Fumbling for what I hoped might be a safer topic, I asked, “How many people were you ‘assigned’ to before Persephone?”
His face went still again, remote. “A good number. But I don’t see how that has any bearing on what you and I are experiencing now.”
He was right; it really didn’t. To tell the truth, there was something surreal about sitting here on this graceful ship of his, with its feeling of a high-end hotel, and discussing our strange connection or attraction or whatever you wanted to call it as calmly as someone sitting down to have a consultation with their interior designer or something.
No, that wasn’t right. No interior designer I’d ever met had sent my heart racing the way mine did every time Raphael’s eyes locked on me.
I blurted, “So, how old are you?”
Surprisingly, he d
