"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.
