“You can say your goodbyes. I’d rather like to hear this. Go on.”

Marie-Laure crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. Nora ignored her, ignored the dagger in her hand, ignored the entire world around her. No one existed but Søren, and once he was gone, there would be nothing left.

She turned her eyes up to him.

“Søren...I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t you dare. We only have a few minutes left on this earth together and do not waste a moment of this time apologizing to me for your imagined sins.”

“You know I didn’t imagine them.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve lived your life without fear and without regrets and without giving a damn what anyone thought of you. Don’t start that nonsense now.”

“I left you.”

“You had every right to leave me. My God, Eleanor, the tests I put you through, the trials...”

“Don’t forget that stick you made me water for six months.”

“I remember. I was never shocked that you left me. Only shocked you didn’t leave me sooner.”

“You were kind of a hard-ass,” she said, grinning at the memories that barreled through her mind with the force and speed of a runaway train. Watering that damn dead stick in the ground as if it were a living plant...changing her clothes seven times in a row because Søren had a specific ensemble in mind he wanted her to wear and they wouldn’t leave Kingsley’s house until she guessed what it was and put it on...lying curled up on the floor of the Eighth Circle, his shod feet resting on her back as he used her that night as a footstool and nothing more—he didn’t even beat her or f**k her or even kiss her. She’d been nothing but furniture.

“You’re being too kind.”

“Okay, you were an unbelievable hard-ass.”

“That’s better.”

“I loved it, though. I loved being yours. Even when I carried that stupid watering can out to water that f**king stick, I loved it. I knew you tortured me like that because you loved me, because you wanted me to be strong.”

“You were always strong, Little One. I only ever wanted you to be mine.”

Nora leaned against his chest again and he bent to kiss her forehead.

“I am yours,” she whispered. “I always was. Even when I was with someone else...I was always yours.”

“I know,” he said with utter arrogance.

She growled in frustration and fury. The unfairness, the absolute unfairness, that this injustice, this travesty, was happening to Søren of all people...she could have screamed, could have cried all the way to heaven.

“It’s not fair, it’s not. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end.” Nora felt the dagger in her hand and wanted to plunge it into her own heart to give it respite from all the pain. Maybe she would.

“It’s not?” Søren asked, his voice tinged with amusement. “You’ve already decided how we’re supposed to die?”

“I have. I’ve given it a lot of thought.”

“That’s very...Catholic of you,” he said.

“I’ve even seen it.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “You’re going to be one of those men who gets more handsome with every passing year. You’ll be like Christopher Plummer—handsome even when you’re eighty.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk with you about your unhealthy level of interest in him.”

“He’ll return my emails eventually, I know he will.”

“Or file a restraining order.”

Nora laughed as the vision danced across her mind’s eye.

“It’ll be peaceful, quiet...” she said. “You’re fourteen years older than me. I’ve had to face that fact since the day we met. Barring a bus hitting me in downtown Manhattan, you’ll go first.”

“Something I’m profoundly grateful for.”

“You’ll be in the rectory reading the Bible in your favorite chair by the fireplace and you’ll...you’ll fall asleep.” She saw it all in her mind’s eye. The hand holding the Bible...the Bible slipping from his fingers and fluttering to the floor. “That’s where I’ll find you when I sneak in that night. In that chair asleep. And I’ll know...I’ll know you’re gone. And I’ll kiss your beautiful hand and put the Bible on the bookshelf. I’ll take your collar and I’ll go away. I’ll disappear.”

“Into thin air?”

“Almost. I’ll go north to my mother’s convent. I’ll bribe them if I have to, and they’ll let me in. And that’s where I’ll stay the rest of my life.”

“Giving up? That’s not like you, Little One.”

“Not giving up at all. I’ll be so busy I’ll need the quiet of a convent and no distractions. I’m going to write books about us, you and me. And Kingsley and Juliette and Griffin and Michael and Zach and Grace. That’s what I’ll do with my last years.”

“I told you that you weren’t allowed to write about me.”

“You’ll be dead. What do you care?”

“My ghost will be most put out with you.”

“But will your ghost put out?” she teased.

“If you’re good.”

“I won’t be good.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “I’ll be wicked until my last day. I’ll write one wild, wicked book after the next. I’ll change our names, change the locations, change the dates, the details. But it’ll be us, our story. I’ll write the books in third person so Zach won’t kill me. He hates first-person novels. Plus if it’s third person I can write about how beautiful and sexy I am and it won’t sound arrogant.”