Chapter 14 – Daisy
T ime for a first date… with my husband.
Life at Barclay Manor has had some changes since that night of flash cards in the study where I inadvertently flashed my husband.
I went to free Geraldo and check on Daffy the following morning only to find Grant had already done so. He was dressed in running shorts with no shirt on when I came upon him at the winery. Sweat was dripping down his nicely toned abs, so I was a little distracted as he explained that he’d made a temporary truce with the swans. I’m not sure what that involved but they’re not chasing him on his morning runs at least and he had some weight equipment delivered at the estate soon after.
We’d walked back toward the house, him cooling down from his run and me heating up from his hotness, and had breakfast together. Strong coffee and Jenna’s amazing maple-glazed bacon while discussing our plans for the day, it had felt intimately domestic.
We did go ring shopping that first day but he was on edge in the Rolls while Anders and I chatted like old friends on the way to the city. Would Grant have preferred to be at work? He seemed so annoyed in the car for some reason.
At the jewelry store, his mood had brightened some - as bright as Grant’s mood tends to get - and he told me to pick anything I liked. Then, he kept prompting me to choose bigger. I thought he might prefer frugality but the clerk’s smile grew wider with every word from his mouth. Finally, I suggested that he might select one for me and he chose the biggest diamond that I could reasonably fit on my finger.
It’s beautiful, unsurpassed in clarity, the absolute best money can buy… but it’s not remotely me. It feels heavy on my hand and like a declaration of his wealth and possession of a wife rather than a token of true love. I suppose that’s what it is. I will wear it though because, as Anders once said, we all have our roles to play.
There have been three mornings since then that Grant has found me outdoors after his run and we’ve shared a walk and then breakfast. Secretly, it’s become my favorite way to start the day.
Other than a couple of nights when he was unable to leave the city at a decent hour, my husband has been home in time for bed as well… but he’s sleeping in a spare room. Considering the position I’ve been put in before, I do appreciate Grant not forcing intimacy in our marriage. He just doesn’t realize how much I want to sleep with him.
Today, I’m brimming with excitement when I come downstairs, hoping to catch Grant outside during his run. He won’t have to hurry off to the office today so maybe we can enjoy a leisurely breakfast together.
But, I spy an empty plate with a few crumbs on the table and Jenna confirms my husband has already eaten. My excitement is dashed with the news and I wonder if he has plans he hasn’t mentioned. It’s not as though we’re sharing all our plans. I’d just hoped-
“Good morning, Daisy,” Anders says, joining me. “That’s a pretty sweater. The cornflower blue matches your lovely eyes.”
The compliment, while sweet, leaves me feeling uncomfortably flustered and Jenna gives the driver a sharp look as he pours himself some coffee. “Thanks, Anders. Are you driving Mr. Barclay into the city today?”
“Not that I know of. A few packages arrived for you just now. I was wondering if you’d want them carried upstairs.”
“Yes, please!”
I’d ordered some things that weren’t in stock at the art supply store a few days ago. Together, Anders and I stack our arms full of packages and climb the stairs to the bedroom. I dump my armload while Anders takes his time admiring the room. It’s not like he didn’t see it the last time he carried packages up for me but whatever.
I direct him to put his packages by the window and he picks up one of the first canvases I’d tried out. “A portrait of your husband?” he asks and I feel myself blushing.
“Hardly. It was a rather crude attempt at creating a storm at sea using finger paints.”
He tilts his head to the side, studying it. “I can see it.”
I take the canvas from his hands, tucking it away. “Don’t lie. It’s garbage.”
He grasps my hand unexpectedly, his tone turning serious. “You have a great deal of talent, I’ll bet.”
“Um… thanks,” I squeak, wishing he’d let go of my hand. I wish he’d go on his way, too.
“Does he have any idea how talented you are?”
What my husband thinks of my painting skills isn’t really Anders’ concern, is it? And, I’m not sure I believe Anders’ compliment about my talent when the one canvas he looked at really was an experiment that turned out pretty hideous even in my most optimistic opinion.
But, I don’t have a chance to answer him as someone else does first. “I know my wife is passionate about art and always eager to try, which I encourage wholeheartedly. But, may I ask why you’re in our bedroom, Anders? Seems like an inconvenient route to reach the garage from the kitchen.”
It’s Anders’ turn to blush as he mumbles an apology, saying he was only helping me carry up some packages.
Grant nods, looking very far from convinced. “Well, perhaps it’s time for you to return to your own quarters.”
“Of course, sir. Unless you needed me to drive you-”
“No, I do not. I’ll be driving my wife into town later but you may consider yourself free for the day.”
Grant shuts the bedroom door once Anders has bolted and turns on me with a look so severe it has me swallowing hard. “Why was he up here with you? No stories, Goldilocks. I want the truth.”
“To carry up the packages. See?” I gesture toward the loads of boxes and something shifts in his expression. He hangs his head, mumbling an apology. “Did you think… me and Anders?” I gasp, mortified.
“It wouldn’t be unheard of, the lady of the house and a male servant. He’s not unattractive.”
No, he’s the opposite of unattractive but I find my husband much more appealing personally. I say neither of those things. “Grant, you asked for faithfulness in this marriage and I’ll give you that.”
