“Thanks, buddy,” Trent said, clearly happy to see Julian.
“Fern, you look absolutely beautiful. I don’t know what this guy did to deserve you, but he’s pretty damn lucky.”
“Thanks, Julian,” Fern said with a smile. She reached over and took Brooke’s hand. “Brooke and I finally got to spend some time together this weekend, and I’d say you’re pretty lucky, too.”
Brooke squeezed Fern’s hand.
Julian grinned at Brooke. “I’d say so,” he said. “Listen, you guys, I’m so sorry for missing everything.”
Trent waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. We’re glad you made it.”
“No, no, I should’ve been here for the whole weekend. I’m really sorry.”
For a minute Julian looked as though he might cry. Fern stood on her tiptoes to hug him and said, “It’s nothing a couple of front-row tickets to your next L.A. show can’t solve. Isn’t that right, Trent?”
Everyone laughed, and Brooke watched as Julian slipped Trent a folded piece of paper. “It’s my rehearsal dinner toast. I’m sorry I couldn’t read it last night.”
“You could do it now,” Trent said.
Julian looked dumbfounded. “You want me to read it now?”
“It is your toast, right?”
Julian nodded.
“Then I think I speak for both of us when I say that we’d love to hear it. If you don’t mind . . .”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Julian said. Almost instantaneously, someone materialized with a microphone; after a few glass clinks and a couple hushing sounds, the tent grew quiet. Julian cleared his throat and appeared instantly to relax. Brooke wondered if the entire room was thinking how natural he looked with a microphone in his hand. Completely at ease and absolutely adorable. She felt a surge of pride.
“Hey, everyone,” he said with a dimple-producing grin. “My name’s Julian, and Trent and I are first cousins, actually only born about six months apart, so I think it’s fair to say we go way back. I’m, uh, sorry to interrupt your fun, but I just wanted to wish my cousin and his beautiful new wife all the happiness in the world.”
He paused for a moment and fiddled with his paper, but after his eyes skimmed over a few words, he shrugged and shoved it back in his pocket. He looked up and paused.
“Look everyone, I’ve known Trent for a very long time, and I can safely say that I have never, ever seen him this happy. Fern, you’re a welcome addition to our crazy family and a breath of fresh air.”
Everyone laughed except Julian’s mother. Brooke grinned.
“What everyone may not realize is how much I owe Trent.” Julian coughed and the room grew even quieter. “Nine years ago he introduced me to Brooke, my wife, the love of my life. I can’t even stand to think what would’ve happened if their blind date had gone well that night”—more laughter—“but I, for one, am forever grateful that it didn’t. If you would’ve told me on my own wedding night that I would love my wife even more today, I wouldn’t have believed it was possible, but as I stand here tonight and look at her, I can tell you it’s true.”
Brooke felt the entire room turn in her direction, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Julian.
“May you love each other more with each passing day, and know that no matter what obstacles life throws your way, you’ll get through them together. Tonight is just the beginning, you two, and I know I speak for everyone here when I say how honored I am to share it with you. Please raise a glass to Trent and Fern!”
The crowd let out a rousing cheer as everyone clinked their glasses and someone called out, “Encore, encore!”
Julian blushed and leaned into the microphone. “Actually, now I’m going to do a special performance of ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ for the happy couple. You two don’t mind, right?”
He turned to look at Trent and Fern, both of whom appeared horrified. There was a split second of silence until Julian broke the tension. “I’m just kidding! Of course, if you really want me to . . .”
Trent was on his feet in a second, mock-tackling Julian, and Fern joined him a minute later and gave him a teary kiss on the cheek. Once again, the room laughed and cheered and Julian whispered something in his cousin’s ear and the two embraced. The band began to play some soft background music and Julian walked over to Brooke and, without a word, led her through the crowd and back into the hallway.
“That was beautiful,” she said, and her voice cracked.
He put both hands on her face and looked directly into her eyes. “I meant every word of it.”
