Catherine smiled, a wistful smile of someone remembering a life that had already slipped through her fingers.
"You're asking the wrong question."
Fitzgerald frowned. "Then what's the right one?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked down at their joined hands before lifting her eyes to him again.
"People always ask why we love someone." A slow turn carried them across the ballroom. "But..." she murmured, "...that's never really how it happens."
He waited.
"Have you ever wondered why you breathe?"
His brows knitted together. "...No."
"Exactly." She smiled. "You don't wake up every morning and decide to breathe. You simply do."
Another quiet turn.
"Love is a little like that."
Fitzgerald's answer came almost immediately. "That's biologically inaccurate."
She laughed. A genuine laugh. "See?"
His expression remained serious.
"That's exactly why you don't understand it."
He blinked.
