Both before being Awakened, and since, her luck with men had sucked rocks, to put it bluntly. Ethan was just one of several males who seemed drawn to her for some reason, and who all wanted to possess her rather than just love her. Her first serious encounter with Cassidy - the infamous incident at the Clam Bake - had told her he was no better, no different, and just as crazy-making as Ethan and the others had been.

Since then... since then he'd worked hard at trying to reassure her he didn't intend to possess, or over-power her and force her into a relationship and she'd appreciated it so much she couldn't even put it into words.

Her mind was running over all of this as she dressed for Baz and Tsura's wedding.

She was all too well aware that Cassidy's views on life were a lot like Baz's.  Marriage, children, bonding, happily ever after.  Irisa found it hard to believe in the happily ever after part. For Cassidy she wished she could. But, well, she was what she was.

She smoothed her dress, a simple thing, but of rich crushed velvet in a deep sapphire color and decided she'd do. She'd just slipped on her pumps and grabbed a hat when the doorbell rang.

He, of course was in a tux, it being a very formal wedding.  But he looked good in a tux, having the shoulders and height to carry it off without looking like a waiter wanting a tip.  As always he kissed her first and looked second.  "Very, very nice," he said.

She smiled. "You always say that. Just one time I'm going to wear something absolutely horrible so you won't be able to say it.  Maybe a dress made from someone's drapery and I'll call you Rhett. You already have the accent down, after all."

"Maybe, sweetheart, it isn't the clothes or even how you look in them that I'm liking," he said.

"Well, I'm liking what I see in that tux too," she replied, surprising him and moving into his arms. "I'm so happy for Tsura and Baz. Although I bet she's pretty terrified about now."

Cassidy laughed, pulling her closer.  "Baz is probably a bit anxious himself.  I think they'll both do fine, though."

"Oh, I agree. I'm sure they'll do fine. I wonder who dreamt up this whole torture routine they call a wedding day.  A test to see if you can endure that, because then aftewards you can endure anything?"

His smile shifted a bit, becoming puzzled.  "I thought women loved weddings, started planning theirs as soon as they knew what it was."

She laughed. "The London part is entirely Baz's idea. Tsura said in her family all they had to do was go to a party, announce their intentions and like that," she snapped her fingers, "they would be married."  She hesitated then added, "I suppose there are women who dream of a church wedding and plan it down to the last minute detail.  I don't remember ever thinking I'd have one at all, never mind something that was so elaborate."

"Never thought you'd get married?"

She shrugged. "At the time, I didn't think I'd ever fall in love."

"What do you think now?" he asked.

She gave it some thought. "Now... I think love might be possible. Maybe ... And that being loved is.."

"Is?" he prompted after a moment.

"Is frightening," she finished meeting his eyes. "It's frightening because I know I can hurt you. And I don't want to do that."

He kissed her gently, his lips just brushing hers.  "I know."

"Geez," she said after a moment, wiping away a tear, angrily. "What a conversation on a day that's supposed to be joyous for our friends."

"I'm joyous for them," he said, caressing her cheek.  "But we can change the subject if you want."

"Yes, let's.  I confess I'm looking forward to the parties.  And I expect you to dance with me."

He kissed her again, taking his time over it.  "So are you ready?"

"Yup, let's go have a great time."

He grinned and zapped them to the church, St. Georges, Hanover Square in London, long famous in romantic fiction as the venue of choice for aristocratic weddings.  Cassidy steered her towards a seat in the middle of the church.

Needless to say there were lots of smiles and waves, as they knew quite a few folks there. But there was a whole contingent of gentrified Londoners who were doing their utmost to appear proper and upper crust.

Irisa quickly forgot the people sitting in the pews, though. She looked up at the magnificent stained glass, and at the immense portrait behind the altar and smiled. It was so Baz. She wasn't all that sure it was so Tsura, but then for Baz Tsura would put up with a lot.  As it should be, Irisa thought, with a grin. Including putting up with the hoi polloi gathered here along with the great unwashed like herself.

Afterwards they attended the obligatory wedding breakfast at Sutcliffe House and then the stultifyingly correct went home and the rest headed for the desert.  And the desert was where the fun was. There no one worried about their dignity. Instead, it was joy and wild dancing and much laughing and all the things Irisa thought should go along with such a day - and night.   Even Irisa found her own inhibitions fading in light of the way the gypsies partied.  Cassidy followed her to a table where Reno and Melly had already staked a claim, then brought them drinks.

