Rosalind

I refuse to cry. I refuse to give Orlando the benefit of seeing me weak.

"Fine then," I say, as we stare at the last of the hot embers. "We can make this work. We'll keep the fire going at night, of course, but we'll start to make our situation more livable. I'll be in charge."

"You'll be in charge?" Orlando repeats, incredulously. "How do you figure that?"

"I'm very competent."

"You can't swim, and you can't make a fire," he points ...