"Yeah, right. I'm living with my own imaginary hero, and I'm looking for a nest? I don't think so. I mean, I try, I really do, but you weren't here one day, Alex, and then the next you were. How can any of us know where you'll be tomorrow?"
"I, Sterling and I, are doing our best to evolve, you'll remember. Become more our own persons, rather than your ... well, your characters."
"So you can stay. I know, I remember. But what if it doesn't work, Alex? What if I wake up one morning in that big house and you and Sterling are—Alex?"
"Hmm?"
Maggie pushed him off her and reached for the bedside lamp. "No, don't sit up. Stay there," she ordered, and then pulled his head onto her lap as she ruffled his hair with both hands. "I think I ... I really think I—I did! Alex, you have a gray hair! I didn't write you with gray hair! You're ... you're evolving!"
The Viscount Saint Just, ruffled hair and all, sat up, took a shaking Maggie in his arms, breathed against her ear: "Yes, sweetings, I know. And as you always say, don't you love it when a plan comes together ... ?