Fiona Goode Quotes

When I was a kid--10, 11, 12, 13--the thing I wanted most in the world was a best friend. I wanted to be important to people; to have people that understood me. I wanted to just be close to somebody. And back then, a thought would go through my head almost constantly: "There's never gonna be a room someplace where there's a group of people sitting around, having fun, hanging out, where one of them goes, 'You know what would be great? We should call Fiona. Yeah, that would be good.' That'll never happen. There's nothing interesting about me." I just felt like I was a sad little boring thing.

Nothing that you do will ever feel good if you let people convince you that you have no choice.

I only write when I'm angry or sad, so because that's when I just have to write... If I'm having a good time and I'm happy and things are going really well, why would I want to stop what I'm doing to go and write at the piano?

It's refreshing to see you using your psychology skills for evil as well as for good.

I'm thinking about three things this morning. The obstacle is the path. Today is a good day. And what comes is a gift.

As Jack began to climb the stairs, Fiona looked up at her new home. Five stories of stately mansion rose above her head. Heavy molding around the large windows and doors bespoke a quality and craftsmanship that was obvious even in the dim night. “Good God! It’s massive!” Jack paused with his foot on the last step. “I do wish you’d keep those comments until we are in bed, love. I would appreciate them all the more there.

Good, stupid high school boys aren't worth It" She throws an arm over my shoulder. "They're trained to like a certain type of girl, with highlights and pretty nails- the kind who are good at remembering to put on lotion every morning after they shower." She smiles like she's got a dirty secret. "And let's face it..... sluts.

So, is it wrong to dream, to want the things we don’t have?’ ‘No, my darling, never give up your dreams. But just make sure they don’t distract you too much from the good things that there are in your day-to-day life, even if that life is by no means perfect. Because there always are good things

You know, when I see a good-looking man, the first thing I think about is sex. I want to see him naked, and I imagine running my hands impatiently over his hot body. I can’t help it: it’s just how I am.

But l’m good at being uncomfortable So I can’t stop changing all the time.

I do not knock on Fiona’s door when I’m trying to have an upbeat good time; I am coming to her with the shattered pieces of my heart in my hands, setting the pointy shards at her feet, and lying very still until she stomps on them with her words.

When you’re honest, what compares with the gorgeous thrill of sex? What brings you the same sense of wonder, pleasure, and fulfilment? I can’t think of anything as good.

Hey, listen,' I say. " Fascinating as this is, we've got to go now. I have to collect the invites for my funeral." That shuts them up. Fiona looks astonished." Really? " Yeah." I grab Zoey's arm. "It's a shame i can't be there myself - i like parties. Text me if you think of any good hymns!

I heard him sweeping with the broom, and then he suddenly stopped. I had obviously got his attention, and he was looking. Take a good look, honey, I thought. Take a good look at what I’m offering. I liked the sound of that silence. Do you know what I mean? Have you heard that silence yourself? I love that silence you get, when a man who you fancy notices your body. In a weird way, it’s so loud, it’s deafening. It could be because of the way you sway your hips, your legs, or thrust your breasts. And you just know his erection is talking to him, about what he’d like to do to your body. How he’d like to have his delightfully wicked way with you, undress you, smother your naked skin with hungry urgent kisses, and thrust his hard and moist cock deep inside the pouting red lips of your mouth… I think you get my drift. There’s a lovely tension in that moment; I call it the lust moment. When a sexy man sees what you’ve deliberately put out on offer, and he stops in his steps as his lust lights up his mind, and puts him on a new track.

Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners'. - Emily Post

Are you saying...you can make people normal again?" I breathe out, the idea too tantalizing for my own good. Allie nods. "That's the goal.

It’s no good living in a world at peace if your own head is at war with itself.

There’s someone in town asking for directions to Bhaile Anois,” she said. “He checked in late last night at the inn.” Any and Dan exchanged uneasy glances. “What does he look like?” Amy asked. Fiona narrowed her eyes. “Sneaky, for certain,” she said. “And he’s quite a waster. Good for nothin’ but complaining. Nora over at the inn said he’s never satisfied with the temperature if his tea, and he asked for a cashmere throw in his room.” Any and Dan exchanged another glance. “IAN,” they said together, and sighed. “You know the eejit?” Fiona asked. “The eejit is our cousin,” Amy said. “Distant cousin,” Dan added. “Very, very distant.

He handed the dust pan and brush over. I knew they wouldn’t be much use in cleaning the floor. I also knew the real reason he had given them to me: so he could look furtively at me, as I bent over. That idea turned me on. I welcomed it, and decided to give him a good look at what he wanted.

Adrienne ate her steak, the béarnaise, the garlicky fries- did she even need to say it? It was steak frites from a rainy-day-in-Paris dream. The steak was perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked, pink in the middle, juicy, tender. The salad was tossed in a lemony vinaigrette but it tasted so green, so young and fresh, that Adrienne began to worry. This person Fiona had a way. If the staff meal tasted this good then the woman was possessed, and Adrienne didn't want a possessed woman on her case.

You have that whole Superman thing going on with your glasses.'' I said, pointing at my own face. He tilted his head and gave me a confuse look. Shit. I was so dumb. I'd have been better off letting the staring continue. ''I mean, like, because Superman wears glasses.'' ''You mean Clark Kent.'' ''Um...'' Now it was my turn to be confused. ''Clark Kent wears the glasses and when he takes them off he's Superman.'' ''Duh.'' I said with self-deprecating laugh. ''I'm more of a Marvel girl.'' ''That's a good choice. Marvel is better than DC any day.

He closed his eyes and grew rigid beneath me. “Don’t give me that look.” “What look? Your eyes are closed, you can’t see me.” “I feel the look. It’s the Fiona death stare of cruel disappointment.” “I have a cruel disappointed look?” “Yes. It’s like getting a spanking, and not the good kind.

Fiona, my love, as much as I adore you, I cannot stand your brothers. Any of them." "Gregor is much nicer now that he's married. Even you must admit that." "Only when Venetia is with him. When she's not, he's as annoying as ever." Fiona's lips quirked into a smile, her green eyes gleaming. "Rather like you, I hear." "Who has been carrying tales?" "Everyone." She placed her hand on her husband's cheek and smiled up into his blue eyes. With his dark auburn hair and devastating good looks, "Black Jack" Kincaid had once been the scourge of London's polite society. Now he was her own personal scourge, one she couldn't imagine living without.

That’s a good choice. Marvel is better than DC any day.

How can I ever see the world as a good and kind place to be when I know what obscene cruelty humanity is capable of?

I want our baby so badly it’s all I’ve thought of. I’ve dreamed of him for months. I can’t wait to hold our son and watch him grow up to be as good of a man as his father.

