I Vow To Spend The Rest Of

When A Man Writes A Romance, The Woman Dies. When A Woman Writes One, It Ends All Tidy And Sweet.

There,” She Said Triumphantly. “like That.” He Began To Wonder If They Were Speaking The Same Language. “like What?” “that! What You Just Said.” He Crossed His Arms. It Seemed The Only Acceptable Reply. If She Couldn’t Speak In Complete Sentences, He Saw No Reason Why He Had To Speak At All.

Annabel Looked Down. Her Hands Were Shaking. She Couldn't Do This. Not Yet. She Couldn't Face The Man She'd Kissed Who Happened To Be The Heir To The Man She Didn't Want To Kiss But Whos She Probably Was Going To Marry. Oh Yes, And She Could Not Forget That If She Did Marry The Man She Didn't Want To Kiss, She Was Likely To Provide Him With A New Heir, Thus Cutting Off The Man She Did Want To Kiss.

I Shall Have One, Too," He Told Her. "so That You Don't Feel Alone." She Tried Not To Smile. "that Is Most Generous Of You." "i Am Quite Certain It Is My Gentlemanly Duty." "to Eat Cake?" "it Is One Of The More Appealing Of My Gentlemanly Duties," He Allowed.

It's Only Through Sheer Force And Luck That She's Yet To Take Over The World.