“You should have asked her first, Trav," America said, shaking her head and covering her mouth with her fingers. "Asked her what? If I could get a tattoo?" he frowned, turning to me. "I love you. I want everyone to know I'm yours. I shifted nervously. "That's permanent, Travis." "So are we," he said, touching my cheek.”

“It was your first time?"Her head snapped up, eyes stabbing her sister."Of course it was," Lisa backtracked at once, and then said, "Well, Fanny must have been wrong then. Or perhaps it is different for everyone."Suzette shook her head with disgust. "If you, who have known me all my life and know I have not been keeping company with men before this, doubts me, why would he not? He probably thinks I have been with half the royal navy.""Why would he think that? We live nowhere near the near the coast," Lisa said with confusion.Suzette glared at her and then shifted to get off the bed,crawling around her to do so."Where are you going?" Lisa asked, standing up."For a walk.""But I was going to read to you to cheer you up," Lisa protested."I don't want to be read to," Suzette said grimly as she slipped her shoes on."I could tell you a story," Lisa offered."No.""I could sing,or-""I want to be alone.”

“What I want from you,” he said, and Finley braced herself, “is your trust. Irrevocable and unshakable. I want you to put your life in my hands, and I want to be able to do the same without hesitation.” Disturbed to her very soul, Finley could only shake her head. “You ask too much.” Put his life in her hands? He was deranged! A bedlamite for certain. A crooked grin curved his mouth. “Too much? You strange and wonderful girl, that is the least I’ll ask of you.”

“That's permanent, Travis.""So are we," he said, touching my cheek.”

“He came over in long pur­pose­ful strides, sat at the edge of her bed, and in a ten­der, pos­ses­sive ges­ture wiped the lip­stick off her lips. “What is that?” he asked.“All the other girls wear it,” Ta­tiana said, quickly wip­ing her mouth, breath­less at the sight of him. “In­clud­ing Dasha.”“Well, I don’t want you to have any­thing on your lovely face,” he said, stroking her cheeks. “God knows, you don’t need it.”

“To be fair to Monica," I said, "what you did to her wasn't very nice either.""What'd I do to her?" he asked, defensive."You know, going blind and everything.""But that's not my fault," Isaac said."I'm not saying it was your fault. I'm saying it wasn't nice.”