There was no point in anything. No pleasure in being good and clever either, if there was no one to praise and be proud of me. But that felt dangerously close to self-pity, and I would not give in to self-pity.

Maybe in the afterlife,’ I say, feeling sorry for him. ‘She’s my cadaver, Dad. And after today I can’t take her anywhere because I severed her optic nerve, so she’s got one eye hanging out. It’s not a good look.

She stood behind her mother's chair and brushed her hair gently for about five minutes, drawing the brush smoothly from forehead to nape, over and over, in the way her mother liked. It was the only sustained physical contact she seemed to enjoy. Her usual mode of a kiss good-bye, for instance, was the kiss-and-push-you-on-your-way. She wasn't a snuggler. No surprise, really, that this acceptable affection came via a prickly implement.

I'm not good with hospitals. The endless buildings, trees dotted around like apologies, and inside, it's job functions you can't understand and that air of incomprehensible busyness. Curtained-off beds and death settling like falling snow.

He briefly glanced in our direction but was too far away for me to see his eye color; they’d looked like dark pools you’d get lost in. And not in the dreamy, good way. In the, fall into a dark pit of nothingness, hoping to find any light, only to find more darkness, kind of way.

Were you serious when you said I might win someday at Wimbledon?" Claire answered, "There's so much that's pure luck, good or bad. The weather can be terrible. We always say we should re-schedule Wimbledon and hold it in the summer!" I frowned. "Wimbledon is in the summer." Claire sighed. "It's a joke, Fiona." "Oh.

Will suddenly remembered that a boy at his old school had had a mum like Fiona - not exactly like her, because it seemed to Will that Fiona was a peculiarly contemporary creation, with her seventies albums, her eighties politics and her nineties foot lotion, but certainly a sixties equivalent of Fiona. Stephen Fullick's mother had a thing about TV, that it turned people into androids, so they didn't have a set in the house. 'Did you see Thund...' Will would say every Monday morning and then remember and blush, as if the TV were a parent who had just died. And what good had that done Stephen Fullick? He was not, as far as Will was aware, a visionary poet, or a primitive painter; he was probably stuck in some provincial solicitor's office, like everyone else from school. He had endured years of pity for no discernible purpose.

How did you find us?” I asked. He glanced over my shoulder, and I followed his gaze to a wincing Nova. “You little tattletale,” Raelynn scolded with a tiny shove. Nova, completely unrepentant, rolled her eyes. “It’s for your own good. You sure as shit weren’t giving up your driver’s phone number, and I know Vera’s passcode. It was the only way to stop us all from vomiting in some back alley with a homeless man who would ask us if we wanted to live in his box.” “That was one time,” Raelynn defended.

Overcooked, flabby pasta or a blob of tomato ketchup was enough to incense Frank; a plate of soggy pasta in Matteo’s Italian restaurant in Los Angeles, owned by his childhood buddy, Matty Jordan, had Frank storming into the kitchens. He looked around wildly, “Where are all the Italians?” he roared at the startled Filipino kitchen staff. Not content, he shot back upstairs and threw his plate of pasta against the wall. As he walked out, he dipped his finger in the tomato sauce and signed the smear: Picasso (Matty very good-naturedly put a frame around this later).

Paper Bag" I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star To pray on, or wish on, or something like that I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy Whose reality I knew, was a hopeless to be had But then the dove of hope began its downward slope And I believed for a moment that my chances Were approaching to be grabbed But as it came down near, so did a weary tear I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills 'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love And I went crazy again today, looking for a strand to climb Looking for a little hope Baby said he couldn't stay, wouldn't put his lips to mine, And a fail to kiss is a fail to cope I said, 'Honey, I don't feel so good, don't feel justified Come on put a little love here in my void,' he said 'It's all in your head,' and I said, 'So's everything' But he didn't get it I thought he was a man But he was just a little boy Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills 'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love Hunger hurts, but I want him so bad, oh it kills 'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love Hunger hurts, but I want him so bad, oh it kills Because I know that I'm a mess that he don't wanna clean up I got to fold because these hands are just too shaky to hold Hunger hurts, but starving, it works, when it costs too much to love

seduced by the illusion that money and glamour would change her life, distracting her from the reality of what was happening in the world around her. As time went by, though, and the mood in the city around her changed, Claire felt a change happening within herself as well. Her heart had begun to mend – as hearts will do if they are given enough exposure to time and the kindness of good friends – and as it mended, it transformed into something new. The hard lesson that she’d learned had forced her to reflect on the person she really was, and on the person she wanted to be, and she discovered a new core of resolve within herself.

Oh. I get it." Abby laughed. "This is where you bid on someone to wash your car." "Naked," Charli said. "Or check the shower tiles." "Also naked." Abby laughed. "I'm guessing that as long as there's wet and naked, we're all good." Fiona let out a long sigh. "What was that?" Charli asked with a lift to her perfect brows. "Have you got a victim---I mean a participant in mind?" Fiona glanced across the hall. "Have you seen Jackson's fireman buddy?" "No." Charli looked across the room. "Should we?" "Too late," Fiona said. "I've got first dibs." At that moment, Abby noticed the Wilder boys walk across the front of the room near the stage. Individually, they were stunning. As a group, they looked as appetizing as a decadent box of chocolates. Abby couldn't tear her eyes away from Jackson. Put him in a fireman suit, a tux jacket and jeans, or a simple T-shirt and cargo shorts, and he took her breath away. Truthfully, she liked him best in noting at all. "Holy guacamole." Charli gestured to a tall, dark, and devastating man walking with the group. "Is that who you are talking about?" Fiona nodded. "I want to lick him up one side and down the other like a cherry Popsicle." "Honey, you bid as high as you can go," Charli said. "And if you run out of money, you just let me know. I'd be happy to chip in.

Kilgore here will keep the record straight.” “Kilgore?” “The tape recorder. I name things. If you name things, then you treat them better.” Fiona motioned with her chin to a poster tacked to the opposite wall. “Does she have a name?” “She” was a bikini-clad model spraying a Lamborghini with a garden hose and, no, she didn’t—at least, not one I knew. I lowered my eyes. “We’ll call her Prudence, then,” Fiona said. “Now whenever you wake up, you can say, ‘Good morning, Prudence, how’s tricks? Still in the car washing game, I see.’” “‘How’s tricks’?” “‘How’s things,’” Fiona explained. “Slang from the good ol’ days. I learned it from a kid in a newsie cap.” “A newsie cap?” “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.

