Chapter 39 - Lucy
Love doesn’t arrive the way people promise it will.
I often wondered what it would feel like.
I have had relationships, but I was young when Mom got sick, and then almost all my time and energy went into work, Emily and Mom.
When I look back over the years and the few men I have dated, I can honestly say I had never been in love before.
Had I dreamt of it? Absolutely.
I had dreamt, hoped, wondered... But it didn't come to me as I had pictured in the romcom kind of way.
It didn't knock or announce itself. It didn't sweep in with fireworks and certainty and a voice that says this is it.
It settled in, quietly, patiently. In moments you don’t think to guard.
I don’t notice when it starts, not really. Only that one day I wake up and the shape of my life feels… altered. Softer at the edges. Less like something I’m bracing against and more like something I’m living inside.
It’s winter by then. Chicago wrapped in grey and white, the lake, steel-dark and endless. The penthouse windows frost at the corners overnight, and Julian complains about it like he’s personally offended by the weather.
We fall into routines without naming them.
Morning coffee together. Sometimes silent, sometimes not.
His hand on my lower back when he passes behind me in the kitchen, as if it belongs there.
The way he always kisses my forehead before he leaves, even when he’s already late, even when he thinks I’m half-asleep. Especially when he thinks I am asleep.
I love listening to how he speaks to me when he thinks I am asleep.
Many times, I had wanted to move or say something, reassure him.
But I don't think he is ready for that. It's like the only time he feels safe enough to voice his truth is in the dark, by my side, whispering to me, thinking only he can hear.
Little things that add up over time, not one giant excessive show of love.
I can honestly say I have met two very different Julians. The man I originally met. The man who proposed a marriage like a transaction.
That person signed a document that had such a profound impact on both of our lives, leaving me feeling hollow and cold.
Then there is the after Julian. The Julian who showed up. and continues to show up. Who isnt loud with the way he cares, but he does care. It's just in private, in the quiet. It's no less profound or meaningful. If anything, it feels more so, because it's not for show... It's only for me.
The first time I bring up birth control, it’s awkward and honest.
We’re in bed, tangled together, the aftermath warm and slow and safe. I’m tracing idle patterns on his skin when the thought hits me, sharp and practical and very me.
“Julian?”
“Mm?”
“We should… talk about birth control.”
He stills.
Not in a bad way. Just attentive. Present.
“I should have brought it up sooner,” I add quickly. “I just... things moved fast, and I didn’t want to assume... and you didn't use a condom... and I didn't ask you to... and...”
“You don’t have to justify it,” he says gently, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at me. “What do you need?”
The question is weighted but it also means so much to me.
Because I don't know anyone else who has asked me that, who has held me and looked at me like he is in this moment, and I know he wants to know.
I know what the contract says, but in this moment, he is looking at me like I hold all the cards.
Not what do you want.
Not what’s easiest.
Not well contract timeline states...
What do you need?
I swallow. “I don’t want to get pregnant, not yet.” I swallow, trying to interpret his stormy eyes. "I know it is part of the agreement..." I am absolutely blabbering at this point, "and I want kids... I do. But with mom and work... and us being so new... and this being so nice... "
“Okay,” he interrupts me. “We’ll make sure you’re protected.”
No hesitation. No disappointment.
"I am already on the shot, I just had one not long ago, so I will need to go back in 10 weeks."
We talk through options like adults who respect each other. There’s no pressure. No assumption that my body is a means to something other than mine. We talk about how long it typically takes for the shot to wear off, and we plan to talk again before my next shot to see where we are.
Later, when he pulls me back against him, warm and solid and steady, he presses a kiss to my temple and murmurs, “Thank you for trusting me with that.”
I lie awake long after he falls asleep, stunned by how much that sentence undoes me.
Christmas comes quietly. Mom is still at the facility and hasn't been cleared to leave. So that is where we celebrate this year.
The treatment facility smells like pine and antiseptic and something faintly sweet.
They’ve tried to make it festive. Paper snowflakes taped to windows.
A small tree in the common area is decorated with mismatched ornaments donated by staff.
Julian tells me he needs to make a call and will meet me in moms’ room, before we make it through the main area of the facility.
Mom looks tired. Better than before, but not better. The doctors keep telling me to be patient. That progress isn’t linear. That her body needs time to adjust. That this is what it's like to be a part of a trial.
I nod.
I smile.
