Page 27 of Paper Roses

I force myself to look at Artie, expecting recriminations. But he drags me into my office and shuts the door behind us.

“Artie—”

“Oh, welldone,” he exclaims. “That wasperfect.”

“What was?”

“Your act?” His eyes narrow.

“Oh. Oh yes, ofcourse. You didn’t mind?”

He looks surprised. “No, of course not. We knew we’d have to do some acting.”

“Yes. Yes, wedid,” I say a little too vehemently.

He stares at me for a moment and then his whole face softens, his sweet expression falling into place. “Are you okay, Jed?”

I swallow hard. “I’m fine. I’msosorry about yesterday.”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologise.”

“Ireallydo, so let me. It was unconscionable of me to come up with this plot and then abandon you on our bloody wedding day.”

His gaze darts down to his clasped hands before returning to me. He quickly smiles. “You didn’t abandon me. Yesterday was a pretence, and a pretence that was done entirely for my benefit.”

“I want you to have everything,” I say. “Everything you want and need.”

His mouth turns down for a moment, but then his smile returns as he pats my arm. “That’s impossible, but thank you anyway. You’re hopefully giving me my home back. I won’t ask for anything else.”

What else would he ask for?He leans on the edge of the desk, but he’s close enough I can smell his sweet, warm scent, partly his cologne and partly just him. It makes my head swim.

“Can I?” he asks hesitantly.

I realise he’s been talking while I’ve been wool gathering. “Can you what?”

“Can I ask what in particular upset you?”

Before I can respond, he rushes to explain. “I only want to know so I don’t do it again. I can’t bear for you to be so upset because you’re doing me this huge favour.”

“You didn’t do anything,” I say. “Artie, look at me.”

He obeys me, his eyes big and pale. Before I get lost in them, I say, “It was nothing to do with you. It’s just…”

I rarely share my emotions. Even with Mick, I kept them back. At first, it was because I was in awe of the worldly older man who somehow wanted me, and I didn’t want him to see my weaknesses. Later, those positions became entrenched in our marriage.

Artie watches me and I find myself saying, “It was the ring.”

We both look down at his hand. The gold band is unfamiliar on his finger, yet somehow it looks as though it’s always been there.

“The ring?”

“It just occurred to me that I’ve been a widower longer than I was married. It doesn’t make sense, but…”

“But it upset you,” he says quietly, and the absence of any judgement in his voice is something I don’t deserve. I’d insulted him by leaving him alone at that restaurant yesterday.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Okay,” he says simply.

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