A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews! Muchos thanks to SnowCrystal for the help with my stupid spellchecker and firnoviel for pointing out some spaces missing! You guys rock.

This chapter is short, I know, but it has to be. And alas, no Zelda, but she'll return soon, I promise. And for anyone who is starting to think I may be tennis obsessed, I swear I'm not. It's just one of the things I know enough about to write about.

Please review! All reviews go straight to my inbox and I read them around dinner time to cheer me up!

Muchos luv, Silverpistola

Chapter 3

"Oh, don't you both look darling!"

I looked at Aryll. "The things I do for you."

"Hey, I never asked you to do this," she snapped.

The sun was blaringly hot, a rarity for London, and I had a whole afternoon dressed like a complete dolt ahead of me. I'd already been in a bad mood since I'd waited most of the morning for Zelda to appear in her pajamas and been sadly disappointed when I'd been forced to leave before the postman arrived. To top it all off, Malon Rivers had suddenly appeared.

"This is Patrick Klein," Malon told us, pointing to the 6 and a half ft Irish man beside her. "He's agreed to be my tennis partner today."

"How nice," Aryll answered, tugging at the bottom of her tennis dress.

"Well, we'll see you guys on the court!" She cried, sauntering away, the walking tree trailing behind her.

"I don't see why I had to wear white," I complained. "Not all the guys are wearing white."

"Yeah well, at least you don't have to wear a mini dress. Do you have any idea how degrading this thing is? I'm losing at least 20 IQ points just wearing it."

"You could've worn something a little," I hedged, sensing danger as we made our way over to the courts, passing tables of mothers sipping lemonade under large sunshades, "longer?"

"And died in the heat?"

"Suit yourself."

"Look, I don't want to play tennis," Aryll told me, "and you don't want to play tennis, so surely together we can somehow avoid having to?"

"We'd avoid it all together if we went home," I suggested, hopefully.

"Not an option," she answered as we sat down at a vacant table.

"Look, Aryll, I don't even understand why you're going through with this. I know you don't want to upset Mum, but she'd get over it. She's gotten over me escaping from society."

"That's what you think," Aryll muttered.

I flinched. "She has," I assured myself more than Aryll.

"Link, it's not about Mum, although this does give her more pleasure than is normal. I'm not like you. I may not want to be sold off to a man who only sees my bank balance, but I do want to find someone. And if I'm looking for someone, why not kill two birds with one stone and look for someone that our Mother might approve of?"

I fell silent for a moment, contemplating what she'd just told me.

"So, you do want to get married?" I said, quietly.

"Oh Link," she said, softly. "I understand that you're my big brother and I appreciate the concerned act, really. But yes, I do want to get married."

I swallowed. "Do I have to like it?"

She laughed. "No. But I want you to like him."

By mid afternoon Aryll and myself had managed to avoid picking up a racket as well as talking to Malon. We were only an hour away from being able to make our excuses and leave when I was cornered whilst getting another jug of lemonade.

"Link! You'll play doubles with me and Patrick, won't you?" Malon screeched, catching sight of me with her eagle eye.

"Um, well," I hesitated, frantically searching for an excuse, any excuse.

Aryll wandered over as I was stood there, becoming more panicked by the second. However, despite my desperation, I was not distracted enough to miss the look of appreciation my sister was receiving from the 6 ft Irish tree. It was the first time I'd seen someone check out my baby sister and I was finding it caused an explosion of fury within me.

"Sure," I heard myself saying, my voice edged with defiance. "Sure we will."

Only five minutes later we were already two games down and I was beginning to regret my impulsive decision. Aryll was shooting me death glares and Malon's laugh was slowly peeling the enamel from my teeth.

As well as that, Patrick Klein, it seemed, was born with a racket in his hand.

As we swapped sides, Malon shot me a cringe-worthy smile. I tossed the ball to Aryll to serve. She leaned over, bouncing the ball, aiming for a deep serve. As I glanced up at our opponents, the fury returned. There was no denying it; Patrick Klein was blatantly ogling Aryll's behind.

Of course, I should have been prepared for this. Aryll was a real catch; the flowers had told me that. And I myself had checked out girls before, though I hoped I wasn't quite so obvious now. But I couldn't help it; my hands were shaking with rage.

My Mother had told me before that men cannot be held accountable for their actions when they are in a passionate rage. She told me this because my Father would often take out his frustrations on various priceless knick knacks around the house. Still, it's no excuse for what I did next.

Which was duck in front of Aryll and throw back my arm with all the strength I possessed to send the ball hurtling towards Patrick Klein's face.