You cracked up. You were looking at me and laughing. And I said, What? And you said, I love you. And we were both completely shocked. Because it was a little premature, surely. And you said it again, as though you were checking the flavor, and it tasted perfectly right. You said it again, softly, I love you; you were looking right into my heart. You said it again, almost shouting. And you were laughing and it was as though you were so happy you couldn't believe that someone had given you this good thing. And it was partly that, and it was partly because you were thinking you'd had a premature decision, whereas guys your age were more generally associated with premature ejaculation. As well as inability to speak girl and commitment problems to anything other than games with buttons. And the best part was when you said, You love me, too. And all I had to do was nod. Because it was true.

Our two taco specials get shoved up on the serving counter, crispy, cheesy goodness in brown plastic baskets lined with parchment paper, sour cream and guacamole exactly where they should be. On the side. There is a perfect ratio of sour cream, guac, and salsa on a shredded chicken tostada. No one can make it happen for you. Many restaurants have tried. All have failed. Only the mouth knows its own pleasure, and calibration like Taco Heaven cannot be mass produced. It simply cannot. Taco Heaven is a sensory explosion of flavor that defies logic. First, you have to eye the amount of spiced meat, shredded lettuce, chopped tomatoes, and tomatillos. You must consider the size and crispiness of the shells. Some people–I call them blasphemers–like soft tacos. I am sitting across from Exhibit A. We won’t talk about soft tacos. They don’t make it to Taco Heaven. People who eat soft tacos live in Taco Purgatory, never fully understanding their moral failings, repeating the same mistakes again and again for all eternity. Like Perky and dating. Once you inventory your meat, lettuce, tomato, and shell quality, the real construction begins. Making your way to Taco Heaven is like a mechanical engineer building a bridge in your mouth. Measurements must be exact. Payloads are all about formulas and precision. One miscalculation and it all fails. Taco Death is worse than Taco Purgatory, because the only reason for Taco Death is miscalculation. And that’s all on you. “Oh, God,” Fiona groans through a mouthful of abomination. “You’re doing it, aren’t you?” “Doing what?” I ask primly, knowing damn well what she’s talking about. “You treat eating tacos like you’re the star of some Mythbusters show.” “Do not.” “Do too.” “Even if I do–and I am notconceding the point–it would be a worthwhile venture.” “You are as weird about your tacos as Perky is about her coffee.” “Take it back! I am not that weird.” “You are.” “Am not.” “This is why Perky and I swore we would never come here with you again.” Fiona grabs my guacamole and smears the rounded scoop all over the outside of her soft taco. I shriek. “How can you do that?” I gasp, the murder of the perfect ratio a painful, almost palpable blow. The mashed avocado has a death rattle that rings in my ears. Smug, tight lips give me a grimace. “See? A normal person would shout, ‘Hey! That’s mine!’ but you’re more offended that I’ve desecrated my inferior taco wrapping with the wrong amount of guac.” “Because it’s wrong.” “You should have gone to MIT, Mal. You need a job that involves nothing but pure math for the sake of calculating stupid shit no one else cares about.” “So glad to know that a preschool teacher holds such high regard for math,” I snark back. And MIT didn’t give me the kind of merit aid package I got from Brown, I don’t add. “Was that supposed to sting?” She takes the rest of my guacamole, grabs a spoon, and starts eating it straight out of the little white paper scoop container thing. “How can you do that? It’s like people who dip their french fries in mayonnaise.” I shudder, standing to get in line to buy more guac. “I dip my french fries in mayo!” “More evidence of your madness, Fi. Get help now. It may not be too late.” I stick my finger in her face. “And by the way, you and Perky talk about my taco habits behind my back? Some friends!” I hmph and turn toward the counter.

Each of us knows the pain and the delight of being who we are. This is very true. There is good and evil in everyone, and so much beauty in that imperfection.

Kids need you. They might be unfeeling and selfish and make you crave strong drink, in huge quantities, but they don’t do it on purpose. Once,

was absolute, having built layers of snitches to watch his snitches to watch his crews. Politicians, police, even some members of the FBI were firmly in his back pocket, and he kept them there by bribery, extortion, and good old-fashioned threats of violence. Old Man O’Shea, as he was referred to by the locals, showed no mercy. To anyone. He ruled with an iron fist and had no softness within him for anyone, including his own sons. Kieran and Conall were born to him from his wife, Fiona, a raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty he’d met on the Emerald Isle. Rumor had it he beat her, degraded her, and eventually killed her spirit, which then killed her body. Paddy made sure nothing could ever be proven. Fionn and Shannon were his children by his lifelong mistress, Gillian. At least, it was suspected she was his longtime mistress. She hadn’t actually been seen for years. His sons had not been raised by their mothers. When each boy turned six, he was taken and raised

The master etiology, the story that explains the human condition itself-- the tale that answers life's most agonizing questions about pain and suffering and undeserved struggle-- it is the story on Genesis, chapter 3, which the Christian world calls the Fall. In the Mormon narrative, therefore, circumstances that define the reality of the human predicament are not a blatant choice between Good and Evil but a wrenching decision to be made between competing sets of Good.

One night, my husband, Rodney, and I were surfing YouTube videos when we stumbled on a video of a Fiona Apple concert. It was an “aha!” moment for me. I thought: This woman is telling the truth with her body. She’s not what you would typically call a good dancer, she was jerky and unconcerned about looking pretty, but something about her was raw and real. She was moving with her wounds, with her limitations—she was moving truthfully. She wasn’t hiding, and she wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable and expose herself through her voice and movements. Her courage and honesty made her dance mesmerizing and powerful. It penetrated something deep inside me. When you bow to someone and say, “Namaste,” it means, “The deepest part of me acknowledges the deepest part of you.” Fiona Apple’s performance was a Namaste from her body to mine. I want to have the courage to be as honest in my life, my teaching, and in this book as she was in that dance. Yoga can bring you to this kind of truth by helping you to observe, then to let go of, the habits you cling to and the stories you use to protect yourself. As you practice, you become intimate with your body, which many of us spend a lifetime either alienated from or waging war with. Yoga practice can pierce emotional places that most of us guard or avoid. Our bodies are intelligent, more a source of direct truth than our minds, but we rarely listen to the wisdom that’s buried in our beautiful chambers.

Funny things, birthdays. Everyone seems to love them, but I dread them—the buildup, the pressure to be happy, to have a good time, the disappointment when I don’t.

That’s a great way to be in regular life. But if you’re making a song? And you’re making music and there is going to be passion in it and there is going to be anger in it? You have to go to the myelin sheath—you know, to the central nervous system—for it to be good, I feel like. And if that’s not true? Then fuck me, I wasted my fucking life and ruined everything...

Red wine?” Fiona squinted at the glass. “Kate, if you spill the wine on yourself, they’ll bury you in this dress.” “Maybe wine isn’t a good idea,” George said.

