chapter 28
Parkinson’s. Jules had Parkinson’s. Charlotte sat on the deck watching a thin pink seam open over the water as the sun came
up. She’d been outside with a blanket ever since she’d slipped from Jules’s bed, leaving him sleeping.
Too upset to sleep herself, she’d gone straight to her computer and read everything she could find about Parkinson’s, what
it would do and how to deal with it. But what she’d learned hadn’t been all that encouraging. There was some hope that the
disease would not progress quickly. It seemed to differ, depending on the individual, and Jules was young and strong, so he
had that going for him. But this was nothing like what she’d expected him to be facing. It’d been too easy to discount a serious
health problem when he seemed so physically fit.
At least it wasn’t cancer. She kept telling herself that. But the comfort felt paper-thin. Trying to imagine him as he’d be
in ten, twenty or thirty years broke her heart. Jules was the strongest man she knew—physically, emotionally and mentally.
It just didn’t seem possible that anything could steal his coordination and vitality.
But what he’d said and how he’d been acting finally made sense. At last she understood why he kept trying to push her away.
Hearing the door open behind her, she quickly wiped her tears with the edge of the blanket.
“What are you doing up so early?” Sloane stepped out in a hoodie and yoga pants, her hair in a knot, but with bare feet.
Charlotte hesitated. She didn’t feel it was her place to tell Sloane. But Sloane wasn’t just Jules’s sister; she was Charlotte’s
best friend. And there was no way to hide her swollen, red eyes. Should she say what he wouldn’t—get it out in the open where
they could deal with it? She’d promised to give him all the time he needed in Italy, but Italy was supposed to be a chance
to heal, not just escape. Keeping his secret felt like watching him tread water while the tide came in. He couldn’t heal in
any meaningful way if he was still hiding from the truth—and they couldn’t help him if he continued hiding it from them.
“It’s Jules,” she said, fresh tears blurring her vision.
Sloane had come out far enough to see evidence of her emotions and was watching her warily. “What do you mean ‘it’s Jules’?”
“I know what’s wrong with him.”
Sloane knelt beside her. “What is it? Tell me!”
She squeezed her eyes closed. “You should hear it from him.”
“I’m asking you—right here, right now.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“It’s not health related, is it?”
When she didn’t answer, Sloane grabbed hold of the chair Charlotte was sitting in as if she’d topple over without its support.
“What’s wrong with him? Is he dying, Char? Tell me! I’m freaking out!”
Charlotte threw up her hands. It was too late to try to hold back—at this point, it was just cruel. “He’s been diagnosed with
Parkinson’s, Sloane.”
“Parkinson’s,” she repeated numbly. “How serious is that? I mean . . . I’ve heard of it, but no one I know has ever had it. What will it do to him?”
“It’s a progressive disorder that causes the nerves in the brain to weaken and die. It affects so many things—mostly his motor
function. There may come a time when he struggles to walk or even talk.”
She covered her face. “No . . .”
“I wish it wasn’t true.”
After several seconds of silence, she said, her voice a shocked whisper, “How’d you find out?”
It wasn’t hard to tell that Sloane was hurt to think he’d confide in Charlotte when he hadn’t told her. So Charlotte decided
it was time for the whole truth—time they dealt with all the secrets between them and figured out how to proceed. Sloane’s
problems—and hers—paled in comparison to Jules’s diagnosis. At least they had their health. And yet he’d been doing his best
to support them.
“I saw a text come in from his doctor last night.”
Sloane looked confused. “At dinner? Because I was right here with you, and you didn’t even react.”
“Not at dinner. Later—when I was with him.”
“With him where?”
Steeling herself for Sloane’s reaction, Charlotte drew in a bolstering breath. “In his bed.”
Letting go of the chair, she sank down onto the deck. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Charlotte frowned as she shook her head.
“You and Jules have been hooking up? For how long?”
“As soon as I realized I wasn’t going back to Cliff.”
Sloane gave her head a small shake. “So . . . what does that mean?”
“It means I’m in love with him, Sloane. It means that we need to forget about whatever’s going on in our own lives and be there for him.”
“Of course!” she said. “I’d do anything for him!”
Another tear slid down Charlotte’s cheek. “He’s not going to like that we know.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t tell him. Maybe we should pretend we don’t know and let him break the news when he’s ready.”
“And when will that be? Knowing Julian, he’ll just keep putting it off, thinking he can deal with it on his own. I say we
have that conversation now, while we’re all here together and still have some concentrated time with him.”
