A/N: Reviewers! YAY! *Hugs and squeezes and kisses you 3 to death*. And for just one chapter! RECORD BREAKING! LOL! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! More dancing in the next two chapters!

"Bella?"

Arabella jerked around violently, her hand automatically reaching out for a tree branch or rock even as she registered her grandmother's voice. Ever since the attack, she had been on edge when she entered the woods. It didn't matter that she was still within most eyes and ears of the rest of the tribe… if she was surrounded to any extent by trees, she was wary. Color suffused her face as she looked at Tsifia's stern but concerned eyes, and she tried to wipe at her mouth with the back of her hand.

Ever since the purification, she'd been having troubles with her stomach. Only moments ago, the smell of roasted deer – which she normally thought was a fabulous odor – had made her veer off course and detour into the woods; instead of towards Erik's stage. Apparently, her grandmother had seen her and followed.

They'd been in Spain for several days, having yet to settle down in any one place. Everyone was looking forward to joining with other tribes of their people at the nearest community meeting place. There were many such places and meetings around Europe, and you never really knew who you were going to meet at any given one… for many times it would be years before one tribe made it back to one stopping place. Still, if reunion was what one wanted, then you could always count on one kind or another during specific weeks in particular places.

She had been grateful the people she loved were so distracted lately: by constant migration, all the packing and unpacking, the busy single - or two - day performances. She so rarely felt ill around Erik, making him the easiest one to hide it from. It was just rotten luck that her grandmother had caught her hurrying away to be sick this time.

"Bunica…" she managed weakly, the remnants of her queasiness making her voice crack.

"Has this been happening often?" Tsifia demanded with uncharacteristic harshness. Arabella flinched, blinking in stupid surprise at her guardian. Normally, Tsifia wasn't half so angry at her little stubborn secrets. A few days ago, her massive secret about her father had been a rare exception, but even then she hadn't really been angry at Arabella. She'd been angry with herself.

"Well… on and off…" she explained uneasily.

"For how long?" her grandmother pressed.

"I… I don't know." She admitted sheepishly. "Three weeks or so, I suppose."

There was a long, tense silence that Arabella didn't understand. Slowly, cautious of brambles now that she wasn't in a hurry to be privately sick, she made her way back towards Tsifia and the clearing where they'd made camp. She could hear Erik's violin through the crowds of visitors, and could imagine him sawing away at the strings like a man possessed.

The image brought a tiny smile to her face.

"Come with me." Tsifia ordered softly. "I need to examine you."

"For what?" Arabella demanded. "It's just a little indigestion! The stress of everything has made me feel a little sick to my stomach, and I'm still adjusting! I'll be fine!"

"You are not fine." Tsifia objected. "Bella… there could be something very important happening to you."

"Bunica, I don't have time for this now." Arabella continued trying to protest. "Erik is expecting me any minute now! I promised him I'd do one dance with him tonight! Then he's going to show me the festival the townspeople have been talking about all day! You said I could go!"

"I know what I said." Tsifia grumbled, reaching out to take her granddaughter by the arm. "You can still go, although I don't like the idea of you being anywhere unchaperoned. You're just lucky I trust that boy not to be indecent. I must have lost my mind these past few days…"

"Please…" she begged, now with a slight whine to her voice. "Bunica, I'm not dying, am I? Can't it wait a few hours?"

Tsifia paused with a heavy sigh. She'd been doing a great deal of sighing as of late. Arabella believed that her grandmother was now trying to decide whether to be stricter with her; or if she should allow more liberal practices so that Arabella could continue being happy with the man who so clearly wanted to love her and take care of her.

She knew it was ruining Arabella's reputation all over again, but she'd never seen the girl so happy. It was difficult to be strict when all their suffering seemed to have finally ended.

"I … suppose it can wait until morning." The woman admitted begrudgingly. "But don't you dare go anywhere before we've talked tomorrow."

"Thank you!"

