***
“Well,” Francesca said, combing out her hair. She wore it up every day, and Ran-Del rather enjoyed watching her comb it out every night. It came almost to her shoulders now. “I’m happy you’re back in time for Julie’s wedding.”
Sitting on the bed, Ran-Del recalled the bored man on Francesca’s terminal screen the day of the flyter crash. The man had shown no interest in recording their union until he had learned Francesca’s rank. “Why do I need to be here for that? No one was even in the room for our wedding.”
She kept her face composed, but Ran-Del felt a familiar stab of grief from her. “That wasn’t typical. If Pop hadn’t died, we would have had a big wedding—several witnesses for the actual ceremony, and a huge party afterwards.”
Ran-Del held in a sigh. He had hated his engagement party and this party could be worse. “When is this wedding?”
She gave him a look that told him he should have known the answer. She must have told him before and he had forgotten. “The day after tomorrow.”
At least he wouldn’t miss work since he would start the day after that. “You didn’t ask me what Georges wanted.”
She turned her head. “Wasn’t it for you to work for him today?”
Ran-Del felt a surge of pride. “Not just today. Georges offered me a full time job.”
Her expression never changed, but he could feel conflicting emotions. She was a little bit glad and a little bit annoyed. “Did you take the job?”
“Yes.”
She turned to face him as he leaned back on the bed. “Why?”
“Why not?” Ran-Del said, irked that she wasn’t more pleased. “I need a job. Why not take one when it was offered?”
“I’m glad you’re finding your way here in Shangri-La, but why do you need a full time job?” She tapped the brush on her palm in a nervous gesture. “I have more than enough money for both of us?”
Ran-Del sat up. “I told you I won’t take your money, and I meant it.”
“You live here,” Francesca said, “and you wear clothes I paid for—Hayden paid for. What’s the difference?”
“I live here because you’re here. Sansoussy clothes would cause too much talk, and I can hardly go naked. But when I need new clothes, I’ll buy my own.”
Francesca threw down her hairbrush and stood up, exuding panic. “Ran-Del Jahanpur, don’t you dare go shopping at some cheap retail store to buy clothes. The clerk will tell you a purple serge suit looks wonderful, when in fact, it makes you look like a used flyter salesman.”
Ran-Del tried not to sneer. “Clothes aren’t important.”
She snorted with disbelief. “Then why did you get upset when I started to wear my usual party clothes at our engagement party?”
It always unsettled him when she made a convincing argument against his principles. “That was different.”
“Look, I’ll give you a veto over my clothes if you let me provide yours. Please, Ran-Del?”
Ran-Del hesitated.
Francesca pressed on. “I accept your help. I ask you to come to business meetings with me when I need to know if anyone’s lying or trying to trick me. I don’t pay you anything for that, do I?”
“I’m your husband,” Ran-Del said, offended by the suggestion. “You shouldn’t have to pay me.”
“Then you shouldn’t have to think twice about wearing clothes I give you. It cuts both ways, remember?”
The phrase resonated in Ran-Del’s memory. ‘You’ve used that expression before, when you said you’d be faithful if I was.”
She smiled, but he could tell she was more on edge than amused. “That’s right, I did. By the way, were you?”
“Was I what?” Ran-Del asked, confused.
“Faithful,” Francesca said, sitting down on the bed next to him. “If I asked how was Bettine, would I be asking solely about her health?”
Ran-Del recalled his shock at seeing Bettine’s sleek body swollen with pregnancy. “Bettine’s very pregnant with Grandfather’s baby—halfway though her term. Somehow, I didn’t have quite the same kind of thoughts when I saw her again.”
Francesca looked dubious. “Really? That’s pretty quick, especially at your grandfather’s age. He must be hot stuff if she’s that pregnant already.”
Ran-Del smiled reluctantly. It was still difficult to think of anyone but his grandmother sharing his grandfather’s bed. “He attributes it to acorn flower.”
“What’s acorn flower?”
Ran-Del lifted his brows, surprised she didn’t know. A few grams of dried acorn petals could buy a dirk or a small cooking pot. But perhaps the peddlers sold the ground powder in the city without disclosing what it was. “It’s the flower of the silver oak. It’s bright green and grows all up the trunk in the spring time. If you pick the flowers at just the right time, right before the acorns drop from them, and you dry the petals completely and then grind them up, it makes a powder that makes a man both ready and able to perform sexually.”
Francesca’s eyebrows went up. He could sense a spark of excitement. “Oh, Sansoussy powder! Did you happen to bring any back with you?”
“No,” Ran-Del said, offended. “Why? Do I need it?”
“How about if I let you know in an hour?” Francesca suggested, lying back on the bed.
Ran-Del leaned over her, almost but not quite touching her. Her desire rose up like heat from her body. He had missed this during his visit to his family. “You’ll know in less than an hour.”
Francesca put her arms around his neck and sighed. “I’m glad you’re back. Four days is a long time.”
“I know. It came to me last night, when I was trying to sleep.”
Francesca pulled him down on top of her. “I’m glad you missed me, anyway,” she said, her voice muffled as she buried her face in his shirt.
The Sixth Discipline Page 63