“Clover missed his "me-time.”

“Do you have a name I asked?" I asked."Yes." He stared back at me, blinking."What is it?""Clover." He looked away and typed something into the computer. His mouth kept twitching, like he was trying to hold in laughter."Seriously?"He pushed his sleeve up, giving me a view of a blue clover tattooed on his forearm. "I'm half Irish."And half shithead.”

“The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.”

“What was that you gave me to eat?" Winter panicked.A Filler Crisp," Clover said, his eyes seventy percent concerned and thirty percent mischievous.”

“Miss Clover," said Minister Fairweller to the Viscount after a long moment, "is not here. She has gone to a speech with her father, in Werttemberg. I could set you up with a carriage, if you'd like."The girls' mouths dropped open. Viscount Duquette did not see."Well!" he said,clicking his heels together. "It is nice to see that someone behaves like a gentleman around here!"The girls found Clover about an hour later, hidinga mong the untrimmed unicorn and lion topiaries, weeping on a stone bench. They flocked to her, wrapped an extra shawl around her shoulders, and told her the story."Werttemberg, though," said Eve. That's two countries away!"Clover wept and laughed at the same time.”

“He looks out into the empty street, allowing me to sit in his car and just miss her. To miss her each time I pull in a breath of air. To miss her with a heart that feels so cold by itself, but warm when thoughts of her flow through me.”