She leaned in to kiss him. It only lasted a moment, but she wondered if it didn’t qualify as the best kiss of their relationship. She was about to wrap her arms around his neck when he pulled her out the front door and said, “Do you have a coat?”
Brooke eyed the small group of smokers at the other end of the walkway who were staring right back and said, “It’s with the coat check.”
Julian took his jacket off and helped her into it. “Come with me?” he asked.
“Where are we going? I think the hotel is a little too far to walk to,” she whispered to him as they strolled past the smokers and around the side of the house.
Julian put his hand in the small of her back and nudged her toward the backyard. “We have to go back in, but I don’t think anyone will mind if we sneak away for a little.”
He led her through the yard and down a path toward a pond and motioned for her to sit on a stone bench facing the water. “You okay?” he asked.
The stone felt like an ice block through the sheer material of her dress, and her toes were beginning to tingle. “I’m a little cold.”
He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.
“So, what are you doing here, Julian?”
He took her hand. “I knew before I went away it was a terrible idea. I tried to rationalize that it was better to leave everyone alone, but it wasn’t. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I didn’t want to wait another minute to talk to you about it.”
“Okay . . .”
He took her hand. “I was sitting next to this singer, Tommy Bailey, that kid who won American Idol a couple years ago?”
Brooke nodded. She didn’t mention the connection to Amber or the fact that she already knew all she needed to about Tommy.
“So we’re, like, the only two people sitting in first class. I’m obviously going over there to work, but he’s headed over for vacation. He has a couple weeks off from touring, and he rented some sick villa somewhere. And it strikes me—he’s going alone.”
“Oh, please, just because he was on the flight alone does not mean he’ll be alone when he gets there.”
Julian held up a hand. “No, you’re totally right. He couldn’t shut up about all the girls who were meeting him there, stopping by, whatever. His agent and his manager were coming over, a few so-called friends he’d rounded up by paying for their tickets. It sounded kind of pathetic, but I wasn’t sure—maybe he loves that whole scene. Lots of guys probably do. But then he starts drinking, really drinking, and by the time we’re halfway across the Atlantic, he’s in tears—literally, crying—about how much he misses his ex-wife and his family and his friends from growing up. How there’s no one in his life he’s known for longer than a couple years and no one who doesn’t want something from him. He’s a wreck, Brooke, a total disaster, and all I could think was I don’t want to be that guy.”
Brooke finally exhaled. She hadn’t realized it, but she’d been holding her breath on and off since they’d begun this conversation. He doesn’t want to be that guy. A few simple words, and she’d been waiting to hear them for so long.
She turned to look up at him. “I don’t want you to be that guy, either, but I also don’t want to be the wife who holds you back, who’s constantly carping and making threats and asking when you’ll be home.”
Julian looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “Please. You love that.”
Brooke appeared to think about it. “Y
eah, you’re right. I do love that.”
They both smiled.
“Look, Rook, I just keep going over and over it in my head. I know it’ll take time before you trust me again, but I will do whatever it takes. This weird no-man’s-land we’re in . . . it’s hell. If you hear nothing else tonight, please hear this: I will not give up on us. Not now, not ever.”
“Julian—”
He leaned close. “No, listen. You killed yourself working those two jobs for so long. I just . . . I didn’t see what a toll it was taking on you, and—”
She took his hand. “No, I’m sorry about that. I wanted to do it, for you, for us, but I shouldn’t have been so insistent on keeping both of them once everything started taking off with your career. I don’t know why I did; I started feeling left out, like everything was spiraling out of control, and I was trying to maintain some normalcy. But I’ve thought a lot about it, too, and I should’ve at least quit Huntley when your album dropped. I probably should’ve requested to go part-time at the hospital. Maybe then we could have had some flexibility to see each other. But even if I only go back part-time now, or hopefully open my own practice, I still . . . I don’t know how it can work.”
“It has to!” he said with an urgency she hadn’t felt from him in so long.