That was a hard lesson that she had learned in her youth: when your past comes back to haunt you, you treat it with politeness and respect because it helped you become who you are today. Embrace the good with the bad, because one day there won’t be anything to embrace but pain if you don’t forgive and move on. Resiliency—that’s what the social worker at the orphanage called it after her fourth home in as many years. She was resilient. Maybe that made her strong. Or maybe that just made her hard. Hard and strong were two very different things. She was definitely hardened, but was she more than that? Samantha and her mother seemed to think so. She had just finished purchasing

never give up your dreams. But just make sure they don’t distract you too much from the good things that there are in your day-to-day life, even if that life is by no means perfect. Because there always are good things’ – she picks up Finn’s honeysuckle Christmas card again – ‘but sometimes you have to concentrate to be able to see them.

Larissa's back was to the door, so she didn't see it open as she snorted, "Good luck with her mom." A wide grin split Zeke's face as he looked over her shoulder. "Good luck with my alpha.

Umm, Fiona has exactly zero bad songs. I could totally make a case for just strapping you down and forcing you to listen to Tidal over and over until you’re inconsolable, but as much as I love that album, When the Pawn…is the one that, for me, has the most necessary and heartbreaking shit on it. I do not knock on Fiona’s door when I’m trying to have an upbeat good time;

Thanks, Fi. Well, you've really freed up my evening.' He doesn't sound completely thrilled. 'Good. I was hoping I could drop by, maybe. But I didn't want to watch Morse.' 'Whereabouts are you?' 'Peering in through your front window. Is that a new sofa?

Jackson uses the silence to give me a bunch of stapled sheets. The title page says: Torture Survivors' Handbook. Information on Support and Resources for Torture Survivors in the UK. "This thing is mostly aimed at people coming here from abroad. But you should read it. And use it." I hold the book in my hands. I say, "They got the apostrophe in the right place. That's good.

Jackson thumps the desk again. Partly a 'need to think about this' gesture. Partly a 'good work, Constable' one. Mostly though, he's just a big Welshman and their hormones go funny unless they hit something now and again.

You couldn’t make sense of illness or pain or the long good-bye, but you would deal with it because you had no choice, which he had come to value as a spiritual condition worth pursuing.

She shielded her eyes from the sun, her truck keys dangling down the back of her free hand, as Cooper lowered the passenger window and leaned forward so he could see her. “G’day, Starfish. Need a lift?” She needed a lot of things. Hot coffee, sisters who weren’t nosy, a clear vision about what should be next on her life agenda. Being inside a small, sporty vehicle, trapped mere inches from Cooper Jax, even for the short ride down to Half Moon Harbor? That she definitely did not need. “I’m good, thanks. And can we retire the nickname? Please?” He’d begun calling her that after she’d regaled him with a steady string of childhood stories of life lived by the sea, and he’d commented that she seemed too big a fish for such a small pond. A starfish, as it were. She’d rolled her eyes at the very bad pun, but the nickname had stuck. Aussies were big on nicknames. And the honest truth of it was, she hadn’t minded hearing him call her that, even though it had been a joke, delivered as a ribbing, not an endearment. Now? Now she wasn’t sure how he meant it, or what it made her feel when he said it. Better to just bury it right, Ker? Like you do everything that makes you uncomfortable. She really needed to find a way to strangle her little voice. “I’ve got a meeting,” she went on, not giving him a chance to respond. He nodded to the basket in her arms. “Yes, I can see that. Demanding lot, laundry.” She glanced down, then back at him. “No, with my sisters. About Fiona’s wedding.” “Yes, I heard about it.” She didn’t ask how he could possible know that, or who he’d been talking to this time, because any person in town could have brought him up to speed on the goings-on about pretty much any person he wanted to know about. The downside to being home. One of the great things about being a wanderer was that folks only knew whatever parts of her story she opted to share with them. Cooper, she realized now, had already known more than pretty much anyone she’d met in her travels up to that point. God only knows what he’d learned in the twenty-four hours he’d been in the Cove. She didn’t want to examine how that made her feel either. “Three McCrae weddings in less than a year,” he commented, as if casually discussing the weather. Then he grinned. “Is it catching?

Well, that might be fine for the lot of you,” Kerry broke in, “but given you’re siding with Mr. Wingman here, it hardly does me any good. What happened to the whole sisterhood thing? And this after I came to you, hat in hand--” “You were dragged in,” Fiona reminded her. “Laundry basket in hand. Then we had to all but sit on you to squeeze the details out of you. If you want us to be all supportive and on your side, then, you know, you have to actually give us something to side with. So far, all we’ve heard is how you didn’t know how he felt, and then he sent your entire world spinning off its axis with that--” “Fiona--” Kerry said, clear warning in her tone. But it was too late. Logan had walked back to the group and was just saying he had a sailboat lined up and did they want a captain or were they going to sail it themselves, when he overheard the last bit of Fiona’s statement and paused. He turned to look at Kerry, then perhaps a tad more menacingly at Cooper. “With that…what?” Before Cooper could remind him about their recently established wingman/bro code status, Logan’s wife slid past him and hooked her arm through her husband’s and tipped up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Remember our first kiss?” She gave him a meaningful look to go with what was clearly a very private smile. “So I really don’t think you want to go there. Do you?” Logan cleared his throat. “Right, so…as you were,” he finally said. “I’ve got to get back to the station. Keep the mean streets of Blueberry Cove safe.” “Coward!” Kerry called after his retreating back. “See?” Delia said. “We have our ways.” “Except you’re supporting the wrong side,” Kerry said. “Oh, that all depends on how you define ‘sides,’” Grace put in. “We’re on the side of love.” She drew out that last word, making it sound almost like a coo, with Fiona joining her, both of them adding an exaggerated batting of lashes, aimed first at Kerry, then at Cooper. Fiona added a little heart made by steepling her fingers together. Logan looked back over his shoulder. He was grinning now. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll head back to the airport right now,” he called to Cooper. Cooper lifted his hand in a wave. “No worries, mate.

We have our ways.” “Except you’re supporting the wrong side,” Kerry said. “Oh, that all depends on how you define ‘sides,’” Grace put in. “We’re on the side of love.” She drew out that last word, making it sound almost like a coo, with Fiona joining her, both of them adding an exaggerated batting of lashes, aimed first at Kerry, then at Cooper. Fiona added a little heart made by steepling her fingers together. Logan looked back over his shoulder. He was grinning now. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll head back to the airport right now,” he called to Cooper. Cooper lifted his hand in a wave. “No worries, mate.” He glanced at the group of openly speculating women, then at Kerry, who was shooting emerald green daggers his way, and thought ummm…“On second thought,” he shouted. “Hold on, I’ll join you!” He trotted after Logan, then turned so he was facing the women as he continued jogging backward. “Just getting the boat rental details, luv,” he called back to Kerry. “Back in a jiff.” He blew Kerry a kiss, then added a wink, chuckling when Fiona grabbed Kerry’s arm as she swung it upward in a gesture he seriously doubted was going to be a wave. He knew she was feeling shoved along a path she hadn’t yet decided she wanted to take and he might have been more concerned about her prickly attitude except for one thing. Sent her world spinning off its axis, had I? Well, all righty, then. As shaky starts went, he’d keep his focus on that little nugget of truth and build from there. Whistling a jaunty tune, he turned back and set off to catch up with Logan.

