One corner of Ilinca's mouth tugged up at the look on his face. "It takes practice, mostly," she told him. "And you eventually start to get used to it, even if the immediate aftermath is unpleasant. The corsets, less so, if they're made correctly. That's why I have perhaps one pair of shoes that is that tall. And I only wear them very occasionally."
Her grin flashed swiftly across her face. "I would venture a guess that some of them do, yes. That seems to be what most of the patrons come to see-pretty women in shiny and or revealing outfits. They want the fantasy. They want what they can't have, and yet they keep coming back, regardless. And your sexuality should not matter. People make much out of something that does not affect them personally. Who cares if your neighbor has a wife, or your brother has a husband? There are bigger things to concern yourself with. Although I'd have to agree, men seem to be less...openly affectionate, I suppose is the phrase I want."
She arched one eyebrow, intrigued. "Sweet tea vodka?" she asked. "I've never had such a thing before. But yes, I suppose I could. It was Bulgarian, that is where I'm from originally." She cleared her throat. "It mostly comes from the back of your throat. 'Za tvoe zdrave'." She broke down each of the words for him, placing the emphasis where it ought to be and rolling the 'r'.