“Who’s that?That’s the King.Who’s he?The Duke.Who’s she?The Princess.What do they call you?The Count.What does that make me?Umm…how about the Peasant?And the name stuck.”

“Give me a few minutes.”“You have time.” He sat in the grass.“Are you just going to sit there and watch me?”“Yes. Watching pretty peasant girls is what we poor little rich boys do best.”“Peasant?”He shrugged. “You started the name calling.”

“Could you just call me Pigeon?” he asked the teacher when she read his name.“Does your mother call you Pigeon?”“No.”“Then to me you are Paul.”...“Nathan Sutter,” the teacher read.“My mother never calls me Nathan.”“Is it Nate?”“She calls me Honeylips.”

“Call me Richard. That’s my real name. Call me that.”

“Are you calling me your gift?" "Yes." She smiled. "How do you feel about that?" "Like it's my turn to be unwrapped." He nibbled at her mouth. "Do it slow.”

“Now that’s true poetic irony. I rush into battle to defend the fair name of Rose Larkin, and what does she do but fetch Robert to stop me.”