Mai tried, and failed, to stifle a bout of nervous giggles as he kissed her hand. Logically, this was the furthest thing from romantic. But logical wasn't the word for eyes like that, for a smile that set her stomach all to fluttering and shot lightning up her spine. Such a lovely change of pace, compared to men who couldn't even be bothered to pretend, not even a little and not even for a moment.
It wasn't asking that much, really, to wish that they'd pretend. Her brother's bafflement puzzled her so much, when he should have known better than anyone how much a person could appreciate being lied to.
"Pleasure to meet you, Alder," she said, all wide smiles and glee. It faltered on his name, because though she did not have much of an accent, her instinct with his name was to go too short on the last syllable, to gloss over the vowel. Just the slightest bit off, but she could tell and it irritated her. She might have been able to get the hang of it, but standing around saying his name repeatedly seemed unbelievably awkward. More awkward, rather.
Biting down on her lower lip as he went to make their arrangement official, she realized she'd been twisting her left braid around her fingers. Ordinarily she fidgeted with her bracelets, but her subconscious seemed to make some kind of distinction between idle and anxious fidgeting. She took his arm as soon as it was offered, and it took her two steps to match his every one.
That nervous giggling escaped her again at his question; his curiosity made it feel less staged, less arranged. A real question, asked by a real person. "Where I live…" Oh, but this was going to be very difficult to explain for any number of reasons, and only some of them were cultural. "Dinétah has all sorts of eligible men," she said, "but I don't much care for them, and I have a hunch they don't really like me either."
A little sad to have to let him go, she held her dress as she sat to keep it from sliding higher on her legs. "There may have been a – slight – misunderstanding. On the part of my clan. Regarding some meetings I was having with men that would been very, ah, not allowed. If that was why I'd been meeting them. But I wasn't." It seemed a bit silly to want to make certain a gigolo didn't think she'd been sleeping with scavengers. "So they got it in their heads that I'd gone some kind of man-crazy, and when trying to get me safe and married didn't work, my brother thought. Well. He thought he'd get it out of my system with a man he could pay to leave after."
She rubbed her hands over her cheeks, as if she could somehow cool them with her fingers after this lengthy and embarrassing confession. "I could have just explained how they were wrong, but at first I thought they'd give up after too long, and then when my brother had this idea… I don't get to go out much. Niyol, he goes whoring all the time, but when a woman leaves the reservation it's a whole thing so having an excuse was. Being able to have Niyol take care of all the arrangements to go out, normally he'd never. I wasn't actually planning to – bilagáana aren't – this whole plan has sort of gone all sideways on account of you're pretty." She ducked her face downward in such a way that she could hide it behind the rim of her bowler, disguising a look as if she were flinching away from the literal death by mortification that surely approached.
It wasn't asking that much, really, to wish that they'd pretend. Her brother's bafflement puzzled her so much, when he should have known better than anyone how much a person could appreciate being lied to.
"Pleasure to meet you, Alder," she said, all wide smiles and glee. It faltered on his name, because though she did not have much of an accent, her instinct with his name was to go too short on the last syllable, to gloss over the vowel. Just the slightest bit off, but she could tell and it irritated her. She might have been able to get the hang of it, but standing around saying his name repeatedly seemed unbelievably awkward. More awkward, rather.
Biting down on her lower lip as he went to make their arrangement official, she realized she'd been twisting her left braid around her fingers. Ordinarily she fidgeted with her bracelets, but her subconscious seemed to make some kind of distinction between idle and anxious fidgeting. She took his arm as soon as it was offered, and it took her two steps to match his every one.
That nervous giggling escaped her again at his question; his curiosity made it feel less staged, less arranged. A real question, asked by a real person. "Where I live…" Oh, but this was going to be very difficult to explain for any number of reasons, and only some of them were cultural. "Dinétah has all sorts of eligible men," she said, "but I don't much care for them, and I have a hunch they don't really like me either."
A little sad to have to let him go, she held her dress as she sat to keep it from sliding higher on her legs. "There may have been a – slight – misunderstanding. On the part of my clan. Regarding some meetings I was having with men that would been very, ah, not allowed. If that was why I'd been meeting them. But I wasn't." It seemed a bit silly to want to make certain a gigolo didn't think she'd been sleeping with scavengers. "So they got it in their heads that I'd gone some kind of man-crazy, and when trying to get me safe and married didn't work, my brother thought. Well. He thought he'd get it out of my system with a man he could pay to leave after."
She rubbed her hands over her cheeks, as if she could somehow cool them with her fingers after this lengthy and embarrassing confession. "I could have just explained how they were wrong, but at first I thought they'd give up after too long, and then when my brother had this idea… I don't get to go out much. Niyol, he goes whoring all the time, but when a woman leaves the reservation it's a whole thing so having an excuse was. Being able to have Niyol take care of all the arrangements to go out, normally he'd never. I wasn't actually planning to – bilagáana aren't – this whole plan has sort of gone all sideways on account of you're pretty." She ducked her face downward in such a way that she could hide it behind the rim of her bowler, disguising a look as if she were flinching away from the literal death by mortification that surely approached.
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