Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“Actually…” He tilted his head as his thoughts raced. “I never renounced my citizenship. Never swore loyalty to the king, either, so I’m not treasonous. Did I break neutrality laws? Yes. Would I be sent to jail if I headed home? Probably. But I’m still American.” He glanced at his uniform jacket as it hung over a kitchen chair, the eagle bright on the right shoulder. “You didn’t break any laws, and you’re my wife. You’re entitled to American citizenship. We’d just have to get you a visa.” A spark of hope glimmered in his chest. He had a way to get her out of this war—to ensure she lived through it.
She flat out laughed and pushed out of his arms. “Right, and that takes a year, if not longer, from what I’ve read in the papers. The war might very well be over by the time that happened. And besides, you’re right. I won’t leave my country—even if it’s technically not mine anymore—when it needs me, and I won’t abandon Constance. We swore to see this through together, and we will.” She took his hand and placed a kiss on his wedding band. “And I’ll never leave you, Jameson. Not if I can help it. A few hours are nothing compared to thousands of miles across an ocean.”
“But you’d be safe—” he started.
“No. We can discuss this again when the war is over or our circumstances have drastically changed. Until then, my answer is no.”
Jameson sighed. “Of course I had to fall for the obstinate girl.” Yet he wouldn’t have loved her had she been anyone else.
“Obstinate, headstrong girl,” she corrected him with a small smile. “If you’re going to quote Austen, do it correctly.” She pressed her lips in a firm line. “What’s the farthest you can live from the station and still have a Living Out pass?”
“It depends on the station commander.” Some were compassionate and believed that the air crew tended to be more reliable if they lived on- or off-station with their families. Others didn’t give a shit—or passes. “What about you?”
“I’m barely allowed a pass as it is. All the other women live in the huts or are billeted in the old married quarters.” Her brow puckered.
“None of the other women are married to someone posted at the same station,” he noted. Soon, she’d be just like the few others with wedding rings—married but forced to live apart.
She gnawed on her lower lip, clearly thinking something over.
“What’s going on in that remarkable brain of yours, Scarlett Stanton?”
Her gaze jumped to meet his. “I can’t go with you, but there’s a slight chance I might be able to get reposted closer than where we are now.”
He tried like hell not to hope but failed. “I’ll take even the slightest chance over the possibility of going months without seeing you.”
“If only postings were up to you, my husband, and as I am not currently recognized as my father’s daughter, I can’t pull the strings I did to get here.” She laced her fingers behind his neck. “But I’ll try.”
Relief loosened the knot in his throat but didn’t dispel it completely. “God, I love you.”
“If I can’t get reposted and all we have are weeks, then we’d better make them count.” She nodded toward the stove and its forgotten contents. “Skip dinner and take me to bed.”
“We don’t need a bed.” He lifted her to the kitchen table and sank into her kiss. She was right—if they only had weeks, he wasn’t wasting a second of it.
Chapter Seventeen
Georgia
Jameson,
Oh, love. I could never regret choosing you. You’re the very breath in my lungs and the beat of my heart. You were my choice before I even knew there was one to make. Please don’t worry. Close your eyes and picture us in that spot you’ve told me about—where the creek bends. We’ll be there soon, and even sooner I’ll be in your arms again. Until then, we’ll be waiting here for you. Always waiting. Always yours.
Scarlett
“This was the worst idea in the history of ideas!” I shouted down at Noah from fifteen feet above him, clinging to a wall I had no business being on. He’d waited a week before forcing me to hold up my end of the deal, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“So you’ve told me every five minutes since you started climbing,” he called up. “Now look to your left at that purple handhold.”
“I hate you,” I snapped, but reached for the hold. He’d taken me to a climbing gym a half hour away, so it wasn’t like I was dangling off the side of a mountain, but still. I might have been tied into the harness, but he held the other end of the rope. “You think you’d be better at metaphors, being a writer and all. Put your life in my hands, Georgia,” I did my best Noah impression. “Look at my superior climbing abilities and pretty face, Georgia.”