"Like Titanic," Elvis echoes with a short laugh, halfway between a question and outright skepticism. It's a front and a weak one, and he suspects — hell, he counts on — Effy seeing through it. He knows what she means, of course. He just doesn't have it in him to admit that it could really be on so grand a scale, his and Anabelle's story, that it's easy to imagine wanting to be with her that far down the line. What's more difficult is trying to hold on to any sense of certainty that there might be something after this, or to know if he would even want there to be. Life in itself is hard enough without the idea of it being followed by an eternity, or moving on only to be catapulted back to the past again.

Drawing in a deep breath, he glances at her thoughtfully. "You really think it works like that?"