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“Be quiet,” Anthony barked, looking testily over at them. “I’m trying to aim.” “Such need for silence will not serve you well at a time of crisis,” Colin remarked. “Shut up,” Anthony bit off. “If we were attacked,” Colin continued, one of his hands moving expressively as he wove his tale, “it would be quite noisy, and frankly, I find it disturbing to think—” “Colin!” Anthony bellowed. “Don’t mind me,” Colin said. “I’m going to kill him,” Anthony announced. “Does anyone mind if I kill him?” No one did, although Sophie did look up and mention something about blood and messes and not wanting to
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“You can push me back,” Oliver said to Amanda. “Oh, no,” Phillip said quickly. Bad idea. Very, very bad idea. “All right,” Amanda said brightly. “No, Amanda,” Phillip said, jumping to his feet. “Do not—” But she’d already pressed both of her little hands to her brother’s chest and heaved. Oliver went tumbling back with a loud burst of laughter. “Now I get to push you!” he yelled with glee. “You will not push your sister!” Phillip roared, jumping over an ottoman. “She pushed me!” Oliver hollered. “Because you asked her to, you miserable little wretch.” Phillip swung his hand out to grab
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“I’m not sorry,” she growled, her eyes narrow and fierce. His eyes widened with surprise. “I’m furious.” And then he couldn’t help it. He laughed. He threw his head back and laughed. She was absolutely perfect, naked and angry, ready to march down to hell itself to drag his father out for a tongue-lashing.
“Phillip, stop!” she cried out, wrenching herself away. What the devil? “Eloise,” he asked—cautiously, since it was his experience, limited though it was, that one should always tread carefully with a woman in a temper—“what is wrong?” “What is wrong?” she demanded, her eyes flashing dangerously. “How can you even ask that?” “Well,” he said slowly, and with just a touch of sarcasm, “it might be because I don’t know what is wrong.” “Phillip, this is not the time.” “To ask you what is wrong?” “No!” she nearly shrieked. Phillip took a step back. Self-preservation, he thought wryly. Surely that
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“You’re always trying to talk with me,” he pointed out. “That’s all you ever do. Talk talk talk.” She drew back. “If you didn’t like it,” she said in a snippy voice, “you shouldn’t have married me.” “It wasn’t as if I had a choice in the matter,” he bit off. “Your brothers were ready to castrate me. And just so you don’t paint me completely black, I don’t mind your talking. Just not, for the love of God, all of the time.” She looked like she was trying to say something utterly clever and cutting, but all she could do was gape like a fish and make sounds like, “Unh! Unh!”
His face seemed to tighten, and his lower lip began to quiver. Eloise caught her breath. She’d never seen a man cry, never really even thought it possible, but then a tear rolled slowly down his cheek, settling into the dimple at the corner of his mouth until she reached out and brushed it away. “I love you,” he said, choking on the words. “I don’t even care if you don’t feel the same way. I love you and . . . and . . .” “Oh, Phillip,” she whispered, reaching up and touching the tears on his face. “I love you, too.”
“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I can’t help it,” she said, her voice shaking. “I love you so much. I didn’t think—I’d always hoped, but I guess I never really thought—” “I never thought, either,” he said, and they both knew what they were thinking— I never thought it would happen to me.
Laugh. Laugh out loud, and laugh often. And when circumstances call for silence, turn your laugh into a smile. Don’t settle. Know what you want and reach for it. And if you don’t know what you want, be patient. The answers will come to you in time, and you may find that your heart’s desire has been right under your nose all the while.