2. Chapter 2
Elowen
The next morning, the ballroom glitz is gone, replaced by the reality of running a household.
I crack eggs one-handed into a stainless-steel pan while my other scrolls through Julian’s day schedule on my phone.
The Singapore team is scheduled for nine, followed by investors at noon.
He also needs to sign for his dry-cleaning at four-thirty.
Thankfully, they’ll deliver right to his office.
Once those are set, I check them against the kids’ schedules to make sure Leo and Meredith’s school drop-offs, the housecleaning, and the grocery delivery don’t conflict.
My mind drifts back to the first time we met for coffee, where he ordered for both of us without asking.
The evening hadn’t felt like a date at all; it felt like an interrogation.
When I finally got home that night, I actually sat down and took notes on what he liked.
Julian has an unyielding, magnetic gravity.
He could tell you the name on your birth certificate is wrong, and you would find yourself believing him by the next morning.
The scent of browning butter pulls me back to the kitchen, reminding me to pour the whisked eggs into the pan.
Over at the bay window, Leo sits hunched over a poster board, his fingers white-knuckled around a blue marker.
He pushes up his glasses and scrubs out a single word before adjusting the frames a second time, mimicking his father’s perfectionism.
“It’s looking good, sweetheart,” I say, keeping my voice as encouraging as I can.
“No, it’s crooked,” he mutters. “The ‘E’ is taller than the ‘A’.”
I try to tell him no one will ever notice, but he cuts me off with a quiet, “I will.”
The way he’s hunched over reminds me of Julian ten years ago, when he called me at home and asked me to come to his office.
He kept his gaze locked on a contract, ignoring everything outside the window.
“Elowen,” he had said, finally speaking my name.
“You start as my personal assistant on Monday. I need someone who can handle my schedule.” The offer didn’t leave any room for refusal, and saying yes was the only thing I wanted.
“Mama, look!” Meredith bursts into the kitchen, a whirlwind of purple pajamas and wild curls. She thrusts a drawing into my hands. “It’s you and me in a garden!”
“Beautiful, Mi-Mi.” I smooth the paper onto the marble counter. “Now go get dressed. You can wear your purple shirt today.”
She tilts her head, her button nose wrinkling up in immediate resistance. “But, but…”
I turn off the burner for the eggs, the quiet hiss of the stove dying away.
Before plating them, I cross the kitchen to pour Julian’s coffee into his heavy, handleless white mug, setting it exactly where he expects it: at the head of the table.
Meredith watches the dark liquid stream into the ceramic, clearly searching for a way to stall.
She would live in those pajamas if I let her.
“Why does Daddy always get his coffee first? Even before we get our eggs?”
“Because Daddy has an important day, and coffee helps him start.”
“My days are important, too,” she declares.
True, girl.
“Indeed, they are. So important, in fact, that if you don’t get dressed right this minute, you’ll miss the best parts of your important day.”
“What’s that?”
“Your friend! She’s wearing her tutu today. As your grandma says, the day starts and ends with fashion.”
“Oh, yeah! Her purple tutu!” She then bounces out to match her friend. Julian’s parents live in Paris, and my dad passed away fifteen years ago, so Grandma Fallinger is the only family Meredith and Leo have besides Julian and me.
Once the eggs are plated and the toast is buttered, I head to the bathroom.
The straightening iron hisses as it clamps down on my natural curls.
The woman with the wild hair disappears strand by strand, replaced by the polished version of Mrs. Plaza.
If Julian knew about chemical straightening, he would suggest it. I’m glad he doesn’t.
One of the last days I wore my curly hair all day was the night he proposed.
It was late at night in his office without a bent knee or a romantic speech.
He just slid a black velvet box across the mahogany desk and told me he loved me, noting that I held his life together better than he did and that we made perfect sense together.
The diamond was a flawless princess cut, and I said yes.
Back in the kitchen, the scene is set with the coffee at the head of the table and the eggs cut into perfect squares for Leo.
He’d had them that way at McDonald’s once and has been obsessed ever since.
It took me two solid days of experimenting with kitchen gadgets just to figure out how to get them perfectly square.
Then, Julian enters in a tailored suit. He reaches for his coffee.
When our fingers brush, I feel that familiar, involuntary swoon in my stomach.
“Thank you, Elowen,” he says, taking a sip before he leans over to gently kiss my lips. He rarely verbalizes his love anymore, but I have grown used to these tiny, quiet kisses.
“Your day,” I say, handing him the phone. “Singapore confirmed. Lunch moved to 12:45. Drycleaning at four-thirty.”
He scans the screen. “Push the dry-cleaning delivery to five. I can’t have any interruptions before the investor meeting.” He hands the phone back. The adjustment is already made in my head.
“Dad.” Leo’s voice is a squeak. He holds up the poster in offering. “This is the first draft of my science fair project. I’m thinking of changing my topic, though.”
Julian looks down. Leo shrinks.
“The color-coding works,” Julian says after a pause. He points a manicured finger at the page. “But this graph is off by a few millimeters. It looks sloppy.”
Leo’s shoulders slump. “I’ll fix it.”
“See that you do.”
I step closer and press my hand against Leo’s back, rubbing a small circle of warmth through his shirt. “It’s wonderful, Leo,” I whisper, wishing my voice could undo the damage.
Before Julian can head for the hallway, Meredith slips into the kitchen, planting herself like a tiny barrier between him and the door. She looks up, her head tilted. “Why do you wear a tie? Does it help you think?”
A faint, amused smile touches Julian’s lips. “It helps other people think I’m thinking, Mi-Mi.”
“It’s like a leash,” she says.
Julian’s smile tightens. I step in, sliding berries in front of her. “Eat up, sweetheart,” I say, redirecting the conversation.
“I’m heading out,” Julian says while Meredith double-fists breakfast. “I have a client walk-through at two and need you there.”
“Of course.”
I follow him to the door like a good wife. And as a good husband, he leans in to kiss me. It’s not passionate, but it’s still nice. The press of his lips and a soft stroke of his thumb on my arm have gotten me through the years.
Pulling away, he says, “See you at two.”
The door closes.
I’m cleaning up breakfast when my phone pings.
Trey Mendoza: Hey folks! I have touched down in your fine city. Ready to get this party started? Jules, drinks tonight? E, it would be great to see you both!
It’s friendly enough, but I can’t stop the cold dread sliding down my spine.
Trey is Julian’s oldest friend from college, all loud laughs and loaded inside jokes.
While Julian is perfectly orderly, Trey is pure chaos, but somehow their dynamic works.
Still, I always feel like an outsider on the edge of their circle.
It gets worse when Julian reunites with his college crowd, including his old flame, Carmella.
Shaking my head to dislodge my insecurities, I type a message to Julian about Trey’s visit.
Trey’s here. Don’t forget we have drinks with him and your old friends.
Sent.
I return to tidying, but my composure is now thinned, stretched over sudden nervousness. I have no idea that the text is the beginning of the end. All I know is that a strand of hair is out of place, so I fix it.