Chapter 23

Anne stood frozen in Gilbert's arms, her eyes enormous in the darkness as the words I love you echoed through the room.

"Gil-"

He released his hold on her slightly, his manner gentle. "I'm sorry for being so abrupt. I've been trying to tell you that for five years now. But I never knew- I was never sure-"

Anne's hands were shaking, and she tried to draw in a proper breath, only to find that she couldn't- as the panic rose in her chest, she clutched Gilbert's shirt as he moved quickly to sit her down on one of the kitchen chairs.

"Come on sweetheart, breathe. Nice and slow," Gilbert coached her, rubbing her cold hands with his own as he knelt down.

Anne's grey eyes were glassy, and she felt him touching her face and her arms as she fought to breathe slowly. Eventually, she nodded, and Gilbert sat back in some relief. He gave a wry chuckle as he ruffled the brown curls on his forehead. "Well. A panic attack wasn't quite what I was expecting when I said that."

Anne lifted her face, her eyes showing her bewilderment. "You- you love me?"

Gilbert stilled in the now deafening silence. "Yes." He saw the worry on her face, and he tried to smile. "You don't need to say anything, sweetheart. I'm not trying to force a confession from you. I- I just wanted you to know." His heart sank at the look of confusion on her face, and he had to choke back his disappointment at her reaction. "Why- why should that surprise you?" he asked slowly.

Anne shook her head as if trying to clear it. "I- I suppose that it shouldn't. We chose this path- we knew that it would lead here-"

Gilbert swallowed. "Anne, I didn't have to choose to love you. It happened before I even realised what it was." He gave her a smile that tried to be cheerful. "Anne, it isn't the end of the world."

She looked up then, inexplicably hurt at his attempt to make light of his feelings. "I'm not saying that it is, Gil. I just wasn't expecting it so soon-"

"Well, normally people do know before their six month wedding anniversary."

Anne flinched at the unintentional sarcasm in his comment. "Gilbert, I was just surprised."

"Well, I really don't know how to take that," he stated after a moment, his expression mild. "I'd thought it pretty obvious, given that I asked you to marry me. I wouldn't have proposed unless there were some feelings there."

She opened her mouth several times and then reached a tentative hand toward him. "For- the whole time?"

He nodded, watching unknown emotions cross her face. There was a panic rising in his own chest now, wondering if he'd blown it- if he'd spoken too soon.

Anne moved to stand, the train of her skirt catching on the broken rung of the chair. She moved to untangle it with shaking hands before straightening up slowly. "Gil, we didn't have the ideal start, we know that." Gilbert's face was inscrutable, and a tentative Anne stepped closer to him. "I- suppose I didn't realise your feelings were as strong as this when you suggested that we do this." She gulped faintly and tried to smile. "I should- I should have. But you know where I was, at the time. And the past six months have been hard- and happy- and frustrating and wonderful and terrifying. All of those things. I needed time then- I still might. I just didn't realize that we weren't starting from the same place together."

Gilbert's eyes held a hint of hurt, but he shook his head, coming to take her hands in his. "I did know that at the time," he insisted. "And it didn't make any difference to me- to how I felt. It meant everything to me that you gave me this chance to be with you. I can't imagine my life without you- and after the way it all happened, I've felt guilty for being as happy as I am."

Anne smiled crookedly. "I'm glad- that you are, Gil."

He pulled her into a hug, feeling her arms come around him tentatively. The tension in him began to dissipate, and he pulled away, a slight smile on his tired face. "I didn't always know how to read you back then," he admitted softly, sitting down against the back of the sofa. "I was so terrified of messing up what we had together. I was scared that someone else would come along- someone who could offer you more than I could. I I almost proposed to you, once, before."

Anne had been taking the pins from her hair, and she turned back to him, her eyes anxious. "To- to me?"

"No, to the other six girls I was madly in love with," Gilbert said, exasperated, not seeing the wariness in her body as he loosened his collar. "Of course, to you. It was over a year ago- last April. It was foolish and short-sighted- and I could really have hurt both of us if I'd done it."

Anne swallowed convulsively. "I- I didn't know that."

To this, Gilbert gave an ironic smile. "Well, it's funny, but I could have sworn that you suspected something. I thought that was why you were pushing me away back then."

