She shrank into her chair, sure that if he could see her now, he would know. The truth would be evident in every angle of her face.
She loved him more than ever.
And not because she'd scoured file after file of reports and summaries and data and photographs. Not because he was the dreamy, untouchable Carswell Thorne that she'd imagined kissing on the banks of a starlit river while fireworks exploded overhead and violins played in the background.
Now he was Carswell Thorne who had given her strength in the desert. Who had come for her when she was kidnapped. Who had kissed her when hope was lost and death was imminent.

Marissa Meyer