“She was angry?” “And hurt. She asked point-blank if I fucked you on her birthday,” I tell him with quiet misery. And it does make me miserable that she suspects and that it hurts her so badly. “She was probably in bed with Charles that night,” Maverick says. “Oh, undoubtedly. She’s in Paris with him now.” “Wait, and she’s angry that we’re together? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t and yet it does. I’m a woman and on some level it makes perfect sense to me.”
