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I shrugged. “To get to know as much of the basics of the person you are with and maybe use to make them happy later. So, if they said they’re favorite food was pasta, then on a date one day, you’d make them pasta.”
“So, the questions are to gain leverage to use
for acts of affection later?” He stated, taking all the romance out of it.
“Sure.” I shook my head. “It’s not so much as you are forcing it. It doesn’t have to be all the time but just simple, spontaneous random acts throughout the period of time you are together.”
“May I ask questions then?” he said.
“They’re not supposed to be hard or very deep questions,” I said quickly.
“I understand. May I ask now?” He grinned at me.
I eyed him carefully but nodded. “Ask.”
“What is your favorite flower?”
“Pink cherry blossoms,” I said immediately but a little stunned at how normal the question was.
He nodded and then stood up, looking over the balcony. He pointed to the left of me. “And do you like this spot?”
“This spot? What do you mean? It’s all beautiful.”
“There,” he pointed again. “I shall plant ten thousand cherry blossoms for you.”
“Theseus!”
“Father planted a thousand rose bushes for my mother. She growled, complained, and even rolled her eyes when she first saw them, and yet, every year, she grins as if he’d given her the moon and the sun when they begin to bloom.” He placed his hands on my hips, pulling me closer. “I look forward to seeing what type of expression you shall make every season when they bloom.”
Once again, he was thinking of me, making me happy. “Are you tired of saying the most romantic things at the most opportune times? It’s very cliché.”
“Seeing how flustered and rattled you get,” he wrapped his arms around me, looking down at me. “Absolutely not.”
“I am not flustered.”
“Truly?”
“Truly—” Before I got to finish mocking him, his lips were on mine, and before I could lean into him, they were off, and he was grinning.
“Yes, I can see you are not flustered at all.”
“You—”
Knock.
We both turned toward the sound.
He let go of me, walking to the door. “Enter.”
Arsiein stepped inside, and again, I was struck at how young he looked. I hadn’t thought about it before, but his curly hair, tall, slim frame, and boyish face made him look like he was a member of some British boy band.
“Did Ulrik send you?” Theseus questioned.
“No,” he said with a frown. “It was Father. We have company coming, and Father wishes for us to greet them,” he stated, and Theseus frowned, glancing at me.
“Both of us?” he questioned.
“Yes. Wiccans of the Vyara are on their way here. They did not send word,” Arsiein answered, and Theseus’s face was deadly.