Arabella wouldn't give the woman a chance to change her mind; even though her own grandmother's reluctance to face whatever could be wrong with her made her a little nervous. She certainly wasn't nervous enough to miss her first ever chance to leave the encampment and visit the world beyond it. She'd been through plenty of towns and cities, but her tribe had always kept her close, keeping her from investigating anything. She turned and all but sprinted through the dark towards the sounds of fresh applause as Erik's violin screeched to a halt.

She wondered if she would need to return to the tsera when their single performance was over to change out of the beautiful dress he'd gifted her. It made her feel like an untouchable beauty.

It was easy to approach Erik's stage from behind. He stood in the center of the platform, almost completely motionless as awed applause washed over him. Arabella used the small boxes he'd artfully piled behind the stage to climb up to his level, and she strode with forced calm up to his side, reaching out theatrically to touch his shoulder while the audience watched.

Erik turned and smiled at her broadly. Tonight he was not wearing his Phoenix cloak. Instead, he wore far more traditional slacks, a button-up shirt, necktie, formal vest, and dark rose-colored cummerbund. His golden mask had been replaced with an ominous black one, although currently it sat discarded at the foot of the stage instead of on his face.

She'd asked him more than once how he had enough money to spend on so many fine things. Although she knew it was a lie, he always told her it was from his earnings during performances. She watched him perform, and knew full well that even with all the money he did earn, something else had to be going on when and where she couldn't see. Whatever it was, she'd chosen not to judge him for it. She knew plenty of people who made a living through nefarious activities.

"Ah!" he sighed happily as the audience quieted. He reached up to take her hand from his shoulder, giving it a welcoming squeeze before bowing low and pretending to lay a tender kiss on it. His lips were so close to her skin that she could feel the breath he exhaled from his nose, and knew the audience wouldn't be able to tell the difference. It was an excitingly scandalous illusion, considering it would only be polite for him to stop inches over her hand instead of daring to brush her skin with his lips. "You came, ma belle; and dressed to dance!"

She smiled up at him, even though he looked a little concerned by her slight lateness. She knew she'd arrived at least one song beyond the one she ought to have, according to his planning earlier that day. But when his eyes silently queried what had gone wrong, she simply gave her head a slight shake.

"I'm fine." She murmured.

He gave a miniscule nod and turned back to entice the crowd with more of his pretty words – this time spoken fluently in her own native tongue, although she detected a slight accent.

She'd only worn the flame-colored dress because it was the only one she thought appropriate to match Erik's music. But the tune he chose to play was not the same epic fire song he'd created previously. This one was gentler, sadder, making her think of doves and bluebirds. She felt a little awkward trying to move her body properly to such a tune; but if it showed, the acclaim of the audience didn't suggest such.

She finished this dance facing the audience on her knees, hands folded over her heart as though to hold it in her rib cage, her head bowed and her eyes closed. She felt as peaceful as the song had sounded sad; wrapped warmly in Erik's music so that she couldn't feel even a hint of the breeze that cooled a balmy night. After a moment, Erik lightly touched her elbow to lift her from her pose, and they took another victorious bow together.

"That was different than what we've been practicing." She accused him once they had stepped off the back of the stage, Erik's mask sliding firmly into place over his face.

"Forgive me." He entreated. "I wanted to have time to enjoy tonight. I thought anything much more exciting might rile the crowd, and we'd never be able to leave the stage."

He took a step away from her, examining her dress.

"We need something a little more... fitting." He decided, although the glint in his eye warned her of the mischief he probably had hidden up his sleeve.

"Why?" she demanded. "You aren't going to keep me waiting all night again, are you?"

"Not at all." He promised. "I just need to get a less obvious mask and a hat. This one will make me stand out far too easily. And your dress – although it's beautiful – hardly matches the latest styles. Tonight, I will be the one impatiently waiting."

