“I don’t know how to dance to your songs,” he said. “I don’t have the esteem of your friends. I don’t use seventeen pieces of silverware at dinner.” He let go of her hair, and it billowed out, catching in the wind once more. “I have no means of expanding your inheritance.” He knew he was walking a fine line, reminding her of the reasons they made no sense. That this charade they were playing was a weak one. But if the goal was to be vulnerable, to entice her to be vulnerable, too, he needed to speak the truth. “People like you are impossible,” she said. “I don’t care about those things.” He almost rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.” “Then why are we here? If I’m so shallow—all trappings and no substance—what are you doing with me? Why would someone like you want someone like me?” Gideon opened his mouth to respond, only he didn’t know the answer. He studied her, hair ablaze in the setting sun. Gray eyes like molten steel.”
―
Kristen Ciccarelli,
Heartless Hunter