Can't you just thank me and get over it?"
"Thank you." I waited, fuming and expectant.
"You're not going to let it go, are you?"
"No."
"In that case . . . I hope you enjoy disappointment."
We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.
"Why did you even bother?" I asked frigidly.
He paused, and for a brief moment his stunning face was unexpectedly vulnerable.
"I don't know," he whispered.

Autore: Stephenie Meyer