Arabella rolled her eyes. She knew what he meant by the latest styles. All the women in their audiences had been wearing the most ridiculous gowns that hid the neck and arms while accentuating the waist and shoulders. They looked unendurably hot for the current warm season. She couldn't imagine wearing so many yards of fabric over her legs without tripping a million times.

"Where am I supposed to-"she started, and then narrowed her eyes at his instant grin. "Erik… please don't say that you-"

"-Don't worry, I promise not to say a thing." Erik assured her light-heartedly. "But we need to make a stop before attending the festival. I've bribed a couple of local girls into attending you this evening. By the end of the night, I fully intend to make you feel like a queen."

Arabella was mortified when she realized that Erik had actually paid two prostitutes to help her dress… but they were friendly and open with her. It made her wonder if maybe Erik's sheltered life had kept him from understanding what the women were. Neither actually behaved like she'd have expected prostitutes to, and their style of dress was actually quite modest, though. If they hadn't been quite so open with her, she probably never would have guessed their shared occupation. Apparently, Erik had given them quite a sizable payment to help her look impeccable for the evening, and they were determined to earn their pay. Maybe it wasn't so much his ignorance as it was their ability to remain somewhat ladylike that kept him from realizing what he'd hired.

At least they didn't try to put powder or color on her face. Instead, they gave her a few helpful hints about how to make her cheeks glow, and her lips red without a touch of makeup on her face. They might have sold themselves to men nightly, but they certainly knew how things went in higher walks of life. One claimed to be the bastard of a local politician that had taken care of her very well until his early death. The other admitted to being the daughter of a whole line of whores. That was how they themselves put it – they were unashamedly whores.

When they were finished with her, Arabella's hair had been pulled from its typical braid; only to be piled high up on her head with beautiful run-away curls slipping like slender snakes down her back and framing her face. They helped her slip into layer upon layer upon layer of starched underskirts, petticoats, and sleeves that were separate from the dress itself… She thanked God it didn't cover her shoulders, as most of the styles she'd seen did. She dressed modestly for a Romani woman, but even covering her shoulders would have been ridiculous with how thoroughly the rest of her was covered.

At least Erik had selected beautiful colors. The underlying clothes that could be seen were of a dove gray, which set off the dark dusty rose pink of the dress itself beautifully. The numerous ruffles were printed in hundreds of tiny butter-yellow roses. Her shoes were boots of a darker gray than her underthings with an unreasonable heel she expected to wobble on all evening.

"There you go." one of the girls sighed in contentment as the two stepped away from her and allowed her a peek into the dingy mirror of their shared one room apartment. "That man of yours is going to be having trouble keeping his hands off you."

"Did you not notice what she was wearing when she got here?" her companion scoffed. "If he could keep his hands off of that vision, this one will prove far less tempting."

Arabella blushed as they reached out to pinch roughly at her cheeks once more, and bit on her lips viciously not out of nervousness but at an attempt to redden and plump them up.

"Thank you." She murmured to the girls. "I suppose I will see you later when I need to get changed again?"

"Yes,." The older of the girls laughed. "You be nice to that young man, now – just not too nice. Men who buy expensive gifts can have ulterior motives."

Blushing hotly, Arabella shuffled in her impossibly heavy skirts to the door and stepped out onto the landing of their second story apartment. Below, Erik was pacing the alley that led to the busy square with its thousands of lanterns, festive music, and boisterous but contained revelers. He looked quite dashing, in spite of the hat that created a shadow all the way down to his chin and slightly concealed his flesh colored mask.

"Well someone has exotic… taste."

Arabella scowled over her shoulder at the giggling women as they hurriedly closed the door behind her. With a sigh of resignation, she ran one hand along the railing as she started down the stairs, holding the skirts up with her free hand a little more than what was probably proper. She was terrified of tripping, because she couldn't even see her feet. She'd never worn heeled boots with side laces before, just as she'd never worn such cumbersome skirts.

