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Summary
“That’s what you said to me, on that ship, isn’t it?” Anne watched him warily as he spoke, still not convinced he wasn’t about to piss her off. “That you couldn’t be my wife.”
“Yeah,” she answered, because it was the truth, even if it’d been over a year since then. She felt off kilter all of a sudden, her bright rage replaced with a suspicious wariness. She’d thought they’d gotten past this, past the days of bitter jealousy and Jack snapping like a kicked dog, but instead he was here, drunk half to death, and talking about wives.
“But sometimes, you still are.”
Jack takes after Charles more than he should, and Anne is left to pick up the pieces.