Chapter Eight Julia #2
Her first thought was that he looked vaguely familiar.
Of course, there was no way they had met, even when Julia had worked on his cruise line.
It wasn’t as if the CEO stopped by to deliver motivational speeches to the staff.
Perhaps his photo had been printed in one of her employee handouts, and she’d forgotten it until now.
Harry’s father was undoubtedly handsome, with symmetrical features and a sloping nose: not quite the same sort of handsome as Harry, whose features were blunter, his smile quirky and uneven.
Bruce’s eyes were the blue-gray of the sky before a storm, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly trimmed.
He wore a casual linen shirt and loafers, yet there was something unmistakably intimidating about his presence—the sense of great power, held on a leash.
He seemed to crackle with energy, as if the very air surrounding him was laced with electricity.
“My son. I am glad to see you.” Bruce used the same formal tone as his son.
Then the two men closed the distance between them, and Bruce pulled Harry into a hug.
When they stepped apart, Bruce was still gazing at his son. “I have to say, we didn’t know you were coming. We didn’t even know where you were.”
“That was kind of the point,” Harry said under his breath.
Julia was still processing Bruce’s statement. He hadn’t known they were coming? But then, who had sent the jet?
“Your brother is here, you know.” Bruce’s tone was sharp, almost a warning.
Julia glanced at Harry in confusion, but he only nodded. “Father, this is my girlfriend, Julia Dodds.”
Bruce’s attention turned to Julia for the first time, and he held out a hand. When she shook it, he looked into her eyes as if he could see into her very soul.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Julia said softly.
“Julia,” he repeated, and flashed a cavalier, charming smile. “Welcome to Olympus.”
The front door swung open again, revealing a woman who could only be Harry’s mother. She was painfully elegant, her dark hair swept into a chignon, her white silk dress cinched at the waist.
“Bruce, there you are!” she exclaimed. “Have you seen Paul? The baby managed to get hold of an arrow, and he’s stabbed Diana with it.”
An arrow? Was archery something that rich people did as a pastime?
Tara’s eyes lit on her son, and she drew in a breath, her expression melting into one of affection, and worry, and relief.
“Harry,” she breathed, in a tone so full of love that it made Julia’s chest ache with longing for her own mother.
Tara ran forward, hugging Harry to her chest and squeezing him tight. She murmured something in his ear. Julia wasn’t certain, but she thought it was, “Never do that again, all right?”
Harry’s father disappeared into the main house, giving Harry and his mother space for their private reunion. Julia wondered if she could follow, but then Harry took a step back and reached for her, tugging her toward Tara.
“Mother,” he began, “I’d like to introduce Julia. My girlfriend.”
Tara glanced at Julia with what could only be described as polite indifference. “I’m sure it’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Ellene,” Julia replied. “Your home is beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Tara turned briskly to her son. “I wish you’d told me you were bringing a guest. There’s nowhere for Julia to stay; we’re completely at capacity. I’ll have to put her in the bird room.”
Julia was about to point out that she could stay with Harry, that they lived together in Queenstown, but a glance at his mother’s pursed lips made her hesitate.
Tara clearly held traditional views about premarital sleeping arrangements, and the last thing Julia needed was to start on the wrong foot with Harry’s mother.
“Of course, I’m happy to take the bird room.” Julia smiled as broadly as she could.
Harry hesitated. “Mother, isn’t there anywhere else? The bird room is pretty small….”
“I don’t mind small. I’ve spent my fair share of time on bunk beds,” Julia said politely.
She was talking about her freshman dorm at Harvard, not to mention the staff quarters on the cruise line, but Tara stared at her with evident distaste.
Julia resisted the urge to tug self-consciously at the hem of her T-shirt, which was crumpled and stale from hours of travel.
“What brought you to Queenstown, Julia?” Tara asked.
“The usual. I came for adventure, and stayed because New Zealand is magical.”
“Julia has a job guiding tours of the Milford Sound,” Harry explained proudly. “She leads tour groups in German, French, and Spanish.”
Tara’s pleasant expression seemed pasted on her face. “Four languages, you’re quite accomplished. Your parents must be so proud.”
“Actually, my mother passed when I was nine. I was raised by my aunt and uncle.”
