“You didn’t.”
“No. You loved me, and things in me that didn’t work did, and do.”
“You heard me,” she murmured. “With Mira.”
“I did. And I can say to you it was easier when they didn’t work, but it’s better, very much better, when they do.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “For two people who started out so fucked up, we’re okay.”
Beside him, she watched out the window, ignored the pitching in her stomach on descent. The cat leaped onto her lap, circled with his questing claws, settled.
And beside Roarke, with the cat snoring, she watched New York break through the clouds.
Dallas to New York, she thought. Where she belonged.
Вы читаете New York to Dallas
