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As if loving her was as simple and uncomplicated as the fact that the sun rose in the east and set in the west.
That she wasn’t real unless someone else’s eyes were on her, unless she was being seen.
She would show them. She didn’t know how she’d show them, but she would do it—would prove just how little either of them mattered to her.
“Jane Austen can wait.”
Right now she didn’t seem particularly majestic. She was just…Beatrice.
“It’s not my fault that most things worth doing are against the rules,” he replied with an easy grin.
Beatrice caught herself wondering if two people could fall in love this way—by loving the same thing so deeply that their excess love spilled over and drew them toward each other.
Ethan was appalled that Nina could quote entire musicals but not a single Bruce Springsteen song:
The room undulated with shades of pumpkin and persimmon and fiery orange-red.
being here with Sam, Beatrice felt…maybe not better, but stronger.
“It’s too cramped for scandal. Your ancestors all sat here, staring longingly and broodingly at each other.”
a pair of women in hot pink sashes that said QUEEN BEE. “They’re starting to like having a young queen. It makes the country feel youthful and energized.”
How had the only two men in her life both ended up with the same mousy, unexceptional commoner?
She almost wished that Ethan resented her, hated her, even. Anything would be better than this smooth, cool indifference.
She felt that she had gained and lost the world in a single morning.
Beatrice had come to understand that the human heart was a magical thing. It had so much room inside it, enough room to contain more than one love over the course of a lifetime.
It frightened Beatrice a little, that the world was built on so many small ifs that decided people’s fates.
Sam noted with amusement that she and Nina had both changed into the same sweatpants, matching leopard-print ones that they’d bought together last fall.
“It’s just…it’s easier to believe in things, believe in people, when you read about them in books. They’re so much safer when they’re fictional. The real-life ones…I’m still not sure how to handle them.”
he was busy slipping off the gold signet ring he always wore on his pinkie finger.