"What a lovely night for a wedding," Irisa said, hugging Melly, who looked just as happy and joyous. They were all there, of course, Dinah and Marc, Doni and Stephen, and there on the dance floor were Eli and Tabitha dancing just as wildly as the gypsies.  And so the evening went, with the dragons playing in the sky and the adults on the ground, while the music and the adults played.  Cassidy danced with Irisa like she'd demanded proving himself adept.  They sampled all the food and toasted the bride and groom.

Baz, looking immensely pleased, and Tsura looking to be glowing, although perhaps tired, finally took his bride away as the sun was starting to rise over the distant hills.  And with that the party began to wind down, with couples leaving at their own pace.  And finally, after a rare slow dance in the desert, Irisa said, "Take me home and make love with me."

She didn't have to ask him twice.  He made love to her slowly and with abandon while the moon set and throughout the rest of the night until the sun began to rise over the Blue Ridge.

He woke hours later to see her leaning on her hand watching him sleep. "Hullo there," she said softly, a smile playing on her lips.

"Hi yourself," he said smiling back at her.

"Have I said thank you recently?" she asked.

He brushed her hair away from her face and shook his head.

"Thank you. For being patient, and loving and kind and understanding and a great lover, and a great friend."

"You're welcome," he said, drawing her down closer.  "It's my pleasure."

She snuggled against him, running her hand along his chest, just enjoying touching him.  "I ... Cassidy..."

He combed his fingers into her hair and kissed her, rolling her under him.   He propped himself up and studied her face.  "You are so beautiful in the morning, you take my breath away."

She put a hand over his lips. "Hush. I'm trying to say something here."

He drew the tip of his tongue across her palm and kissed it.

"You are hopeless. I'm trying to be serious here, and you're doing your best to distract me."

"I'm listening," he said.

"What I'm trying to say, Sebastian Cassidy, is that I love you.  It's not an easy thing for me to say. But I do, you know."

"I know," he said.  "Hearing it though..."  He kissed her.  "Hearing it...that's like a dream come true."

"Is it? You know, I don't know why you put up with me."

"I know that too.  I'm waiting for you to figure it out.  Telling you wouldn't help."

She made a face. "No, probably not. I'm remarkably stubborn, not to mention awfully dense."

"Nope, just scared and unwilling to trust," he said gently.

She shook her head. "No. Not unwilling. Reluctant maybe. Scared definitely. But not of you. Of myself."

"I know.  It's okay, sweetheart.  I'm not going anywhere, I love you and that's not going to change, no matter how long it takes until you're ready."

"Ready for what?" she asked, frowning.

"To trust yourself, to stop being scared, and to understand why I put up with you."

"Hmmm. Well, you've got to admit, I've had lousy taste in men."

"Stop," he said.  "Just stop putting yourself down."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "I thought I was simply being honest and admitting my faults."

"You're reinforcing all the reasons you have to distrust yourself and for staying scared."

"What should I be saying instead, then?" she asked, seriously.

"That you're not omniscient.  That the things that made them wrong for you weren't why you were with them.  But mostly that you're not that person and that you can have things you're afraid to want."

"If I'm brave enough to reach for them."

"Yes."

"And I suppose you'll threaten to spank me if I say I'm not sure I deserve them."

"Nope.  Not unless you want me to."  He brushed his lips against hers.  "The things you want aren't things anyone deserves.  They're a matter of birthright really.  You're a human being and if you've a right to anything you've a right to joy or at least to reach for it."

"Oh, I don't know about that, because mostly what I want to reach for is you. And I don't think you're a birthright. Or that I should think of you as something I just deserve.  You're special, after all."

