"It'll scare off the crows." "Shame on you," she chided. "I was just admiring your manly physique, not criticizing you." "You're not bad yourself," he murmured, smiling faintly as he ran his eyes over her body. "That burgundy thing you're wearing looks good on you." "Thank you," she said, surprised by the compliment. "It's called a leotard." "What are you going to get married in?" he asked between sips of coffee. "Well," she began, panting as she sat up and wiped her face with a towel, "I have a beige street-length dress-" "The hell you say," he interrupted hotly. She stared at him, uncomprehending. "What's the matter with you?" "White, that's what," he returned shortly. He put the cup down and kneeled beside her. "White. No beige or green or gray. You get married in a white dress." Her face colored. "I don't have the right anymore," she murmured. "It was me," he said levelly, although his eyes were flashing. "I remember exactly what you looked like, and how new it was to you.