He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a folded packet of papers. “Are those . . .” She almost blurted out “divorce papers” but managed to stop herself. She wondered if she sounded as irrational as she felt.
“This is our game plan, Rook.”
“Our game plan?” She could see her breath in the air, and she was starting to shiver uncontrollably.
Julian nodded. “It’s just the beginning,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “We’re getting rid of poisonous people once and for all. First up? Leo.”
Just the sound of his name made her cringe. “What does he have to do with us?”
“A lot, actually. He’s been absolutely toxic in every imaginable way. Something you probably knew all along but I was too much of an ass to really see. He leaked a lot of stuff to the press and arranged to get the Last Night paparazzo into the Chateau, and he’s the one who sent that girl to my table, all under the ridiculous rationalization that any press is good press. He orchestrated the whole thing. I was at fault—I absolutely was—but Leo—”
“Disgusting,” she said, shaking her head.
“I fired him.”
Brooke’s head snapped up and she could see Julian was smiling. “You really did?”
“Oh, I sure did.” He handed her a piece of folded paper. “Here, this is step two.”
The single sheet looked like it had been printed from a website. It featured a headshot of a kindly older gentleman named Howard Liu, his contact information, and a history of the apartments he’d sold in the last couple years. “Should I know Howard?” she asked.
“You will soon,” Julian said, smiling. “Howard is our new broker. And if you’re okay with it, we have an appointment with him first thing Monday.”
“We’re getting an apartment?”
He handed her another wad of papers. “We’re seeing these. And anything else you want to look at, of course.”
She stared at him for a moment, unfolded the papers, and gasped. They were more printouts, only these were of beautiful town houses in Brooklyn, probably six or seven in all, each featuring photos and floor plans and lists of features and amenities. Her eyes froze on the last one, the four-story brownstone with the front stoop and the little gated front yard that she and Julian had walked by hundreds of times.
“That’s your favorite, right?” he asked, pointing to it.
She nodded.
“I thought so. We’re seeing that one last. And if you like it, we’re going to put in a bid then and there.”
“Ohmigod.” It was too much to process. Gone was all talk of the chic Tribeca lofts or the ultramodern high-rise apartments. He wanted a home—a real home—as much as she did.
“Here,” he said, handing her a piece of paper.
“There’s more?”
“Just open it.”
It was yet another printout. This one featured a smiling headshot of a man named Richard Goldberg, who looked to be around forty-five and who worked for a company called Original Artist Management. “And this lovely gentleman?” she asked with a smile.
“Is my new manager,” Julian said. “I made a few calls, and I found someone who understands what I’m hoping to achieve.”
“Dare I ask what?” she asked.
“A way to have a successful career without losing what matters to me most—you,” he said quietly. He pointed to Richard’s picture. “I spoke to him, and he got it immediately. I don’t need to maximize my financial potential—I need you.”
“We can still buy that town house in Brooklyn, right?” she said with a grin.
“Yes. We sure can. And apparently, if I’m willing to forgo a few paychecks, I can decide to tour once a year, and even then put a cap on it. Six, eight weeks, max.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I feel good. You’re not the only one who hates me touring—it’s no kind of life. But I think we could both handle six or eight weeks of it every twelve months if it’s going to give us freedom otherwise. Do you?”
Brooke nodded. “I do, I think that’s a good compromise. So long as you won’t feel like you’re cheating yourself . . .”
“It’s not perfect—nothing’s ever going to be—but I think it sounds like a damn good start. And for the record, I don’t expect you to drop everything to come with me. I know you’ll have another job you love by then, maybe a baby. . . .” He raised his eyebrows in her direction and she laughed. “I can install a recording studio in our basement so I can be home with our family. I checked, and every one of these listings has a basement.”
“Julian. My god, this—” She waved at all the printouts and marveled at all the thought and effort he’d put into it. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say yes, Brooke. We can make it work, I know we can. Wait—don’t say anything yet.” He pulled open the jacket she was hugging tightly around herself and reached into the inside pocket. In his open palm was a small velvet jewelry box.
