Page 33 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“What if you were to meet someone who liked you as much as you liked them? Wouldn’t life be easier, happier, to have a friend or companion to go through life with rather than be alone?”

Atticus reclined back in his chair, deliberately making his voice echo with curiosity. If he had any hope of persuading Octavia to marry him, he needed to make her believe she’d reached the decision on her own. All he could do was plant the seeds of the idea that a marriage built on friendship and common interests could be a happy one.

“You mean if I met a man I viewed as a friend, would I consider marrying him?”

“It’s a reasonable question to ask given you believe marriage is a prison, and I disagree.”

“As I said, I do not make friends easily, and while I will concede it’s possible for a man and woman to be friends, I do not see that as possible for myself,” she mused with a contemplative expression on her face. After a pause, she shook her head. “But even if I enjoyed the kind of friendship you describe, I do not believe it ensures a happy marriage. In fact, I seriously doubt it would result in a marriage where either party is content with their life.”

“I know a couple of people who would disagree with you,” Atticus said as he cocked his head to study every emotion that flitted across her face.

“Name them,” she demanded with a soft sound of disbelief.

“I became friends with a couple in America who married, knowing almost nothing about each other. Sarah was a mail-order bride.”

“A mail-order bride? You mean she answered an advertisement and married a man she’d never met before?”

Octavia stared at him in horror. He bit down on the inside of his cheek. Using Sarah and Michael as an example of friendship deepening into love might not have been the wisest choice he could have made to prove his point. With a small shrug, he continued describing how the relationship between his friends had developed.

“Sarah had a choice of living in poverty in Boston, or making a home for her and Michael in Colorado.” Atticus smiled. “Both of them would tell you that they are lucky. However, part of their successful marriage is that they exchanged correspondence with each other before Sarah left Boston. They determined they had several things in common, and their friendship had already begun before they met in person. But I can assure you their affection for one another is quite strong.”

“Then they are quite fortunate, but I think their marriage is an anomaly, just like the one my parents enjoy,” she declared in a voice that said his example was a questionable one.

“You’re correct, they were lucky,” Atticus replied with a nod, then frowned as he acknowledged his own belief as to how fortunate his friends had been. “But they are an excellent example of a couple becoming friends and having a happy marriage based on that friendship.”

“But as we both agree, your friends were lucky,” Octavia pointed out in a crisp voice as she rebuffed his statement. “I’ve never seen anyone in the Set who has married for friendship.”

“Perhaps not, but I know of another couple whose marriage was arranged, and over time , their friendship deepened into an emotional bond that was unshakeable.” Atticus met Octavia’s disbelieving gaze, and a smile tugged at his mouth. “Liza and I are the result of that friendship and loving marriage.”

Astonishment made Octavia’s jaw sag as she looked at him with incredulity. Satisfied he’d rendered her speechless, he arched his eyebrows at her. When she remained silent, he continued, his mood growing somber.

“Despite the circumstances of their marriage, my parents found they had common interests on which to build their friendship, and they enjoyed a marriage that became one of deep, abiding love. My father adored my mother, and when he died, my mother was inconsolable.”

Atticus’s eyes fixated on his hand that had curled into a tight fist and drew in a breath of sorrow. Jaw clenched, he remembered the loss of his father and the way his mother had grieved for her husband. How she’d managed not to die of a broken heart still amazed him. The moment Octavia’s hand covered his, Atticus jerked his head up to meet her gaze. Gray eyes filled with warmth and sympathy, she squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry. It’s obvious you loved your father very much.”

“He was a good man.” Atticus nodded his appreciation of her sympathy before he continued to make his case for marriage. “But the affection my parents had for one another is why I believe friendship and common interests are a solid foundation on which to build a strong, happy marriage.”

The two of them stared at each other before Octavia averted her gaze. Head bowed, she seemed to be contemplating the lace pattern of the table cloth. After a long moment, she shook her head, still not looking at him.

“While I don’t doubt your word as to the strength of the emotional bond your parents had, I still find it questionable that your parents had a marriage as strong as the one my parents enjoy.”

“And your reason for doubting me?”

“I will concede, based on your personal experience, that the friendship between your parents became one of deep affection. However, I remain unconvinced a couple can achieve marital bliss when their marriage is based solely on friendship and common interests.” Octavia rolled her shoulders in an apathetic gesture. “While my parents regard each other as their dearest friend and confidant, I know there is more to their marriage than friendship and common interests.”

“I see,” he murmured, struggling not to chuckle. Octavia had now ventured down a path he was certain she would most likely regret taking. “And what else is there?”

“Well, I…” her voice trailed off into silence as if realizing she was in uncharted waters.

“Are you perhaps referring to passion?” Atticus quirked an eyebrow at her. The moment she flushed with discomfort, he smiled. Chin tipped upward at a haughty angle, she scowled at him.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Not at all. I’m simply surprised,” he said as evenly as possible. It was true. He’d been mistaken to think Octavia knew nothing about passion. It was obvious she knew it existed, the question was, how much did she understand?

“I don’t know why,” she retorted with annoyance. “You said yourself, I’m blunt and to the point.”