“Not unless you do as I ask. This is my dream, after all.”

Dream Gabby seemed a bit huffy, but she plopped down on top of him.

“Not like that,” Quill protested. “Oh…well, that feels good. Did you know that your eyes go all brandy-colored when you’re excited? It’s funny. You look as annoyed as my real wife. But you don’t act like her. If I stopped in the middle of an argument, for example …” he said dreamily, letting his fingers wander down between her legs. For a moment he lost track of what he was saying. “If I stopped in the middle of an argument with the real Gabby, and I asked her to rub her breasts against my chest, do you think she would do it?” He shook his head again. “Oh, no. She’d likely throw the chamber pot at me.”

Her eyes were hazy. At least she responded exactly as his wife did to certain touches. “I’d like to hear about not being in love,” she said, with a little shiver and a gasp.

“Oh, that.” Quill could feel strength returning to his legs as he continued to caress his wife, his dream wife, that is. “I had to marry her, you see,” he said offhandedly, experimenting with a slightly rougher movement.

Dream Gabby cried out and clutched his shoulders. There was a moment of silence. But then his comment seemed to sink in.

“What do you mean, you had to marry her?”

There was a bite to her tone. Quill raised his head and peered, getting her face into focus. She had little golden streaks in her rosy halo now. “You know, medieval saints don’t have halos that go around their whole bodies,” he said genially. “You have the biggest, best halo I’ve ever seen. Maybe you are an angel. Have I died?”

“No, I’m not an angel.” Her tone was quite fierce. “And you’re not dead, Quill.”

“Well, any self-respecting angel would be jealous of that halo,” he assured her. Then he remembered what he’d been doing. He was definitely gaining some strength. He even managed to get his other hand on her hip.

“Quill,” said his angel in a rather stern voice, “I want to hear about your marriage.”

“Of course,” he said. Every time he stroked her, little golden sparks flew off her halo. They were practically blinding. He closed his eyes. “Well, we were married by my father’s deathbed. Not very romantic, that.”

“Oh, that’s what you meant about having to get married!” Her tone was definitely relieved. But Quill felt he really should be completely honest. If you started lying to your dream wife, well, that was akin to lying to oneself.