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“No, we weren’t in bed. I was pushing you off a cliff to your death.”
“Lovely place,” Mad Rogan said. “Wait until you meet the natives.” A sardonic smile curved his lips. “Will there be a welcome party?” “Probably.”
“Maybe you should make me a list of people I can kill and ways in which they’re allowed to die,” he said. “You are not funny.” “I’m very funny. Just ask Peaches.”
I was sure that no matter how long I lived, no man would ever give me five thousand carnations again. This was a magical thing that could happen only once, so I stood there, breathed in the scent, and let myself dream.
