What would Julian say when she told him she’d broken off her engagement?
He answered the door still dressed in the suit he’d worn to the office but without the tie. His reading glasses were a tip-off that she’d interrupted him working. Marin felt a pang of guilt. She should be working too. Burning the midnight oil, as her dad said. Instead, she was distracting Julian. And being distracted by him.
At age thirty-two, Julian Rowe was the youngest partner at the law firm she’d dreamed of working at since undergrad: the fabled Cole, Harding, and Worth. He’d built his career in M and A—as a young associate, he’d ridden shotgun on some of the most groundbreaking cases the courts had heard in recent years. And then, a few months ago and two years into her own tenure at the firm, she’d been assigned to his team to work on a merger between a pharmaceutical giant and a small but extremely profitable company providing DNA home testing.
There was almost enough work and a steep enough learning curve to keep her mind off the fact that Julian Rowe was beautiful.
Almost.
When she first saw him—tall, with near-black hair and deep, dark eyes—the first word that came to mind was striking. He had the perfectly chiseled nose of a young Clint Eastwood, and he spoke at a slight remove, as if his brilliant mind barely had time to stop and convey the information—it was already on to the next item of business. He had the remnants of a British accent from his first twelve years growing up in North London. Everything about him was achingly serious.
Marin wanted him—instantly. She’d never felt such a pure physical attraction in her life. She walked around the office charged up, adrenalized, all of her senses heightened. She felt like one big raw nerve. When he spoke to her, it took all of her effort to absorb what he said and not just stare at his lips. Over the conference table, she found herself leaning too close. She could barely sleep at night, she was so eager to get back into the office.
And all the while, she was planning her wedding.
“How’s the birthday girl?” he asked with a kiss after letting her in. He took her light cashmere wrap and hung it in the coat closet.
“Better now,” she breathed, his arms around her.
“I was surprised to hear from you. How did you get away? Didn’t you have dinner with your parents and—”
“Long story,” she said.
“Come on in,” he said. Julian occupied the entire four-story brownstone, which he had been renting for years from a widowed socialite who had moved to Palm Beach. The first night Marin saw it, she told him she’d always dreamed of having a place just like it.
“When the time is right I’m going to make an offer on it,” he’d said.
“What makes you think she’ll sell?”
“I’m a lawyer. I know how to feel these things out.”
“Well, I’m a lawyer, and I don’t.”
He’d regarded her with his usual heart-stopping intensity and said, “I find that hard to believe. You seem like a woman who goes after what she wants.”
That night, she had believed she would never see the town house again. Yes, they’d slept together. But it was just a onetime thing—just to get it out of their systems.
Of course, that first night had been the point of no return. How naive to think it would turn out any other way.
She thought of her mother’s expression when she’d told her the wedding was off, and winced.
“Cover your eyes,” Julian said, leading her into the house by the hand.
“Why? What are you doing?” This playfulness was a side of him she had seen only recently, maybe in the past few weeks of their two-month relationship. Every time he revealed a new facet of himself, some detail of his growing up, some endearing quirk of his personality, it was like a precious gift. All she wanted was to know him completely, and the sense that he was beginning to trust her more, to open up, thrilled her.
He told her to keep her eyes covered, and she allowed him to steer her from one room to the other.
“Okay—you can look now.”
They were in his living room. A flickering light caught her eye—a candle atop a chocolate cupcake on one of the antique side tables.
“Oh, Julian,” she said, kissing him.
“You didn’t give me much notice that I’d get to celebrate with you tonight. I planned on sometime later this week.”
“You didn’t have to do anything. Really. I just wanted to see you.”
The candle needed attention, and she knew Julian would not prompt her with something as clichéd as Make a wish, so she bent over the table and gently blew it out. He poured her a glass of wine and she curled up on his plush leather couch. Across the room, a glass table was covered with files and two laptops.
“You working on Genie?”
He nodded. “What else. But I’m about ready to wrap up.”
The DNA-testing company Genie was taking up all of his time and most of hers. It had also spurred on their relationship, sending it out of the sexual-tension zone into the sex zone.
It happened during one of a seemingly endless string of very late nights at the office working on the Genie merger. Her fiancé, usually tolerant of her long hours, was starting to complain. Marin knew his impatience with her work schedule was understandable, but it still irked her. And it made her second-guess her decision to accept his proposal. This was why she had never been keen on the idea of marriage—and why she was certainly not open to the idea of children. Greg did not want children either, so that was one less thing to worry about. No one could do it all, have it all. And she had known from a young age that she wanted to be successful. Like her father.
As much as Greg said he supported her work ethic, she knew she was testing his patience. And so, on a Wednesday night at nine thirty, she decided to tear herself away from the computer and call it quits. But before she left, she stopped by Julian’s office to drop off a box of files—a box she could very well have left for the interoffice delivery in the morning. He was like the pull of gravity.