You say romantic, I say stalker,” Kerry grumbled to Fiona as they pushed their way into the Rusty Puffin. “Please,” Fiona retorted, adding an eye roll for good measure. She was a master of those. “Mr. Dead Sexy From Down Under, a hardworking, successful man you greatly admired, with a family you apparently adored, flies halfway around the world to propose to you? Take a poll. That’s off-the-charts romantic.” “Right,” Kerry said, turning toward her as the heavy door swung closed behind them. “And then I turned him down and he’s still here, hounding me. Stalker.” “I hardly think asking you to lunch--a lunch you said yes to, by the way--then hiring a sailboat to take you out on the bay could be considered hounding, much less stalking. That’s still firmly in the romantic category. I mean, if you really meant no, I’m sure he’d be on the next plane back to Oz.” Kerry stopped completely, fists on her hips now. “What makes you think I didn’t really mean no?” “Well, for one, you’re awfully worked up over the guy. In that she-doth-protest-too-much kind of way. And secondly, Logan said Cooper told him you two had agreed on him staying the full month he’d taken off from the cattle station, to give you both time to figure out if there was something worth pursuing together.” “He said that? To Logan?” At Fiona’s smug nod, Kerry’s eyebrows drew together. “What else did Cooper tell him? And how could you even know that? We left the docks together before Cooper came back. We didn’t talk to him again, or Logan.” Fiona turned her phone around so the screen faced Kerry. “It’s called texting. Maybe they don’t have that in Tanzania or on deserted South Pacific atolls, but here in America, we--” “Okay, okay,” Kerry said, waving her hands, still disgruntled. “It doesn’t matter. For the record, I said yes to lunch just to keep him from showing up every time my back is turned.” She sent a pointed look at her sister. “You know, like a stalker. I didn’t agree to an entire afternoon out on the bay with him.” “You didn’t agree to that lollapalooza of a kiss either. But that happens and suddenly he’s not on the next plane home. Just saying, Ms. Protests Too Much.” Kerry opened her mouth, then closed it again, then folded her arms across her chest. “I never should have told you about that.” Fiona grinned. “I know.

You say romantic, I say stalker,” Kerry grumbled to Fiona as they pushed their way into the Rusty Puffin. “Please,” Fiona retorted, adding an eye roll for good measure. She was a master of those. “Mr. Dead Sexy From Down Under, a hardworking, successful man you greatly admired, with a family you apparently adored, flies halfway around the world to propose to you? Take a poll. That’s off-the-charts romantic.

You say romantic, I say stalker,” Kerry grumbled to Fiona as they pushed their way into the Rusty Puffin. “Please,” Fiona retorted, adding an eye roll for good measure. She was a master of those. “Mr. Dead Sexy From Down Under, a hardworking, successful man you greatly admired, with a family you apparently adored, flies halfway around the world to propose to you? Take a poll. That’s off-the-charts romantic.” “Right,” Kerry said, turning toward her as the heavy door swung closed behind them. “And then I turned him down and he’s still here, hounding me. Stalker.” “I hardly think asking you to lunch--a lunch you said yes to, by the way--then hiring a sailboat to take you out on the bay could be considered hounding, much less stalking. That’s still firmly in the romantic category. I mean, if you really meant no, I’m sure he’d be on the next plane back to Oz.” Kerry stopped completely, fists on her hips now. “What makes you think I didn’t really mean no?” “Well, for one, you’re awfully worked up over the guy. In that she-doth-protest-too-much kind of way.

Where were you planning on heading next, then, if not Australia?” Fiona asked. “Oh, I’ll just toss a dart at the map like I usually do,” Kerry said, as blithely as she could. Fiona eyed her closely, as if checking her sincerity. “Well, whenever you do head back out--wherever and with whomever that might be--we’ll make sure Gus hires someone to help him with the pub. So, you know, don’t let that part affect your decision making or anything.” “‘Wherever or with whomever’?” Kerry repeated with a roll of her eyes. Fiona beamed sweetly again. “Just saying.” “All kidding aside, I’m not the settling down type, Fi.” At the flash of real sadness Kerry saw flicker through her too-optimistic-for-her-own-good sister, she made a show of sliding Fiona’s arm out from where it had been looped through hers and dropping it as if she was suddenly contagious. “Don’t go trying to spread all your bride cooties on me,” she teased, hoping to shift them back to their more comfortable pattern of affectionately swapping insults, and far, far away from delving in to the fears and worries that were truly the reason behind her defensive attitude. Kerry knew her family and extended family--hell, everyone in the Cove--only wanted what was best for her, wanted her to be happy. She just wanted the space and time to figure out what, exactly, that was going to be, all by herself. “Some of us aren’t meant for home and hearth. For white picket fences. Or silly cattle dogs and stone fire pits.” It was only when Fiona’s gaze sharpened again that she realized she’d said that last part out loud. A knowing smile played at the corners of Fiona’s mouth and her eyes sparked right back to matchmaker life. “Don’t,” Kerry warned. “Whatever do you mean?” Fiona said with false innocence. “I hear what you’re saying. And I believe you. At least, I believe you believe you.

