gone in the next instant. “And we, of course, are not at war.”
“This is our wedding night, is it not?”
She studied him for a moment, and he wished that things were different. That he was, to start. That she was anyone other than who she was. An Elliott and his wife.
“I’m writing a master’s thesis in English Literature,” she said after a moment. “My field of study is Gothic novels in popular culture. It’s my father’s opinion that I’d be better served getting a degree in something that made for better cocktail party conversation. Everybody has an opinion about Romeo and Juliet, for example. Why not study that instead of stupid books only hysterical women read?”
Chase was sidetracked from his own dark thoughts. “Your father has an objection to advanced degrees? Surely most parents would be proud.” His own, for example.
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