“I wish my situation were as romantic.” Amity envied the love match. “My marriage is one of convenience. I couldn’t get sanctuary on my own, so Marshall married me.”
“Not romantic?” Darmaine stopped working. “It’s the very essence of chivalry and gallantry. What’s more romantic than that? He sacrificed his freedom for you!”
That almost made it worse. Freedom was paramount to Marshall. “It’s temporary,” she emphasized, as much to assuage her own guilt as set Darmaine straight. “Cosmic Mates married us. Our union is provisional. At the end of a year, we’ll both be free.”
Belatedly, she wondered if she should have admitted they’d married just so she could get sanctuary. Entering a marriage with the best of intentions but failing was one thing. Deliberately gaming the system was another.Too late now.
“A lot can happen in a year,” her boss said.
“Yeah,” she replied noncommittally.
“Do you like him?”
Attracted to him from the start, she’d mistakenly believed the chemistry had been mutual. He’d hurt her feelings and her pride, but she’d forgiven him, seeing how he’d been between a rock and a hard place. She still found him handsome and enjoyed his company and their conversations. “Yes, I like him.” She paused. “He wants to be friends.”
“That’s a positive sign! How can you love someone and not be his or her friend?”
Yes, but she ached for what she thought they’d had—for him to gaze at her adoringly, lustfully—like he’d pretended to at the bistro. Except she wanted it to be genuine.
When will I stop mooning over men who aren’t interested in me?
“You’ve been married for a day. How long did you know him?”
“A little over a week,” she admitted, hunching her shoulders.
To her credit, Darmaine didn’t laugh. “Give it time. Refuge is a place for second chances. Take it one day at a time and see what develops. He must have had some feelings for you to marry you. Most men don’t give up their freedom without a fight or great love.”
Neither of which applied to their situation. “Maybe he’s just a man of conscience.”
“Which speaks well of him.”
She suspected her boss was one of those perpetually sunny people who put a positive spin on every misfortune. If she stepped in horniger poo, Darmaine would probably thank the universe she’d picked up some fertilizer for the garden. In any case, Amity had begun to regret blabbing such personal details to her boss on the first day on the job.I don’t know what got into me.
“So, what do you think?” Darmaine peered at the cloth she’d woven. “What color should I weave in next—gray or gray?”
“Hm…gray, I think,” she said, grateful for the change of subject. She suspected the perceptive Darmaine had sensed her discomfort.
“Excellent choice!”
They worked in silence for a few minutes, and then Darmaine said, “Sometimes it is not the choices we make that have the biggest impact on our lives but how we act on the decisions.”
Chapter Six
“You two seemed to be getting along at dinner last night.”
Marshall was about to dig into the box lunch the shop foreman had ordered from the mess hall when Bragg plunked down next to him. “Yeah.” He bit into his sandwich. Chewed. Horniger, if he wasn’t mistaken.
“She’s not mad at you anymore?”
“No.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Yeah. Don’t you have work to do?” He didn’t care to discuss his personal business. Especially when his feelings were confused. He didn’t know what he felt.
“It’s lunchtime,” Bragg replied and opened his box. “Job seems like it will be all right.” Perhaps getting the hint, he switched to an innocuous topic.
“Yeah.” He’d discovered he enjoyed working with his hands, building practical items people needed, contributing to society instead of undermining it. “I think I’m going to like building furniture.”