"Gil-"

Gilbert was silent for a time and then shrugged foolishly. "I'm just glad that I didn't. I don't know that it would have ended so well." He cleared his throat noisily then, wanting to cover up his emotion. "Well, not proposing led to us being married only six months later- I couldn't have foreseen that bend in the road."

Anne tried to smile at him. "Nor I."

Gilbert leant back, his manner carefully nonchalant. "Of course, if you had accepted me we would only be engaged- instead of trying to figure out how to be married while at college."

Anne's heart was thumping anxiously, watching the nervous way Gilbert rubbed his knuckles. She tried to laugh. "Knowing me, I would have still come to the tent when you were injured."

He nodded. "Probably," he said absently. "But then the college would have already known about us- so maybe they wouldn't have forced our marriage on you."

Gilbert's tone was light, however, Anne flinched at the hurt in his eyes. She realised sickly that neither of them was in any state to revisit the past- and neither of them was in complete control of their emotions at that moment. "Gil? We are in the best place for us, right now. I'm not sorry about that. I- I care for you so much. It's true that I didn't see it, back then- I didn't think we would work together when we were younger. I was wrong." Her hands twisted together anxiously, as she tried to find the right words. "But- if you had asked me back then? I would have said no. We would both still be at college- but not together. Perhaps we needed a mistake to be made, Gil. Perhaps we needed this."

Gilbert's smile faded. He'd known- and yet it hurt more than he expected to have her confirm it. "So I would have lost you, then."

Anne's eyes filled with tears. "But you didn't, Gilbert."

He nodded, his face pale. "Still- I owe- all of my happiness with you- to an accident. To the unbelievable arrogance of us thinking that we should be the exception to every known rule. I don't know how I am supposed to feel about the fact that I would have only ever been with you by default."

Anne's lips trembled. "You don't know that. And isn't it enough that we are together, Gil?"

She watched him run a shaking hand through his curls, and he walked away into the living room, to throw himself down on the chair.

"Yes," he said slowly. "It should be."

Anne was growing more nervous, and she followed him to kneel down beside the chair, her grey eyes meeting his. "We can't go back. We're not the people we were a year ago- even six months ago. I don't want to be anywhere else but here- with you."

Gilbert's jaw clenched as he reflected on her insistence each time that she had chosen this. Chose to marry her best friend, chose to stay and work at their marriage. He had never had a choice. He loved her, and would love her, even if it destroyed him. He forced himself to smile, now.

"Well- it's water under the bridge, isn't it?" he said quietly. "I- I suppose we'd better be heading to bed. The train leaves at seven in the morning."

Anne stood up, nodding silently as she picked up the rose covered train of her gown and turned to leave the room.

Gilbert stood perfectly still, his eyes closed as his wife moved further from him. The hollow feeling in his chest was growing, and suddenly, he asked the question he had sworn would never cross his lips.

"Why wasn't it me?"

Anne turned back to him, her hands falling limply at her sides. "What?"

Feeling as if his last link to sanity was deserting him, Gilbert met her frightened eyes. "Why wasn't it me back then?" he repeated, his jaw tense. "You- you said you weren't planning to marry. But everyone else- everyone in our world thought that we had something special. What was wrong with me? Why wouldn't you have considered me as being worthy of your hand?"

"Gil, it's not important, now-"

"Oh, I don't agree," he said numbly. "Was it only me who felt the connection that we used to have? Did I just imagine that?"

"No!"

"Then why couldn't you have given me a chance?" he said, desperation cracking his voice. "Was I so far beneath what you hoped for?"

"Did you ever think that you were a great deal too good for me, Gil?" Anne whispered, her eyes smarting. "You could have had anyone. You didn't need to settle for the girl next door!"

Gilbert's face was white to the lips, and he swallowed with difficulty. "That's what you thought? That I settled for you because you were my best option?"

"That isn't what I meant!" Anne choked. "We were children barely out of school ourselves when people started talking about us. You became my very best friend, Gil. I didn't want to lose that by being pushed into the silly courting games the others played- we had more waiting for us than the rest of them settled for. We deserved to have our chance to come to Redmond- to learn, and to grow- we deserved to have a choice!"

