“Oh, my God,” she said.

“I know it’s crazy, I know.”

“It’s not crazy,” she said. “But it’s sudden.”

“Does that mean you want to? Get married?”

“You’re right. We’re soul mates. I’ve never had half this much fun with a boyfriend.”

She was still not answering the question. He said slowly and distinctly: “I love you. Will you marry me?”

She hesitated for a long moment, then she said: “Hell, yes.”

• • •

“Don’t even ask me,” said Woody Dewar angrily. “You two are not getting married.”

He was a tall man, dressed in a tweed jacket with a button-down shirt and a tie. Dave had to work hard not to be intimidated.

Beep said: “How did you know?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“My creep of a brother told you,” Beep said. “What a dick I was to confide in him.”

“There’s no need for bad language.”

They were in the drawing room of the Dewars’ Victorian mansion on Gough Street in the Nob Hill district. The handsome old furniture and expensive but faded curtains reminded Dave of the house in Great Peter Street. Dave and Beep sat together on the red velvet couch, Bella was in an antique leather chair, and Woody stood in front of the carved stone fireplace.

Dave said: “I know it’s sudden, but I have obligations: recording in London, a tour of Australia, and more.”

“Sudden?” said Woody. “It’s totally irresponsible! The mere fact that you can make the suggestion at all, after a week of dating, proves that you’re nowhere near mature enough for marriage.”

Dave said: “I hate to boast, but you force me to say that I’ve been living independently from my parents for two years; in that time I’ve built up a multimillion-dollar international business; and although I’m not as rich as people imagine, I am able to keep your daughter in comfort.”

“Beep is seventeen! And so are you. She can’t marry without my permission, and I’m not giving it. And I’m betting Lloyd and Daisy will take the same attitude to you, young Dave.”

Beep said: “In some states you can get married at eighteen.”

“You’re not going anywhere like that.”

“What are you going to do, Daddy, put me in a nunnery?”

“Are you threatening to elope?”

“Just pointing out that, in the end, you don’t really have the power to stop us.”

She was right. Dave had checked, at the San Francisco public library on Larkin Street. The age of majority was twenty-one, but several states allowed women to marry at eighteen without parental consent. And in Scotland the age was sixteen. In practice it was difficult for parents to prevent the marriage of two people who were determined.

But Woody said: “Don’t you bet on that. This is not going to happen.”

Dave said mildly: “We don’t want to quarrel with you about this, but I think Beep’s just saying that yours is not the only opinion that counts here.”

He thought his words were inoffensive, and he had spoken in a courteous tone of voice, but that seemed to infuriate Woody more. “Get out of this house before I throw you out.”