Because You Gave Me More

Julian reached for her hand.

Clara stepped back before his fingers closed.

He noticed. She saw him notice.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"Here."

"Your aunt wouldn't tell me anything. Neither would the people at that hotel."

"What do you need?"

He looked at her for a moment, then took an envelope from his driver.

"The apartment. I sorted it out with my mother. She had no right to do what she did."

Clara didn't take it.

"You were abroad."

"Yes."

"For all that time?"

He hesitated.

There had been business. A damaged phone. Messages through relatives. Then hurt pride because she hadn't called him herself.

She could see the explanations assembling before he gave them.

"You know how things were between us," he said.

"I do."

"I thought you needed time."

"I needed other things too."

He held out the envelope again.

"Then let me give them to you now."

She shook her head.

His expression tightened.

"Clara, we were going to get married."

"We didn't."

"We still can."

A car door shut across the street.

She knew the sound before she turned.

Damian came toward them with his coat open and his face carefully pleasant.

His arm settled around her shoulders.

"Ashford."

Julian looked at the hand resting against Clara's sleeve.

"What is this?"

Damian extended his other hand.

"I should have sent you a card. Things happened quickly."

Julian didn't shake it.

"Clara?"

She looked at him.

"We married in March."

The color left his face.

For a moment he looked young. Then he looked offended.

"You can't be serious."

Damian's fingers tightened slightly.

Clara felt it.

"I am."

"After everything? You made a decision like that without talking to me?"

"Why would I talk to you?"

He drew a breath.

"My mother is difficult. I know that. But she would have come around."

Clara looked at the familiar, handsome face.

She remembered waiting in his apartment with dinner drying out in the oven. Waiting for his mother to like her. Waiting for him to notice she was trying.

"I waited for you," she said.

Her voice shook, which made her angry.

"I did, Julian. For quite a long time."

Damian turned toward her.

She couldn't look at him yet.

"Take the envelope," Julian said. "At least let me do that."

Clara handed it to Damian instead.

"Please give it back."

She crossed the road before either man could answer.

***

In the car, Damian waited until the door closed.

"Did you love him?"

Clara looked through the window.

"Yes."

"Do you love me?"

She couldn't make herself turn.

After a while, he said, "Why did you marry me?"

She was tired and ashamed of crying in front of Julian. The answer came out harder than she intended.

"You gave me more."

Silence.

She saw Damian's reflection in the glass.

His face didn't move.

"You could lie to me once in a while," he said.

She turned then.

"Why did you marry me?"

"Because I love you."

It was so immediate she didn't know what to do with it.

She looked down at her hands.

"Thank you for saying that."

He gave a small, humorless laugh.

Then he put the envelope beside her.

"He says it's a wedding gift."

***

She wanted the apartment sold.

Damian went to collect the books and clothes left there while Owen contacted an agent.

Clara was at work when he called.

"You need anything else?"

"My makeup bag. Bedside table."

A pause.

"Damian?"

"I'm looking."

"The cream one."

"I know what cream looks like."

She leaned back in her office chair, almost smiling.

"And there are some clothes in the left drawer."

"Buy new ones."

"Those are comfortable."

"I'll buy comfortable ones."

"You're in the room already."

He muttered something.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

He brought everything back folded better than she expected.

The apartment didn't sell immediately. Owen said it was being handled, and Clara had enough else to think about.

Damian bought a larger place in Westbridge.

Three stories. A garden. A small lake visible from the upper windows.

He put it in her name.

She looked at the plans, said it was lovely, and went back to a drawing spread across the desk.

He stood beside her.

"You'll choose the finishes?"

"Ask Owen to find someone."

"You did the other place yourself."

"I know. It was exhausting."

He waited.

She added a dimension to the drawing.

"Some paintings, then. You could do a few for the walls."

"I'd like to. When there's time."

He looked at the pencil moving in her hand.

"How long's this job going to keep you up?"

"Until I finish it."

"You don't need the money."

She put down the pencil.

"Don't start that."

"I'm not starting anything. It's midnight."

"It's ten forty."

"Close enough."

"If you interfere with my work, I might have to divorce you."

She meant to tease him.

His face closed.

"Funny."

"Damian."

"I buy you a house, you barely look. I ask you to put something of yourself in it, you're too busy. He gets every tile measured and every light chosen."

Clara stared.

"That's what this is about?"

"What did you think?"

He left before she could answer.

***

By one in the morning, Damian had remembered why he preferred home.

The club was full of people delighted to see him.

They brought him drinks, accounts, problems, compliments. Men laughed at jokes he hadn't finished. A woman asked whether he remembered her name.

He didn't.

He kept checking his phone.

Nothing from Clara.

Of course there wasn't. She had work. Important work. Pencil lines more interesting than a husband with too much money and too little sense.

He finished the drink and went back to the hotel.

She looked up when he entered the bedroom.

"Shower."

"You haven't even said hello."

"Hello. You smell like an ashtray. Shower."

He did.

When he came out, she stared at the towel around his waist.

"That's for my hair."

He looked down.

"It's clean."

"It was."

She took the towel he offered to her, threw it at his head, and tried not to laugh.

That was enough.

He caught her around the waist, and the argument moved into laughter, then into a silence neither wanted to break.

Later, he reached into the pocket of his discarded trousers.

"What now?" she murmured.

He put a ring in her palm.

The diamond caught the lamplight.

Clara sat up.

"Good heavens."

He looked pleased.

"Do you like it?"

"Is it supposed to come with its own security guard?"

"I can arrange that."

"Where's the box?"

"At the shop, probably."

She laughed, and his expression soured.

"You think I bought it off a sidewalk?"

"I think you bought something very expensive and carried it around with your car keys."

"It's a ring. It won't dissolve."

She put it on, turning her hand beneath the lamp.

Then she leaned against his back.

"I wasn't refusing the house."

He didn't move.

"I spent months trying to make that apartment good enough for his family. I don't want to do that again."

"It's our house."

"I know. That's why I thought I didn't have to prove anything."

He turned slowly.

She touched the front of his shoulder.

"I have you now. I thought we could enjoy things instead of making them another examination."

His hand covered hers.

After a moment he asked about the drawing.

She told him about the small restoration commission a former professor had helped her obtain. The advance would clear her university balance. More importantly, doing it well might lead somewhere.

He listened without interrupting.

"You still owed the fees?"

"I told you. Before."

"You should have told me again."

"Why?"

He looked at her.

"Because I'm your husband. You can use me occasionally."

She smiled and settled against him.

"I'm beginning to suspect you enjoy being useful."

He kissed her forehead.

"Go to sleep."