Chapter Eight Julia
Chapter Eight
Julia
Julia held tight to the side of the speedboat, watching as a once-blurred coastline came into view. She glanced over at Harry, but he just stared at the island with an inscrutable expression.
She still couldn’t quite believe that her Harry—who was happiest in a ratty old sweatshirt, who ate falafel from street carts, who worked at a bungee jump—was an Ellene.
She’d been trying, lately, to ask more about his past, but he was as reticent as ever on the topic of his family.
Julia told herself that it didn’t matter.
After all, if she’d found out Harry was in massive debt, she wouldn’t have left him.
Shouldn’t it be the same in the opposite scenario?
At least Harry had agreed that they could attend his family reunion in Greece. Julia was looking forward to meeting everyone, and hopefully gaining a new understanding of the man she loved.
Though she would have been lying if she said she wasn’t nervous.
Over the past weeks, Julia had done some surreptitious googling, trying to prepare herself for what lay ahead.
She’d started with Harry’s father, Bruce Ellene, only to find that he had a surprisingly slim online presence for the CEO of a major conglomerate.
The news sites that did mention him merely called him a “strategic genius” or a “reclusive businessman.” None of the websites featured photos.
He didn’t seem interested in any of the brand-building that CEOs usually invested in.
He had sponsored no charities, given no TED Talks.
As for Harry’s mother, her name was listed on various philanthropic websites—the New York City Ballet, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Garden Club of America’s Upper East Side location—and that was it. Like her husband, she had zero photographic presence.
Their speedboat hit a wave and Julia yelped, holding her baseball cap so it wouldn’t fly off. Harry reflexively reached an arm around her, tucking her into his side.
The past twenty-four hours had been a surreal blur, starting with the private plane that had picked them up in Queenstown—a plane that was twice as big as their entire apartment.
It had stopped to refuel in Mumbai, amid profuse apologies from the pilot, who explained that even the biggest jets couldn’t carry enough fuel for a twenty-one-hour flight.
When they boarded and the flight attendant stepped forward to introduce herself as Blair, Julia had shot Harry an incredulous glance, wondering why they needed a flight attendant for just the two of them.
Harry had fiddled with his AirPods, oblivious.
“Would you like some wine?” Blair asked. When Julia nodded, Blair pressed, “What type? Mr. Ellene stocks the plane with everything, though his preference is usually a Bordeaux vertical.”
“Um, sure. That sounds great,” Julia had mumbled. The type of wine she’d been about to request was red.
To Julia’s dismay, and Harry’s amusement, Blair returned a few minutes later with three glasses of wine. “A lovely vertical, if I do say so. The ’03, ’04, and ’05 Chateau Margaux.”
“Here, I’ll save you the trouble of doing the whole vertical,” Harry whispered conspiratorially, once Blair had departed. He leaned over to push the last glass toward Julia. “The ’05 is best by a mile.”
She reached for the wine and swallowed a big gulp, trying to hide how overwhelmed she felt. Since when was a single glass of wine at a time insufficient? What else did billionaires do differently, if they didn’t even drink like normal people?
When they landed in Athens, a waiting SUV had shuttled them to the docks, where they’d boarded a motorized yacht for the ninety-minute ride to the Ellenes’ private island.
As they drew closer, Julia realized that a mountain—or was it a dormant volcano?—rose up from the center of the island, so tall that its summit was shrouded in clouds. It reminded her of photos she’d seen of Mount Etna. “Where are we?”
“In the Aegean Sea. Mykonos is a few hours that way.” Harry pointed across the deep blue water. Julia obediently glanced over, though all she saw was endless horizon.
They pulled up to the dock, where a cluster of young men in polos and khaki shorts stood ready to tether the boat. A few of them jumped on board to collect her and Harry’s suitcases, which suddenly looked battered and pitiful.
As soon as they’d disembarked, another man stepped forward, holding a tray with two drinks on it.
“Sir,” he murmured to Harry, gesturing to a crystal tankard of foamy beer.
Then he nodded in Julia’s direction. “My apologies, miss, I didn’t know your preference, but an Aperol spritz is customary this time of day. ”
“Thank you.” Julia reached for the glass, which had a slice of blood orange bobbing merrily at the top. She’d seen people drink these on the cruise line but had never actually tried one.
“Harry! You made it!”
A woman with dark blond hair was half-jogging toward the dock, lifting a hand to shade her owlish gray eyes.