Gilbert turned to her, the betrayal on his face so deep that it physically hurt. "Anne, I wasn't infatuated with you," he said bitterly. "And I assure you that it was no game. I loved you at eighteen. Hell, I probably loved you when you smashed the slate over my head in school. I tried to tell you how I felt- I tried to show you how much you mattered to me- and then increasingly over the years I either met your cold shoulder or your ridicule whenever I tried. You were pushing me away- and I thought that I'd lost you then. And you know what really hurts? You're still doing it to me now. And I think it's time that I knew why."

Anne held up her hands in defeat, and she pleaded with him. "I don't know, Gil. I don't have an answer for you."

He brushed the corner of his eye roughly, and her heart broke at the tremble in his voice. "For my sake, try."

Anne looked at him across the home that had become their haven. His eyes bored into her own, and she tried to steady her voice. "I- I didn't see you as a romantic suitor back then," she said faintly. "I didn't see anyone that way from home."

"But you might have here?" Gilbert asked, feeling as if he was wading through a nightmare. "Like Roy Gardner? Someone like him?"

Anne inhaled sharply, and he almost stepped back at the flash of rage on her face. "You have no right to bring him into this, Gilbert," she said furiously. "He has nothing to do with us. I don't need to remind you that what I believed about romance back then was a childish dream. You know that. You said that you knew the place I was coming from- and you said that you understood it would take time for us to grow together. And I met Roy as a married woman, Gilbert. That meant something to me. I didn't want anyone else."

Gilbert gave a pained laugh. "Now, if only I could believe that you could ever want me."

There was a moment as time seemed to still, and Anne looked at Gilbert's stricken face through the dim room. A part of her begged her mouth to speak, to release the words that would end his hurt- but she wouldn't do it. Not under pressure, not even coerced by his pain. She shook her head slightly, tears dripping down her cheeks. "Gil, I am your wife. I married you."

Gilbert drew in a shaking breath. "To save us from expulsion. Yes, I remember."

Anne's hand grabbed the chair close to her, trying to keep herself steady. "That was never the only reason we did it."

"I always thought that we were more than friends," Gilbert said quietly.

"We are!"

He gave a short laugh. "No, Anne, I can see it now. You were the one being friendly. I was the fool who was ready to give my heart and soul just to be with you."

"I didn't know that you felt that way!"

"Then you were blind, Anne!" Gilbert shouted, his temper finally snapping. "The whole world knew that I was in love with you! How could you miss something that was right in front of you?"

Anne stepped backwards, trying to squash the fear swirling inside her at his rage. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Because it didn't look like what I imagined love to be! I imagined romance and poetry, and gentleness! I didn't imagine the boy who once pulled my hair, who later became the one who teased me and fought with me and climbed trees with me to be the one I was supposed to fall in love with! I didn't believe that!"

Gilbert's face was ashen. "So all you ever saw in me was the boy I was at thirteen?" There was silence then, and he nodded, a brittle smile on his face. "I see. I- I was arrogant enough to believe that you loved me too."

She drew in a breath that seemed to catch in her throat. "It isn't that I don't-"

"You know, I really thought this would be over by now," he said feverishly, cutting her off. "I thought our marriage would mean that I never had to worry about losing you again. I thought it wouldn't hurt again. But it's worse. You'll never be with me because you wanted to be. You're only here out of obligation."

Anne choked in hurt. "You don't know that."

Gilbert turned on her, his look piercing. "So is it just me who has been feeling like a real married couple these last few months? Have I imagined that, too?"

"No!"

"Then for once, open up to me and tell me something different!"

"I am not going to tell you something I am not ready for," Anne stormed. "You told me that you could give me time- are you saying that you won't, now?"

He shook his head, numbly. "I'm saying that I love you. Not acceptance, not making the best of a bad situation- but love. I've never loved- never wanted anyone like I want you. I want to be in the core of your heart as you are in mine- but you keep me at a distance. I keep thinking, just a little longer- but it never comes. How long am I meant to wait?"

Anne's face was paler than he had ever seen, however, he was too upset to see her clearly, or to notice that he had said something that she would only see through her fear. "Are you giving up on us?"

For the first time, Anne saw the tremendous weight that had rested on his shoulders from the moment it all began.

"No. But you have."

"You can't just decide that for me."

"No? Because at any point I could wake up to find you gone!"

Anne recoiled as if she had been slapped. "Why would you think that I would leave?"

"Because you're not here with me the way I am with you," he said hoarsely. "You keep your walls up all the time. You keep telling me that you will talk to me sometime, but then it doesn't happen. Why can't you tell me when you are hurting? Why won't you let me in?"

