Chapter Forty-Four Julia #2
She was distracted, she decided, turning aside. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except that she and Harry were about to begin their lives together.
· · ·
Julia woke in the middle of the night to hear someone breaking into her room.
At first she thought it was a dream. But the longer she lay in bed, listening to the determined scrabbling at her door, the more she became aware that it was real.
Julia rolled out of bed in a single motion.
She fumbled through the room in the dark, trying to find something that could be used for self-defense.
The glass lamp on the bedside table was too heavy to lift.
She ran to the minibar, her heart pounding through the sounds from her door.
Could she smash a glass bottle on her attacker?
Then she saw the corkscrew, its silver point gleaming in the darkness. It was sharp enough.
Julia grabbed the corkscrew in her right hand, ready to stab with it like it was a dagger. Air rushed into her lungs as she flung open the door—
There was no one there.
She blinked and stepped forward, staring in both directions. Was she imagining it, or were footsteps receding down the hallway?
Julia glanced back into her room, trembling from the adrenaline that still pounded through her body.
Outside, the wind howled like a wild thing.
In the darkness, her bed felt even emptier than before.
No way would she be able to fall back asleep—at least, not alone.
She was far too shaken, her whole body jolted brutally awake.
She wanted Harry.
Julia slid her feet into flip-flops, then dug through her purse for the key card to Harry’s room.
Thankfully, key card readers worked on individual batteries rather than electricity; otherwise the whole hotel would be at a standstill right now.
Harry had slipped the key card to her at check-in, with a wicked grin and a murmured, In case you want to break the rules.
This seemed like the perfect time for rule-breaking.
If Harry’s mother caught her, she could call Julia a harlot all she wanted, but what difference did seven hours make? By noon tomorrow, they would have said their vows, and it would be official.
She just wanted to make sure she slipped out the door tomorrow morning in the early hours. In deference to traditional wedding protocol, Harry and Julia had decided not to see each other until the doors opened and she processed down the aisle.
Julia was surprised to find that she was looking forward to this moment, to catching the expression on Harry’s face when she faced him as his bride. Maybe Tara’s old-fashioned romanticism was contagious.
Clutching the flashlight from her emergency kit, Julia headed down the staircase to the second floor. At the door to Harry’s room, she pressed the card over the reader. To her relief, the door clicked open.
“Harry?” she whispered, and walked inside. Then she went completely still.
Harry was in bed—and he wasn’t alone.
At first Julia didn’t compute the scene before her. It made no sense that Valentine was in bed with Harry, her blond hair tumbled gloriously over the pillows, her bare chest draped over his. The way they were tangled together, both naked—there was no question of what had happened earlier.
Julia wanted to scream, but no sound escaped her lips, not even a breath.
She should run forward and slap them both awake. She should shout until everyone in the building woke, until the whole family knew what hateful, hurtful liars Harry and Valentine were. She should throw this flashlight at Harry’s handsome face.
Yet Julia felt paralyzed. She did nothing but stand there, unable to think over the roaring in her ears.
Somehow, she backed up and closed the door behind her with the gentlest of clicks.
She thought she heard Valentine stir as she left, but it was too late; Julia was already running back toward the staircase, the beam of the flashlight swinging erratically over the walls.
Her body convulsed with aftershocks of anguish, pain reverberating through her like a burn.
In the midst of all the hurt, she felt anger. Julia grabbed tight to that anger like a leash. Anger was the easiest emotion to face. Anger would keep her moving, whereas if she confronted her heartbreak, she might crumple up in bed and never leave.
Then she would have to face Harry in the morning, and worse, Valentine.
Had they been sleeping together ever since Julia and Harry moved to New York? She thought again of Valentine’s possessiveness, of the smug way she always stared at Julia.
Hadn’t she sensed that Harry was keeping something from her?
Yes, she thought darkly, it must have been happening the whole time. She would be a fool to think otherwise.
Back on the third floor, Julia raced down the hallway to another room, one she’d been in only hours before.
