Chapter Fifteen
Juliet
“Juliet,” Marcel calls from his office as Clara sweeps past me, her heels clicking against the tile.
She smells expensive and she’s stunning, late forties maybe, perfectly put together, the kind of woman who belongs on the cover of glossy magazines.
As she passes, her eyes flicker over me in quick assessment before she says, tight and clipped, throwing a glance back over her shoulder, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Marcel. ”
Tomorrow. My chest aches. She’s his ex-wife, the one who left him for someone else, but the ease between them feels too familiar. Do they still love each other in some weird toxic way?
“Juliet,” Marcel calls and this time his voice is sharper than I’m used to. He’s irritated about something and it stings.
I’ve been looking forward to spending the day with him. I have a list of things I want him to see and experience as we walk around the community, sneaking hot chocolate breaks, maybe even catching that spark that always seems to flare between us. Now my excitement shrivels.
I step into his office, trying to keep my voice even. “Maybe we should postpone.”
His brow furrows. “Why?”
I shrug, pretending indifference. “I just ... it seems like you’re busy. I didn’t know your ex-wife would be coming.”
“Trust me, neither did I. However, I pay her alimony check annually just before Christmas so she has money for the things she needs. She is used to a lifestyle her partner can’t provide for her.”
“So, she followed you here?”
“It’s my last year paying her. Our lawyers worked out terms that required me to pay her until now.
I’m sure coming here is part of a larger plan to try to extend that time.
Technically, whatever I make on this project is excluded from her alimony because I will give her the last installment this week.
So, she’s probably here snooping to see if she can amend the terms with her lawyer.
Clara is not to be underestimated. I don’t see how she’d be able to change our agreement, but as long as we are still within the alimony window, I won’t put anything past her. ” His predicament breaks my heart.
“I still have to see the community and do my assessments,” he says firmly. “And I’d rather do it with you than alone.”
I bite my lip, hesitating. “People in the office are starting to talk about us.”
“Let them talk,” he says, dismissively. “I don’t care. I’m the financial lead on the project. I’m the money, so if they have a problem with me, they can always quit.”
I swallow hard, following him into the office, but my heart still hurts. He gestures for me to sit, then leans against the desk, his gaze steady.
“Clara likes to show up at Christmas under the guise of being nice,” he explains. “Really, she’s here to make sure her annual alimony payment is made on time. It’s not a friendly visit. I’ll pay her, and she’ll leave. Don’t worry. There is nothing left between us.”
I’m still uneasy about everything. It doesn’t matter if he has truly ended his relationship with Clara. The truth is, he still doesn’t want anything to do with me, long-term.
“Sure,” I murmur, even though relief is the last thing I feel. “I just need to freshen up before we head out,” I tell him, excusing myself.
“Go ahead, I need to answer some emails, so I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Okay, the lobby where everyone can see us—great.
The bathroom smells faintly of citrus cleaner and expensive perfume. It smells like Clara. She’s still here, leaning forward against the sink, reapplying lipstick like she has all the time in the world. My stomach ties into knots. I angle to slip past her quietly, but her voice stops me.
“You’re Juliet, aren’t you?”
“Um ... yes,” I say quietly and wonder what she knows about me.
She studies me in the mirror, her expression cool.
“Marcel gets lonely during the holidays. Every year there’s someone different.
You’re his type.” She eyes me up and down.
“He likes curvy girls.” Is she calling me fat?
“As soon as the snow melts and disappears, so will you. He’s a womanizer who runs through women like water.
You’d be wise to stop all this nonsense now.
” The words hurt, but there’s something about her tone that feels bitter and viperous.
I gather my courage. “Why do you care?” I try to act aloof as if I date bosses all of the time and my relationship with Marcel means as little to me as it does to him.
Her hand pauses mid-lipstick swipe. She meets my eyes in the mirror, something fragile flickering there for just a heartbeat. “He’s a robot. He had the best of me, and I wasn’t enough. You won’t be either ... trust me.”
She caps her lipstick and smooths her coat. As she walks out her perfume lingers like smoke and she adds quietly, “Just wait. You’ll see.”
