Despite the knowledge that her affections were unattainable, I couldn't help but be drawn to try.

You ask for such simple things, I can't deny you.

Do you think," Maxon asked, "that I could still call you 'my dear'?" "Not a chance," I whispered. "I'll keep trying. I don't have it in me to give up." And I believed him. It was annoying to think he'd press that issue. "Did you call all of them that?" I nodded my head toward the rest of the room. "Yes, and they all seemed to like it." "That is the exact reason why I don't.

I hit your thigh!” “Oh, please. A man doesn’t need that long to recover from a knee to the thigh.

But you just said you loved me." "I do, Mer. That's the point. I can't make you like me. I can't stand the thought of you hungry or cold or scared. I can't make you a Six.

America Singer, you get back here." He ran in front of me, wrapping an arm around my waist as we stood, chest to chest. "Tell me," he whispered. I pinched my lips together. "Fine, then I shall have to rely on other means of communication." Without any warning, he kissed me.

I was afraid I was wrong, that you would change your mind any second. I’ve been looking for a suitable alternative, but the truth is …”—Maxon looked me in the eyes again, unwavering—“there’s only you. Maybe I’m not really looking, maybe they aren’t right for me. It doesn’t matter. I just know I want you. And that terrifies me. I’ve been waiting for you to take back the words, to beg to leave.