“How are you?""Perfectly fine," he said."Are your ribs broken?""Probably not. Cracked at most. We fought very carefully.""Did this settle anything?""It made me feel better," he said, sitting up. "Did you see me kick him in the kidneys?""I saw.”

“The sound of my name in his voice stopped me in midturn. I don't know how the hell he did it, but whenever he said my name, it cut through all other distractions and made me pause, as if he'd clenched me to him and kissed me.”

“When I'm with him, I can feel myself getting better. It's like he's picking up broken pieces of me and putting me back together, and I don't even know he's doing it. We never talk about it. We don't go to therapy. He just loves me and that's enough.”

“Our stares connected and we were quiet for a long minute, united by our misery. At least he understood me and I understood him."A fine pair we make,” he said."Yeah.”

“Eat slowly," the blueblood said. "Don't cut your food with the fork. Cut it with the knife, and make the pieces small enough so you can answer a question without having to swallow first." Why me? "Right. Any other tips?" Her sarcasm whistled right over his head. "Yes. Look at me and not at your plate. If you have to look at your plate, glance at it occasionally." Rose put down her fork. "Lord Submarine..." "Camarine." "Whatever." "You can call me Declan." He said it as if granting her a knighthood. The nerve. "Declan, then. How did you spend your day?" He frowned. "It's a simple question: How did you spend your day? What did you do prior to the fight and the pancake making?" "I rested from my journey," he said with a sudden regal air. "You took a nap" "Possibly." "I spent my day scrubbing, vacuuming and dusting ten offices in the Broken. I got there at seven thirty in the morning and left at six. My back hurts, I can still smell bleach on my fingers, and my feet feel as flat as these pancakes. Tomorrow, I have to go back to work, and I want to eat my food in peace and quiet. I have good table manners. They may not be good enough for you, but they're definitely good enough for the Edge, and they are the height of social graces in this house. So please keep your critique to yourself." The look on his face was worth having him under her roof. As if he had gotten slapped.She smiled at him. "Oh and thank you for the pancakes. They are delicious.”

“Since we’re playing that game… I tilted my face up to his and gave him a lovesick gaze.“Do you have to sneeze?” he asked.“Be quiet. I’m pretending to enjoy your company, just as you said.”“Try not to strain anything.”“Oh, I won’t. I’m very good at faking it.”That shut him up.”

“You will tell me what you know now," he said."Or?"He said nothing, so I elaborated. "See, this kind of threat usually has an 'or' attached to it. Or an 'and'. 'Tell me and I'll allow you to live' or something like that.”