I stand there, staring at my reflection, my chest tight and my heart unsure.
The bathroom door clicks shut behind Clara, but her words hang in the chilly air.
He’s a robot.
You won’t be enough.
I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles whitening against the porcelain. My reflection stares back, flushed cheeks, wide eyes that don’t look like the girl who spent last night tangled beneath her grandmother’s quilt with Marcel Dubois buried inside of her.
He told me he was a womanizer, this isn’t news.
He’s never pretended to be a man that doesn’t run through women like water.
The rational part of me whispers that she has every reason to be bitter.
She was the one he kept and now she’s watching him go through women, though doesn’t she have the man she left Marcel to be with?
Another part of me, the vulnerable part, starts tallying every time Marcel’s guarded gaze slipped into adoration when he looked at me.
The way he let me sleep with my head on his chest all night and how he kisses me like I matter.
Still, they were married for a long time.
We’ve known each other for a week—she’s probably right.
Marcel doesn’t like being alone, especially during the holidays and I’m filling that gap.
If she couldn’t reach the heart of the man she married, what chance do I have?
I run cold water over my hands, letting the sting ground me.
Outside the window, a stray flurry of snow dances past, reminding me that the storm is over but winter isn’t done with us yet.
I dab at my eyes and fix my hair, forcing a bright expression onto my face.
I tell myself I’m not going to let Clara Dubois taint my memories of last night.
Marcel may be complicated, stubborn, guarded, and infuriatingly arrogant, but he isn’t cruel.
He held me, he listened. And yet, as I step into the hallway, my chest feels heavier.
The sparkle I left the house feeling this morning has dulled, replaced with a cautious ache.
I can’t let Clara’s words steal my joy. Marcel told me himself that he is temporary, that we’re a fling.
Having Clara confirm that means nothing.
If it’s a fling, then I’m going to have fun and show Marcel the best Christmas ever.
If I save the library and our community, then all of this will have been worth every moment.
By the time I reach the lobby, Marcel is standing there. I paste on a smile, but inside, the questions swirl like snow in a restless wind.
“Ready? I need to assess the neighborhood and community involvement. I’ll take voice notes on my phone. Are you okay with this?”
I force my lips into a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yes, I’m fine with it.”
He studies me a moment longer, then pockets his phone. “You look ... different. Did Clara say something? She likes to scare pretty girls she thinks I’m dating.” Ouch. The question hits too close.
I laugh lightly, fake and brittle. “Just that I should moisturize more. It was a dig, but not too deep,” I play off the lie.
His brow furrows, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he grabs his coat and gestures toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go see Christmas in Eaton.”
I follow him out the door, feeling the weight of curious stares on my back. The hum of whispered conversations rises. Marcel, of course, doesn’t seem to notice or care, I guess.
In the elevator, he glances sideways at me. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who is about to show me the joys of Christmas.” He gives me a playful smile and it’s hard to resist.
“Yes, the joys of Christmas with a Grinch, it’s a little daunting,” I reply, aiming for playful, but there’s a strain in my voice.
He exhales and almost laughs but not really. “You’re a terrible liar, Juliet.”
The doors to the outside slide open and the cold air rushes in. Marcel steps ahead to hold the doors for me, a small, unexpectedly gentle gesture that knots my stomach even tighter. As we step out into the snow, Marcel tilts his head toward me, his tone lighter.
“Show me your world, Juliet. I’d rather you guide me through it than an investor with price tags in his eyes.” I think of old timey cartoons and they lighten my mood.
Though Clara’s words still whisper in my head, I try to push them away.
I tell myself to focus on the community tour, on the fight to save the library, on anything except the ache in my chest. When my shoulder brushes his arm as we walk, the spark that ignites between us feels impossibly alive.
I may just be a moment, but this will be a memory that will last a lifetime.
The wind bites at my cheeks as we step off the curb, snow crunching under our boots.
The storm has left the world sparkling with branches coated in ice and rooftops crowned in white.
Marcel keeps pace beside me, with his coat collar turned up against the chill.
He looks every inch the polished mogul, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes that softens him just a little.