Chapter Thirteen Julia
Chapter Thirteen
Julia
This early in the morning, the Athens airport was barely stirring to life, its retail options still shuttered and dark. Julia sighed. Her body ached for a coffee, but the intercom had just announced that her flight was boarding. She would have to make do with the watery stuff on the plane.
It didn’t matter. By tonight, Julia would be sitting at a neighborhood pub with her best friend, telling Abby the whole awful story of what had happened.
She reached for her phone and sent her a quick text: Boarding soon.
Will text when I land in Frankfurt. It would have been better to fly straight to London, of course, but the direct flights were all sold out.
And Julia felt desperate to get out of Greece, immediately.
Last night, after her conversation—or was it a confrontation?
—with Harry’s sister-in-law, Julia had returned to the party in a state of shock.
She’d mumbled something to Harry about feeling exhausted, then stumbled upstairs to the tiny bird room.
For once, Julia was grateful for her forced separation from Harry.
She needed space to sort through her angry, tangled thoughts.
Perhaps Valentine’s remorse had been genuine, or perhaps she was trying to intimidate Julia.
Did it matter? Julia could tell that Valentine was telling the truth.
It all made a sickening kind of sense: Harry’s estrangement from his family, especially from his brother.
His refusal to tell Julia the reason why.
Alina’s remark that bringing Julia was a smart move.
The way Percy had tensed when Julia asked, Is she Harry’s ex?
Harry had slept with his brother’s wife.
It was one thing to lie about his family background, to bring Julia all the way to Greece without adequately preparing her for the wealth and judgment she would face. But how could she trust him again, knowing that he’d done something like that? To his own sibling?
Julia had known, with the clarity that hits in the middle of the night, that she needed to leave.
She’d thrown her clothes into her suitcase and hurried down to the docks, where a lone figure in the white Olympus polo was sitting by the speedboats.
To her surprise, he’d offered little resistance when she asked for a ride back to the mainland, even at that ungodly hour.
Perhaps he’d been instructed to take guests wherever they asked.
Standing here at the airport, about to flee to Germany, Julia’s mind went back to the night she’d met Harry.
She remembered thinking that he reminded her of Preston.
It had been something in his voice, or the bold assurance with which he carried himself.
At the time, she’d assumed it came from being the most attractive man in the room—but now she saw that, just as with Preston, it was a confidence born of privilege, of being so rich that nothing could ever really hurt you.
Of living with a safety net of money and connections.
It was the kind of confidence that crossed far too easily into selfishness.
Julia had known Preston Hayes since her freshman year at Harvard. Or more accurately, she’d known who he was, because everyone on campus knew Preston. His family’s name was emblazoned on the side of the library, a testament to their $100 million donation to the university.
Preston, of course, had zero awareness of Julia.
When he had handed her his student ID so she could swipe him into the dining hall, where she worked as part of her academic scholarship, he’d looked right through her.
Julia was too busy studying to care; she had a full course load as an art history major who was also prelaw.
She assumed Preston must have been prelaw, too, because she kept seeing him in those classes—History 205: The Supreme Court, or English 300: Writing for the Law.
Then junior year, at a Harvard Law School info session, Preston had sidled up to her. “Julia, right? I’m Preston.” He’d been so very handsome in his blazer with its monogrammed pocket square, his blond hair a bit shaggy, his smile charming and oh so confident.
“So you want to go to law school?” Julia had asked, then felt instantly ridiculous. Why else would he be here? But Preston had nodded as if the question made sense.
“My dad wants me to go. Four generations of lawyers in my family.” He lowered his voice as if letting Julia in on a secret. “Dad’s trying to convince me to be president someday.”
It shouldn’t have impressed her, the way this boy spoke about being president as if it were an item at the grocery store he debated taking off the shelf. Yet at the time, she’d been dazzled by it.
“I missed last Thursday’s history class.” Preston gave a sheepish smile. “Could I borrow your notes?”
When he brought back Julia’s spiral notebook, having photocopied not only Thursday’s notes but the entire semester’s worth, Preston also brought an invitation to that weekend’s formal at his final club.
