Page 29 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
Only that it had started withher.
Sunday crept up on him like a nineteenth century whalebone corset-expected, constricting, and stitched with the quiet panic of knowing you'd have to smile until it was over.
Crispin dressed in a tailored charcoal suit and a thin silk tie. The kind of effortless formality people expected of him. The kind that made him seamlessly blend into the company that mattered. He had been groomed for this from the cradle.
He glanced at his phone. He had to pick Helga up on the way.
No message from Aria.
Not that he expected one. She was hopeless with that thing-forever leaving it in her locker, in her bag, on someone's café tray. Then she'd panic and tear the flat apart, cursing under her breath, her hair in a messy twist, socks mismatched.
He smiled at the memory.
Once, he'd noticed the screen was cracked diagonally, like lightning frozen in glass. He'd teased her then, called it "more ancient than a Nokia."
She hadn't laughed, just kept slicing the tomato she was prepping for dinner, quiet, her lips pursed. There was that faint line between her eyebrows which said she hadn't liked his comment.
Those were the early days. He hadn't taken the hint and told her he'd buy her a new one.
She'd looked up and said softly, "I'm used to this one. I'll get a new one when it's time."
That had been Aria. Utterly stubborn and strangely principled. She was religious about not accepting anything from him-no phone, no flat, no money, nothing.
It frustrated him.
He wanted to wrap her in cotton wool. Buy her everything she needed, everything she deserved. But she wouldn't let him.
And yet...
On his last birthday, she'd handed him a small box wrapped in plain brown paper. Inside sat a pair of silver cufflinks shaped like tiny folded cranes. The memory hit him like the scent of her apple blossom shampoo, vivid and gentle.
She'd looked almost giddy when he opened it, nervous and delighted all at once.
"I saw them and thought of you," she'd said, biting her lip.
There had been a card tucked inside, written in her careful, looping hand.
In Japanese folklore, she'd written, the crane or Tsuru is a strong, majestic bird said to live for a thousand years. It symbolises honour, good fortune, loyalty, and longevity.
He hadn't known what to say. She must have saved for it.
Later, when they were curled up in bed and she thought he was asleep, she had whispered, "Cranes mate for life."
He wore them constantly. They were tucked in a small velvet tray beside his watches, too precious to bring to events where he might lose one.
He adjusted his collar in the mirror, trying to shake the unreasoning dread that had settled just beneath his ribs. Like he had a premonition that something bad was about to happen.
They'd had a blow-up a while back after he had suggested she move closer to his place. A quiet flat near the park, which meant less commuting and more safety.
She'd looked at him like he had slapped her. And then, she had told him no, using that low, restrained voice that only ever came out when she was truly furious.
They hadn't spoken for a week. Not until he caved, showed up outside her café in the rain, and told her she was right.
He never really won with her. But sometimes, losing to Aria felt better than winning anywhere else.
Chapter 19
Crispin