“But that could turn into something big and . . . and disruptive. What about your book?”
She’d believed Megan would get back to her immediately. The fact that she hadn’t didn’t bode well. It meant she was unsure
enough about what she’d read to ask her boss to take a look. “Forget about my book. Whatever happens with it happens. I want
to be available to Julian when he needs me most.”
Sloane rested her head on Charlotte’s knees. “This sucks.”
“We’ll get through it,” Charlotte said. “We’ll get through it together.”
After a moment or two, Sloane lifted her head. “Are you really in love with my brother?”
“Does it surprise you that much?”
She thought about it for a moment. Then she said, “No. He’s twice the man Cliff is.”
Charlotte was about to agree—not to be mean; it was simply the truth—when she heard someone call her name. She could’ve sworn
it was Cliff, but the timing of Sloane’s mention seemed like too much of a coincidence for that to be true.
He shouted her name twice more before the buzzer rasped. It really was Cliff.
“Holy shit.” Her stomach dropped; the sunrise suddenly looked stupidly cheerful. The playoffs had ended in defeat, which meant there was no longer anything keeping him in the States, and although he’d once threatened to come to Italy, she’d never believed he’d really do it!
Julian couldn’t stop glaring at Cliff from where he sat directly across from him, partly because Cliff was glaring back. Cliff
had traveled for so long and had such a rough flight—delays and bad food—that Charlotte had let him in to meet Lilly and have
breakfast. But he must’ve upset Charlotte when he first got here because her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and Sloane
was acting odd, too. Julian was so defensive it was almost impossible to tolerate the other man’s presence. He felt none of
the hero worship such a big NBA star was probably used to commanding; Julian wanted to throw the bastard out of the villa.
Lilly seemed skeptical of Cliff, too. She kept watching him from under her eyelashes as if he couldn’t be trusted. Maybe she’d
heard the exchange that’d made Charlotte cry. Julian had been sleeping so deeply he’d missed it. He’d had no idea they even
had a visitor until he’d gotten up, showered and made his way downstairs. He’d been worried about the things Charlotte had
said to him last night, the confidence with which she’d claimed they were going to get married—until this new threat stole
his attention.
“Nice place. It’s good to see you’re spending my money wisely.” Cliff was obviously joking, but what he’d said wasn’t funny.
Instead of a laugh, his comment earned him a narrowed glance from Sloane, who’d never liked him to begin with. Even Lilly
grimaced.
“Well, since you kicked me out so unceremoniously, I felt it was the least you could do.” Charlotte spoke with a smile, as if she was only joking, too, but she’d put him in his place firmly enough that Julian didn’t feel he had to do it. That kept the delicate balance they had going at the moment.
“Jules and I are paying our way,” Sloane piped up, drilling Cliff with a laser-like gaze. “We’re not taking anything from
you.”
“I’d pay, too, if I could,” Lilly said, her voice small but steady.
“No one expects you to pay for anything, Lilly,” Charlotte said. “You’re a child. Please don’t feel bad about that.”
Lilly’s attention returned to Cliff, who was looking back at her over the rim of his cup.
“Sorry about your mom,” he said as he put down his coffee. “But from what I hear, maybe you’re better off.”
“Cliff!” Charlotte exclaimed.
“I’m just saying!” He spread out his hands. “Doesn’t sound like she was much of a mother.”
Sloane jumped to her feet. “You’re an asshole. You’ve always been an asshole, and I, for one, won’t sit here any longer and
pretend you’re not,” she said and walked out.
“Touchy,” Cliff muttered. “Lilly’s a smart girl. I’m not telling her anything she doesn’t know. Right, Lilly?”
If he expected to win Lilly over with that compliment, it didn’t work. The way her eyebrows slammed together reminded Julian
of the girl she’d been the day they first met. “I think you’re an ass, too,” she said, and Julian nearly spewed coffee all
over the table when he burst out laughing.
“Sounds like she’s turning out more like her mother than you led me to believe,” Cliff said to Charlotte as Lilly stomped
up the stairs.
Charlotte rubbed her temples. “Please stop. You asked for it.”
“I didn’t ask for it! I was just pointing out the obvious.”
Julian spoke up for the first time. “None of this is helpful. It’s time for you to go.”
Slamming his hands down on the table, Cliff came to his feet. “You don’t get to tell me that.”