Her hand flew to her mouth. She was about to ask Julian what was inside, but before she could say a word, he scooted off the bench and knelt beside her, his other hand resting on her knee.
“Brooke, will you make me the happiest guy in the world and marry me again?”
He flipped open the box. Inside was not some new fancy engagement ring with a huge diamond or a pair of sparkly studs, as she suspected. Tucked between two folds of velvet was Brooke’s plain gold wedding band, the one the stylist had ripped off her finger the night of the Grammys, the same band she’d worn every day for nearly six years now but thought she might never see again.
“I’ve been wearing this on a chain ever since I got it back,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to,” she rushed to say, “it just got lost in all the confusion, I swear it wasn’t some sort of symbol. . . .”
He stretched up and kissed her. “Do me the honor of wearing it again?”
She threw her arms around his neck, crying once again now, and nodded. She tried to say yes, but she couldn’t get the word out. He laughed and rocked her and hugged her back.
“Here, look,” he said, plucking the ring from the box. He pointed to its underside where, right beside their wedding date, he had engraved today’s date. “So we’ll never forget that we’re making a promise to each other to start over.” He took her left hand and slid her own wedding band on her finger, and she didn’t realize until it was back in place how naked she’d felt without it.
“Hey, Rook, I hate to stand on ceremony here, but you haven’t actually agreed yet.” He gave her a sheepish look, and she could see he was still a little nervous.
She took it as a very good sign.
They couldn’t solve ever
ything in one conversation, but tonight she didn’t care. They still loved each other. She couldn’t possibly know what the next months or years would bring, or if their plans would work, but she knew—for the first time in a long, long while—that she wanted to try.
“I love you, Julian Alter,” she said, reaching out to hold his hands. “And yes, I will marry you again. Yes, yes, yes.”
Acknowledgments
First and foremost I want to thank my agent, Sloan Harris. I’m forever indebted to him for his tireless advocacy, his invaluable advice, and the calm, levelheaded way he handles every situation I throw at him. I wake each day thankful to be on Sloan’s team. I also deeply admire the way he can work the word “kabuki” into almost every conversation.
Thank you to my very own Editorial Dream Team, in order of appearance: Marysue Rucci, Lynne Drew, and Greer Hendricks. Every author should know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of such smart, savvy, and sensitive feedback. Sending a special hug to Lynne for her above-and-beyond cross-Atlantic voyage (annual tradition?).
Thanks to Judith Curr, whose energy and enthusiasm are contagious, and to David Rosenthal for always believing in me (and who surely loathes the phrase “always believing in me”). A huge thank-you to everyone at Atria, especially: Carolyn Reidy, Chris Lloreda, Jeanne Lee, Lisa Sciambra, Mellony Torres, Sarah Cantin, Lisa Keim, Nancy Inglis, Kimberly Goldstein, Aja Pollock, Rachel Bostic, Natalie White, Craig Dean, and the entire sales force. I’m thrilled to be part of the family!
Betsy Robbins, Vivienne Schuster, Alice Moss, Kate Burke, Cathy Gleason, Sophie Baker, Kyle White, and Ludmilla Suvorova: thank you. I simply adore you all. Special thanks to Kristyn Keene for offering wise and spot-on advice on everything from plot development to stilettos. You are always right. A big hug to Cara Weisberger for brilliant brainstorming sessions. Thanks to Damian Benders for my music industry briefing and Victoria Stein for educating me on all things nutritionist-related. Any mistakes in these areas are entirely my own.
Lots of love to Mom and Dad and the rest of my incredible family: Dana, Seth, Grandma, Papa, Bernie, Judy, Jonathan, Brian, Lindsey, Dave, Allison, Jackie, and Mel for enduring endless hours of blather about this book and doing it with so much love and support. Nanny, I know you’re reading this somewhere, and I miss you so much.
Last Night at Chateau Marmont Page 37