The Girl Doesn’t Need A Violin,” He

Daphne," He Said With Controlled Gentleness, "what Is Wrong?" She Sat Down Opposite Him And Placed A Hand On His Cheek. "i'm So Insensitive," She Whispered. "i Should Have Known. I Should Never Have Said Anything." "should Have Known What?" He Ground Out. Her Hand Fell Away. "that You Can't—that You Couldn't—" "can't What?" She Looked Down At Her Lap, Where Her Hands Were Attempting To Wring Each Other To Shreds. "please Don't Make Me Say It," She Said. 'this," Simon Muttered, "has Got To Be Why Men Avoid Marriage.

Men. The Day They Learned To Admit To A Mistake Was The Day They Became Women.

Blake Took A Small Roll From The Tray On The Table, Then Put It Back In Favor Of A Larger One. And Maybe A Little Butter. It Certainly Couldn't Hurt. And Jam...no, He Drew The Line At Jam. She Was A Spy, After All.

His Mouth Captured Hers, Trying To Show Her With His Kiss What He Was Still Learning To Express In Words. He Loved Her. He Worshipped Her. He'd Walk Across Fire For Her. He— —still Had The Audience Of Her Three Brothers. Slowly Breaking The Kiss, He Turned His Face To The Side. Anthony, Benedict, And Colin Were Still Standing In The Foyer. Anthony Was Studying The Ceiling, Benedict Was Pretending To Inspect His Fingernails, And Colin Was Staring Quite Shamelessly.

He Blinked A Few Times, Each Motion So Slow That He Was Never Quite Sure If He’d Get His Eyes Open Again. He Wasn’t Wearing A Shirt. Funny How He Was Only Just Realizing It. Funnier Still That He Couldn’t Seem To Summon Any Concern For Her Maidenly Sensibilities. She Might Be Blushing. He Couldn’t Tell. It Was Too Dark To See. But It Didn’t Matter. This Was Honoria. She Was A Good Egg. A Sensible Egg. She Wouldn’t Be Scarred Forever By The Sight Of His Chest.