“They’re all free to make their own choices now,” Windsor continues, drinking the rest of his wine, and then setting the glass down to refill it. “They might not like the options they’re given, but they have them.” “Who, specifically, are you talking about? Yourself?” I ask, and Wind shakes his head, pushing red hair off of his face with his palm, so that it sticks straight up. “Certainly not. I’ve already told you, I want to marry you and ride off into the sunset.” I snort, but the way Windsor York holds his face … makes me wonder if he isn’t at least a little bit serious.