“Except when it comes to Max?”
I’m relieved to hear the teasing note in his voice as the tension eases. “Where are we going? You told Anders you’d be driving me into town.”
“I thought perhaps we might spend some time together today. I thought you might like to go to a few galleries.”
My excitement from earlier is back in full force. “Which ones?” I ask, clapping my hands together.
“I don’t know. How long would it take to see them all?”
“Grant, do you have any idea how many art galleries there are in San Francisco?” He gives me a blank look and I feel laughter bubbling up inside me. He’s going to find out. “Never mind. Get dressed!” He looks down at his chinos and dress shirt and gives me a wry grin. “Alright, I’m getting dressed! You get the car! No time to lose!”
∞∞∞
My tired feet are complaining several hours later but I haven’t a single regret. Even when I was a student, I didn’t have time to visit every single gallery but we made a decent dent in several of the biggies today. “Silverman, Lawrence, Midway, Montague. I feel so inspired!”
“You never said which painting you liked the most at that last gallery.” He has been surprisingly invested in figuring out my favorites from each gallery. It’s like being stopped for an exit poll every time we leave one.
“I don’t know. I loved them all. Maybe the expressionist one? Ooh, can we go to the Minna before heading home?” I ask as my carne asada arrives at our table at Barrio. He’d suggested stopping at Ghirardelli Square to eat. “This looks delicious even if I feel very touristy.”
“How is eating lunch touristy?” my husband asks, dismissing the server to pour our wine himself.
“I don’t know. I’ve just never been here. We never had a lot of money for… it seems like a place tourists would visit.”
He scowls at his halibut tacos. “I’ve never been here either. I thought you might like it. Did I choose poorly?”
Something flutters inside me from his words. He thought I might like it. “No, you chose very well. I do like it. Very much.”
We share a smile and… oh. There’s much more fluttering happening now. “What other things would make us touristy in our hometown?” he asks, taking a bite of his taco. “Should we visit Alcatraz?”
“I visited it once on a school field trip. Jewel told them I was her evil clone and they needed to lock me up. I begged them not to believe her.”
“It’s not been a prison in decades. You can’t have been very old to believe that.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Who’s Jewel?”
“My twin sister.”
His jaw drops. “You have a twin sister? Christ, we still have a lot to learn about each other, don’t we? What does she do when she’s not trying to get you incarcerated?”
“Cooks and cleans for her disgusting pig of a boyfriend.”
“A real prize, huh?”
“The worst. Another reason I never want to be dependent on a man for money or…” I trail off, feeling ridiculous. “But, of course, I am exactly what I swore I wouldn’t be now, aren’t I? Just living in a fancier place than Jewel.”
Seeing that I’m upset, Grant sets down his taco and holds my gaze. “First of all, you don’t cook or clean for me so your role is not like your sister’s. Second, you’re not dependent on me. You married me to avoid a prison sentence after breaking and entering, Goldilocks.” I know he’s teasing me now. He still gets his foot stepped on under the table. “Ouch.”
“Very well but no prisons today,” I say, brightening again. “We could go to Pier 39 or- ooh, I know! We could ride the cable car up Russian Hill!”
“A cable car?” he drawls, sounding bored but I think there’s a smile hiding under that scowl.
“We’re riding that cable car, mister.”
∞∞∞
“People were looking at you. Are you recognized often?”
“Here and there. I think the people with us today were wondering why I was allowing my wife to engage in such lunacy.”
“Oh, come on! It felt like I was flying! You were just being all worrywort-ish thinking I’d fall.” Secretly, I adored how his arm locked around my waist as I leaned out the cable car to feel the breeze.
“Worrywort-ish is not a word. You gave me gray hairs today, Goldilocks.”
“They won’t be the last ones I give you, Mr. Grumpy Bear.”
He scoffs at Mr. Grumpy Bear but he definitely wasn’t laughing when I saw the flier advertising an upcoming public mural painting event in a couple of months at the 111 Minna Gallery.
“Just like the one the clerk at City Hall had told me about!” I immediately started filling out the registration form.
“It’s in public, Daisy. You would paint in public,” Grant had said, unable to hide the concern in his voice.
I nodded and kept filling out the form.
“Daisy, there are expectations for a Barclay. How you behave in public…”
“Reflects on you? Jesus, don’t be such a snob. I’m not going to strip naked and start a riot. I’m just going to paint,” I’d huffed. “Are you going to tell me I’m not allowed to?”
I could tell he was tempted to say just that but he’d conceded and I’d turned in my form.
It was the only sour note in an otherwise lovely excursion.
“I really enjoyed today, Grant,” I say, stifling a yawn as we make the turn north toward home. I’m exhausted.
“I enjoyed it, too.”
His hand momentarily grazes my thigh before he focuses on the drive. All my senses pitch into overdrive from that simple touch but the long ride lulls me back into my drowsy state. I must sleep most of the way.
When I wake, I realize I’m in my bed, still dressed but with my shoes removed. I smell like his fragrance. He carried me upstairs and put me in bed while I slept. “Grant,” I sigh dreamily in the dark, wishing he was here beside me… but knowing all too well how much that could complicate things.