I’ll see him for a minute, and then I’ll leave. Home to my fiancé, she told herself. Looking at her ring.
Maybe she wouldn’t even talk to him. She’d just drop the box off with a wave and be on her way. But when she reached his office on the ninth floor, with its view of the Empire State Building lit in purple, she saw him in the midst of something that compelled her to ask:
“Sampling the wares?” She smiled in a way she would be the first to admit was too flirtatious.
Open in front of him on his desk was one of the Genie testing kits. The red-and-green DNA-strand logo on the packaging was unmistakable. And there were dozens of them stacked around the office. It was typical for clients to gift the firm samples of their products. But for her, the DNA-testing kit was one of the less appealing offerings.
Apparently, though, not for Julian. He held the plastic test tube with a detachable lid in one hand and the instructions in the other. When he looked up to find Marin in the doorway, he raised the test tube like he was making a toast.
“Yes. They keep asking me if I’ve done a test. I guess you could say I feel a professional obligation. And a little curiosity, I’ll admit.”
Marin drew closer to his desk. She reached over and picked up the empty cardboard Genie box, grateful for the prop. She knew she was crossing some sort of line, but she couldn’t stop herself. It was like she was watching someone else’s actions from afar.
With a smile, he handed her the small instruction sheet printed on shiny paper. She didn’t need to read it; she knew how it worked from their first meeting with Genie: All you had to do was mail in a saliva sample, and a few weeks later Genie e-mailed you the results. It was so user-friendly, it was no wonder the company was blowing up and attracting a multibillion-dollar buyer.
She took the paper from him, and his fingertips grazed hers. Swallowing hard, she pretended to read the instructions but the words swam in front of her eyes. Just go home.
“You should try it too
,” he said.
“Really?”
“You’re on the team,” he said, smiling, his midnight eyes meeting hers in a challenge that was, dare she think it, flirtatious in its own right.
And in the state she was in, thrilled by the barely professional interaction, Marin happily agreed.
Things felt different after that. Nothing happened that night, but somehow it felt like they had a secret. And she realized that they did: they were attracted to each other. And it would have to stay a secret; even if she hadn’t been engaged to another man, it was strictly taboo for a partner to date an associate. The firm had a strict no-dating, no-fraternizing, don’t-even-look-twice-at-your-subordinate policy.
It was a fairly standard attitude for law firms, but everyone at Cole, Harding was especially sensitive since the Incident: Two years ago, at a summer-associate drinks event, a senior partner had told one of the young women that he wanted to fuck her seven different ways. The woman talked. For the first time in the firm’s proud five-decade history, it found itself written about in the New York Post’s Page Six instead of the Wall Street Journal.
That partner had gone from making seven figures to teaching at CUNY, and the rest of them had suffered through a week of sensitivity training and a sexual-harassment seminar. The zero-tolerance policy had been enacted.
And yet she and Julian couldn’t stay away from each other. As much as they tried, it was less than a week after the Genie incident before he invited her to his town house. They both admitted their sexual attraction and agreed they needed to “defuse” the situation.
At his town house that first night, they didn’t speak. They didn’t make it past the entrance hall. Handsome, reserved, professional Julian Rowe fucked with reckless abandon. Afterward, her entire body throbbed. They lay tangled together on his floor, making small talk about the fabulous house he rented and wanted to buy. And then she forced herself to get dressed and go back to the apartment she shared with her fiancé.
It was terribly wrong, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. When she weighed everything in her mind, leaving Greg was easier to imagine than staying away from Julian was. And once she admitted that to herself, she knew what she had to do.
“Marin,” Julian said now.
She looked up, startled. “Sorry. I was just thinking…”
“Where does Greg think you are? I don’t want you to get yourself into trouble.”
She toyed with the wrapper of her cupcake and licked chocolate frosting off her thumb. Her heart pounded.
“I ended it with Greg.” She was afraid to look at him, unsure how he would take the news. When he didn’t say anything, she was forced to face him to gauge his reaction.
It didn’t seem positive.
“Are you upset?”
“I’m not upset.” He stood and began pacing. “But Marin, this wasn’t supposed to ruin your relationship. This was supposed to be a temporary thing, two adults letting off steam, dealing with their attraction to each other. I mean, we work together. We can’t be a couple.”
Her stomach plunged with disappointment. “That’s fine,” she snapped. “But I still can’t marry a man I’m not in love with. So it has nothing to do with you, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Don’t be angry with me. I think you’re taking this wrong.” He sat next to her and reached for her hand. “Look, I’m crazy about you. I am—you have to know that.” He kissed her. “This just took me by surprise. And we have to be careful.”
“I know that! I’m not trying to escalate anything. I just can’t live a lie.”