Her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed. "I have shown you more of myself than I have ever shown anyone, Gilbert."

"Well, it feels as if you have one foot outside the door now."

The situation was spiralling out of control now, and Anne raised her eyes to meet his, trembling. "You keep saying that I would leave. Did you forget that I am your wife?"

"No," Gilbert said, with a poor attempt at a laugh. "But some generous person reminded me tonight that although divorces are uncommon, annulments are not. You could choose to do that, Anne, and I would never see you again."

Anne stood her ground, her chin high despite the terror rising in her chest. "You seem to have thought this through. Was that your plan if things didn't work between us?"

At this, Gilbert slammed his hand on the table, making Anne flinch in a reaction that was almost as old as she was. "I never planned any of this! I planned to get through college. I planned to make something of myself, and I hoped to someday ask you to be my wife. I wanted you. But you didn't want me."

Anne wiped away furious tears, her manner stiff. "I didn't want anyone, Gil. Do you know why? I didn't want to be married unless I could guarantee that it wouldn't end up being like this," she gestured with shaking hands between them. "Do you want to know why I imagined someone who came straight out of a book? Because no one can hurt you in a fairytale."

Gilbert swallowed. "And this is no fairytale." He saw her flinch when he moved toward her suddenly and stopped cold, his face whitening. "What do you mean, hurt you?"

A numb Gilbert took in Anne's posture- poised for flight, and her eyes glittering- and yet she couldn't mask the fear on her face with every movement he made. His heart aching, he stumbled backwards, shaking his head. "You can't think that I would ever hurt you that way," he whispered.

Her chin rose, and she moved further away from him with eyes that seemed to have lost all hope. "And what would I do if you did?"

Something deep inside him shattered, then. He moved to the bench that held his keys, refusing to look back at his wife. "If you think- if you think I could do that, then you don't know me at all, Anne Shirley," he said hoarsely. He didn't turn as he grabbed his coat. "Forget I ever asked anything. I'll be back before we need to leave in the morning."

Anne flinched at the way the door slammed behind him, and she stood still for long minutes in the icy silence, hearing the faint crunch of gravel on the path by the boardinghouse. It was sometime later when the mantel clock chimed midnight, and she suddenly came to, standing in the house in the rose-covered gown, her hair coming out of its pins, and her chest feeling as if a weight of iron sat on it. She turned on stiff legs to walk into the bedroom, refusing to look at where Gilbert's bed lay innocently. With shaking hands she removed her pretty gown, trying not to remember the way he had looked at her mere hours ago. Her corset, her heavy petticoats dropped to the floor without care, and she pulled out a nightgown from the drawer and stumbled over the packed bags that lay before the dresser.

She'd pushed him to it. It was her fault. She'd pushed him to go. She'd accused him-

Anne slipped down to the braided mat that Marilla had made, shivering. She pulled her knees up to her chest, trying to feel some warmth again. The overwhelming fear and tension had been building inside her for weeks, and as she remembered his face turning from her a little moan broke through the tightness in her throat, and she curled up on the mat and brokenly began to cry.

Even the longest night will eventually come to an end. At five o'clock in the morning, there was no sound outside on the street as weary footsteps trudged up the narrow pathway. The moon was setting in the west, and dry, burning eyes turned to see it as it sank beneath the horizon. Sunrise was still some time away, and the Mushroom lay in complete darkness.

Gilbert's black suit was hopelessly crumpled and his collar hung loose. He stood looking at the cottage before him for a moment, his face tight. He'd been gone for hours. What if she wasn't there? What if she had left? The terror of what he might find inside almost paralysed him- and it was with an effort that he made himself place his hand on the wooden gate. She was still there- she had to be. He walked to the veranda only to pause for long minutes, unsure what he should do.

His father had often said that it was more important to end an argument than to win it. Gilbert licked dry lips, and pushed the key into the lock of his front door- and he was terrified to find that it hadn't been locked.

