“Why are you grinning like that?” her father asked defensively.
Beatrice gestured at T.W. and his companion. “Perhaps you and Miss Evertson would like to stand alongside us when Minister Bachs performs the ceremony?”
“A twofer,” added Jim.
“Stop that kind of talk,” said her father, who was unable to look her or the titan or the widow in the eye. “It’s inappropriate.”
Meredith leaned forward and surveyed T.W.’s face. “You are blushing.”
“I’m not. It’s just red in here.”
“The lights are yellow,” the smirking widow said while squeezing her companion’s hand. Presently, she looked up at the bride-to-be, who was still suspended her titan’s arms. “Your father tells me that you have an interest in painting.”
“I do.”
“I know that you will be very busy in the immediate future,”—her eyes went
