“Aeron’s stone-faced expression cracked, as he turned to give me a dumbfounded look. Meeting his questioning eyes, I let out a little annoyed sigh, “I refuse to believe that you don’t know the meaning of ‘cojones’.”“I’m well aware of the meaning,” he raised his eyebrows, fighting back a smile. “Just a little surprised at your choice of words…”“Yeah, I can really paint a verbal picture,” I responded dryly.”

“He … loves her. Well, he’s crushing on her anyway.”I didn’t know the term but I understood its meaning well enough. I sighed. “I thought she’d be smarter.”He raised his eyebrows. “She’s plenty smart.” He looked thoughtful. “You don’t believe in love then?”“No.” I wanted to look away, couldn’t. “I don’t know.”

“And don't pay attention to Christina. Your face doesn't look that bad." He smiles a little. "I mean, it looks good. It always looks good. i mean--you look brave. Dauntless." His eyes skirt mine, and he scratches the back of his head. The silence grows between us. It was a nice thing to say, but he acts like it means more than just words. I hope I am wrong. I could not be attracted to Al-- I could not be attracted to anyone that fragile. I smile as much as my bruised cheek will allow, hoping that will diffuse the tension.”

“I saw a picture of you and Vincent in a 1968 newspaper that said you died in a fire," I said, turning to Ambrose.He nodded at me with a little smile, urging me on."So how can you be here now?""Well, I'm glad we're starting with the easy questions," he said, stretching his powerful arms and then leaning toward me. "The answer would be ... because we're zombies!" and he let out a horrible groan, stretching his mouth open and baring his teeth as he curled his hands into claws. Seeing my terrified expression, Ambrose began cracking up and slapping his knee with his hand. "Just kidding," he cackled, and then, calming down, looked at me sedately. "But no, seriously. We're zombies.""We are not zombies!" said Charlotte, her voice rising with annoyance.”

“You understand,” Silas says quietly—the words are just for me, but I know Scarlett hears—“I’m . . . when I’m twenty-eight, Rosie. You know what this means. I’m dangerous, Rosie.”“You plan on loving me when you’re twenty-eight?” I interrupt, uncertain if my question is serious or not.Silas’s eyes widen in surprise. He turns to look out the taxi window for a moment, and when his eyes meet mine again, there’s a beautiful sincerity glistening in the gray-blue irises. “Rosie . . . I love you. Now, when I’m twenty-eight, when I’m thirty-five . . . I love you.”I exhale. “Okay, then.”“But I’m—”I put a finger against his soft, bow-shaped lips. “Okay, then.”

“Jack! "Where have you been,you miserable little creep?"He raised his eyebrows,a look of mock hurt on his face."This is the thanks I get?""Give me that bat and I'll show you how grateful I am, coward!”