It was dark inside the house, and he looked around, his heart hammering. The bedroom door was open, and she wasn't in bed- there was no fire in the hearth, or in the stove. As he turned toward the door in panic, he caught sight of Anne's red head on the arm of the sofa, and his knees almost buckled in relief. Gilbert softly removed his coat, his heart fragile as he walked toward her curled up form. When he could find the nerve to kneel beside her, his heart broke. She was in her oldest nightgown, a far cry from her triumphant appearance mere hours ago- her hair was pulled back into the braids of the schoolgirl she had been, and his mouth trembled at the lines of worry on her face- as if even in sleep, her fears pursued her. Carefully, he brushed a shaking hand over her cheek, knowing that he needed to wake her.

She frowned at the touch, and her grey eyes opened in the dimness, blinking as they readjusted. To his shame she pulled away as if she had been burned, looking back at him in shock.

"You came back," she whispered, and Gilbert recoiled from her, his face ashen.

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

Anne's forehead creased in an attempt to hold back her tears, and she launched herself at him, almost strangling him in her need to get her arms around his neck. Almost he overbalanced, and it was with an effort that he pushed the two of them upright, his hand smoothing up and down her back shakily.

"Sweetheart, I know we had a fight, but there's no need to choke me."

There was no corresponding laughter though, and when her trembling arms loosened their death-grip, he simply held her, neither of them daring to move. The harsh words they had spoken to each other seemed to echo in the air, and eventually, Anne pulled away from Gilbert, her eyes dull. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Why didn't you go to bed?" he said softly. "I left so that you could."

There was a faint shadow of hysteria in her eyes. "You- you thought I would sleep after that?"

Gilbert swallowed. "I- oh. I suppose not."

Anne moved the neckline of her nightgown higher, suddenly wishing she had chosen something in better condition. "Where did you go?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

Gilbert hesitated. "I walked around the harbour for a time- and I went to Patty's Place. I spent the night in the orchard." He shrugged, looking foolish. "I couldn't bear the thought of walking alone through St Johns- I thought I'd wind up going mad if I did."

Anne lifted her hand to brush back the loose hair on her forehead, her eyes lowered. "Did the girls know you were there?"

He shook his head, tiredly pulling off his soiled tie. "They'd had a good night. They didn't need to know."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Gilbert could see her withdrawing from him. He remembered her angry words, but they paled next to the look of hurt that had flashed in her grey eyes at him. Only once before had he hurt her so terribly, and his heart stung with regret.

"I'm sorry, Anne."

She said nothing, however, he saw the tear that fell before she turned away. He grabbed her hand, remembering how she had clung to him only moments earlier. "Anne, it was just a fight. That's all," he said hoarsely. In any other circumstance, she would erect her barriers- her chin would come up, and she would give as good as she got. Not seeing that fire in her terrified him. "I was always coming back. I just needed some time." The mask fell into place then, and as she stood up to move, and he caught her hand, now more afraid than ever. "Anne, talk to me-"

She turned back stiffly, and he could see the tears that gathered in her eyes. "I thought- I thought you left," she choked.

He gripped her hands tightly, his hazel eyes desperate. "No- never, Anne- I- we were angry- I didn't think it would do any good to keep fighting-"

She tried to control the shaking in her body as her breath caught. "You left-"

He pulled her down to sit on the sofa again, kneeling before her. "Anne, I told you I was coming back. It was just a walk- my dad used to go to the shore whenever he and mother argued." He rubbed his hands over his face then, exhausted. "She hated it too," he mumbled. "Look, if I didn't leave, I was terrified that you would. And I didn't want you out there alone at night."

A slight tremor shook Anne then. "You were the one who mentioned annulments."

Gilbert groaned, putting his head down on her knees for a moment. "Anne, I was a frightened idiot. I'd never considered it- I was terrified when Christine brought it up."

Anne's eyes suddenly flared into life again. "Christine said that?"

He gave a derisive laugh. "Ironically, trying to convince me that Roy was no threat. I- it just scared me. I shouldn't have brought it up." He looked up, his jaw clenched stubbornly. "Look, we've been through hell and back to get to this point together. You know how I feel now. Do you honestly think I'd be stupid enough to ever walk away from you?"

Anne swallowed, feeling sick and ignoring his question. "I'm sorry," she said dully. "I was unfair, I provoked you- and you deserved better."

"Anne, it was just a fight-"

Her eyes suddenly flamed with anger. "Yes. Based on real problems that you and I cannot ignore any longer, Gilbert."

"That just makes us like every other couple that ever lived," he said stubbornly. "Why should we be any different?"

"Other couples didn't start the way we did!"

