Trust you? Rue--trust you? You counterfeited your own death rather than wed me. You told me you'd rather die than stay in Darkfrith. I can't--I don't know how to fix that. I don't know how to mend it. Tell me." He took a step toward her. "Tell me, and I'll do it.

I want to love, and be loved.

I didn't ask you to catch me!" "You're so delightful when you're irrational. Of course I'm going to catch you." He slid a hand behind her nape and kissed her again. "It's what I do.

I want. . . a steady hand. A kind soul. I want to fall asleep, and wake, knowing my heart is safe. I want to love, and be loved.

All that effort,” he mused, “merely to avoid me. How gratifying.

My dowry is thirty-five. A year.” His brows climbed. “You’re joking.” “I would never joke about money with a notorious thief. Just imagine, in a mere two years you’re at a profit.” “How I adore a woman who does mathematics in her head.” “I can forge signatures as well.” “Splendid. Exactly the bride I’ve been hoping for.

Lia: "You've changed your mind about wanting to marry me. You're afraid I'll burn down your home. Embarrass you in front of all the other city brutes." Zane: "I'm afraid," he said gently, "that you will burn down my heart.