by Claire Vale
“I’d think that was obvious,” he drawled.
Unfortunately, it was. “Oh, for goodness sake, put me down! I’ll walk.”
“And risk your ankle?” he said glibly, carrying me like that, cradled in his heat, strength and woodsy scent, across the trickling stream. “What respectable husband would be so careless?”
Each sure-footed stride resonated within me. His heartbeat thudded intimately at my ear. My skin prickled with awareness. Suddenly I was thinking about his chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, about his stone-grey eyes. And he, no doubt, was thinking about how good his chivalrous act played out to seeing eyes. This was intolerable. “You’re intolerable!”
“I’m concerned about your welfare.”
Hah!
“There’s no one here,” I muttered. Off in the distance, the others were out of hearing and practically out of sight, walking with their backs to us. “Who are you even trying to impress or make an impression on or whatever.”
“You.” We were across and the silken iron brace loosened, allowing me to slide down the contours of his body to my feet. “Your sulking fits won’t get you anywhere, Georga.”
“Sulking fits?” I whirled about to glare at him. “Did it ever occur to you that I may have a good reason for not wanting to be here? For having no desire whatsoever to go exploring the house where Daniel and Brenda will live?”
“It’s occurred to me that you think you have a reason.” He started moving and I fell in beside him before he got it into his head to assist me again. “You don’t.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Unless it involves using or manipulating someone or the situation, then you just don’t feel it.”
“Okay, I’ll humor you,” he sighed. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
I’d fallen slightly behind his long-legged pace and he had to glance back at me. “How heartbroken you are. How many days and nights you anguished over your bitter-sweet love. How you break over and over again with your soulmate lost to another.”
“You’re laughing at me,” I said through gritted teeth. “Seriously?”
“I’m not laughing,” he said, eyes turning forward again. “You danced once or twice with Daniel. You’re not pining over unrequited love, Georga, you’re a spoilt brat unable to accept no as an answer.”
My fingers clumped into tight fists. I’d married the most insufferable man in Capra. “It wasn’t just a couple of dances and I never said anything about pining.”
“Good, then stop whining about what didn’t happen and move on.”
My head was starting to hurt at the unjustified shots he fired. I’d never imagined this thing between Daniel and me as full-grown love. I wasn’t a simpering idiot. But it was more than a couple of dances. And I’d lost Brenda, too. I wished I could just get over it, not feel so confused and betrayed and ill at ease.
It was mostly the not knowing, I realized. Why had Daniel changed his mind? Who had changed it for him? When had I become an undesirable proposition and had I done something to earn it?
I guess that’s how I ended up alone with Daniel in a corner room on the second floor of his nearly finished mini-mansion. The house wasn’t actually that large, but it was ornate with its pillars and balconies on the outside and grand stairway dominating the front hall. I’d gone exploring on my own to get away from Brenda, who’d dragged me off to see the courtyard she planned to turn into an herb garden. And I do mean that literally. The only way to resist would have been a physical tugging match in front of everyone and my pride wouldn’t allow that.
I stood there in the courtyard, a patch of hard ground enclosed by three walls, and said politely, “It seems like a nice spot. I’m sure your herbs will thrive.”
“That’s not why I brought you here,” she said, stepping in front of me so I had to look at her. “I wanted us to talk. Alone.”
I looked into her dark, nearly black, eyes and felt the tug of familiarity, friendship, but it slipped from my grasp.
“Not now, Brenda.” I had nothing to say. “Maybe another time.”
“I’m sorry,” she persisted.
I took the bait. “About what?”
“You and Daniel, of course.” She grimaced sympathetically. “I was as shocked as everyone else. I really am sorry, Georga, I feel terrible that he chose me instead of you.”
“He didn’t choose you, Brenda,” I said, using Roman’s words with a bitter taste in my mouth. “All Daniel did was offer. You chose him.”
“I don’t understand.” She frowned. “What’s the difference?”