"Well, I admit I'm special," he said with a grin.  "But what I meant is that it seems to me you've convinced yourself some things are for others but not for you so you decided to want other things.  And what I'm saying is that they're meant for anyone who's willing to work for them.  Sweetheart, I'm scared.  I look at you sometimes and I'm terrified...I can't imagine why you'd want a guy like me...that I'll let you down or hurt you or not be there for you or any one of a million other things.  I look at myself and I see all my flaws and faults and all the things that make you crazy or might make you crazy and I wonder what kind of a fool I am.  And then it takes everything I have just to stand still and not run away because I might fail you, because I might hurt you and believe me, I'd rather suffer the torments of the damned than hurt you.  But the reality of life is that no matter how hard I try I will, through stupidity or ignorance or something else.  So I just have to stand there and be scared and do the best I can to just love you the way you need to be loved and not the way I might want to."

"Love stinks," she agreed sadly.

"No!  It absolutely doesn't.  But it's risky, and it's work and it isn't always about feelings.  It's about deciding and committing and doing and being willing to fail and try again because you know that the one you love will handle it.  And that's where the problems start because that knowing is a leap of faith, a plunge into the dark and you never know it's real until you gamble on it the first time...which is why I keep telling you that I'm not going anywhere."

"That's a good thing, then. Because if you did go somewhere I'd just have to follow along."

"Good, cause I'm going anywhere without you." he said and kissed her.  "Are we still talking or can I start distracting you again?"

"We're done talking for now. You could start distracting me right there."

"Good choice, one of my favorites" he said.

She was constant source of amazement to him, he thought, as he watched her move through the whole long day and evening with unimpaired grace and wit.  He'd found it increasingly difficult to allow her get very far from his side as the day wore on and they went to her father's and the party in the desert.  And then it got to the point where having her where he couldn't see her was even worse as the night wore on.  He was besotted and he knew it and he was fairly sure she did too.

He watched her as she said her last farewells to her family, kissing her mother and hugging her father tightly and he saw the strain and tiredness of the day carefully covered by her smiles and fond looks.  It was another element he added to the equation that was their wedding night.  It was an equation where solving for the unknown meant figuring out where she was at with it, whether she was nervous or not, feeling shy or not, whether she was overwhelmed or impatient and any one of a number of other things.  The only plan he had was to let her set the agenda and go from there.  He didn't, though, given the last few weeks, think the degree and depth of his desire for her would come as any surprise.  It made him smile as he waited for her to finish saying good bye, that she'd wondered once if there was passion in him or if there would be more than proper behavior between them in private.  He personally had every intention of ensuring that the behavior between them in private was a lot of things like open, uninhibited, loving, passionate, inventive, creative and about only what worked for them, and those things left no room for proper in the sense she'd meant it.

Finally, he thought as she turned back to him, a tired smile lighting her eyes.  He drew her close and kissed her lightly, then their good byes finished, he winked her away.  He'd asked her a few questions about what she'd like for a honeymoon and refusing to tell her more, he'd put them together with what he wanted and had rented a chateau in Switzerland with a view of Lake Geneva and the Alps for the first few days.  He wanted them to have the time alone together; alone that is except for the servants who were remarkably unobtrusive and discreet.  After he'd arranged for them to spend some time in Vienna and then Venice.

So when they winked back in it was a warmly lit room that he'd taken her to with a fire burning brightly and a wall of glass that looked out on the lake and the mountains and showed the snow falling on a winter bright world filled with silence and the twinkling lights on the other side of the water.  He kept her close as she looked around, orienting herself and then when her eyes returned to his he smiled and kissed her, a kiss made of equal parts love and warmth and tenderness, with an undercurrent of wanting waiting patiently for her.  When he drew back he brushed the hair from her face and searched it carefully. "Welcome to Switzerland," he said.

"It is very beautiful," she said, turning in his arms so she could look out over the landscape in the moonlight. She rested her arms on his where they encircled her waist.  She was silent for some time and seemed content as she was. Then finally she asked, "Did you enjoy the day?  Was it what you wished for?"

"It was what I wished for and the parts I didn't enjoy achieved what I intended them to.  The rest was something to remember," he said.  "And you?"

She turned back around to look up at him. She was worrying her lip a bit. "It was very strange.  At times it felt as if it were happening to someone else, and I was in the clouds above looking down on it. I thought the girl down there looked very happy though, and her beau most handsome."

"Well, that's something anyway.  But, uhm, does that mean I'm married to someone else?"

"You had better not be, or I will scratch her eyes out."

He laughed.  "I don't think you need to sharpen your nails for that.  Especially since it's you here now and not someone else.  It does feel like it's you here, right?" he asked.

