A story isn't a charcoal sketch, where every stroke lies on the surface to be seen. It's an oil painting, filled with layers that the author must uncover so carefully to show its beauty. — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Copy Share Image
The first time I kissed you, you had just cut off your hair with a plastic knife. You were in restraints and your lips… — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Copy Share Image
“Days and weeks and years. My brother never returned last night. Days and weeks and years. How long until their assassins find me? Danica… — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Copy Share Image
The only way I can protect him now is to make sure he never understands how easy killing can become. — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Copy Share Image
“Betia kissed my forehead. "I won't leave unless you ask me to. I-" Her lips touched mine chastely. "The future will come. I will… — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Copy Share Image
I wish to you sunshine, my dear one, my dear one. And treetops for you to soar past. I wish to you innocence, my… — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Copy Share Image
I could not cry for my own brother; he would not want me to. But I found myself crying for this hated stranger and… — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Copy Share Image
“My cousin tried to kill me today," he said. He realized that his voice held an edge of hysteria. "She nearly succeeded. But I… — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Copy Share Image
“Every moment of every day, she had fought to keep his face out of her mind, and his voice out of her head, had… — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Copy Share Image
“I’m not asking for anything beyond your company in sleep. Just let me rest with the sound of your heartbeat beside mine.” — Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Copy Share Image
