Quinn And Graham Quotes

Being here . . . meeting your mother and seeing where you came from and who you somehow turned out to be . . . it’s inspiring, Quinn. I don’t know how you did it, you selfless, amazing, incredible woman.” A lot of people can’t pinpoint the exact moment they fall in love with another person. I can. It just happened. And maybe it’s coincidence or maybe it’s something more, but Graham chooses this exact moment to press his forehead to mine and say, “I love you, Quinn.” I wrap my arms around him, grateful for every single part of him. “I love you, too.

I miss you, Quinn. So much. You’re right here, but you aren’t. I don’t know where you went or when you left, but I have no idea how to bring you back. I am so alone. We live together. We eat together. We sleep together. But I have never felt more alone in my entire life.

We loved each other by proxy, Mr. Graham. He loved me through a girl he saw once in Paris in 1918, and I loved him through his letters, but we hardly spent any time together. I don’t have any personal anecdotes about my husband. We didn’t have time to create any.

If you’ve read Colleen’s Hopeless trilogy (Hopeless, Losing Hope, and Finding Cinderella), you may notice a special cameo in the Epilogue. If you know Six’s story, what could this connection potentially mean for Quinn and Graham?

Graham,” she warned,tight-lipped, as he carried her up the stairs. “I’ve a dagger with me. Do not force me to use it on you.” “Aim fer my heart first, lass,” he said, his gaze fixed and hard on hers. “Fer I think it has turned traitor on me.” His heart? Dear God, she did not want to kill him! And why would he say such a thing to her? What the hell did he mean? Did it have something to do with his being here alone instead of off somewhere rutting with a serving wench?

If this is what our marriage is… if this is all it will ever be… just me and you… will that be enough? Am I enough for you, Quinn?” I’m confounded. Speechless. I stare at him in utter disbelief, unable to answer him. Not because I can’t. I know the answer to his question. I’ve always known the answer. But I stay silent because I’m not sure I should answer him. The silence that lingers between his question and my answer creates the biggest misunderstanding our marriage has ever seen. Graham’s jaw hardens. His eyes harden. Everything-even his heart-hardens. He looks away from me because my silence means something different to him than what it means to me.

He tried a different tack. “What could she do, one woman against two of us?” Nina stared. “You know me, and you ask what one woman can do?” “That’s different.” Because I’m a savage, she thought. Because to an honorable young man like Sebastian Graham, well educated and well meaning and knowing nothing at all about the female sex, a small woman with smooth hair and buffed nails simply did not register as dangerous.

Very funny,” Ian said, unamused. It had been the hardest thing to communicate to Nina five years ago when he proposed marriage—that he expected nothing from her, that he was honoring a debt and not looking to collect payment in return. The mere idea of pressing physical attentions on an illness-weakened, war-ravaged woman made him feel like a debaucher out of a Dickens novel. Nina had spent her wedding night in a hospital cot, and he’d spent his filling out paperwork in the name of Nina Graham so she could get to England as soon as she was released

He’s wondering if I saw him wipe the remnants of her off his mouth. Off his neck. He’s wondering if I saw him adjust his tie. He’s wondering if I saw him press his head to the steering wheel in dread. Or regret. He doesn’t bring his eyes back to mine. Instead, he looks down. “What’s her name?” I somehow ask the question without it sounding spiteful. I ask it with the same tone I often use to ask him about his day. How was your day, dear? What’s your mistress’s name, dear? Despite my pleasant tone, Graham doesn’t answer me. He lifts his eyes until they meet mine, but he’s quiet in his denial. I feel my stomach turn like I might physically be sick. I’m shocked at how much his silence angers me. I’m shocked at how much more this hurts in reality than in my nightmares. I didn’t think it could get worse than the nightmares. I somehow stand up, still clenching my glass. I want to throw it. Not at him. I just need to throw it at something. I hate him with every part of my soul right now, but I don’t blame him enough to throw the glass at him. If I could throw it at myself, I would. But I can’t, so I throw it toward our wedding photo that hangs on the wall across the room. In repeat the words as my wineglass hits the picture, shattering, bleeding down the wall and all over the floor. “What’s her fucking name, Graham?!” My voice is no longer pleasant. Graham doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t look at the wedding photo, he doesn’t look at the bleeding floor beneath it, he doesn’t look at the front door, he doesn’t look at his feet. He looks me right in the eye and he says, “Andrea.” As soon as her name has fallen from his lips completely, he looks away. He doesn’t want to witness what his brutal honesty does to me.