She smiled up at him. "Oh yes, it does. And I like very much how it feels."  Then she yawned, and looked appalled about it.

He kissed her again, lingering over it before saying, "Why don't I draw you a bath and you relax for a while?"

"That would be lovely. And what will you do, while I soak?"

"Watch you?" he asked hopefully, teasingly.

She blushed scarlet. "Only if there are a very lot of bubbles, and you wait until I am in them."  Her lips were twitching.

"You don't want me to look?" he asked mournfully.  "I could part the bubbles in sections if that helps."

"I doubt I could relax if you were looking. It is a very new concept, someone watching me. Even if that someone is my husband. Tsura Sutcliffe," she said faintly.

"You have no idea, Lady Sutcliffe, how beautiful you are or how much pleasure the sight of you gives me."

"Not as much as the sight of you gives to me," she replied.

"We'll have to agree to differ on that, my love."  He started steering her towards the master bath and it's enormous jacuzzi bath.  He starting turning on the taps and left the choice of bath additives to her.  There was a plethora of them on the shelf above the towel warmer.

She busied herself in selecting some and bubbles began to build. She eyed him and he obligingly walked out so she could strip. Some time later he heard her call out. "If you truly do wish to come in to talk you may."

He laughed and went in to sit on the edge of the bath.  She looked like something out of an ad for bubble bath, her hair on the top of her head and bubbles in strategic locations. He manfully resisted the temptation to see if he could make them move without her catching him.  "So, what are we talking about?"

"My mother," she replied, playing with some bubbles, "instructed me in this. She claims it is this time when I should ask you to tell me how happy you plan to make me." When she looked up at him her eyes were laughing.

He tried to consider the question seriously, while carefully watching the bubbles shift.  You never know, he thought.  He might get lucky.  And, she might let him wash her back if he offered.  Then he forced his attention back to her question.  "Well, how happy do you want to be?" he asked finally.

"Well," she said leaning back against the back of the tub more comfortably, "I am hoping for prodigiously, but might possibly settle for wonderfully."

"Whew," he said with relief.  "At least you didn't say infinitely.  So uhm, what would make you prodigiously happy?"

"That you never stop looking at me like you are now," she replied.

"Then that's how happy I'm going to make you," he promised, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss in the palm to seal the pledge.

"Are all newly weds this silly?" she wondered, staring down at the hand he'd kissed. it was the one with her engagement and wedding rings on it.

"Is this silly?" he asked, puzzled by the question but enthralled by the drift of the bubbles.  Just a little further, he thought.

"I expected to be more serious, but I don't feel very serious. I think I used all the serious up getting through the ceremony."

"I think the only thing that counts is what we want it to be.  I personally am not interested in that sort of serious at the moment, though there are somethings I'm serious about as it were."  Like that patch of bubbles, he thought, about move just enough to...

He was totally surprised when she ran her hand along the water and sent a small gusher of it hitting him in the chest. "Stop that!" she laughed.

"Stop what?" he asked, startled and dripping.  And looking at what her assault had revealed.

"You know very well, what I mean," she replied.  Then realized what he was looking at and slid down further into the bubbles.  From under them somewhere she said, "Now is the time when I regret I do not drink.  I should be sipping a lovely wine out of a beautiful long-stemmed wine glass and watching you from under my eyelashes."

"Well, there's always ginger ale or something like this," he offered making a filled glass appear and offering it to her.

She laughed as she took it from him, lifting it to her lips. "I'm suddenly quite hungry.  Were you able to eat anything today? My stomach was all butterflies and I couldn't eat."

"I can fix that too," he said and left the bathroom for a few moments, returning with tray filled with finger food that he offered to her.  "For you, Lady Sutcliffe," he said.

"I thank you, Lord Sutcliffe. Please do not look so worried. I am fine," she added frowning at him for a moment, then popping a little food into her mouth.

"Was I looking worried?" he asked.  "I'm not feeling worried."

"Weren't you? Ah. Perhaps you are concentrating on the bubbles again."

"They are fascinating bubbles, you must admit," he said.  "And while I truly understand your modesty, I can't deny my interest."

"Nor would I wish you to, and especially not to lose such an interest.  You should perhaps step out of here and let me put on a robe. If you don't mind too terribly."

