"Yes."

"What about you?"

I eyed him. "I didn't get married last spring."

A smile turned up the edges of his lips. "What about next spring?"

"Are you offering?"

"Just checking. I heard my father say…"

I stopped walking near the edge of the market, so I could look him in the eye again. People and animals moved around us, and across a walkway I could see my father talking to a fruit vendor.

"Look," I said brusquely, "I heard my father say it too— how they're thinking about making a marriage between our families. It'd create good trade deals. But if you're trolling for that, you should talk to your father about one of my sisters, not me."

"What? Don't you want to get married?" His smile faltered. "Or is someone else lined up for you?"

I stared incredulously. "No, of course not. You just don't want to marry me, that's all."

"I don't?"

"No. You want one of my sisters."

"I do?"

"Yes. They're shorter, prettier, nicer—and softer spoken."

"Can they dance?"

I considered. "No. They're terrible."

His shy smile returned. "Then I want you."

"You're crazy. You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know anything about me. " Of course, in those days, most people knew little about their betrothed. What I found remarkable was his conviction that we were compatible.

"It doesn't matter. I can just tell that you're the one. Can't you feel it?"

I met his eyes and felt a shiver go through me, like I'd stumbled into something bigger and more powerful than both of us. For just a moment, I allowed myself to consider that this man from a highly respected family might legitimately be interested in me. It was a heady feeling, and not just from the honor involved. It was from the way he looked at me and spoke to me, like I was both worthy and an equal. Something built between us, drawing me to him, and it confused me.

"You don't know anything about me," I repeated quietly, my mouth feeling dry.

His tentative smile grew bolder. "I know plenty. I know that you dance and that you're smart—too smart, according to my father. And I know that your family is banned from Lais’ bakery because you called her daughter a—"

"That wasn't my fault," I interjected quickly. Across the way, my father caught sight of us. I held up a hand of greeting, and he impatiently gestured me over. "My father wants me."

Kyriakos cast an uncertain look over there and hastily turned back. If I was known for a sharp tongue, my father was reputed to be worse, and however love struck and brazen, Kyriakos apparently wasn't quite up to facing him yet. "I'll have my father talk to yours."

The earlier joking was gone; Kyriakos was all seriousness now. But there was more than just that. His eyes were looking at me in a way I'd never been looked at before. I felt hot, then cold, and then hot again. A tingle played along my flesh. I couldn't take my eyes away from his.

"This isn't about trade deals," I whispered.

"No. This is about you and me. You're the one."

I stared, uncharacteristically short on words. My shock now came more from that crazy feeling swirling inside of me, not from the preposterous nature of his proposal—one he shouldn't have even brought up without the involvement of our families. Later I'd learn what a leap this whole conversation had been for him. He was not given to long speeches or bold behavior. He said little, as a general rule, more content to express himself through his eyes and his music, and later…after we were married, his lovemaking.

"Look," he said, suddenly growing nervous as he misinterpreted my silence and expression, "I've saved. We can get a nice house. You won't have to live with so many people anymore. I'll be gone a lot, but you can probably run things and make deals better than me anyway. Not being able to buy bread will be problematic, but we might be able to afford a servant, or you can learn to—"

"Shut up," I said.

He stared. "What?"

"Just shut up. You're wasting time. Go tell your father to talk to mine. And," I added wryly, "I know how to make bread."

He caught his breath. "You're sure?"

"About the bread? Yes, I'm sure."

A slow smile bloomed across his face, spreading up into his eyes, making them smolder. I felt my pulse quicken and smiled back. Nothing else needed to be said. My father yelled again, and I ran off to join him.

Pondering this memory and what was now happening with Seth, I stared dazedly out the front window and caught sight of Jody checking the mail.

"Hey," I told Bastien. "I want to go say hi to her."

I ran outside and waved, making her break out into one of her big, beautiful smiles. To my surprise, she even hugged me.

"Ooh! I'm so glad to see you. How have you been?"

We exchanged a few pleasantries, and then she grabbed my arm excitedly. "Are you busy today? You want to go to the mall?"

To my surprise, that actually sounded like fun. More fun than listening to Bastien bitch and moan. "Sure."

"Great. I'll go tell Dana."

 CHAPTER 11

 When I went inside to relay this to Bastien a few minutes later, he took Dana's presence on the proposed shopping trip much better than I had.

"That's fantastic! More time for—"

"So help me, if you say 'reconnaissance,' I'm going to smack you. I'm only in this for the clothes."

"Fair enough. But this is a golden opportunity, and you know it. You can feel her out. Put in a good word for me, maybe. Something. Anything. I need this. But," he added, "don't do it at the cost of being…detrimental."

"Give me some credit here, all right? I understand the situation's gravity. I'll help you."

His roguish smile lit up his face, or rather, Mitch's face, which was kind of weird. "While you're at it, maybe you can brush up on your female bonding."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do a count of all your closest friends someday. I don't think you like female competition."

I made a face at him just as Jody and Dana showed up. They took me to some astonishing shopping nexus a couple of miles away. I couldn't believe that much retail space could be crammed indoors. We had a few enclosed shopping centers in Seattle, but nothing like this.

Browsing stores with Dana was about as horrible as I could have imagined. She eyed scantily dressed teenagers askance and spoke to a black saleswoman like an underling. Still, despite my distaste, I remembered my duty and attempted friendliness. Over and over, I tried to bolster Bastien's reputation.

"He's so into what your group's doing. He'd like to get more involved. Maybe you could come talk to him about it sometime."

Fortunately for "Mitch," these comments did elicit a warm response from her. Yes, she'd be happy to give Mitch some one-on-one time. Anything for the cause. How nice that he cared. Truly, he was a smart and compassionate man. Blah, blah, blah. She always enjoyed spending time with him.

Yet, despite this fleeting progress, her demeanor remained stiff, and her attention always shifted back to me. She peppered me with all sorts of questions, as if she were specifically probing for some key piece of information. She wanted to know what I did for a living. How close Bastien and I were. Where my "relationship" with Seth was going. What my take on the CPFV was. What my values—race, sexual orientation, etc.—were. I felt like I was being grilled, but she pushed on in that honeyed voice of hers. Despite her aloofness, she always managed to sound friendly and nonthreatening. I could see why she so enthralled her fans.

This isn't just curiosity, I realized. She doesn't trust me. Dana knew something was going on with Bastien and me, and now she was trying to figure it out. That was probably why he wasn't really getting anywhere; she was on to him. True, she probably didn't suspect a covert plan featuring an incubus, but I'm sure she had her share of more mundane enemies. She was on guard for such things, hence her skepticism about our cover stories. Bastien had no idea what he'd gotten us into.