Clara rushed to her feet. “I told you! You must!”
He strode to Clara’s side, cupping her face with both rough hands. “And I told you. I want to be with you. If I left, I would miss you too horribly to feel well. If you insist I leave, then I insist you come with me. You and Alfie.”
“Told you, Mama!” Alfie said.
Atlas reached out and gathered him under his arm, held him tight with Clara. “When we are able, we will make a trip of it. But I will not go alone. I intend to park my arse in that giantchair you made and stay here with you. I did not sing this song in front of everyone for my own pleasure. I’d rather not have. But I’d hoped it would convince you that I am serious, that I am telling the truth. I chose to speak about this with everyone because I no longer need to run to survive, no longer need to face those nightmares to find beauty in the world, in my life, to earn my place in the world, in this family. There is beauty and love right here in my home. One day, I will visit those old fields and hopefully see grass growing green, covering the scars I helped put there. But until then, I wish nothing more than to stay here. With you and Alfie and my family. If you want me, if you’ll have me.”
He dropped to his knee, holding her hands, his gaze locked onto hers as if he would never release it. “Clara, will you marry me? Not because you need to marry me. There is no need now but what you desire. No danger keeps you here. If you wish to leave, you may leave. You may go anywhere you like, do anything you please. It will kill me. Better than a bullet, I think. But your happiness is my north star. It alone gives me marching orders. Your pleasure, Clara, is mine, too. In every way.”
“Atlas, I?—”
“Marry me. Not because you need to, but because you wish to.”
Clara could feel the burn of every set of eyeballs on her. But as she stared into Atlas’s eyes, that burn melted away, and he became the only man in the world and her the only woman. She pulled her husband to his feet and folded herself into his chest. “Well, then. You’ve given our secret away.”
“Our secret …?”
“About why we married? Not for love.”
“Bollocks.” He lifted his head to stare at his family, and so did she.
Only Franny seemed shocked, her mouth wide open. The rest appeared slightly amused.
“You all knew?” Clara asked.
“I told Raph and Theo and Zander,” Atlas admitted.
“And I told my wife,” Raph said. “Because of course I told my wife, Atlas. Did you truly think I would not?”
“Fair point. You too, Zander?”
Zander shrugged. “Naturally I told Fee.”
Franny huffed and pushed to her feet. “You may have thought you married for practical reasons, but you’re both wrong. Of course you were in love. Anyone could see it.”
“Well?” Fiona clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Will you marry him again or not?”
The baby squeaked and then cried, and Raph and Matilda jumped.
“Oh no.” Matilda sniffed, and her nose wrinkled. “Take her, Raph. Straight to the nursery.” She held the wiggly bundle out to her husband who, to his credit, took the child without hesitation and cuddled her to his chest even though his face contorted with all the discomfort of olfactory torture.
Matilda followed him out of the room, Franny helping her along. Then Xander and Fiona melted away, and only Atlas, Clara, and one wide-eyed, silent Alfie remained.
He did not remain wide-eyed or silent long. He poked Atlas in the chest. “If you do not marry my mother again, I’ll ruin all your boots.”
Atlas dropped down to one knee. “Aren’t you listening, son? It’s your mother’s boots you need to threaten.”
Alfie turned narrowed eyes Clara’s way, dropped his gaze pointedly to her feet. She laughed and pulled him into a hug as Atlas stood and wrapped his arms around the both of them.
“I can’t have that, I suppose.” She tilted her head back to kiss her husband’s chin.
Alfie shook them off and paced toward the door, hands in pockets. “Good. I’m not at all sure why he’s asked you to marry him when you’re already married. Will I be as odd when I’m grown up?” When he disappeared into the hall, they heard his rapid footsteps carrying him toward the outer door to join the merrymakers outside.
One arm anchored around her back and the other tangled in the hair at her nape, Atlas said, “I love you. Every song I write is about you. If I let you go, the world would be entirely without music, without beauty, without love.”
She pulled him out the room, down the hall, and outside. They walked hand in hand toward the dancing and the ribbons, and she spoke without looking at him, his hand warm and strong in her own. “I love you, too. The words don’t seem strong enough, do they?”
He tugged her to a stop and pulled a small box from his chest pocket. It opened with a soft click and fell to the grass as he pulled something from it. The ring he slipped on her finger glowed in the sunlight. An opal, green and pink and blue and milky white, a pool that dipped toward eternity.