Julia should have seen the red flag. From the very beginning, their relationship had been transactional.
But she’d been young and blinded by his charm, and, quite honestly, by the new attention she received as his girlfriend.
For the next ten months, Preston squired her around to boozy brunches in the square, to football games, to final club events.
Julia was convinced that she loved him. When they both applied to Harvard Law School, she actually wished him good luck, even offered to proofread his essay, because she was worried he might not get in. His grades were middling at best.
A few weeks later, when the dean of Harvard Law School emailed to request a meeting, Julia was thrilled. This must be an admissions interview. She splurged on a new blazer for the occasion, showed up half an hour early out of sheer anxiety.
When she walked into the dean’s office, he frowned at her over his glasses. “We need to discuss this,” he said ominously, holding up a printed slip of paper.
It took a moment for Julia to recognize it as her Harvard Law School application essay.
Not her personal statement, but the analytical essay, in which she’d been asked to “discuss how a legal system should weigh the rights of individuals against the needs of society.” Julia had leaned on what she knew best—the classics—and compared the modern idea of justice to the ancient Greek justice meted out by the gods.
She’d seen the concept in Greek art so many times that the essay had written itself.
“Of course, Dean Carlton. Is it a question of my argument?” Julia asked hesitantly. “I went back and forth on whether to include the Oresteia, as it’s a work of fiction, but fiction can often reveal surprising truths about the time in which it was written—”
“The essay was spectacular,” the dean cut in, still frowning.
“The problem is that another student submitted the same one. Word for word. Miss Dodds, nothing is more important to us at Harvard than ethical behavior. We will be forced to conduct an investigation, and will report back when we have reached a decision….”
Julia’s ears were roaring. She didn’t need to ask who the other student was—she knew, with a sickening certainty.
Preston had done this.
Unsurprisingly, the so-called investigation determined that she was at fault and Preston was innocent, that she had copied the essay from him. As if Preston had ever thought about the Oresteia a day in his life.
In the end, all the law schools Julia had applied to withdrew their offers of acceptance. Her advisor said she was lucky to graduate at all, though Harvard stripped away her magna cum laude.
Back in Marietta after graduation, Julia stewed over the betrayal. Had Preston always planned on stealing her spot at Harvard Law, or did he copy the essay on impulse, worried that his family’s connections weren’t enough to make up for his weak academic record?
Then she’d seen the ad for Elysian Cruise Line, the place where you could escape and forget, and applied on the spot. They accepted her within days. A stroke of much-needed good luck, after all the bad luck she’d faced over the past year.
Now she wondered if the same misfortune that had led her to Preston had also led her to Harry. Why did she keep attracting these rich, selfish men? Did something about her draw them in like moths to a flame? Or was this bad karma, the universe punishing her for some unknown mistake she’d made?
“Boarding group five,” the gate agent announced in English, sounding utterly disinterested. Julia joined the sleepy group shuffling toward the kiosk.
“Julia!”
At first, she thought she’d hallucinated Harry’s voice.
Then she saw him sprinting through the terminal: weaving around small children, jumping over suitcases like a track star clearing hurdles.
He was wearing athletic shorts and one of his old work T-shirts that read Kawarau Bridge, making him look more like himself—more like the Harry she knew—than Julia had seen in days.
When he reached her, Harry didn’t seem the slightest bit winded. “Please, can we talk?” he asked, eyes beseeching.
Julia held her boarding pass out to the gate agent. “I’m getting on this plane.”
“Then so am I.”
Had Harry known where she was headed and bought a ticket on the same flight? No, Julia realized, he wasn’t pulling out a boarding pass at all. Instead, he withdrew a black ID card from his wallet and handed it to the gate agent.
The woman blanched, eyes widening, then began frantically tapping at the screen. “Sir, there are no more first-class seats. Please allow me a moment to reallocate the passengers so that I can accommodate you.”
It took Julia a moment to realize what the airline representative meant. She was going to boot someone from first class and give the seat to Harry.
“That won’t be necessary; I’ll sit next to my traveling companion.” Harry gestured to Julia.
Ignoring him, Julia made her way toward the jet bridge.