I shrugged. Loyalty couldn’t be explained. You either had it or you didn’t and I’d once had Brenda’s. We’d all had it and given it at St. Ives. But we weren’t at St. Ives anymore. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t freeze me out,” she said, her eyes pleading, her voice desperate. “Please. I realize this might be awkward for you, but it doesn’t have to affect our friendship. We are still friends, aren’t we?”
I nodded. I hoped so. But not now. Not yet.
“Give us time to adjust to our new lives,” I said and then I fled, walking as fast as I could without breaking into a run, around the side of the building.
Up a flight of outside steps to avoid voices and laugher, onto an open balcony and across to the framework of a double doorway, and that’s where I came across Daniel. Standing with his back to me, looking out the window that was still just a gaping hole in the partially plastered wall.
I hesitated on the threshold, torn between confrontation and a quick retreat. But Roman had a tight connection to this family and if I couldn’t escape the dinner parties and tennis meets and summer cookouts, I needed to know.
In between all his random shots, Roman had managed to hit a home truth. I wasn’t a spoilt brat. I wasn’t pining. But I hadn’t accepted this particular ‘no’ from Daniel. Not yet. And perhaps it was the missing ‘why’ of it that was holding me back.
I stepped over the threshold, carefully, and picked a path through the obstacles. The floor was bare concrete, rough in patches, and littered with white-splashed buckets, rags and tools. Above, exposed pipes hung at awkward angles, threating to drop at the slightest tremor.
My toe stabbed on a small box, raising a jittery metallic sound.
Daniel started and spun about. A smile lit his face but didn’t last, there and gone like a temporary lapse of time and place.
I looked into his blue, blue eyes and felt the loss like a real, tangible ache. Not my heart breaking, but something in that region.
“Why?” I asked softly.
A small frown touched his brow as he moved closer. “Because I see you.”
“You saw me?” There it was. One reckless moment, and I’d ruined us. “At the picnic by the lake?”
“No, I see you. That’s what first drew me to you. Actually, that’s not completely true.” He shook his head. “You are beautiful. That’s what drew me to you first, but afterwards, as we danced and talked and I got to know you…” He reached out, brushed a lock of hair at my temple with the back of his fingers, his gaze sinking into mine. “You’re a wildflower in a garden of potted plants. How could I not see you? Your smile is trouble. You have stars written in your eyes.”
His fingers slid from my hair to trace beneath my chin, but it was his words that fluttered butterflies at my wrists, in the bends of my elbows. This was precisely what had drawn me to Daniel from the very beginning. He saw me, not just a scorecard. He listened, as if I had something special to say. He opened his mind to debates that were unbecoming of a Capra lady instead of immediately slamming me down. He’d given me a voice, even if it could never have been heard outside of us.
“I so very nearly went ahead with it,” he said. “But I couldn’t. There’s a fire burning inside you, Georga, a fire that makes you what you are, and I couldn’t be the one to put it out.”
“You wouldn’t have.”
“Of course I would have,” he sa
id flatly. “That is the responsibility of your husband, to ensure you conform to our society—heart, mind and deed.”
“We could have been the exception.”
“There are no exceptions.”
I had my answer now, and I wished I could toss it back. I stepped out from his touch, leaving his hand to fall away. “You didn’t have the stomach to tame a wayward wife, so you threw me to the wolves.”
“It’s not that simple.” He closed the gap I’d made. “A councilman’s wife has to be perfect in the eyes of Capra.”
“And I’m not.”
“I said in the eyes of Capra.” His voice was butter soft. His knuckles came beneath my chin, his thumb stroking the line of my jaw, and I didn’t pull away. “You’re perfect to me. That’s why I couldn’t stand the thought of molding you into something you were never meant to be.”
His sincerity almost undid me. I saw it in the way he looked at me. I felt it in his gently stroking thumb. I heard it in his softly spoken words. I didn’t agree with him, but I knew he believed he’d made the right choice for me.
