"How old was I?" I ask, barely able to breathe, knowing I was young, but wanting the details.

He pulls me closer, his fingers tracing the planes of my face when he says, "You were sixteen, and your name was Evaline." His lips play at my ear.

"Evaline," I whisper, feeling an instant connection tomy tragic former self who, orphaned young, loved by Damen, and dead at sixteen—is not so different from my current self.

"It wasn't until many years later when I saw you again in New England, having incarnated as a Puritan's daughter—that I began to believe in happiness again."

"A Puritan's daughter?" I gaze into his eyes, watching as he shows me a dark-haired, pale-skinned girl in a severe blue dress. "Were all of my lives so boring?" I shake my head. "And what kind of horrible accident took me that time?"

"Drowning." He sighs, and the moment he says it, I'm overcome by his grief all over again. "I was so devastated I sailed right back to London, where I lived off and on for many years. And I was just about to head off to Tunisia when you resurfaced as a beautiful, wealthy, and rather spoiled I might say—landowner's daughter in London."

"Show me!" I nuzzle against him, eager to view a more glamorous life—his finger tracing my brow as a pretty brunette in a gorgeous green dress with a complicated updo and a smattering of jewels appearsin my mind. A rich, spoiled, conniving flirt—her life a series of parties and shopping trips—whose sights are set firmly on someone else—until she meets Damen...

"And that time?" I ask, sad to see her go, but needing to know how she went.

"A terrible fall." He closes his eyes. "By that point, I was sure I was being punished—granted eternal life,but one without love."

He cradles my face in his hands, his fingers emitting such tenderness, such reverence, such delicious warm tingle—I close my eyes and snuggle closer. Focusing on the feel of his skin as our bodies press tightly together, everything around us slipping away until there's nothing but us—no past, no future, nothing but this moment in time.

I mean, I'm with him, and he's with me, and that's the way it's meant to eternally be. And while all those prior lives may be interesting, their only real purpose was to get us to this one. And now that Drina is gone, there's nothing that can stand in our way, nothing that can keep us from moving forward—except me.

And even though I want to know everything that happened before, for now it can wait. It's time for me to move past my petty jealousies and insecurities, to stop finding excuses and finally commit to taking that big leap forward after all of these years. But just as I'm about to tell him, he moves away so abruptly, it's a moment before I can get to his side.

"What is it?" I cry, seeing his thumbs pressed to his temples as he struggles to breathe. And when he turns to me, there's no recognition. His gaze goes right through me. But just as soon as I perceive it, it's already passed. Replaced with the loving warmth I've grown used to, as he rubs his eyes and shakes his head, looking at me when he says, "I haven't felt like this since before—"

He stops and stares into space, "Well, maybe never."

But when he sees the concern on my face, he adds, "But I'm fine, really." And when I refuse to loosen mygrip, he smiles and says, "Hey, how about a trip to Summerland?"

"Seriously?" I say, my eyes lighting up.

The first time I visited that wonderful place, that magical dimension between the dimensions—I was dead. And I was so entranced by its beauty I was reluctant to leave. The second time I visited was with Damen. And after he showed me all of its glorious possibilities, I've longed to return. But as Summerland can only be accessed by the spiritually advanced (or those already dead), I can't get there alone.

"Why not?" He shrugs.

"Well, what about my lessons," I say, trying to appear interested in studying and learning new tricks, when the truth is, I'd much rather go to Summerland where everything is effortless and instant. "Not to mention how you're not feeling so well." I squeeze his arm again, noticing how the usual warmth and tingle still hasn't fully returned.

"There are lessons to be learned in Summerland too." He smiles. "And if you'll hand me my juice, I'll feel well enough to make us the portal." But even after I hand it over and he takes several long hearty gulps, he can't make it appear.

"Maybe I can help?" I say, staring at the sweat on hisbrow.

"No—I just—I almost had it. Just give me another second," he mumbles, clenching his jaw, determined to get there.

So I do. In fact, I let the seconds turn into minutes, and still nothing.

"I don't understand." He squints. "This hasn't happened since—since I first learned how to do it."

"Maybe it's because you're not feeling well." I watch as he takes another drink, followed by another, and then another. And when he closes his eyes and tries again, he gets the exact same results as before. "Can I try?"

"Forget it. You don't know how," he says, his voicecontaining an edge I try not to take personally, knowing it's due more to his frustration with himself than with me.

"I know I don't know how, but I thought maybe you could teach me and then I—"

But before I can finish, he's up from the bed, pacing before me. "It's a process, Ever. It took me years to learn how to get there. You can't just skip to the end of the book without reading the middle." He shakes his head and leans against my desk, his body rigid and tense, his gaze refusing mine. "And when was the last time you read a book without already knowing the beginning, middle, and end?"