CHAPTER SEVEN
JULIA
I MOVED THROUGH THE upstairs hall, doing the kind of mindless tidying that came second nature as Megan Thee Stallion's new album blasted through the house, synced from my phone to our home's Bluetooth system meant for entertaining.
I'd switched to this after Lana Del Rey sang Diet Mountain Dew to me.
The laundry was folded. Hardwood steamed. Clownfish fed. All the simple, minor things that ate up my morning hours.
The twins technically had their own bedrooms, but they'd begged to share since they were toddlers, and I hadn't had the heart to separate them. So one room stood as their domain, the heart of their little kingdom.
I pushed the door open and smiled. Each side bore their personalities like fingerprints.
Aria's half was bold, bright, and loud. Posters covered the walls, basketball shoes sat near the desk where her PC was set up.
She was on a Minecraft kick lately, disappearing into her pixelated worlds every chance she got.
Ellie's half was neater, gentler. A sketchpad lay open on the nightstand, a small vase of Lego flowers pressed against the window.
Her Nintendo Switch was tucked neatly into its dock, waiting for her next turn at Animal Crossing.
I liked to think they got that particular trait from me.
I was both a Fortnite and COD girlie myself, much to Ethan's amusement.
The bookshelf they shared told the same story. Ellie was currently devouring The Baby-Sitters Club, one pastel spine after another, while Aria only wanted Goosebumps, their covers dark and neon.
Tying it all together was the mural Ethan had hired an artist to paint across the accent wall. A sprawling tree, its roots winding along the baseboards and its branches stretching over both beds, dotted with blossoms and hidden animals you only noticed if you looked long enough.
Aria had a hawk perched above her pillow.
Ellie had a fox curled beneath hers. One tree.
Two halves. It made the room feel whole in a way furniture never could.
They were usually good about cleaning up after themselves, but a few stragglers always slipped through the cracks.
A doll without its shoes. A few colored pencils scattered like confetti.
It took me no time at all to get everything squared away. The ordinary rhythm of it was strangely comforting, a reminder that not everything in life needed to be grand or complicated. Sometimes it was just... this. Picking up after your kids.
The sound of a second text coming through my phone downstairs interrupted my music.
I tucked the last colored pencil back into its bin, gave the mural one final look, and headed downstairs.
The screen was still lit when I reached across the kitchen island for it, the time creeping toward midmorning.
The first text was from Ethan, sent a little earlier.
Going into my meeting. I'll call you at lunch or sooner if I can steal a minute. Love you, bella. Last night hasn't left my head. Don't let it leave yours either.
Heat coiled low in my stomach, his words clinging to me in a way no routine love you ever could. Unfortunately, Ethan's lunch could fall anywhere between one and three, if he sat down to eat at all.
I typed back quickly.
Love you too. Good luck in your meeting.
The second text was from the group chat I shared with Latoya, Mehgan, and Carmen.
Still on for lunch? Mehgan had asked.
Toya replied with half a dozen emojis that translated to hell yes. Carmen added the name of the restaurant she'd chosen, her usual overachiever touch.
I tapped out a quick confirmation.
I'll be there.
I checked the time again and knew I needed to get my ass in gear. As I headed back upstairs, my thoughts turned to the Ruiz case. That was what had been eating up so much of my husband's time lately.
Ruiz wasn't some ordinary client. He ran an underground empire in South Florida, the kind of man whose businesses looked legitimate on paper but bled into drugs, extortion, and rumored gun trafficking when you scratched beneath the surface.
It was ugly and twisted, the kind of case that made headlines if the wrong details ever slipped out. Ethan and the firm weren't defending Ruiz's innocence. They were working to contain the damage, manage the evidence, and navigate the legal labyrinth that kept a man like him in play.
The Marcelli Group had handled dangerous clients before, but this one felt heavier.
Even I knew it. Ethan had never really needed to ease me into what exactly he did in a courtroom or who his clientele was.
It had come out very early on considering whose daughter I was, and me knowing who his parents were too.
If I couldn't condemn my Таtо, a proud man who'd made his fortune rubbing shoulders with the devil, I wasn't about to judge the man who now owned ample real estate in my heart.
