I reached out and she put the crook of her arm to my fingers. There was more of her to hold, but so fucking what? Marit was an angel of mercy, and she was beautiful. And it didn’t matter what she looked like, anyway. She could have been as gorgeous as Valentina in real life, but she’d never get any closer to my heart. Charlotte owned that particular piece of me. Hell, she owned all of me, heart and soul, but thanks to Marit, instead of heading to the airport in defeat, I was back on that long, dark road to where Charlotte was waiting. Saint Marit, that’s what she was and always would be.
