“Say it. You want to have my children.” “Quinn—” “How many? Tell me.” “Can we please—” “If you think I’m letting you out of this room before we finish this conversation, you’re bloody mad.” I say through gritted teeth, “Fine. If you must know how many fantasy offspring I’d like, the answer is five.” His blazing eyes flare wide. In an elated, astonished whisper, he says, “Five.”
