“Won’t . . . won’t you miss me?” Fox regretted the words instantly. The pathetic whine of them, the neediness. His wife paused, folding her arms across her chest, and faced him, her expression terrifyingly blank. “I survived twenty years without ye, Fox Carnegie. I ken I can manage a few months.” Silence. “Anything else ye care tae say tae me?” she asked, eyes narrowing expectantly. “Anything at all?” Words crowded his tongue.
