If Miranda was going to marry someone she did not love, it wasnot going to be the brother of the man she did.

Or thought she did. She kept trying to convince herself that she didn’t, that it had all been a schoolgirl crush, and that she would outgrow it—that she alreadyhad outgrown it, and just didn’t realize it yet.

She was in thehabit of thinking herself in love with him. That’s all it was.

But then he would do something utterly loathsome, like smile, and all her hard work flew out the window, and she had to start anew.

One day it would stick. One day she would wake up and realize it had been two days of sensible Turnerless thought, and then it would be magically three and then four and—

“Miranda?”

She looked up. He was watching her with an expression of amusement, and it would have been patronizingexcept his eyes were crinkling at the corners…and for a moment he looked unburdened, and young, and maybe even content.

And she was still in love with him. At least for the rest of the evening, there would be no convincing herself otherwise. Come morning, she’d start again, but for tonight, she wasn’t going to bother to try.