by Lila Monroe
“Why don’t you help them with that,” Vivian tells her, and there’s a tone in her voice, like Jules is a hired hand, that I really do not appreciate. Jules isn’t a fan either; I can tell by the slight shift in her posture, although she doesn’t say anything out loud. “Cal,” Viv continues, “can we talk?”
I cast Jules an apologetic look and follow Vivian into the kitchen, where the table is strewn with paint sample cards and a pricing guide for granite countertops. “Planning a renovation?” I ask.
“Maybe,” Vivian hedges. “Depending on how things play out.”
If she gets access to the kids’ money, she means. I’m about to reply when I catch sight of another folder on the counter, this one a shiny navy blue with a stodgy-looking crest embossed on the cover: it’s an application for the Norton Academy, I realize, an expensive boarding school out in the Berkshires. My stomach drops. This time, there’s no way I can hold my tongue.
“What’s this?” I ask, scooping the folder up off the counter and holding it up like an enemy flag. “You’re going to send them to—I mean, are you actually planning on—Jesus Christ, Vivian, what in the actual fuck?”
Vivian rolls her eyes. “Don’t wet your pants, Caleb. Nobody’s making any decisions yet. But Norton is one of the best boarding schools in the Northeast. I went there myself, actually.”
“Oh, I recall.” Mel used to talk about it all the time. She refused to go, but I remember the stories she used to tell about visiting Vivian there on the weekends, how stuck up and snobby everyone was. That’s not the kind of life I want for the kids at all. “Look,” I say, trying to reason with her. “If you’re just planning on sending them away if you get custody, then why even bother—”
“That’s not actually any of your business,” she reminds me. “And once we meet with the judge next week, nothing about the kids will be.”
My eyes narrow. “We’ll see about that.”
Vivian smiles knowingly. “Speaking of the hearing, I heard the social worker was by your house this week.”
“She was,” I say. “It went great.”
“Really?” Vivian asks, smiling nastily. “That’s not what she said.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. I want to punch something, a wall or a tree trunk or Vivian’s smug face. “Do you have something real to talk to me about, Vivian?” I manage. “Or did you just call me in here to be a bi—” I break off, glancing over my shoulder at the doorway. “Difficult?”
Vivian keeps smiling, like she knows she’s getting to me. “Well, I was hoping now that some time has passed you might have pulled your head out of your ass and reconsidered my offer.”
“This again, seriously?” I feel my blood pressure rise. “Yeah, that’s a nonstarter, thanks.”
Vivian frowns at that. “Well,” she says crisply, “that’s too bad. But if you want to handle it that way, then—”
“What makes you so sure the judge is going to see things your way, anyhow?” I interrupt. “I have to say, you seem awfully overconfident to me. The kids didn’t even want to come here last night, do you realize that? And meanwhile Jules and I are working to give—”
“Funny you mention Jules, actually,” Vivian says. “The kids told me they’d never even heard of your little girlfriend before this week.” She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know what kind of show you’re putting on here, Cal, but it’s never going to hold up in court.”
My stomach flips at that, but I manage to keep my voice even. “It’s not a show, Viv. Which is more than I can say for you. This is ridiculous.”
“It is,” Vivian agrees, “which is why I’m not sure why you won’t at least consider my offer.”
“I’m not going to buy my own godchildren from you!” I glance in the direction of the living room one more time, lower my voice. “I won’t be extorted.”
Vivian is about to reply when Jules comes into the kitchen with a cavernous bag slung over one shoulder. “Hey guys,” she says brightly, wrapping a steadying hand around my upper arm. She looks at me and smiles. “I think the kids are about packed up, if you want to head on out of here.”
“I’d love to.” I look back at Vivian, trying not to snarl. There’s a tiny part of me that thinks it would be worth it to just give her the payout so that I never have to deal with her again. Then I imagine what Rob would do to me if he knew I let her get away with something like that, and my resolve doubles. “I’ll see you at the courthouse.”
I’m itching to get the hell out of here, but it takes us a while to load the car up—no thanks to Ezra, who insists on strapping Howard in himself. We’re just about to pull out of the driveway when Jules pauses.
“Hold on,” she says, frowning as she digs through her enormous Mary Poppins purse. “I think I left my phone in there.”