"I mind terribly," he said.  "But I'm going."  And so saying he kissed her and left her to her toilette.

He didn't have to wait very long. She walked out her hair still damp, falling around her face, dressed in one of the chateau's large fluffy robes, nearly wrapped round her twice.  Her feet were bare and she wore no makeup.

He drew her down on his lap, holding her lightly, his fingers in her hair, his eyes on her face and every sense he had attuned to her; And the first thing he saw after he saw how beautiful she was dishabille was the depth of her tiredness.

She leaned back against him. "I've dreamt this scene. Or perhaps I wished for it."

"Oh, and what did you dream? Or wish for?" he asked, feeling her relax in his arms.

"Only that your arms would be around me and I would feel loved and comfortable, as I do now. I, of course, looked much more beautiful, as it was my dream. I wore something beautiful and not just a robe like this, and my hair looked much better than it does wet and stringy."  She sighed.

Baz thought for a moment and conjured up a hologram of her in a silk negligee and her hair falling long and gleaming over her shoulders and down her back.  "Like that?" he said.

"Yes.  Although I am not at all sure I would look that well even dressed like that.  Your eyes are confused if that is how you see me."

"No they're not," he said, making the hologram go away.  "Besides, at this moment I prefer you as you are, and have no wish for that.  Do you mind?"

"No, since this is how I am, not at all," she said, her head finding a slightly more comfortable position on his chest, one hand taking one of his in hers. "Do you mind that we not hurry into ... I am very sleepy."

He brushed his lips against her hair.  "Not at all," he murmured, his smile deprecating.  He settled her a bit more comfortably and leaned back in the chair watching her sleep in the mirror.  When he was sure it wouldn't wake her he stood and carried her to bed, laying her down gently and drawing the covers up over her.  Then he turned out the lights and banked the fire and joined her.  He drew close and kissed her temple.  "Sweet dreams, my darling," he said.  And went to sleep himself, content with the felicity of holding her and knowing she'd be there when he woke.

She awoke when a shaft of light touched her face, her eyes flying open to see the man who was now her husband asleep beside her. She studied him in repose.  Lines she hadn't noticed had softened with sleep and he looked younger. Hair fell across his forehead and she studied how it curled there. She slipped carefully out of bed so as not to awaken him and returned a fairly short time later. She'd brought a tray with coffee and croissants on it. She was sitting up on the bed, crosslegged, wrapped in the same terry robe she'd worn the night before, sipping on a cup of coffee when his eyes drifted open.

"Good morning," she said with a smile.

"Good morning," he said, returning the smile.

"Would you like some coffee?  Croissants?"

He sat up in bed and propped the pillows behind him.  "Coffee," he said and accepted a cup from her.  "Thank you."

"You are most welcome."  She watched him for a time, sipping her own coffee then said, "It is a very good thing you are not a gypsy boy, I think. You'd have been a great disappointment to your family last night.  Because if you were, they would have been standing outside below the balcony, waiting eagerly for you to wave a bloody sheet at them."  Her lips twitched.  "My mother says many families provide the bridegroom with a bloodied sheet to wave, just in case the bride either wasn't quite what she claimed, or perhaps for the nights like ours, when the poor couple were too exhausted to perform the official rites. I thought it very odd that she told me this.  Now, perhaps, I understand better why she did so."

He lowered his cup, smiling.  "I think it's a good thing, regardless, that I'm not a boy."

"Yes, I think perhaps it is a good thing. Although I will be awfully disappointed if you turn out to be a girl."

He laughed.  "Just so.  I can assure you you're in no danger of that."

She frowned, and put her cup on the side table, then reached for his and put his with it. "I will feel much more reassured if you show me."

"Then why are you frowning?" he asked, not moving.

"Because I'm being a disappointment to my father.  He said it was for my husband to be the one to ask."

"Well the good news there is that now that you're married, your responsibility to not disappoint is to me and not him, and I like being asked."

She nodded, grinning. "My mother said she was the one who asked, too."

"Then it's genetic and totally outside your control," he told her.  "And our daughters will probably be exactly the same, only I won't be disappointed.  I'll just warn the husband-to-be before the wedding."

She laughed and fell into his arms. He closed his around her and then made it clear he was, most definitely, not a girl.