We walk around inside that house like everything is okay, but it’s not, Quinn. We’ve been broken for years and I have no idea how to fix us. I find solutions. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at. But I have no idea how to solve me and you. Every day I come home, hoping things will be better. But you can’t even stand to be in the same room with me. You hate it when I touch you. You hate it when I talk to you. I pretend not to notice the things you don’t want me to notice because I don’t want you to hurt more than you already do.” He releases a rush of air. “I am not blaming you for what I did. It’s my fault. I did that. I fucked up. But I didn’t fuck up because I was attracted to her. I fucked up because I miss you. Every day, I miss you. When I’m at work, I miss you. When I’m home, I miss you. When you’re next to me in bed, I miss you. When I’m inside you, I miss you.” Graham presses his mouth to mine. I can taste his tears. Or maybe they’re my tears. He pulls back and presses his forehead to mine. “I miss you, Quinn. So much. You’re right here, but you aren’t. I don’t know where you went or when you left, but I have no idea how to bring you back. I am so alone. We live together. We eat together. We sleep together. But I have never felt more alone in my entire life.” Graham releases me and falls back against his seat. He rests his elbow against the window, covering his face as he tries to compose himself. He’s more broken than I’ve ever seen him in all the years I’ve known him. And I’m the one slowly tearing him down. I’m making him unrecognizable. I’ve strung him along by allowing him to believe there’s hope that I’ll eventually change. That I’ll miraculously turn back into the woman he fell in love with. But I can’t change. We are who our circumstances turn us into. “Graham.” I wipe at my face with my shirt. He’s quiet, but he eventually looks at me with his sad, heartbroken eyes. “I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve been here this whole time. But you can’t see me because you’re still searching for someone I used to be. I’m sorry I’m no longer who I was back then. Maybe I’ll get better. Maybe I won’t. But a good husband loves his wife through the good and the bad times. A good husband stands at his wife’s side through sickness and health, Graham. A good husband- a husband who truly loves his wife - wouldn’t cheat on her and then blame his infidelity on the fact that he’s lonely.” Graham’s expression doesn’t change. He’s as still as a statue. The only thing that moves is his jaw as he works it back and forth. And then his eyes narrow and he tilts his head. “You don’t think I love you, Quinn?” “I know you used to. But I don’t think you love the person I’ve become.” Graham sits up straight. He leans forward, looking me hard in the eye. His words are clipped as he speaks. “I have loved you every single second of every day since the moment I laid eyes on you. I love you more now than I did the day I married you. I love you, Quinn. I fucking love you!” He opens his car door, gets out and then slams it shut with all his strength. The whole car shakes. He walks toward the house, but before he makes it to the front door, he spins around and points at me angrily. “I love you, Quinn!” He’s shouting the words. He’s angry. So angry. He walks toward his car and kicks at the front bumper with his bare foot. He kicks and he kicks and he kicks and then pauses to scream it at me again. “I love you!” He slams his fist against the top of his car, over and over, until he finally collapses against the hood, his head buried in his arms. He remains in this position for an entire minute, the only thing moving is the subtle shaking of his shoulders. I don’t move. I don’t even think I breathe. Graham finally pushes off the hood and uses his shirt to wipe at his eyes. He looks at me, completely defeated. “I love you,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “I always have. No matter how much you wish I didn’t.

group of tourists passed them. “We came with Amy and Woodrow Watson

Seja minha esposa Quinn, enfrente os momentos de categoria 5 comigo

Quinn.” Graham’s voice is against my ear, warm and quiet. “Quinn, wake up.” I open my eyes and pull away from his chest. He points behind me and says, “Look.” I half-turn and glance over at the alarm clock, right as it changes to midnight. Graham leans in to my ear and whispers, “It’s the eighth of August. Ten years later and we’re happily married. I told you so.” I sigh. “Why am I not surprised that you remembered that?

Graham,” I whisper. “I love you more in this moment than any moment that has come before it.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, the tears begin to fall from his eyes. “Quinn,” he says, holding my face. “Quinn…” It’s all he can say. He’s crying too hard to say anything else. He kisses me and I kiss him back with everything in me in an attempt to make up for all the kisses I denied him.

The higher Graham climbed in his career, the less he heard people’s honest opinions about anything that concerned him personally or his company’s affairs.

The only time we’re allowed to open this box before our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is if it’s an emergency.’ ‘What kind of emergency? Like…death?’ He shakes his head. ‘No a relationship emergency. Like…divorce.’ ‘Divorce?’ I hate that word. ‘Seriously?’ ‘I don’t see us needing to open his box for any other reason than to celebrate our longevity, Quinn. But, if one of us ever decides we want a divorce - if we’ve reached the point where we think that’s the only answer - we have to promise not to go through with it until we open this box and read these letters. Maybe reminding each other of how we felt when we closed the box will help change our minds if we ever need to open it early.’ ‘So this box isn’t just a keepsake. It’s also a marriage survival kit?’ Graham shrugs. ‘You could say that. But we have nothing to worry about. I’m confident we won’t need to open this box for another twenty-five years.

with

You may know me - I am Ella, and I have a salamander’s heart. Or I think so. I love my Graham, my billionaire prince, and my love started as a sweet love story. However, life brings new challenges. I will tell you my story, and you shall do nothing but listen to it. I hope such adventures and strange events will never happen to you, so please sit down, and listen to me.” Says Ella, the heroine of DREAMS.

I’m all for that suggestion.” “Don’t grin at me like that. We’re both keeling