Hearing the clumsy clunking of her feet, Erik turned away from the revelry out in the street; a smile already lighting his face. It was quickly wiped away as his chin fell nearly to his chest in astonishment, and he took an unexpected step back as though the very sight of her had nearly knocked him off his feet. With a touch more confidence, Arabella took in a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she strode down toward him.

He walked quickly to the bottom of the stairs and offered her his arm.

"Señorita…" he murmured quietly in his accented Spanish. "You are… you're absolutely..."

She waited, holding her breath as they stepped into the street and were able to casually view and enjoy the festivities for the first time. No one turned to stare at them as though they had no right to be there. No one jeered at their attempt to blend in with the societal crowd. Everyone just wandered about, women arm-in-arm with their men as chaperones meandered behind. In the middle of the square was a great gazebo where many musicians played for the dancers moving over the square. There were stalls of merchants selling flowers, cheap jewelry or shawls, and of course refreshments.

"What type of festival is this?" Arabella wondered when it was clear Erik could find no words.

"How should I know?" he chuckled. "You're the native of this land not I."

Shaking her head, Arabella wandered on Erik's arm, trying for the same sedate and graceful pace as the other women she saw. She and Erik were both quiet for many minutes, simply taking in the sights and sounds of this new experience.

"Your ensemble is missing something." Erik decided abruptly, making Arabella tear her gaze away from the complicated looking dance the crowd was enjoying. She peered up at him curiously, only to turn nearly in a full circle as he walked behind her to a booth of flowers. He simply flashed a coin – the motion so quick before Arabella's eyes that she couldn't make out its denomination – in front of the lady merchant standing before her baskets, and motioned towards a basket of soft sunset orange roses.

"Cut it short, please, Señora." He requested his voice as smooth as silk.

The woman nodded, bringing out her shears and cutting the stem of the chosen colored rose until it was barely four inches long. She then spent several moments carefully cutting it free of harmful thorns before passing it over to Erik. Arabella watched closely, realizing the woman was unconsciously doing all in her power to keep her skin from brushing Erik's; even though in the dim light she couldn't have clearly made out its deformity.

Erik then turned to Arabella with a flourish, and gently inserted the rose into her hair by her right temple.

"Ah!" the flower merchant sighed happily. "The man is fascinated by the lovely senorita!"

Erik chuckled, placing Arabella's hand back in his arm before walking on. She peered up at him in utter confusion.

"I don't understand." She murmured. "What did that woman mean?"

"All flowers have a meaning." He explained, leading her to an unoccupied bench and lowering them both down onto it. "Their colors also have a meaning."

"So… an orange rose means fascination?" she reassured herself, her eyes again being drawn to the dancing crowd. The men were standing in one line across from a line of women, while couples worked their way down the human isle in restrained and sedate circles.

"Yes." He admitted simply, following her gaze. "I'm not trying to be mysterious about it, Bella. I thought the color would appeal to you. It also compliments your eyes."

Blushing, Arabella briefly ducked her head.

He clasped her hand between both of his, frowning when he realized she had no gloves. Arabella had figured that out while the ladies had dressed her, but had been trying not to draw attention to the fact in front of Erik. She didn't want him feeling guilty for missing such a simple detail.

"Are you cold?" he asked worriedly, as though gloves on such a warm summer night were the worst offense imaginable.

"I'm fine Erik." She promised. "Really, I am."

"All right." He peered up at the dancers again as they began applauding the musicians. A new dance was announced, and couples left the area or entered it as it pleased them. Those who chose to stay began forming into groups of four – two couples apiece – the men standing across from the women.

Erik remained beside her, a little fidgety. From the corner of her eye, she could see one hand dropping and tapping on one thigh as both legs bounced slightly. It was very distracting, but Arabella couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from the scenery. She was fascinated by the restrained behavior of these people, wondering how on Earth their form of dancing could be considered fun when it was so constrained.

"Ma Belle…"

Taking in a slow bracing breath, she turned to meet his intense golden eyes, which were soft with tenderness as they met her own amber ones.

"Would you honor me with a dance?"