"Wh... Wait, no," she said, holding up both hands in front of her. Her expression was both confused and incredulous. "That's not what I said. Peter, you're..."
Incredible. Quite literally, at some points, beyond belief. All he did was give, all the time, even tonight -- and he never expected anything back, and he never took, and she never got the sense that he ever felt bitter about it. That was Peter, and here he was, thinking he wasn't good enough for her?
She spread her fingers wide, helplessly, and shrugged and shook her head. What was she... But she didn't have to say anything, did she? In that high, ridiculous tower, Evey reached for the prince standing on the top floor of a very tall tower filled with everything she'd been stashing away from him. "Hold on," she whispered.
Then the stones began to evaporate, top to bottom, dropping the both of them straight through the secret admiration, the viciously smothered longing, the absolute certainty that he'd never want someone so impossibly ordinary as Evey Hammond, and the raw, throbbing desire that had come up to try to replace what it was she really was feeling -- and was trying to avoid, for fear of its impossibility.