Gilbert got to his feet then, moving to sit beside her. "Anne, do you know what I realised out there?"

"Why do people always ask that question?" Anne muttered, exhausted. "It isn't as if I can answer you."

Gilbert scowled at her then. "I kept thinking about what you said to me when you said yes. You said that it would be hard- that we would fight, we would misunderstand each other."

"Haven't we?"

He repressed a shiver at the memory of their voices raised in fury. "No. We don't. Not until last night. Why are you so afraid to actually fight with me now?"

"Are you so forgetful, then?"

"Not last night," he said, between gritted teeth. "We used to set the countryside on fire with our arguments- but it's rare that you allow yourself to have one with me now. One fight- our first bad one- and you're already thinking that I'll leave. Is that what you think of my commitment?"

"No! It's about how much more there is to lose!" Anne caught her breath, her eyes filling with angry tears. "I know that I was wrong- but I don't know how to fix this. I don't even know how to talk about this. We have to go-" She got to her feet unsteadily, her face even paler than it had been, and the note of hysteria in her voice rose. "Gilbert, it's almost morning- we need to leave for the station soon-"

Her husband froze, before slowly shaking his head. "Anne, I don't think we should go."

"We are not missing Diana's wedding!"

He held her arms carefully, bending to look at her panicked face in the darkness. "Anne, we're not in good shape. We've barely slept. I'm saying that we shouldn't go- yet. We can catch the late train tonight, that should get us home by mid-afternoon on Sunday. We'll still be there for the wedding; we just won't be two days early like we planned."

Anne's lips were numb. "But your parents are expecting us tonight-"

"I'll wire them from the station." She was trembling on her feet, and his voice was gentle. "I just think it would be foolish to travel while we're in this state. It won't help anyone back home. We're already packed- we should just go to bed now." Anne tried to clear her throat, blinking gritty eyes. "Look, we'll have time on the train. Maybe we can save talking about last night until then, and get some sleep."

There was a pause, and then she nodded. Gilbert turned her toward the bedroom and followed her in to find pyjamas to change into. He watched as she slowly picked up her rose-covered gown from the floor, laying it over the chair with shaking hands.

He swallowed hard. "You were beautiful in it." She turned around to him, and he almost choked at the wariness in her stance. Had he destroyed all the trust she had in him in just one night?

"I know that last night ended badly," he said jerkily. "But I- I don't want to forget the time we had together before it went wrong- how proud I was to be with you. I want you to know that I still am."

She remained frozen, her eyes turned away from him. Gilbert picked up his clothes, closing eyes that burned damnably. After a second, his head lifted and his jaw set as he walked into the annexe, closing the door behind him gently. He moved slowly to change himself, all the while feverishly thinking about what he needed to do now. He'd thought he was doing the right thing in walking away, but her reaction left him speechless. They had fought often enough before, as friends. Why was she so afraid that he would not come back? Didn't she know by now that he could never leave her?

When Gilbert stepped out of the annexe several minutes later, he stopped, seeing that Anne was still standing by the window. Gilbert swallowed convulsively at a sudden thought as he moved to stand near her. "We're supposed to sleep in the same bed at my parent's house tomorrow night," he said quietly. "Are you sure you can still do that with me?"

Anne flinched, pushing her red braid behind her shoulder and blinking back tears that she was too tired to cry. "If you don't want to-"

"No, I think we should." He walked over to take her hand gently, leading her back to his own bed. "Come on." He climbed in, turning to hold the covers out for her, his heart thudding anxiously. There was a slight hesitation before an exhausted Anne slipped between the sheets, unconsciously sighing as her head rested on the other pillow. His forehead creased as he fought to remain steady- wanting to wrap his girl in his arms, to feel her weight resting against him.

She was beside him now, he told himself sternly. That had to be enough.

He felt her shifting under the covers, no doubt uneasy at his proximity after their fight- truthfully, he himself was too shaken to feel safe away from her. After a moment of silence, she spoke, and he shivered, realising how close she was.

"Are you only doing this so that we don't look foolish tomorrow night?"

Gilbert's answer was soft. "No. I want you here."

There was silence then, and he felt her sigh, rolling onto her side and curling up facing him.

"Anne?"

"Yes?"

He took her hand in his tightly, his brown curls close to her forehead. "I swear I won't ever give up on us."

There was a faint pause and then- "Good."