced it.“Yes?”“What are you doing twenty feet in the air?”“Looking for a book.”“Would you mind very much returning to the earth?”“What are you thinking, climbing to the rafters in your condition?”“I am not an invalid, Simon, I still have use of all my extremes.”“You do indeed—particularly your extreme ability to try my patience—I believe, however, that you mean extremities.”

“So, are you... intrigued ... by Stanhope?""Intrigued by him?""Indeed. Do you find him ..." he paused."Intriguing?" she teased.He sent her an exasperated look.”

“Before I merely daydreamed about Ralston. Now I find myself actually with him. Actually talking to him. Actually discovering the real Ralston. He is no longer a creature I invented. He is flesh and blood and…now I can’t help wondering…” She trailed off, unwilling to say what she was thinking. What if he were mine?She did not have to say the words aloud; Anne heard them anyway. When Callie opened her eyes and met Anne’s gaze in the looking glass, she saw Anne’s response there. Ralston is not for you, Callie.“I know, Anne,” Callie said quietly, as much to remind herself as to reassure her friend.”