Miles was amazing. So amazing that every now and then I find myself actually focusing on the lines that he speaks and the lyrics he sings, while the rest of the time my mind is preoccupied with the fact that I'm about to lose my virginity—for the very first time—in four hundred years. I mean, it's so amazing to think that out of all of those incarnations, out of all the times we met and fell inlove, we never once managed to seal the deal. But tonight, all of that changes. Everything changes. Tonight we bury the past and move toward the future of our eternal love. When the curtain finally closes, we all get up and head for backstage. But just as we reach the back door, I turn to Damen and say, "Damn! We forgot to stop by the store and pick up some flowers for Miles." But Damen just smiles. Shaking his head as he says, "What're you talking about? We've got all the flowers we need right here."

I squint, wondering what he's up to, because according to my eyes, he's as empty-handed as I.

"What're you talking about?" I whisper, feeling that warm wonderful charge course through me as he places his hand on my arm.

"Ever," he says, an amused look on his face. '"Those flowers already exist on the quantum level. If you want to access them on a physical level, all you have to do is manifest them like I taught you to do." I glance all around, making sure no one's eavesdropping on our strange conversation and feeling embarrassed when I admit that I can't.

"I don't know how," I say, wishing he'd just make the flowers and get it over with already. This is really no time for a lesson.

But Damen's not buying it. "Of course you can. Have I taught you nothing?" I press my lips together and stare at the floor, because the truth is, he's tried to teach me plenty. But I'm a horrible student and I've slacked off so much it'll be better for both of us if I leave the manifesting of flowers to him.

"You do it," I say, wincing at the disappointment that transforms his face. "You're so much quicker than I am. If I try to do it, it'll turn into a big scene, people will notice, and then we'll be forced to explain."

He shakes his head, refusing to be swayed by my words. "How will you ever learn if you always rely on me?"

I sigh, knowing he's right but still not wanting to waste precious time trying to manifest a bouquet of roses that may or may not ever appear. All I want is to get the flowers in hand, tell Miles Bravo, and move on to the Montage and the rest of our plans. And a moment ago it seemed like he only wanted that too. But now he's gone all serious and professor like on me, and to be honest, it's kind of wrecking the mood. I take a deep breath and smile sweetly, my fingers crawling along the edge of his lapel when I say, "You're absolutely right. And I will get better, I promise. But I was thinking that maybe just this once, you could do it since you're so much quicker than I am—" I stroke the spot just under his ear, knowing he's this close to caving. "I mean, the sooner we get the bouquet, the sooner we can leave, and then..." And I'm not even finished before he's closing his eyes, his hand held before him as though gripping a spray of spring blooms, as I glance all around, making sure no one is watching, hoping to get this over with soon.

But when I look at Damen again, I start to panic. Because not only is his hand still empty, but a trail of sweat is coursing its way down his cheek for the second time in two days. Which wouldn't seem all that strange except for the fact that Damen doesn't sweat. Just like he never gets sick and never has off days, he also never sweats. No matter what the temperature outside, no matter what the task at hand, he always remains cool, calm, and perfectly able to handle whatever's before him. Until yesterday, when he failed to access the portal. And now, as he fails to manifest a simple bouquet for Miles. And when I touch his arm and ask if he's okay, I get only the slightest trickle of the usual tingle and heat.

"Of course I'm okay." He squints, raising his lids just enough to peer at me, before closing them tightly again. And even though our gaze was brief, what I glimpsed in his eyes made me grow cold and weak. Those were not the warm loving eyes I've grown used to. Those eyes were cold, distant, remote—just like I glimpsed earlier this week. And I watch as he focuses, his brow furrowed, his upper lip beaded with sweat, determined to get this over and done with so we can both move on to our perfect night. And not wanting this to drag on any further or repeat the other day when he failed to make the portal appear, I stand right beside him and close my eyes too. Seeing a beautiful bouquet of two dozen red roses clutched in his hand, inhaling their heady sweet scent while feeling the soft plush of petals that just happen to be mounted above long thorny stems—

"Ouch!" Damen shakes his head and brings his finger to his mouth, even though the wound is already healed long before it can get there. "I forgot to make a vase," he says, clearly convinced he made the flowers himself, and I have every intention of keeping it that way.

"Let me do it," I say, in an effort to please him. "You're absolutely right, I need the practice," I add, closing my eyes and envisioning the one in the dining room at home, the one with the complicated pattern of swirls and etches and luminous facets.

"Waterford crystal?" He laughs. "How much do you want him to think we spent on this thing?" I laugh too, relieved that all the weirdness is over and he's back to joking again. Taking the vase he thrusts into my hands as he says, "Here. You give these to Miles while I get the car and pull it around."