“If I don’t wear anything, I’d probably make the food go off, and the children run away screaming. What with all the scars and all. I’m not what one could call particularly pretty.” Unlike you, Vadim, and your goddamned perfection, except for a word cut in blood and flesh.Vadim shook his head, already retreating towards the open door. “'Pretty' is different,” he murmured. “'Pretty' has no scars. You are... Jaw muscles tensed again. “Like the morning sky in Afghanistan. Not ‘pretty’. Word’s ‘breathtaking’.”
“Pretty is different,' he murmured. 'Pretty has no scars. You are...' jaw muscles tensed again. 'Like the morning sky in Afghanistan. Not 'pretty'. Word's 'breathtaking'.”
“It's your bone structure, contemplates Erin, that's what makes you pretty. It's the scars that make you memorable.”
“I love you,” he murmured. “That means I’m not just here for the pretty parts. I’m here no matter what.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m all right?” I say.“No, I’m pretty sure you’re not all right.”He shakes his head. “I’m going to ask you not to make any decisions until we’ve talkedabout it.”
“If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. I'll love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it's yours.”