I was trying to apologize,” she said, relief and humor easing into her eyes and curving her lips. “You didn’t answer my question.” He thought he might snap off the end of the pier, he was gripping it so hard. In response, she ducked her hand into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a folded and now somewhat crumpled piece of paper. “Here. Read for yourself.” He took the paper, realizing he was acting like a complete yobbo, and knew then that perhaps he wasn’t nearly so cool and levelheaded about this whole endeavor as he’d led her to believe. The truth of it being, he only really wanted her to figure out what would make her happy if what made her happy was him. Under her amused stare, he unfolded the paper and read: Dear Hook, I’m trying to be a good and supportive sister and help get Fiona and her ridiculously long veil down the aisle before I strangle her into submission with every hand-beaded, pearl-seeded foot of it. At the moment, sitting here knee-deep in crinolines and enough netting to outfit every member of Downton Abbey, I can’t safely predict a win in that ongoing effort. That said, I’d much rather be spending the time with you, sailing the high seas on our pirate ship. Especially that part where we stayed anchored in one spot for an afternoon and all the plundering was going on aboard our own boat. I’ve been thinking a lot about everything everyone has said and have come to the conclusion that the only thing I’m sure of is that I’m thinking too much. I’ve decided it was better when I was just feeling things and not thinking endlessly about them. I especially liked the things I was feeling on our picnic for two. So this is all to say I’d like to go, um, sailing again. Even if there’s no boat involved this time. I hope you won’t think less of me for the request, but please take seeing a whole lot more of me as a consolation prize if you do. Also? Save me. Or send bail money. Sincerely, Starfish, Queen of the High Seas, Plunderer of Pirates, especially those with a really clever right Hook. He was smiling and shaking his head as he folded the note closed and tucked it in his shirt pocket. “Well?” she said at length. “Apology accepted” was all he said. “And?” He slid a look her way. “And…what?” She’d made him wait three days, and punitive or not, he wasn’t in any hurry to put her out of her misery. Plus, when he did, it was likely to be that much more fun. “You’re going to make me spell it out, aren’t you? Don’t you realize it was hard enough just putting it in writing?” “I accept your lovely invitation,” he said, then added, “I only have one caveat.” Her relief turned to wary suspicion as she eyed him. “Oh? And that would be?” “Will you wear the crinolines?

When she added that graduates were known for having a “natural physical endowment,” Darby could have sworn she looked right at her, and not in a good way. What the heck did that mean? Pretty? Buxom? She’d pulled her shoulders back and sat up straighter. The classes were tedious, for the most part: typing, shorthand, communication, and spelling tests.

Besides, she was always the type to dig in, to nest. What made Rose happiest was sitting in a comfy armchair on a rainy day, reading a good book. Crossing China by train or driving the Mongolian deserts paled in comparison. She was a homebody at heart, like her father. Unsure of

feel a rush of something. Pride, I think. I’m not always good at naming my feelings – it’s something I used to practice

Claire felt a change happening within herself as well. Her heart had begun to mend – as hearts will do if they are given enough exposure to time and the kindness of good friends – and as it mended, it transformed into something new. The hard lesson that she’d learned had forced her to reflect on the person she really was, and on the person she wanted to be, and she discovered a new core of resolve within herself.

Her description of her marriage is affectionate but also coolly rational. “It works because we do enough apart and together, and he is a very good and decent person. I had the benefit of having done divorce law for quite a long time before I got married, so I could see who turns up in filing cabinets. Bottom line is, kind means everything.

You are the love of my life, Luce. You are the happy ending I'm always finding for my clients. You are the breath of fresh air that makes me feel alive. You are all I want. All the good and the bad, I'm here, I'll help shoulder the burden, because you are worth it. All of it I love you. I want you. I'm here.

SUZY BYRNE: I remember being at Lesbian Lives in the early 2000s where people were criticising the way in which the debate was taking place, who was leading it, that it was very male, and that it didn’t look at the diversity of relationships within the community. There was a narrative of what I would have identified as ‘the Good Gay’ … gay and lesbian couples that are monogamous, buy houses and fit in with everybody else. It became very conservative. I’m firmly in favour of marriage equality, but I want to see other forms of relationships recognised. But there’s an awful lot of conservatism and tut-tutting – not just in Ireland, it’s happening internationally, where everybody now sees marriage equality as the thing to go for because it fits into a model of the family. And I very naively maybe thought we would have a range of relationship formations recognised. The Irish Council for Civil Liberties produced a document that Fiona de Londras, Marie Mulholland and people in the ICCL worked on, which had a range of relationship recognition options in it. We don’t talk about those things anymore.

FIONA DE LONDRAS: We have lots of things that are very good about having a referendum on the constitution. The fact that the constitution should reflect our values, and so on, but what’s the flip side? What’s the cost? When we have a referendum like this, we literally have to stand in front of our friends, family, neighbours and say, ‘Recognise me.’ The risk is that they say no. And that causes problems; that’s hard; there’s a massive social cost to that. And me or you, we can do it, but we’re used to it, this is part of the give and take of our everyday life. We are not the typical person who needs this. We’re the atypical person. So I think about the 14-year-old in school who’s listening to this stuff on the radio. Or the 65-year-old closeted farmer in the middle of Cavan. And people are talking about us, and it’s our lives and it’s part of our lives we have no control over. That’s a massive cost. Most things are not about a core attribute of a person. That cost has arisen when we had an abortion referendum, when we had that egregious citizenships referendum, that must’ve been what it felt like for people then too. But where there was another option, I cannot fully comprehend why the government would have asked us to bear this social cost. Now, the social benefit that comes afterwards in enormous, because we’ve all these vulnerabilities we’ve exposed ourselves to, and our fellow citizens say, ‘You’re equal,’ and that is good. And it will give a level of democratic legitimacy that a Supreme Court wouldn’t give. But my God, it’s going to cost.

It’s not his fault – it’s the fault of the war, the fault of the unkindness in this world, the fault of cruelty and injustice, the fault of my papa’s good heart, which meant he couldn’t just sit by and watch while people were persecuted and humiliated for their faith.

We rode back slowly and I took some deep breaths of the country air, which smelled so good – of the horses, and the leather of their tack, and the faint scent of blossom from a line of almond trees that we passed.

Finding shared ground with fellow Christians is a valuable enterprise. Restoration scriptures teach repeatedly of a universal Church comprising all those who “come unto Christ,” including “holy men” and women Joseph “[knew] not of,” a community culled from all ages and cultures.2 Those same scriptures admonish us to seek after the truth in “all good books, . . . languages, tongues, and people,” as well as in scriptural records not belonging to the standard works, such as the Apocrypha.3 The Restoration scriptures encourage us as individuals and as a Church community to seek after good everywhere and make it a part of our religion. “The grand fundamental principle of Mormonism is to receive truth let it come from where it may.”4 As the Prophet Joseph Smith stated: If the Methodists, Presbyterians, or others have any truth, then we should embrace it. One must “get all the good in the world” if one wants to “come out a pure Mormon.”5

Temperance fixed a smile on her face as she greeted the Henshalls.

