“If you’ll tell me what you’re looking for, I can help,” Despina offered. “No. You can’t.” “My, but you’re in a mood.” “You really can’t help me. There’s an art to a perfect rose. The scent. The color. The arrangement of the petals. My father even argues that one too many petals can ruin the entire flower . . . can disturb the way it grows.” “And I would argue the prettiest flowers are the ones that seem a little imperfect.” “See? You can’t help me,” Shahrzad groused.
