She curled her fingers against his cheek. “We keep being here,” she said quietly, “not knowing what to do.” She smeared at the tearstreaks with the other hand, getting up slowly. A few paces sufficed to cover the room, and then Summer stopped in front of Mordred, looking at him, eyelashes still wet. “Should I not have offered it?”
“Does anyone ever know what to do?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t regret accepting your offer, Summer,” he tells her, looking up at her, “but I am certainly not the best person to be wed to. I don’t know anything about any of this.”
She sighed. “I don’t think there is a best. There is do the best you can.” Reaching out, she ran a thumb down his cheek. “Will you let me try to be a true wife to you, for this little time? I promise I will let you alone afterward.”