Chapter 3: Whose Idea Was It
I stepped back from the doorway.
"Come in."
Julian hesitated, then walked past me into the suite.
He stopped at the edge of the sitting area and looked around — at the ocean view, the untouched fruit basket on the table, the single coffee cup on the balcony — as if seeing evidence of something he couldn't name.
"Sit down," I said.
He sat.
I stayed standing.
"What did you mean," I said, "when you said it wasn't your idea?"
He pressed his hands flat against his knees.
"The lobby thing.
Leaving you down there.
That was Mother's idea.
She thought it would be funny.
A way to — " He stopped.
"A way to what, Julian?"
"To remind you of your place."
The room was very quiet.
Outside, a wave broke against the shore.
"My place," I repeated.
"Her words.
Not mine."
"But you went along with it."
He didn't answer.
That was its own kind of answer.
I pulled the chair from the desk and sat directly across from him.
"How long has this been planned?"
"The lobby thing was just — "
"I'm not talking about the lobby." I kept my voice even.
"I'm talking about all of it.
The bonus that was delayed.
The credit card.
The $35,000.
How long have they been planning to use me to pay for this trip?"
Julian's jaw moved.
"It wasn't like that."
"Then tell me what it was like."
He looked at the floor.
"Mother said your bonus this year was larger than usual.
She said you could afford it.
She said it would be good for the family if you contributed more."
"Contributed." I let the word sit between us.
"I paid for everything, Julian.
Every flight.
Every room.
Every dinner.
Every massage.
I contributed the entire trip.
What did the family contribute?"
He said nothing.
"What did *you* contribute?"
He looked up then, and for a moment I saw something genuine move across his face — something close to shame.
But it didn't stay long enough.
"You make more than all of us combined," he said.
"It's not unreasonable for — "
"Stop." My voice didn't rise.
It dropped.
"Don't finish that sentence."
He stopped.
I stood up and walked to the window.
The ocean was brilliant and indifferent in the morning light.
I thought about the six months I had spent on hold with airline customer service, comparing suite layouts, coordinating dietary restrictions for people who had never once thanked me for a single meal.
"There's something else," Julian said behind me.
I turned.
His hands were clasped now, fingers tight.
He was looking at the floor again.
"Mother has been talking to a lawyer."
The air in the room changed.
"What kind of lawyer?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He pulled out his phone, turned it over once in his hand, then set it face-down on the cushion beside him — the same way I had set mine down all morning.
"Julian." My voice was quiet but absolute.
"What kind of lawyer?"
"A family attorney," he said.
"She's been asking about — about asset division.
About what would happen if — "
He stopped again.
"If we divorced," I finished.
He nodded once.
Very small.
I stood very still.
The fruit basket on the table.
The single coffee cup.
The authorization forms I had signed the night before without crying.
"How long?" I asked.
"I found out two weeks ago.
I didn't know how to — "
"How long has she been talking to this lawyer, Julian?"
He finally looked up at me.
"Eight months."
Eight months.
Two months before I had started planning this trip.
Before I had booked the flights.
Before I had pulled out my credit card and covered $35,000 for people who were already, quietly, working out how to take more.
My phone buzzed on the table.
I glanced at the screen.
Eleanor.
I picked it up and answered it.
"Genevieve." Eleanor's voice was crisp, controlled, and carrying the particular tone she used when she wanted to sound reasonable while being anything but.
"I think we need to sit down together this morning and discuss this situation like adults."
"I agree," I said.
"Come up to the 14th floor.
Suite 1401.
Bring Harrison."
A pause.
"Just the two of us?"
"All of you," I said.
"Julian is already here."
I ended the call.
Julian was watching me.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
May you like
I set my phone down on the table, screen up this time.
"I'm going to let your mother explain it herself."