“I respect you for that, Marin. I really do.” He hugged her. “I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
It hadn’t been. Greg took it badly. He was angry and called her all the names she deserved to be called, even though he didn’t know the worst of it: that she was having an affair. Greg Harper had never lost anything—had never had something fail to go his way—in his entire life. He hadn’t even bothered to ask her why or see if there was something they could do to salvage things. She was taking something away from him. She was doing something to him that was out of his control. He was clearly more upset about losing face than about losing her. Whoever said hell hath no fury like a woman scorned had clearly never burned an alpha male.
It had been ugly, but the way it all went down just validated her decision.
Now it was done. Julian could choose to let it put a damper on their relationship, or he could see it as a positive. Either way, she felt as if a weight had been lifted off her.
Marin stood up. “I should get going. Thanks for the birthday cupcake.”
He reached for her hand. “Don’t go. Stay.”
She was shocked to feel tears prick her eyes. She hadn’t realized how desperately she needed to hear that word.
Chapter Three
Blythe woke up just before six in the morning, two hours before her alarm. This was not surprising. One month into her separation from Kip, she still wasn’t used to sleeping alone. Add a strange hotel room to the mix, and it made for an exhausting night of tossing and turning.
Blinking in the darkness, she stretched out in the enormous bed of her suite. With the blackout curtains closed, there wasn’t even a hint of light. Even though the sun was just beginning to rise, she knew that midtown was bright and awake around the clock, and if she stepped out onto Fifth Avenue, she could start her day.
But she didn’t want to start her day—not when it meant telling her daughter that after three decades of marriage, Kip had asked her for a divorce.
When Kip moved out four weeks ago (leaving his clothes and golf equipment and scotch collection in their home on Wynnewood Lane—the house they’d bought as newlyweds), she’d felt certain he’d be back. He was subletting a town house at Oak Hill, but that would get old fast. She knew Kip, and of this she felt certain. Yes, there were problems in their marriage, but that had long been the case. So why divorce? Why now?
Was it a coincidence that he’d first expressed his desire to separate on the heels of Marin’s engagement? Had he been suppressing this impulse, thinking that their grown daughter needed them together still? And that her impending marriage, the first step toward creating a family of her own, somehow released him from this obligation?
If that had been his reasoning, then wasn’t the broken engagement the perfect time to pause and think it over?
We’re telling her at breakfast. No more stalling.
She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t ready to admit defeat.
A glance at the bedside clock told her that it was a little after six. Kip hadn’t slept past six a day in his life.
Blythe didn’t bother putting on makeup, though she was tempted to at least dab a little concealer over the dark hollows under her eyes. But now that she had the idea to talk to Kip, she couldn’t risk missing the opportunity. What if he was already getting ready to go to the hotel gym? She pulled on her own sadly underused yoga pants, the Yale zipper hoodie she’d had since Marin’s freshman year, and her Uggs.
Pressing the button for Kip’s floor, Blythe ran through her pitch. There’s no reason to rush into telling Marin. We haven’t even worked out the details ourselves. Of course, she already knew what he’d say: There’s nothing to work out. You keep the house. Whatever you need…
I need you, she thought to herself. But she had not yet said this—not aloud. Not to him. But this morning, she would.
And it was true—had been true for as long as she could remember. Even during the times when she didn’t want him. Want and need were two different things. What was it some philosopher had said? Substitute the word need for love and I’ll show you love in its true dimensions. Something like that. She hadn’t studied philosophy. She had not attended college. She’d married Kip instead.
Blythe padded down the eighth-floor hallway, passing two men dressed in business suits as she rounded the corner to Kip’s room.
She paused a minute, then ignored the Do Not Disturb
placard and knocked.
No response.
Blythe knocked again, more self-consciously this time. A housekeeper passed by, pushing a cart of linens and towels. She waited until she was halfway down the hall to knock again. Maybe he was already at the hotel fitness center. Did she dare track him down there? And then she heard the brush of metal on metal as the front door unlocked. Surprisingly, Blythe felt her heart race. The way it hadn’t for Kip in a very long time.
Her husband answered the door, but barely; he cracked it two inches. She could see that he was still in his powder-blue Peter Elliot nightshirt, the one she’d given him last Christmas. His eyes were half closed with sleep.
“Are you okay?” she said, because illness was the only possible explanation for his not being up and about.
“Blythe, what the hell are you doing here at this hour?” he whispered.
At this hour? Had she made a mistake? She felt her face flood with color as she glanced at her watch, half expecting it to read 4:15 instead of 6:15.
“It’s after six,” she said.
“Kip? Who is it?” A female voice. From inside her husband’s hotel room.
Blythe froze. Kip responded to the query, though in the white-hot shock of the moment, Blythe couldn’t for the life of her make sense of what he said. He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his brow. “I should have told you sooner. But you’ve been having so much difficulty with even the concept of divorce. I wanted to take it one thing at a time.”
When he looked at her, his eyes had softened from his initial flash of irritation.
“Do you…love her?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Marin walked into the lobby of the Plaza, buzzing with energy despite getting only a few hours of sleep.
The Forever Summer Page 2