“Besides, a woman has so many other needs. I’d be underfoot with my things and constantly stumble over yours. Your bedroom will be your world, solely your world. I’ll come to it only when I want you or when you ask me to come.”

“But we’ll be married.”

“Oh, I know about married people. Sex becomes something mechanical after a while. You know, carried on Tuesdays and Thursdays or something. Lovemaking should be spontaneous, even after years and years of marriage. It will be like the first time every time.”

From the expression on his face, I understood that he wanted me to see this idea as tender and amorous, but it struck me as just the opposite of spontaneous. It was more like forbidden lovers planning affairs, trysts, and not people in a marriage. In a way, he made it all sound illicit, like we’d be sneaking love in the mansion.

I dreamed of a different set of circumstances. In mine, I would often turn to him in our bed, my eyes filled with desire, which would immediately light up his. That was spontaneous, too, wasn’t it? Alone, busy with my clothes and hair, pins and scents, I wouldn’t feel his presence, his breath, and be touching his body with the tips of my fingers the way he would touch mine. Then our lovemaking would seem fitting, fulfilling. Wasn’t that all far more romantic?

“Your bedroom is so large,” I said. “How can there not be room for the two of us? I don’t understand. Why can’t we share your room?”

“Your parents don’t share a room, do they?” he asked. How did he know that? Why would my father confide such a thing in him. Did he just look at them and surmise? “Well?”

“I don’t want to be my mother,” I said as sharply and firmly as I could.

He smiled. “Oh, you won’t be. I know so little of her, but even in my wildest imagination, I wouldn’t call your mother an exceptionally passionate woman, would you?”

I didn’t disagree about her. She wasn’t my touchstone when it came to marriage anyway. “But . . .”

“You should return to your room now. We have so much to do with your parents tomorrow. Don’t forget, the tailor is arriving in the morning to adjust your wedding dress. Best we both get some sleep.”

I sat up and began to dress.

“Dora will be waiting for you in the guest room to attend to any of your needs before sleep.”

“I don’t have any needs,” I said petulantly.

“Don’t be angry. Just think about what I’m saying. You’re going to be into your pregnancy in a short while, and you’ll want more privacy then. You’ll see. I’m right about the separate bedroom,” he continued as I dressed.