“Alina.” Harry’s smile was genuine, his eyes crinkling with delight. “I’ve missed you.”
Julia knew next to nothing about Harry’s sister Alina, except that she split her time between Shanghai, Tokyo, and London, running the European and Asian offices of TWL.
She watched as Harry pulled Alina into a brief hug, then stepped back just as quickly. Both of them looked embarrassed by their own display of affection.
“You brought a date! Smart move,” Alina murmured, then held out a hand in Julia’s direction. Julia introduced herself, wondering what exactly Alina meant by that remark. Had Harry’s family been judgmental when he showed up at previous reunions alone?
“Julia went to Harvard, too,” Harry offered his sister, who brightened.
“Oh, you did? Which school?”
It took a moment for Julia to realize that Alina was asking which graduate program Julia had done.
“I went to Harvard for undergrad. I was an art history major.” She smiled in amusement.
This was probably the first time in her life that she’d felt inferior about doing college, and only college, at Harvard.
“You were in law school, right?” she asked Alina. “Or was it business school?”
“Oh, I did both,” Alina said, almost carelessly.
Julia’s eyes widened. “Impressive. I think the only thing harder than a JD/MBA is probably an MD/JD. I’ve heard everyone drops out of that one within a year.”
Alina opened her mouth to reply. For an instant, Julia thought she was going to say that she also had a medical degree, but that would be impossible, right?
Harry cleared his throat. “Can you ladies do your Harvard reminiscing later?”
“Of course. You must both be exhausted.” Alina led them up a winding stone path, chattering to Julia about her college classes.
She had a truly impressive knowledge of the art history course catalog.
Julia kept stealing glances at Alina, wondering how much older she was than Harry—two, maybe four years?
Her face was unlined, her steel-gray eyes bright and assessing.
She was tall, and though Julia wouldn’t have called her graceful, she walked with precise, clean, purposeful steps that made Julia aware of her own walk, a tired and halfhearted shuffle.
They passed verdant green lawns that sloped toward the sea, dotted with olive and citrus trees. At least a dozen villas were scattered over the landscape, glittering like sugar cubes in the late afternoon sun.
“Really, Harry, I’m glad you’re back,” Alina was saying to her brother. “The last few council meetings were brutal without you. I had to listen to Diana drone on about astrology and lunar cycles, without anyone to play hangman with.”
“Council meetings?” Julia asked Harry. “I thought you weren’t involved in TWL.”
“It’s not a board meeting, it’s family stuff,” he said evasively. By that, Julia assumed he meant the management of all the various Ellene wealth and properties. He shot her an apologetic look. “We usually meet for a day or two at the reunion. Do you think you’ll be okay on your own?”
“Of course,” Julia assured him, though she felt far from certain.
Then they crested a rise in the hill, and the main house came into view.
Julia gasped. It was colossal, as big as a hotel, constructed entirely of pristine white limestone and marble. A tumbled stone wall surrounded it. Julia stepped closer, tracing the ruins with a finger.
“That wall dates from the Frankokratia period. The thirteenth century,” Alina explained in an academic voice that made Julia think of college. “After the Fourth Crusade. Our family’s archers ducked behind the wall for cover before shooting their arrows.”
It took a minute for Julia to register what Harry’s sister had said.
“Your family has owned this island for eight hundred years?” She tried not to sound shocked, but honestly, Julia felt entitled to a bit of shock.
Her own family couldn’t trace its lineage any farther than her mother’s grandfather, who had come from Ireland to Ellis Island at the turn of the last century. Just who were the Ellenes?
“It’s been our family home for a long time,” Harry said hastily.
Before Julia could explain that most families did not, in fact, hold on to real estate for the better part of a millennium, a figure appeared at the front door of the main house.
Alina shot her brother a concerned glance. “I’ll be in the foyer, if you need me to intervene. Good luck.” She gave Harry’s arm a supportive squeeze, then darted around the figure on the front steps with a deferential nod.
Harry reached for Julia’s hand and tugged her forward to meet Bruce Ellene. “Father,” he said, in what struck Julia as a rather formal greeting.
Belatedly, Julia realized that Harry had abandoned his beer, and quickly set her empty cocktail glass on a table. She hadn’t even realized that she’d finished it. No wonder rich people liked Aperol spritzes; they were as easy to drink as liquid candy.
Then she glanced up at Bruce Ellene.