After the Ellene family dinner, which Abby had good-naturedly joined, the two best friends had retreated to Abby’s room.
We can go to my suite, Julia had offered, but Abby was already opening various jars of candy from the minibar and blasting Taylor Swift.
I bought these face masks at the airport, Abby had offered, pulling a pair of squishy gel masks from her carry-on. Should we try them?
The masks were, inexplicably, scented like peppermint, and printed orange with black spots and cat whiskers.
Julia and Abby had debated whether they were leopards or cheetahs, then wasted a ridiculous amount of time googling the difference between the two.
They discussed their jobs, gossiped about Harry’s family, and reminisced about college.
They had laughed so hard that Julia’s sides hurt, both unconcerned about the rain pattering against the windows. Both were supremely confident that this wedding would take place, and Julia would have her happily ever after.
What a difference a day had made.
Julia knocked at the door. A few moments later, Abby opened it with a bleary yawn. Her eyes widened when she saw the stricken expression on Julia’s face.
“Julia? Are you okay?”
“No. I’m not okay,” she replied, her voice small.
Abby didn’t ask what had happened. She just opened the door wider, tugging Julia inside and opening her arms.
Julia stepped into them, leaning her head on her friend’s shoulder, and began to weep.
She cried for her and Harry, for the trust that was irrevocably shattered. She cried for herself, that she’d once again given her heart to a man who didn’t deserve it.
“Harry…Harry was…,” she tried to say between sobs, but the words wouldn’t come.
Julia hated Harry for sleeping with Valentine. And at the same time, somehow, she still loved him.
Maybe love wasn’t like a fire, something to be extinguished in a single dramatic moment, even by an act of betrayal. Maybe it was more like a carving on an ancient tablet. It would erode over time, until you could barely see the faded traces of its mark on your heart.
“Harry and I are not getting married,” she said at last, tears still streaming down her face.
Abby guided Julia to sit on the bed, wrapped the downy duvet around her like a cloak. “Shh, it’s okay,” Abby kept murmuring. “Whatever happened, it’s all going to be okay.”
After a while, Julia’s sobs subsided. She looked up at Abby, who was watching her with obvious concern.
“What am I going to do?” Julia sniffed.
Abby tucked her bare feet beneath her, to sit on the bed cross-legged.
“You’re going to stay in this room. I will bring you food, and copious amounts of wine, and I will bar the door if Harry or any of his family try to come in.
We’ll hide here watching reruns of Gilmore Girls—” Abby broke off, clearly remembering that the power was out.
“Okay, we’ll play tic-tac-toe, or do crossword puzzles, or whatever it takes to distract you from all of this.
And the second the airport reopens, we’re getting out of here.
I’ll fly with you wherever you want to go. ”
“I wish I could leave now,” Julia murmured. She thought of what Valentine had said about Harry, that he had fled instead of facing the consequences of his actions.
Once again he’d messed up, but this time Julia was the one who wanted to run away. It sounded so appealing to just vanish and leave Harry to pick up the pieces.
“You know what we should do,” she said slowly, an idea forming. “We should talk to Percy.”
Abby’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Harry’s cousin?”
“I think he could help get me off the island.”
“In the middle of this storm?”
Julia nodded. She wasn’t sure why she felt confident that Percy could help her. She just knew it, somehow, the instinctive way her body knew that oxygen was good and sharp objects were dangerous.
“Are Harry’s parents members of Ripcord or something?” Abby asked. At Julia’s blank look, she added, “You know, that thing rich people pay for when they’re traveling, where ex-marines come rescue you from dangerous situations. My parents signed up for it before their trip to Patagonia.”
Julia nodded, though she’d never heard of it. “Probably.”
Whatever the reason, she couldn’t shake the sense that Percy would be able help her. And if she was right—if he could get her out—then she would leave. She didn’t care if it was risky, venturing out in a storm like this.
She needed to get away from the Ellenes. For good this time.