may surprise you,’ he urged. Lily’s eyes no longer smiled. Now their licorice darkness reflected only bitterness. ‘It’s not a matter of me finding the courage, Jack. I know my parents. They won’t surprise me. They’re very predictable. They’re also traditional and as far as they’re concerned, I’m as good as engaged … no, married! And they approve of Jimmy.’ Her expression turned glum. ‘All that’s missing are the rings and the party.’ ‘Lily, risk their anger or whatever it is you’re not prepared to provoke but don’t do this.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘Forget me. I’m not important. I’m talking about the rest of your life, here. From what I can see of my friends and colleagues, marriage is hard enough without the kiss of death of not loving your partner.’ ‘It’s not his fault, Jack. You don’t understand. It’s complicated. And in his way, Jimmy is very charismatic.’ Jack didn’t know Professor James Chan, eminent physician and cranio-facial surgeon based at Whitechapel’s Royal London Hospital, but he already knew he didn’t much like him. Jack might be sleeping with Lily and loving every moment he could share with her, but James Chan had a claim on her and that pissed Jack off. Privately, he wanted to confront the doctor. Instead, he propped himself on one elbow and tried once more to reason with Lily. ‘It’s not complicated, actually. This isn’t medieval China or even medieval Britain. This is London 2005. And the fact is you’re happily seeing me … and you’re nearly thirty, Lily.’ He kept his voice light even though he felt like shaking her and cursing. ‘Are you asking me to make a choice?’ He shook his head. ‘No. I’m far more subtle. I’ve had my guys rig up a camera here. I think I should show your parents exactly what you’re doing when they think you’re comforting poor Sally. I’m particularly interested in hearing their thoughts on that rather curious thing you did to me on Tuesday.’ She gave a squeal and punched him, looking up to the ceiling, suddenly unsure. Jack laughed but grew serious again almost immediately. ‘Would it help if I —?’ Lily placed her fingertips on his mouth to hush him. She kissed him long and passionately before replying. ‘I know I shouldn’t be so answerable at my age but Mum and Dad are so traditional. I don’t choose to rub it in their face that I’m not a virgin. Nothing will help, my beautiful Jack. I will marry Jimmy Chan but we have a couple more weeks before I must accept his proposal. Let’s not waste it arguing and let’s not waste it on talk of love or longing. I know you loved the woman you knew as Sophie, Jack. I know you’ve been hiding from her memory ever since and, as much as I could love you, I am not permitted to because I’m spoken for and you aren’t ready to be in love again. This is not a happy-ever-after situation for us. I know you enjoy me and perhaps could love me but this is not the right moment for us to speak of anything but enjoying the time we have, because neither of us is available for anything beyond that.’ ‘You’re wrong, Lily.’ She smiled sadly and shook her head. ‘I have to go.’ Jack sighed. ‘I’ll drop you back.’ ‘No need,’ Lily said, moving from beneath the quilt, shivering as the cool air hit her naked body. ‘I have to pick up Alys from school. She’s very sharp and I don’t need her spotting you – especially as she’s had a crush on you since you first came into the flower shop.’ Suddenly she grinned. ‘If you hurry up, at least we can shower together!’ Jack leaped from the bed and dashed to the bathroom to turn on the taps. He could hear her laughing behind him but he felt sad. Two more weeks. It wasn’t fair – and then, as if the gods had decided to punish him further, his mobile rang, the ominous theme of Darth Vader telling him this was not a call he could ignore. He gave a groan. ‘Carry on without me,’ he called to Lily, reaching for the phone. ‘Hello, sir,’ he said, waiting for the inevitable apology

Her heart had begun to mend – as hearts will do if they are given enough exposure to time and the kindness of good friends

To Jane it felt in that heartbeat that she was witnessing every good thing that could happen to a person: sunlight, warmth, safety, sensual pleasure, emotional delight, and an inexplicable joy that comes with the happiness of knowing you love this person and that you are loved in return.

Conventional interpreters of atonement’s roots have seen the word as indicating “to cover.” Mary Douglas, however, notes that while the Hebrew root k-p-r can mean “to cover or recover,” it has a more complex meaning: “to repair a hole, cure a sickness, mend a rift, make good a torn or broken covering. . . . Atonement does not mean covering a sin so as to hide it from the sight of God; it means making good an outer layer which has rotted or been pierced” (our emphases).36 In other words, atonement means “to heal.” Margaret Barker agrees that the Hebrew k-p-r, translated as “atone,

The sea breezes are good for the health of grapes as well as people

Thank you to Fiona Fischer and Brooke Nowiski for your patience, organization, attention to detail, and for helping make the rest of us look good.

Merry Go Round – Kasey Musgraves West Coast – Lana Del Rey Whore – In This Moment Ocean Eyes – Billie Eilish Hot Girl Bummer - blackbear Bad Guy – Billie Eilish Teeth – 5 Seconds of Summer Hate Me – Ellie Goulding ft. Juice World 99 Problems – Hugo Burning House – Cam Walk Away – Five Finger Death Punch All the Good Girls Go to Hell – Billie Eilish Bath Salts – Highly Suspect Criminal – Fiona Apple Idfc – blackbear

The world, with its endless distinctions, wasn’t a place you lived inside of, as he’d thought; instead, you walked and ran and bowled upon it, individually, as Henry did. The most important division, Billy came to feel, was that between talent and mediocrity: a boy was either good at cricket, or he wasn’t.

I'm Fiona Goode. I'm in charge everywhere.

Fiona and her friends moved over to the bar. She loved the energy of all this. She loved being in a room full of people who were searching for fun, for excitement, people who had dressed for good times, people who wanted to make tonight

Mon Dieu, that’s good hot chocolate. What’s in it?’ ‘The secret is to put a couple of cinnamon sticks in with the milk as you heat it. It adds that certain je ne sais quoi.

What made Rose happiest was sitting in a comfy armchair on a rainy day, reading a good book.

Luca stepped away and turned around to give Cass privacy. She wrestled out of her waterlogged dress and slipped the fresh chemise over her head. She tugged the skirt over her hips. The dry fabric felt good against her skin. She slipped her arms through the sleeves of her bodice and stopped. The ties were in the back. She had no way to lace it without Siena’s help. A sob escaped from her lips. Luca was at her side in an instant. “Cass. What is it?” he asked. “Are you hurt?” “I need Siena,” Cass whispered, feeling incredibly stupid. “I--I can’t lace this bodice. I--” “I’ll help you,” Luca said. With slow, fumbling fingers, Luca threaded the first lace through the highest hole. He dropped it and grabbed the lace on the other side. Cass started to tell him it was faster if he threaded one lace through all of the holes first, and then did the same on the other side. But she stopped. There was something comforting about Luca’s painstakingly slow progress, about the methodical but innocent way his hands grazed her back repeatedly. “Thank you,” Cass said, when he had made it all the way to the bottom and knotted the silk pieces in a clumsy bow.

Starling, I haven’t stopped thinking of you--I can’t. I know that you are engaged and want to do right by your family, but you and I belong together. Call it fate if you like. I prefer to think of it as the natural order of things. Just as mixing ochre and sapphire produces the most vibrant green, you and I, when combined, become more alive. I’ve stopped doing business with Angelo de Gradi. I’ve left that life behind. I’m working as an artist in residence for a wealthy patron now. The work she has me do is a bit pedestrian, but perhaps it will lead to bigger projects. I meant what I said. One day I will paint whole chapels for you. I spend every waking minute becoming a better artist, a better man. One day I will offer you the life you deserve, the life we both desire. One day I’ll be good enough, or I’ll die trying…

Luca would make the perfect husband. He was handsome and kind and smart, a good man, from a well-established Venetian family. And he loved her. He loved her so much, he would die for her; he had proven that already. But Falco was…Falco. Just the taste of his name on her lips made Cass a little dizzy. Her situation was hopeless: betrothed to one man, wildly in love with another.

