The Things We Leave Unfinished Yarros, Rebecca (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

and disappoint her fans who will burn me at the stake for fucking with Scarlett Stanton’s legacy. That’s what people will remember, not her love story, not the hundred other books I could write in my lifetime.”

I bristled. His career. Of course. “Then use the opt-out and walk away.” I did exactly that, not bothering to look back as I headed down the path.

I’d seen enough looks of disappointment in my life without adding his to the mix.

“The farthest I’m walking is back to my place. I’m here for the next two and a half months, remember?”

“Good luck crossing the creek in those shoes!” I called back over my shoulder.

Chapter Fourteen

November 1940

Kirton-in-Lindsey, England

The pub was jammed full of uniforms from bar to door. It had taken Jameson a week to secure a house nearby but, for a rather healthy chunk of his pay, as of yesterday, they now had a place of their very own. At least for as long as the 71st stayed in Kirton.

As of this afternoon, Scarlett was his wife.

Wife. It wasn’t that she wasn’t aware of just how reckless they’d been to marry so quickly—it was simply that she didn’t care. That beautiful man with the bright smile and undeniable charm was now her husband.

Her breath hitched as their eyes locked across the crowded room. Husband. She glanced at the clock and wondered exactly how much longer they’d have to stay at their wedding breakfast, because the only hunger she had was for him.

And they were finally married.

“I’m so very happy for you,” Constance said, squeezing her sister’s hand lightly under the table.

“Thank you.” Scarlett’s smile was a mile wide, just as it had been since they’d come to Kirton. “It’s a far cry from what we pictured as girls, but now I couldn’t imagine having it any other way.” The wedding that afternoon had been small, attended only by their closest friends and a few of the pilots from the 71st, but had been perfectly lovely. Constance had procured a small bouquet, and though Scarlett’s dress wasn’t the family heirloom she had always assumed she would wear, the way Jameson looked at her told her she looked beautiful, nonetheless.

“Me either,” Constance agreed. “But I could say that about everything in our life. Nothing is how I pictured it two years ago.”

“It isn’t, but maybe in some small ways it’s better.” Scarlett understood her sister all too well, and though she longed for the days before the war, before the bombings, and the rationing, and the commonplace death, she couldn’t regret any of her decisions that brought her to Jameson.

Somehow, she’d found a miracle in the middle of the maelstrom, and it may have taken her a moment to realize what she had, but now that she did, she would fight with everything she had to keep it—to keep him.

“I am sorry Mother and Father didn’t come,” Constance whispered. “I held out hope until the very last moment.”

Scarlett’s smile slipped, but not much. She’d known that her letter would go unanswered. “Oh Constance, ever the romantic. It should have been you to elope, not me.” Scarlett stared across the pub, marveling that Jameson was hers. How ironic that the more practical of the two of them had been the one to run off and be married. She could barely believe it herself, yet here she was celebrating her wedding—in a pub, of all places.

True, it was nothing like she pictured as a child, yet it was all the better for it. And besides, who was she to deny fate, when it had taken a million and one separate events to bring her to Jameson?

“Maybe I am an idealist.” Constance shrugged. “I just can’t believe they wouldn’t want to see you happy. I’d always thought their threats were just that, idle threats.”

“Don’t be angry with them,” Scarlett said gently. “They’re fighting for the only way of life they know. They’re not unlike a wounded animal when you think about it. And I refuse to be sad today. It is their loss.”

“It really is,” Constance agreed. “I’ve never seen you look so happy, so beautiful. Love looks good on you.”

“Will you be all right?” Scarlett turned slightly in her chair, facing her sister. “Our home is only a few minutes from the airfield, but—”

“Stop.” Constance lifted her eyebrows. “I will be perfectly fine.”

“I know. I just can’t remember the last time we were separated for any length of time.” Perhaps a few days here or there, but not much else.

“We’ll still see each other at work.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Scarlett said softly. Now that she was married, she’d follow Jameson when the 71st inevitably left Kirton. Training the new pilots couldn’t last forever.

“Well, we’ll handle that when the time comes. For now, the only thing that’s changing is where you sleep…” She tilted her head. “Oh, and where you eat, and spend your free time, and of course who you’ll be sleeping with.” Her eyes danced.

Scarlett rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks heat as Jameson came toward them in his dress uniform. She spun her new ring around her finger with her thumb, assuring herself that this wasn’t a dream. They’d made it happen.

…

“That was the last of them,” Jameson said with a smile, his gaze skimming down the long line of Scarlett’s neck to the simple, classy dress she’d chosen. He would have married her in her uniform or even her bathrobe—he didn’t care. He’d take this woman any way he could get her. “I swear I’ve been holding the same pint for the last hour and a half, hoping no one will notice.” He put the glass on the table.

“You could have had more than one. I think it’s expected.” Scarlett’s own glass was still full.

“I wanted to have a clear head.” His lips tugged upward. He wasn’t about to be drunk the first time he got his hands on her. Hell, he’d nearly carried her over his shoulder to their new house last