Honestly, his clients weren't always the monsters the tabloids made them out to be. Some of them were thoughtful, even and others I knew from Mama, though Ethan seemed to forget that more often than not.
Every Christmas, one family sent us a sausage-and-cheese holiday basket complete with their annual card, the whole clan lined up in color-coordinated sweaters, smiling like any other suburban family.
Another client, whose empire stretched into luxury resorts, made sure we always had the option of an all-inclusive stay whenever we wanted to get away.
They were wolves in suits, yes, but even wolves appreciated their pack. I worried more about Ethan being stretched too thin than the company he kept, and the Ruiz case was the biggest one yet. He still had other clients besides him to look after.
I entered our bedroom and paused my music. The vestibule stretched ahead of me, warm light spilling from the chandelier above while the mirror at the far end caught a slice of sunlight streaming through the skylight.
Without slowing, I veered left and slipped into the closet. Ethan used to joke that it was more boutique than closet, but he had no room to talk. His held just as many clothes as mine, all tailored suits and elevated casual wear.
Mine had rows of dresses and blouses arranged by color, heels lined up in precise pairs beneath shelves displaying my bags.
It looked like a lot, but I'd owned many of the pieces for years.
My shopping trips usually consisted of me buying tons of shit I didn't need but somehow always found a place for.
Like the Munroe portrait now hanging in my music-slash-art room on the same wall as a quote from Heathers.
I surveyed my options, wanting to look good without looking overdone.
Eventually, I pulled out a soft cream blouse, high-waisted jeans that hugged just enough, and my favorite flats, comfortable but still chic.
I carried everything into the ensuite, set it down, and started the shower.
The glass doors reflected the ocean spread out beyond the balcony. From here, the water seemed endless, shifting between shades of blue and silver. It was the same view Ethan and I had taken in a thousand times from the oversized tub.
Late-night baths that stretched for hours, laughter echoing against the tile. Other times, silence. Our bodies tangled together, the water cooling around us as we lost ourselves in each other. The memories washed through me, warm and grounding.
I stepped beneath the spray, tilting my head back as the water washed away the morning's chores and the faint ache in my muscles. The glass enclosure clouded slightly at the edges, but the ventilation system purred overhead, and the built-in defogger kept the rest perfectly clear.
When I was done, I wrapped myself in a towel, piled my hair into a turban, and padded over to the sink.
I caught my reflection in the mirror and paused.
Thank God for my parents' good genes. I was aging well.
No desperate hunt for miracle creams yet.
No box dye to chase away early grays. My light copper-auburn hair still gleamed beneath the light, as thick as it had always been.
My body, though? That had changed. Pregnancy had left its fingerprints, subtle but permanent.
My breasts had stayed a size larger, and I could actually shake something now, firmly removing me from the Little Asses Matter Club, as Toya liked to call it.
Faint silver stretch marks curved along the insides of my thighs, reminders etched into my skin.
My stomach was flat and toned again, but that had taken months of sweat, sore muscles, and more than a few near-sobs in the gym mirror.
I felt good in my own skin now. I hadn't always.
During those first months after the girls were born, I'd felt like a stranger to myself.
Maybe it was vain to admit, but it was also the truth.
I got dressed and made myself presentable, taking five tries to whip my hair into something decent but simple.
Before leaving, I moved through my usual checklist. Wallet.
Keys. Phone. All tossed into my bag. Then I checked the girls' car kits.
Snacks, wipes, sanitizer, spare sweaters, and an extra pair of socks each because Aria had a gift for somehow losing hers every damn time we went to the park, and God forbid Ellie discover something in her sister's kit that wasn't also in hers.
Satisfied, I flicked off the lights as I went and armed the main security system at the panel by the door. Bills didn't care if my husband's accounts looked like Fort Knox. Wasting electricity still grated on me. The system beeped twice, armed and ready.
I stepped into the garage, where my Escalade, Big Ange, waited. The damn thing was bigger than it needed to be, but with two kids and all the shit that traveled with them, I'd learned not to complain. I loaded everything, slid behind the wheel, set my bag on the passenger seat, and started her up.