We ended up talking about everything!
From school, travel, to food and ridiculous childhood memories that made us laugh with embarrassment.
And somehow…
I told him about the studio.
"Wait!" He said, his eyes lighting up. "And art studio? Here in the house?"
"Yes." I grinned. Pleased at his reaction.
"Gifted to you by his majesty himself?"
I nodded.
"Now I have to see it!"
I hesitated. I didn't know how my husband would feel about that, but they were obviously close, so I didn't think it would matter.
"Okay! But later, maybe."
"You, my dear, are a cruel woman."
I laughed. "I've been called worst."
Stanley paused. "That's impossible."
I giggled at his shocked expression.
This man knew how to put up an act.
Just as I opened my mouth to say something, a new voice cut through the trees.
"Mind how you make my wife laugh, Stanley."
Our heads snapped up at once.
Damian stood a few feet away, expression dark and face unreadable.
Did he just appear? How had I not heard him walk?
Before I could even understand what was happening, he was in front of me.
His hands closed around me, firm but gentle, and pulled me close to him.
It was a very possessive move, as if he was marking his territory.
Stanley's eyes widen theatrically.
"Are you being possessive over a woman, Damian?" He looked bewildered. "As I live and breathe."
A look passed over his face, but it vanished just as soon as it came.
Or maybe I had simply imagined it.
Uh Sapphire, you overthink everything!
Damian 's scowl would have turned fire into ice.
"She is my wife, Stanley." He reminded him.
Stanley laughed loudly.
"Well, I'll be damned."
________________
The dining room felt oddly crowded with three people, and Stanley talked enough for ten.
He teased Damian relentlessly, about business, childhood escapades, and about how people trembled when he walked into a room.
The housekeeper nearly dropped a tray while trying not to show she was laughing.
Me? I tried my very best to be polite, but I couldn't help myself.
Damian said not a single word.
He simply ate and observed.
I quiet down and focused on my plate, but then I felt it.
That weight you feel when someone is looking at you.
So I looked up, and froze.
He was staring at me.
Not casually or absentmindedly, but with intent.
As if he was trying to read something that was etched beneath my skin.
I nervously shifted my legs from side to side.
Was he mad about something?
About the orchard perhaps?
Or was it about Stanley?
About laughing with him?
I swallowed. Hard.
Way to go, Sapphire. Way to go!
But my husband didn't look away, not even when I caught him.
And so without meaning to, we entered into a staring match.
Stanley cleared his throat and as if from faraway, I heard him say, "well this is…spicy."
When no one replied him, he looked at me properly, and laughed teasingly. "Is your husband making you blush, Mrs Blackwood?"
My face ignited at once.
Stanley howled with laughter.
Damian's gaze finally shifted to Stanley, and it was sharp enough to cut.
Minutes later, he stood up.
"I have work."
And just like that, he left.
______________
Two hours had gone by after breakfast. I was reading a book when Stanley found me.
"Tour guide," he announced himself. "You promised me art."
I didn't correct him, after all, I wanted to show someone.
And the studio felt different in daylight.
Stanley walked slowly, reverently examining everything.
"This is not a casual gift." He muttered to himself, but I caught it.
He wasn't talking to me, so I acted as though I had not heard him.
We talked about art, real art conversations, colors, techniques, inspirations, and the strange loneliness of creating something from nothing.
Eventually, he left to stop being "a bad influence."
I chuckled as I watched him go.
He seemed alright to me.
More like my husband's brother.
"Stanley." I called as he reached the door. "What is your relationship with my husband?"
A serious look crossed his face.
"Damian Blackwood is the closest thing I have to a brother. His father and mine were best friends, so we practically grew up together, and he was a friendly enough guy until tragedy struck…"
He immediately stopped talking, as if he had said too much already.
"Stanley, what tragedy?" I pushed, now curious.
"It is not my place to tell you personal stuff about Damian, Sapphire." He said firmly.
"But you've been telling me things about him all day." I pointed out.
"Not personal or serious stuff." He almost snapped.
I took a step back.
"O…kayyy."
Stanley sighed. "I'm sorry about my tone, and please keep this conversation between us, okay?" He almost begged.
I watched him closely. "Of course, Stanley."
He nodded, turned and left the studio.
I waited for his footsteps to stop echoing in the hallway, then taking a deep breath to focus, I turned and started painting the first thing that came to my mind.
Time dissolved and before I knew it, it was dark outside, but I kept going.
This was so therapeutic.
Brush strokes, color blending, emotion spilling into canvas, totally unaware of time.
Until…
"What are you painting?" A deep voice said right in my face.
I yelped and looked up as my brushed slipped from my hand, smearing paint everywhere on the floor.
It was my husband, of course.
My hand went to my fast beating heart. I hadn't heard a door open or close. Nothing, not even footfalls.
Who was this man?!
"D…Damian." I stuttered.
"What are you painting, Sapphire?" He asked again as he moved around to look.
I decided to also see what I'd been painting and this time I screamed in surprise and tried to block him from seeing.
Oh, my God!
"Move."
"Damian, wait. I didn't draw anything important."
"Let me see, Sapphire." He growled. "Or did you paint Stanley?" His voice was like a whip.
"Huh?" Ew, why would I do that?
"I'll take that as a no, so step aside."
Reluctantly, I moved.
Silence.
Then a sharp intake of breath.
My stomach churned.
I watched nervously as he stepped closer to the painting.
"…you painted me, Sapphire?"