“It’s not only councilmen wives, Daniel, every Capra wife is expected to be perfect,” I said sadly. “You didn’t save me, you just handed me to a man who’d do a better job on me than you.”
“It certainly seems to have turned out that way.” A grin snagged at the edges of his mouth as he leant in, his breath a warm whisper near my ear. “Roman will protect you when it really matters.”
A throat cleared at the doorway.
I jumped back, red-hot guilt flaring to my cheeks.
Roman stood there, arms folded, shoulder leaning against the doorway frame. His hooded gaze rested on me for a nerve-scratching moment, then moved to Daniel. “We should get going if you don’t want to be late for your own speech.”
“You two go on ahead,” Daniel said smoothly, as if he’d played no part in the intimate scene my husband had witnessed. “I’ll come along in a minute.”
Roman gave him a nod and left without another glance my way.
My heart hammered inside my chest as I hurried after him. I hadn’t been doing anything wrong, I reminded myself, but it didn’t help.
“Roman, wait!” I said urgently as I caught up to him at the top of the stairway. “That wasn’t what it looked like.”
He barely paused to acknowledge me. “Okay.”
Not a good okay, everything’s fine okay.
I grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and hear me. “Daniel and I were just talking.”
He went still, didn’t try to pull away, just looked at where my fingers wrapped his arm.
I snapped my hand back. “Nothing happened.”
His gaze slowly lifted to study me. “You needn’t worry. I have no intention of reporting this to the Guard or turning you in for rehab.”
The possibility hadn’t crossed my mind, although it should have. Marriage was a sacred institution in Capra. No husband would risk a scandal or tolerate the slightest whiff of adulterous intentions.
I chewed on the verbal reflex to protest my innocence, to scoff at his arrogant mercy. His face was a chiseled mask of indifference, his gaze sober and steadfast. He wasn’t jealous. He hadn’t demanded the explanation I’d freely given. He had no wish to inspect the detail and he didn’t expect an apology. That was not his way.
Acceptance washed over me and the weak smile I gave him as we continued down the stairs was mostly sincere. Just as I’d finally accepted Daniel’s rejection, I accepted Roman as my husband, for better or worse.
I couldn’t say this was the start of a beautiful friendship, but it was a beginning. This was my life. With the one and only choice a woman was truly given in Capra, I’d chosen this and I refused to live in misery and regret and in a constant state of war.
12
The following weeks progressed into some sort of routine. I went to bed alone and woke alone, and was usually on my first mug of coffee when Roman returned from his morning jog.
We were getting better at casual conversation, bypassing each other in the mornings and passing time together in the evenings—before he disappeared into his study or had to go back out for work.
And if I had to catch myself from staring at his sculptured face once too often, if his occasional nearness brushed my skin with warmth, if my gaze lingered too long on his broad back as he walked away, I ignored it all. An occupational hazard, I told myself, of living in the same house.
Once Roman left for work, I’d spend a couple of hours tidying the house before hopping on my bike and cycling into town. Some days I’d stop in with my mom for tea. Most days I met with Jessie and we developed an extravagant habit of lunching on the town square before doing our daily shop.
Roman and I were invited to the Edgar residence numerous times for dinner, for a Sunday barbeque, for tennis. I grew rather fond of Julian and I believed the feeling was mutual. Miriam was harder, more elusive. She always wore a placid expression and excused herself as soon as acceptable to dabble the hours away in her greenhouse. Daniel was still the boy who saw me, who enjoyed a challenging debate about our society so long as it was strictly hypothetical, and we slipped into an easy friendship.
My friendship with Brenda was less simple to define. Still there, but shallower, a watered down version of what we’d once had. Fair or not, I couldn’t blurt my heart out to her as I did with Jessie. I no longer trusted her to be the keeper of my secrets. Some days I toyed with the idea that she belonged to the Sisterhood, that she’d married Daniel to further our cause and it was a loyal, worthy thing. But I had no way of verifying the idea and I didn’t know if even that could restore our weakened bond. I couldn’t forgive Brenda, because I wasn’t sure there was anything to forgive.
