You think I'm deranged! How refreshing. Everyone here takes me so seriously, it's a wonderful change to be thought mentally deficient.

A compliment would be the last thing out of my mouth to a man who was so pigheaded that he could be served at a luau.

He says he had to go help someone in a desperate situation. Who, exactly, he refuses to say. He doesn’t know when he’s going to be back, but suggests we put off the wedding for a few days. The rotter! How dare he just zoom off and not tell me where he’s going, or who he’s going to help, or what exactly he’s up to!” Yeah, how dare he go out and be all heroic and stuff when you want him here slobbering over your big boobs.

Just because I'm flaunting it doesn't mean you can stare for hours on end. A polite ogle is appreciated and suitable for a flaunt. Slobbering is not.

I was born. It was easy. My mother did all the hard work.

Jim eyed me for a couple of seconds, then got off the bed and went to curl up on the pile of blankets I'd arranged as its bed. "I don't suppose you'd care to lend me a couple hundred euros?" I pointed at the wall. It turned its back to me so I could get into the nightgown Perdita had lent me. "You are not going to bet on me. Or against me. No betting whatsoever. Got that?" Jim huffed and settled down for the night. "You sure do know how to take all the fun out of life. Bet you even made Drake use a condom.

Yeah. I know. How stupid is it to French kiss a vampire and not expect sharp teeth?