Julian's eyes narrowed. "A lawyer? We're going to bring lawyers into a marriage we've had for a week?"
"The legal advice concerns the studio and our property as well as the marriage," I answered. "You knew about the studio issue before I returned."
He looked at Nina again. "You put her up to this."
Nina did not rise to the accusation. "Clara makes her own decisions," she said. "It's not something you should find surprising."
Julian gave a short irritated laugh. "Wonderful. So now I'm the villain and everyone gets to pile on."
I felt the familiar pull to reassure him, to tell him no one was making him a villain and that I was simply hurt. Then I remembered Sofia on the bench, saying he had told her the marriage might not happen while asking me to review wedding flowers. I let the silence hold its own weight. Julian filled it himself.
"Sofia exaggerated everything," he said. "She's upset about the project. She thought the trip meant more than it did. I never promised her anything serious."
The casual cruelty of the explanation shocked me. He had brought Sofia on our honeymoon, shared months of intimacy with her and now described her as someone who had misunderstood him. Whatever Sofia's responsibility for her choices, he seemed prepared to discard her account the moment it became inconvenient. I realized he was not offering an honest explanation. He was searching for a version that let him remain the person whose intentions mattered most.
"She told me the relationship started in December," I said. "Is that true?"
Julian looked away. "It's complicated."
"The date isn't complicated."
He rubbed his forehead. "Yes, something happened in December. But we'd been under pressure and our relationship had issues. I made a mistake."
"You kept making that mistake through the wedding. And then you brought her on our honeymoon."
He lowered his hands. "I know. I screwed up. But I married you, Clara. Doesn't that count for something?"
For a moment I wanted him to say something that would make every memory fit again. I wanted him to explain that he had been frightened, selfish and wrong and would accept whatever consequences followed. Instead, he offered the ceremony itself as proof that I should look away from what happened before and after it. I wondered how long he would have continued the arrangement if Sofia had not confessed.
"It counted to me," I said. "I don't know what it counted for to you."
He took a step forward and stopped when I looked at him. "What do you want from me?"
The answer was simple and enormous at once. I wanted the marriage I thought we had begun, and I knew he could not give it to me because that marriage had existed only in my understanding. I wanted him to have told me the truth before I walked down the aisle, before my mother cried and before I put my father's handkerchief in my bouquet. Most of all, I wanted to stop asking a dishonest person to explain why honesty mattered.