And always, I wondered about Jenna Simmons.
I wondered where her decision had taken her and if her courage had paid off. I wondered if her life was filled with adventure and excitement or just one day lived after another. Her fate became my obsession and I was honest enough to admit to myself that it wasn’t just about her. If she were living the dream of her choice, then I’d feel less badly about resenting the monotony of mine.
I spent hours devising sneaky methods to filter questions into our conversations, but Roman never tripped up or gave me anything about Jenna or the world outside our walls.
I also spent hours staring at his locked study door, contemplating the knowledge hidden inside there and how I could get to it. Unfortunately, picking locks wasn’t on the St. Ives curriculum.
And then, one Friday morning, I received a cryptic note. I usually collected our post from the guardhouse on my return from town, but Gavin brought the envelope when he stepped out to wave a greeting. He was an elderly man with no hair on top and snowy sideburns, and the only guard I felt comfortable enough with to ever stop and chat.
“Hand-delivered by your father, I believe. He said it was important.”
My heart thumped. Was everything okay at home? Why hadn’t Father had me buzzed on the intercom to let him in? I ripped the envelope open there and then, and my heartbeat slowed to normal as I read the flowery scrawl.
Don’t forget lunch at 12:30. I’ve cooked your favorite. Don’t be late.
Love, mom.
“Is everything alright?” Gavin asked, looking at me with concern.
I tucked the note into the back pocket of my jeans. “Just a reminder from my mother about our lunch date. Thanks, Gavin.”
I sent him a smile and pedaled off, out of sight before my smile faded. We hadn’t made any plans for lunch today and I didn’t have a favorite dish—I’d never seen the point in choosing only one.
The message was still clear, though. Mom needed to see me today. Before 12:30 if possible. Did this have something to do with the Sisterhood? And was I ready?
Nervous energy coursed through my veins as I cycled directly home to Mom. She hadn’t said anything about not being early.
*
The cryptic note had been a call to arm
s for the Sisterhood, in a manner of speaking. Don’t be nervous, my mom had said. It’s likely just an introduction, she’d said. My fluttering pulse paid no heed to her reassurances as I parked my bike at Robin Corner, so named for the bronze statue of a young boy with a robin perched on his wrist, and set off on the trail to Flapper Pond at a measured pace. That was the extent of my instructions as given to me by Mom. Just walk, a casual stroll through the park to the pond. She had no idea who would meet me, where, or even if. The departmentalized secrecy of the Sisterhood was meant to keep us safe, but I honestly wondered how they ever achieved anything when everyone was so busy watching their own backs.
The Park was an acre of woodland, ponds and trails bordered by the three districts of Capra. To the East, lay the Legislative District where I lived. To the South, the Quantum Zone where all our technology was researched and developed. To the North and the West, the Bohemian Quarter which was by far the most interesting part of town.
Early Fall was my favorite time of the year. The days were still warm enough to avoid coats and scarves and the trees were just beginning to explode into their golden yellows and rustic browns. A gentle breeze tickled the fallen leaves along the path. As I ambled past the spike to Cedar Grove, a popular picnic spot for moms and toddlers, the sounds of young children squealing and playing reached me.
An idyllic day for a stroll through the park, and plenty of people were out and about, enjoying themselves, but I was too wired to relax. My ears pricked at every little noise. My eyes darted continually. That didn’t stop my heart from nearly crashing when a loping beast of a dog bounded out from the trees to cut across me. So much for my state of hyperawareness.
The enormous Labrador stamped the paw-brakes and came to investigate, sniffing around my feet with his floppy fangs.
“Hello, boy.” A silly smile lit my face as I turned in place with him. “Who do you belong to?”
As if summoned, a woman emerged from the same trees as her dog. “Angus!” she scolded, the brown curls that framed her face bouncing as she jogged up to us. “Leave the nice lady alone.”
