Clarity

Heron

“So your telling me the most eligible bachelor in the country proposes to you and you say no?” the exasperation in Clem’s voice was a welcomed comfort on this rather drab morning. It had not stopped raining, and I had to take off my display cases, that would barely fend against the wind. Though being under the canopy meant they weren’t drenched to the bone.

Clem looked stary eyes as she rested her hands beneath her chin, her braids swooped up in an intricate bun, “You have to go back and say yes.”

“Clem, he’s, my landlord.” I justify taking a stretch of fabric and smoothing it between my fingers, “And he’s an arsehole.”

“So…you will have all the money in the world. You could get the clients you have always wanted.”

“Not like that,” I whispered, a disheartened feeling spreading through the encasing of my heart, “I won’t further my business by leeching off someone else.”

“I would dare say you already are,” a familiar smooth voice drifted through the small shop, “It is my building after all.”

“How did you get in, we don’t open for another hour,” he had that twisted smirk welded into his skin, as he flicked a loop of keys around his index finger, a bright spark in his eyes at the loathing in mine, “My building, remember?”

“And do you do this often, break into your tenants’ properties whilst they are working?” I knew my tone was harsh, but I still felt the burn of shame in the back of the throat at how stupid I felt when he slipped that ring on my finger, when he didn’t even realise that his properties were awful to live in.

“You’d have to be a tenant for that to be true, but” he leaned forward, closing the distance between us, “You would have to be paying rent to be a tenant.”

I scowled but it was Clem that interjected, “So this is him, the bane of your existence.”

His grin widened, “I didn’t know you talked about me to your friends little birdie,”

The nickname scathed me, “Don’t call me that.”

“Why ever not, shouldn’t a man have a name for their fiancé.”

Clem lifted my fingers, “No ring, no fiancé.”

He palmed his front pocket revealing the ring that I had now taken off twice.

“It just needed a bit of polishing,” Clem’s laugh filled the room.

“So being rejected is being called polishing now, I’ll have to remember that,” she swiped the ring from his fingers quickly, holding it under the light.

“What are you doing?” Warren Astor seemed genuinely confused as Clem made the diamond catch the light in just the right places.

“Checking if it’s real,” her tongue peaked out as her eyes narrowed in concentration.

“And how would you know?” I hated the condescending tone, but it was smothered by Clem’s airy laugh.

“I’m a jeweller Mr Astor, it is quite literally my job to know if these things are real.”

And that shut him up, well and truly. A talent of Clem’s I adored and wished I could snag to get Warren Astor to leave me alone.

“And what is the verdict.”

“It’s legit,” she placed the ring down on the counter, amongst an assortment of pins and needles, with thread peaking out from my working piece of fabric a new design ready to be brought to reality.

“But,” she hummed, “The jeweller that told you this was the highest clarity he had, was lying.”

Warren’s face faltered a moment, “How did you know I asked for the highest clarity?”

“You’re Warren Astor,” she said simply sliding the ring back over to him, “You would only ever accept the best, and you have been swindled.”

“Why would a jeweller intentionally sell me a diamond of a lower clarity than I asked?”

“Because that jeweller made you pay the price of the highest clarity for a diamond he got for much less. He knew you would pay whatever price he stuck on it. It’s a damn good diamond, but when you hold it in the light, you can see the small specs at the bottom. Hardly noticeable to someone who's not an expert.”

She then turned to me, “So I take it back, don’t marry the man, I can get you a diamond that really is the best out there.”

“I’m sure you could,” I laughed softly, as she pulled me in for a side hug, a feigned glower at Mr Astor. But his eyes weren’t on Clem, they were grazing over me, watching the flush of red in my cheeks, the laughter I had let slip between us. Laughter that was genuine and not meant for his ears.

“So, if I were to buy another ring, would you sell me one of your best?”

“It will cost you and no discounts even if you are-“

“We aren’t getting married,” I interjected, “There’s no need for a ring at all.”

Warren considered me for a long moment, “You love this shop do you not Heron?”

“Do not leverage my shop for me to marry you.”

“I won’t, because I know now that will not work,” he surveyed the room, “You’re quite starved for space are you not. And you said you had a large client coming up. So how about we make a compromise.”

“No-“

“Hear me out. I move you to a larger property free of charge for as long as you are married to me. You keep the shop and you do what you want in a space that is fit for your creativity and you don’t worry about rent, or any costs of fabrics-“

“No. I want to do this on my own.”

“It will still be on your own,” it was Clem that made the remark, my eyes snapping to hers, “Get rid of the fabric part of it. She won’t get inventory from you, but a bigger place? As a wedding gift? No rent, you could buy the fabrics and thread you need with no worries.”

“I-“

It was an offer that I should have taken in a heartbeat.

“They’ll still think I am leeching off of you, that I’m a gold digger that I’m not-“

“I won’t let them.”