“I got to meet them last summer. They’re wonderful,” Harry chimed in, putting an arm around Julia’s waist in silent support.
Tara made a sympathetic clucking sound. “Oh, I’m sorry. How hard it must have been for you to grow up without parents.” She hesitated only an instant before adding, “I imagine it forced you to become self-sufficient at a young age, not to mention ambitious.”
There it was. Oblique and indirect, but still, Julia caught it—the implication that she was a gold-digger. That she’d targeted Harry because she wanted to, what? Marry rich? When, in fact, his wealth was starting to frighten her.
Before Julia could blurt out that she’d had no idea about Harry’s money, his mother smiled serenely. “Why don’t I show you to your room? You’ll want to change before meeting everyone, of course.”
Julia was never one to second-guess her wardrobe, but suddenly she wished she’d bought a new dress for this trip.
“I’ll meet up with you later,” Harry promised, leaving Julia to follow his mother.
She had a brief impression of the entry hall, bright and airy with a grand marble staircase, before Tara led her into the living space beyond.
Through an archway Julia saw a sprawling terrace, lit by the fiery orange of the setting sun.
A second, reflected sunset gleamed in the pool farther down the lawn.
Julia was surprised that there were no yachts or sailboats dotting the waves, especially if Mykonos was nearby, but the water was empty—as if the entire ocean, too, belonged to the Ellene family alone.
As she followed Tara through the open-air great room, Julia couldn’t help but notice the absence of family portraits.
There were no framed wedding photos, no snapshots of kids playing on the beach.
It made the whole place feel more like a hotel than a home.
Julia decided not to ask about it, though she had been secretly looking forward to seeing photos of Harry as a child, grinning at the camera through missing front teeth.
Tara turned down a back hallway and went up a narrower staircase at the rear of the house. At the top, she threw open a door, revealing a room hardly big enough for a twin bed. A single nightstand was shoved into one corner, and the lone window looked out over the back lawn.
“I know it’s a little cozy,” Tara said, far too cheerfully.
Julia glanced at the waffle-weave blanket on the bed, at the plain white walls, eerily reminiscent of those in the cruise ship’s quarters. “Why is it called the bird room?” She’d expected a sparrow painting on the wall, or maybe that the bedding would be printed with tiny hummingbirds.
“Because the birds sing right outside the window at dawn. It’s such a special way to wake up,” Tara said sweetly.
Julia was no fool. She’d been on scholarship at one of the most elite institutions in the world; she recognized when she was being hazed.
“How lovely,” she replied brightly, matching Tara’s tone. “It’s perfect.”
When Harry’s mother had left, Julia wandered over to the window and pressed her forehead to the glass. What the hell was she even doing here, on a remote island in Greece, surrounded by all this money and animosity?
Julia had a sudden longing to talk to someone who knew her—someone who would unwaveringly, unhesitatingly take her side. She reached for her phone to call Abby.
“Do you think your parents know the Ellenes?” Julia had asked her friend the last time they FaceTimed. Abby had grown up on the Upper East Side. For all Julia knew, she’d attended the same all-girls’ high school as Harry’s sister Alina.
“Oh, I already asked,” Abby had replied. “My dad has never met Bruce, but my mom has crossed paths with Harry’s mom through one of her charities. She said Tara is…” Abby had hesitated before saying, “Quite the personality.”
That was Abby’s mother’s way of calling Tara a bitch.
Seeing the expression on Juila’s face, Abby had sighed sympathetically. “If she’s as bad as my mom thinks, and you need to get away, just sneak on a plane to London.”
Julia was out of her depth. She might have gone to Harvard, but she was still helpless when it came to the Ellenes’ world of galas and private schools and garden clubs. Abby might have left it all behind, but she was still born to it. She still understood it in a way that Julia never would.
No Service, her phone informed her. Julia frowned, noticing the missing bars.
After a few attempts to find Wi-Fi, she gave up and flopped back onto the twin bed.
The mattress felt lumpy and old, but Julia was suddenly so tired.
No, not just tired—exhausted, with a weariness that seeped down into her bones.
She needed to shower for dinner, to find Harry, to…
Julia’s thoughts fragmented as she fell, hard, into sleep.