I swallow fear like it’s a skill.
When Julian joins me, he doesn’t try to fix it. He sits beside her, asks questions, and listens. Holds her hand when she gets overwhelmed. Brings Emily hot chocolate from the café downstairs and pretends not to notice when she steals his scarf.
When Mom squeezes his hand and says, “Thank you for taking care of my girls,” his voice goes rough when he answers, “It’s my absolute pleasure.”
I believe him.
Laughter seeps into the room from the corridor, and before I know what is happening, Mom's door is opening and Theo, Caleb, Elliot and Rowan are filling the space.
They carry bags of food that smell incredible, and a nurse comes in, bursting with joy, thanking them for the tree, decorations, and food for the facility and staff.
My heart swells, and I cannot remember the last time I felt so supported... so loved.
That night, back at the penthouse, he holds me while I cry for my mom, for all the years of struggle. No platitudes. No promises he can’t keep. Just arms around me and his cheek pressed to my hair.
“It will turn,” he murmurs. “I don’t know when. But it will.”
I don’t know if he’s reassuring himself or me.
Maybe both.
New Year’s Eve is chaos in the best way.
Northwell throws an intimate party that’s somehow elegant and unhinged at the same time. Em comes with us, dressed to kill and loving every second of it.
Theo is immediately insufferable.
Julian almost growled at him, "She is off limits, she's family."
He makes puppy dog eyes at me, and I have to hold back a snort from my laugh, "You trust me with baby Bennett... right, sister of mine. You would give us your blessing."
I expect Elliot to join in, but he is quieter than usual.
But it is Rowan who surprises me, "She is far too good for you, baby North."
Theo scoffs, and Em is full-blown cackling. I haven't seen her this carefree and enjoying being young in so long. Her joy makes me feel so happy.
"What? And Julian is good enough for Lucy?" Theo asks.
"Absolutely not," Caleb interjects.
That gets a laugh out of my husband.
The night settled something deep within me.
Elliot finds his way out of whatever funk he was in and easily charms Em. Rowan goes back to watching everyone from a distance like he’s cataloging threats, and Caleb quietly makes sure she has water between cocktails.
At midnight, Julian kisses me like it’s just us.
I tuck my face into his neck and think, that I could do this forever.
“I’m just saying,” Theo tells Emily, leaning too close on the ride home, “if you weren’t Lucy’s sister... You would totally be with me, right?”
“I am, though,” Em responds sweetly.
Julian watches the exchange with amusement, one hand on my thigh like he’s tethering himself to reality, and I let myself sink into the idea that this is my life now.
Graham re-enters my orbit with intention.
We meet at his foundation's offices, sleek and modern, intimidating in scale. He walks me through the programs, the numbers, and the impact. It’s…
massive. Global. The kind of work I dreamed about when I was younger and didn’t know how unreachable it was.
Didn't know what life would throw at me.
“I want you to oversee all of it,” he says plainly.
It’s overwhelming and intoxicating... and it’s terrifying.
“I need time,” I tell him honestly.
“Of course,” he says. “But think about what you could do.”
That night, curled against Julian on the couch, his dress shirt hanging loose on me, his joggers soft under my cheek, I tell him everything.
The job.
The scale.
The fear.
He listens without interrupting.
When I finish, he brushes his thumb along my arm thoughtfully. “You’ve already done impossible things on your own,” he says. “Now you’re not alone.”
I look up at him. “What if it’s too much?”
“Then we adjust,” he says easily. “Or we build something together. Add a charitable arm to Northwell. Give you the resources without burning you out.”
The fact that he’s thought about this, about me, before I even asked, steals the air from my lungs.
"Really?" I ask, choking back tears.
"Of course," he smiles, "We have been thinking about it for a while, and when I met you, it clicked that you would be perfect. But then Graham asked you, and I didn't want it to come across like I was jealous and throwing my money at the problem."
I almost said it then. It was on the tip of my tongue, but instead I sat up, climbed into his lap and showed him how happy he made me.
The months pass like that.
Not perfectly.
Not dramatically.
Just… together.
I bring him lunch when he forgets to eat.
He brings me dinner when I forget to stop working.
I fall asleep in his office more than once.
The guys stop filtering themselves around me.
And I realize one night, watching him laugh with Emily over something stupid, that I’m no longer waiting for the ground to drop out from under me.
I’m standing.
Balanced.
In love.
It feels like a life I chose.