He disappeared into the cabin. When I was sure he was gone, I made my way inside, too. I heard Elodie and Colette talking in the other room, and I paced the three steps from the bedroom area to the kitchen. I grabbed a handful of dark red cherries from a bowl and sat at the breakfast bar, plucking the stems off them and rolling them around on the counter in little agitated circles. Across the deck, I watched the turquoise water of the Mediterranean turn orange from the setting sun.
“What did that fruit do to you?”
I frowned up at Stellan and then cursed when a cherry squished under my fingers, spraying bloodred juice across the marble and onto the front of my dress.
“Or maybe the better question is, What did Bishop do to you? What was that little fight about?”
It wasn’t a fight, I started to say, wiping at the cherry juice. “I don’t know,” I found myself saying instead, and then added quickly, “It wasn’t a fight. It’s none of your business.”
“Let me guess.” Stellan took one of my cherries and popped it in his mouth. “He’s worried about your safety, etcetera, etcetera.”
I wrinkled my nose. “We weren’t fighting,” I said again. I wanted it to be true. Jack was the one person I was sure I could trust. And if we disagreed so strongly about this, it meant one of two things I didn’t want it to mean. Either I couldn’t trust him as much as I thought—or he was right and I was going about this all wrong.
Stellan leaned on the counter across from me. “He wants to keep you safe. It’s sort of his thing, if you hadn’t noticed.”
I didn’t even bother looking up from my cherries.
“It’s valid,” he continued. “There could be people trying to kill you. And I’ve seen your sparring sessions. You’re not very good.”
I pushed my stool back and stalked across the room for a napkin. “Do you spy on everything I do?”
“You were training on this boat. Anyone with eyes was ‘spying’ on you.” Stellan sat at the table, resting one long arm across the back of the bench.
“I—” I didn’t know what to say in response, because he was right. “Just shut up.”
“If you ever need somebody else to train with,” Stellan said after a minute. “For whatever reason . . .”
“Thanks but no thanks,” I said.
“You know,” he said, “it’s remarkable to me that you are willing to train so much, to come up with all these dangerous, difficult schemes, but you’re not willing to even consider the way the Circle has interpreted the union for centuries.”
I tossed the napkin onto the mutilated fruit. “We’ve actually gotten really far with the clues, if you hadn’t noticed. Either way, I’m not marrying you.”
“Turned down before I could even propose,” Stellan sighed. “You’re going to give a guy a complex.”
“Do we have to go over this again?” But I couldn’t deny that the little voice in the back of my mind was wondering how much longer I could go before seriously considering it. This new clue left little doubt the union actually was important. Us getting married still made no sense in the context of unlocking the bracelets, but if nothing else worked . . . And what if it could get lots of people behind us, searching for my mom? What if it helped in finding the tomb after all? I knew marrying any other Circle members would do nothing, but with Stellan, there was a chance. An insane, far-fetched chance, but still a chance.
“If we did it—” It was the first time I’d ever said it out loud. “Not that we are, but if we did, it would mean outing yourself. Which we think they might accept if we came out together, but could also be dangerous.”
“I know. Trust me, I know.”
“And, you know, pledging your eternal love to me.” I opened a cupboard, surveying the huge amount of food Colette had.
“You do yourself a disservice if you think that’s as repulsive as you’re implying.” The boat rocked suddenly in what must have been the wake of another boat speeding by. “Plus, there’s the happy fact that the Circle’s wedding ceremony requires the marriage to be consummated immediately for it to be valid.”
I pulled out a jar of Nutella and a spoon and rolled my eyes. “No it doesn’t.”
“It does. It’s part of the ceremony—a holdover from medieval times. The priest and the families and a few special guests watch. To make sure it happens.”
I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth. “Are you serious?”
“Serious as you can be about live pornography.”
“So if the wedding with Luc had happened . . .”
Stellan nodded. I sat down heavily in the chair across from him.
“Have you ever seen . . . ?”
“Sadly, no,” he said. “Luc’s the only Dauphin child—well, he was until recently—and so there’s been no occasion for it.”
I rested my elbows on the table. “That doesn’t matter. We’re not getting married, so we won’t have to actually—” I waved one hand.
“I think that might be more offensive than saying no to the marriage part,” Stellan mused.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. After a few seconds, I said, “What if, hypothetically, we were to . . . pretend. Would they believe us if we said we’d gotten married?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’d be our word against any doubters. But if it was only pretend, we wouldn’t get the benefit of the union for finding the tomb. Or unlocking the bracelets.”
“If ‘union’ actually does mean ‘marriage.’” I drew my feet up onto the seat and wrapped my arms around my knees. As usual, this argument was going nowhere.