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We can’t curse all the men in the world, can we?” “Not in a single day, at least,” Marya replied, “much as I try.”
maybe one day you’ll have seven daughters of your own.” “Please, don’t curse me today, Sashenka,” Marya said. “I’ve had a very trying morning, and I simply cannot bring myself to imagine such a dystopian future right now.”
Men, honestly. “I already told you, I don’t need you t—” “I know you don’t,” Lev cut in, groaning. “You’ve made that very clear, you don’t need me and I’m sure the suffragettes are all very proud, but I can’t just let you stand out here. Call it chivalry.”
“Is that your way of asking me if I have a girlfriend?” “No.” Men, honestly. “Gross.” “Gross?” Lev echoed. “That’s—I don’t know what that is,” he remarked, half to himself. “Inaccurate, I hope, but certainly rude, at the very least.”
when a kiss felt like this—like intoxication itself, like madness, so terribly impious and yet so purely, completely divine—it had to be stopped, and quickly, or else it would set fire to her every thought.
Not just anyone could touch Masha. She was full of sharp edges; always a pointy little thing, a rose lined with thorns.
Sasha Antonova was beautiful. In fact, she was more than beautiful; she was lovely and spirited, infuriating and razor-sharp and mean—terrifying, even—
hope that boy from class didn’t give you any trouble last night.” “He did, unfortunately,” Sasha said. “But then I punched him in the face.”
SASHA: 37$&%^*802y LEV: are you by chance having a stroke? LEV: or have I already reduced you to incoherence SASHA: I dropped my phone. and you’re awfully cocky aren’t you LEV: I could be, if that’s what you like
SASHA: I’m working tonight LEV: I didn’t ask when I COULDN’T see you LEV: honestly, is that school you go to even accredited? SASHA: I’m just stating the relevant facts SASHA: you dick LEV::(
She tensed with surprise, unnerved. “I’m not here for a one-night stand, Sasha,” he told her. “The story we’re writing? It has chapters. Installments. I don’t want once.”
Only you, Masha,” he said, and she bent in anguish, resting her forehead against the still-sluggish motion of his chest while he gathered her in his arms, eternally hers. Even now, eternally familiar. “Only you, forever, I promise.”
She wanted to kill him, to kiss him, to love him with her hands around his neck.
At best, Dimitri Fedorov was Marya Antonova’s greatest weakness. At worst, she was his.
She wanted Lev Fedorov, and the moment his face appeared, cheeks pink with cold, Sasha felt something monstrous untwist its hold on her heart,
but if I can only have you as a fire, Sasha, as a flame of what you are, then I want you to burn for me.
“You want me to burn for you?” she asked. “Then watch me burn.”
“Lev, you’re heading for a fucking trap!” “I fell in love with you, didn’t I, Sasha Antonova?” His laugh, the set of her jaw, they both said I love you, it’s over, we’re doomed. “I was always going to be trapped.”
Dimitri Fedorov was the sun, the moon, and the stars.
What exactly is your connection to Marya Antonova, Dimitri Fedorov?” She is my entire soul, Dimitri didn’t say.
“you are not incomplete because a piece of your heart is gone. You are you, an entire whole, all on your own. If you have loved and been loved, then you can only be richer for it—you don’t become a smaller version of yourself simply because what you once had is gone.”
“Every piece of you, body and soul, remembers what it is to love me, don’t they? Whether your heart is in your chest or not.
“Sometimes, Masha, my eyes open and I know, somewhere in my bones, that I have formed myself to the shape of waking up beside you.
“I would burn down the world for this love, Dima,”
“Someday, Masha,” he murmured, “I will have done enough to give you everything you deserve, and perhaps then it will be enough to bring you back to me.”
“I thought I was weak for you, Dima, but I was wrong. I’m Marya Antonova,” she told him, meeting his eye, “and I am loved by Dimitri Fedorov, and for that, I could never be weak.”
When had Dimitri Fedorov known he loved Marya Antonova? He had known it like the voice of his soul, the sanctity of every prayer. With certainty equal to the changing of the seasons, borne on devotion as relentless as the tide. He had known he loved her like he knew he would rise each day, like knowing his lungs would fill with each breath, like knowing he could bleed with every puncture.