Cass returned her attention to the pendant. As she struggled to work the tiny clasp behind her neck, she thought about the day Luca had given it to her. She’d been in the garden, reading, when he had come around the front of the house, a pale lily cradled in his hands. “Grazie,” she’d said when he rested the lily next to her on the bench. Her eyes had flipped back to her book. She didn’t mean to ignore him, but she was at a good part in her story. “Cass.” He’d angled his head toward the back of the garden, where roses bloomed in the wooden trellis. Stuck among them was another pale pink lily. Cass had arched an eyebrow, but then given in and closed her book. She and Luca had played this game when she was younger, both at his family palazzo and at Agnese’s. Luca used to hide little presents for her and mark the hiding spots with lilies. A smile playing across her lips, Cass got up to look at the second pink lily that he had poked into the trellis. Behind the delicate petals, a gold box was tied to the wood. Inside it, this necklace. Cass remembered the soft touch of Luca’s hands and the tickle of his breath on her skin as he bent low to work the tiny clasp.

I was sneaking her a bit of breakfast when I saw the messenger approaching. She’s fine. Bored, but fine.” “Good. Now help me get dressed before Donna Domacetti arrives and starts telling lurid tales without me.

Luca exhaled deeply, touching his forehead to hers. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Cass.” His voice threatened to break apart on the last word. He reached his other hand up to stroke Cass’s cheek with a single fingertip. “I don’t want you to die,” Cass whispered. A droplet of sweat fell from her chin and landed on the dusty floor in front of the cell. Inside of her, a wound opened, spilling sadness and rage throughout her body. Luca was brave. Luca was innocent. Luca would never let her rot away in a prison cell. Their fingers were still intertwined, their foreheads touching. Connected. So close. Their eyelashes practically weaving together. Cass realized she could kiss him. She could just tilt her head slightly and their lips would meet. For the first time she wanted to. She wanted to show him that she cared for him, that she was a good and decent woman, not the kind of person who would just let him die because it was convenient to do so. Luca reached up with his free hand again. Cass felt certain he was going to angle her mouth toward his. Her eyelids started to flutter closed, but then stopped when she felt a point of pressure against her throat. She realized her cloak had fallen open, and that her lily pendant was exposed. Luca was touching it. “I’m so glad you’re wearing it,” he whispered, his voice growing hoarse. “It’ll be something for you to remember me by.

Luca stood, backlit by the moon, a sword dangling from his belt. A leather vest hung open over his plain shirt, and a cloth bag dangled from one hand. Cass opened her mouth to speak, but Maximus found words before her. “Signore? Is everything all right?” he asked. A small wave crashed up onto the rocks, soaking his boots and breeches. “Rowan suggested I return with the two of you. He thought a proper meal and a night’s rest in a real bed would do me more good than another half day of training.” Luca looked questioningly at Cass. “If that’s all right with you, of course.” “I’m certain Octavia could find you a place to sleep at Palazzo Dolce…if that’s all right with you,” she said slowly. Luca was not the kind of man who bedded down in brothels. Cass worried he might think ill of her once he saw where she had been staying. Still, he stood before her with his arm outstretched, and she would not turn him away. “Anything would be an improvement over sleeping outside on the hard ground and eating the same beans every day,” Luca said, his mouth tilting into a shy smile. Maximus chuckled. “Welcome to my childhood,” he said. “I haven’t been able to stomach a plate of beans since I came of age.

As she passed through the wrought-iron gate, she found herself walking the same path she had walking the night she went to bid good-bye to Liviana. The night she had found Mariabella’s body and met Falco. The night her whole life had changed forever.

“Fire rages neither for good nor evil. A neutral force, it destroys everything in its path.” -THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

I didn’t come here to ruin your wedding, Cassandra.” Falco smiled crookedly. “When I saw you with Luca, it looked to me as if you were where you were supposed to be. I suppose I just had to lay eyes on you one last time to be certain, you understand?” “Oh, Falco.” Cass dropped his hands and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I will never forget you,” she murmured. “Nor I, you,” Falco said after they had broken apart. “I’m returning to Florence, but I truly hope our paths cross again.” He turned to leave, but then stopped. “Tell Luca that he’d better take good care of you. If he hurts you, I’ll come back for him.” He winked. “I’ll come back for both of you.” Cass watched his form retreat. As he turned into the hallway, she called out to him. “Falco.” He glanced back. “Yes?” “You can stay if you like,” she said. “For the wedding.” Falco smiled slightly. “I feel as if I’ve overstayed my welcome as it is.

I know how strong you are, Cassandra, but I hate the thought of leaving your side even for an instant. Perhaps we’re crazy to fight the Order by ourselves. Perhaps you should remain here and I should take the pages we have to the Senate and ask them to hear my testimony.” Cass’s mother had stolen pages from the Book of the Eternal Rose and left them in the Caravello tomb for Cass to find, but they weren’t enough to implicate Dubois or Belladonna. Cass shook her head vehemently. “Don’t be ridiculous. Dubois owns the Senate. They wouldn’t hear your testimony. They’d probably execute you immediately.” Leaning close to Luca, she ran her fingers through his hair and then pressed her lips to his cheek. “I risked the world to get you back.” She thought of Siena and Agnese. “I have lost everything else that matters. I will not lose you too.” Luca turned toward her. Cradling her face with one hand, he closed the gap between them until his forehead rested against hers. “I never imagined you…” “What?” Cass whispered, the soft word melding with Luca’s breath. The sharp smell of the theriac balm tickled her nose. She could see the beginnings of a beard already growing out on his cheeks. “Wouldn’t want you to die?” He leaned away so that he could look into her eyes. “That you would look at me as you are, and speak in this manner. Not as if you’d feel responsible if something happened to me, but as if you’d feel…lost.” Cass felt her heart opening. It was like Luca had put into words something she hadn’t been able to herself. “Without you, I would be lost,” she admitted. He tilted her chin upward. Softly, he pressed his lips to hers. Reaching up into her bonnet, he buried one of his hands in her hair. Without breaking the embrace, she yanked the hat from her head. Luca’s grasp tightened on her hair, and pleasure raced through her body. He tried to pull her into his lap using only his good arm, but ended up half dragging her across the wooden crate. The medicinal ointments went flying onto the floor, the containers rolling across the wet stones with a clatter.