Shrugging, Rhiane wondered if Luke really believed that if she had full knowledge she would have declined entering the contest. Things had certainly taken unanticipated turns, such as the rebellion's violent faction making attempts on her life, but she did not necessarily regret her choice. Though he was inordinately stubborn, haughty, and distant, those were traits that were known by the public who didn't watch the news broadcasts. "I don't think it'd be my place to judge you for your past lovers, since I have several of my own, and other farmers would have looked down on me for being a woman even if we are both common folk," she explained. "I knew what I was getting into by having a marriage that wasn't based on a romantic ideal, you just had the best offer. Regardless of what my family thinks, I'd do it again, though I might go [i]without[/i] the fun facts about your preferred shoe size or hair color for ladies that she couldn't help but tell me every time I tried to strike up a conversation," she groaned. It would have been harder on third place. She had firmly believed that the royal was the summation of all the information she had dug up on him, that she knew Luke on an intimate level because of her obsession, and yet the reality would have either sent her into despair or denial.

Everything was for Gerard and Hubert Black, but she worried deeply for how scarred they'd be at her inevitable demise. She could barely bring herself to enter Edwin's room years after her death. The future waiting for her was one where she was buried beside her mother and second-eldest brother, where they had another room they could not enter, another name they could barely utter, and a branch of the family that Queen Camilla would forbid them from having contact with if she was wise. Running a finger along the edge of the closet door frame she she considered that their financial salvation would crucify them emotionally. Luke wanted to keep her alive. She trusted him, perhaps foolishly, but his mother and the other nobility could not be underestimated. It was cruel of her to damn people she loved because she could not bear the portrait of what middle age would bring: divorce if not murder, separation from her children, watching someone she cared for toss her away, possibly falling ill and feeling the curse of morality make her a burden on others, sucking away her slip away slowly and painfully.

If Rhiane regretted anything, it was that she had come to feel deeply for a man she couldn't have, that she let errant dreams convince her that the blissful acceptance and love her parents had could ever be hers as well.

"I can't have any alcohol since we've slept together," Rhiane told him, eyebrows raised in surprise he hadn't deduced as much. "In the unlikely event I'm pregnant, it'd risk a defect. Even if we were both absolutely certain I'm not, it'd reflect poorly on me since there's always at least a minuscule chance, and my image would tank with the media if the perception was that I was 'recklessly' getting drunk. Abstaining is safer and easier than the alternatives." She watched and waited for his reaction. Ready as she was for the challenges of children, he had been far less enthusiastic about their arrangement, and it stood to reason that he'd be apprehensive about adding to his responsibilities. He was an unapologetic playboy who had not promised monogamous commitment, he was constantly busy with the bureaucracy of New Rome, and had not reconciled her low birth being mixed with his. Deep inside she dreaded the disappointment he might express if and when her belly grew.

"If I remember correctly, [i]you[/i] suggested the shower and bath together, and undressing in a shared room is quite normal," she protested as she watched him reach into her closet and pluck out a scarf. "When I mean to seduce a man, I'm not subtle," the princess elect truthfully proclaimed. It was an understatement. More than once she had been the aggressor in initiating a dalliance once the other party conveyed their interest. Reporters and the masses presumed her a virgin, or a modest, virtuous girl that had 'saved herself' for a special sweetheart at most, but she had romps under her belt that would make others blush, if not in their vigor than in her energetic participation. Luke had witnessed a hunger that matched his own when it came to physical exchanges.

For a moment she feigned being torn and conflicted about whether or not she wanted Tobias to be in their dinner entourage. "And how do you expect to disguise yourself so no one recognizes you? Hell, it'd be a miracle if they didn't recognize me. I've known this place my whole life and I'm probably more famous here than you are. Piero will shield his restaurant from the paparazzi, but you might have to endure some good-natured teasing and debate, I surprisingly attract it," Rhiane admitted him with faux innocence. "And I also can't promise we won't run into one of my one-night stands while we're out and around. Seeing as how well you conduct yourself around Tobias with all your suspicions, I'm sure that won't be a problem," she jested.

The proprietor of the modern-age tavern was a gentleman by the name of Piero Ricci, whose lineage was allegedly traced through countless generations of chef entrepreneurs. He had a soft spot for Rhiane just as he had a soft spot for Violet, so he forgave her when she left behind a bill to chase down a striking, muscular male specimen that had caught her eye. His trust was not misplaced. Without fail she paid her tab within a week. Not only was she honest with him, she was charismatic, able to entertain travelers and regulars alike, relaying stories of mishaps, mocking local officials, sharing gossip, or dispensing advice for those that sought her out. All in all she was good for business. He was a good man, but he could respect how she helped his profit, and they had a professionally mutual beneficial agreement. For a couple free drinks a week she'd engage with and help keep a patron asking for more rounds or a dessert so that they could finish a conversation.