She scrambles out of the car and back up the front walk. She comes back a moment later, holding the thing aloft. “Good to go!” she says. Then, so quietly only I can hear her. “Step on it.”
It’s clouded over and threatening rain, so we take the kids to the science museum to check out a 3D dinosaur movie and stroll through the indoor butterfly garden. Normally an encounter like the one I had with Vivian would leave me stewing and pissed for the rest of the day, but with the three of them, I’m surprised by how easy it is to let it go. “It’ll all shake out,” Jules promises when I tell her about it, the two of us watching the kids roam through an exhibit about space travel. “It has to, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel. “You’re right.”
We settle in for the movie with Ezra between us, Lottie in the seat to my right. As the velociraptors gambol across the screen I sling my arm over the back of Ezra’s chair and run a finger down the back of Jules’s neck, yanking lightly at the baby hairs at her nape. She shoots me a look over his head like, what the actual fuck, but she’s smiling. “I didn’t know dinosaurs were such a turn on,” she teases as we’re leaving the theater.
“Yeah, well.” I nod seriously. “The Paleolithic era really lights me up.”
Jules throws her head back and lets out a laugh. “Good to know.”
Ezra turns around and looks at us accusingly. “What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Jules’s face,” I deadpan, picking him up and slinging him over my shoulder, gesturing at Lottie to lead the way. “Come on, monsters,” I tell them—exhausted and not altogether unhappy, relieved to have them here with me even if I don’t know exactly what the future holds. “Let’s go home.”
Back at the house, I make pizza with the kids as promised, Dean Martin cranking on the stereo. After, Jules taps out to take a bath while Lottie, Ez, and I play Trivial Pursuit Jr. at the dining room table. Ezra makes up random answers to every single question—“Flugelhorns!” “Hippopotami!” “Butts!”—cracking himself up while Lottie looks on in big-sister annoyance.
At bedtime I read to Ezra, then Lottie reads to me. Finally, I shut her door and find Jules waiting in the hallway, barefoot on the hardwood and smelling like coconut shampoo, her hair damp and loose around her face. “How’d it go?” she asks.
“Smashingly,” I promise, then waste exactly no time before backing her up against the wall and pressing my lips against hers, licking the zing of mouthwash from behind her teeth. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Jules sighs and sinks into the kiss, winding her arms around my neck and arching her back so her hips grind up into mine. I slide both hands up under her soft, snow-colored sweater, dragging my knuckles down her rib cage and curling my fingers around her waist. I reach up and palm a breast, squeezing roughly through her bra; Jules lets out a low moan. “Shh,” she scolds, and I laugh into her skin.
“You shh,” I counter quietly. “You're the one making noise.”
“Fuck off,” Jules smiles, but she kisses me again—sucking at my bottom lip, possessive, sinking her teeth in hard enough to leave marks. I work one knee between her thighs and she groans again. “Seriously,” she gasps, even
as she’s rocking herself against me, “the kids are going to hear us.”
“Well, then do a better job controlling yourself,” I tease, flicking the button on her jeans and working a hand down the front of her panties. Fuck, already she’s so, so wet. I open her up and slip a finger inside her, then another, watching with interest as her eyes flutter closed.
“Yeah?” I ask as I slide them deeper and pulse, fucking her gently. I don’t have a ton of room to move like this, but Jules doesn’t seem to care. “Is this what you wanted?”
Jules nods. “More,” she begs, popping up on her tiptoes and rocking her restless hips, her blonde head thunking softly back against the wall. “Shit, Cal, I want—”
“Fuck, Jules,” I groan, unable to keep the lust out of my voice.
“I thought about this all day,” she confesses, panting now. “All day, Cal, every time I looked at you, I just wanted—”
“Me too.” Something about hearing her say it has me exhaling in relief, pressing my mouth against her temple even as I beckon my fingers inside her. I don’t know what’s happening between us, exactly, but I’m glad I’m not the only one that’s feeling it. And I know I don’t want it to end.
“I’m close,” she tells me urgently, reaching down and wrapping one hand around my wrist. “Fuck, Cal, please don't stop.”
“Not stopping.” I pulse my fingers higher, curling them right up against her G-spot and pressing my palm against her clit to give her something to grind against. “Look at me,” I mutter, feeling her body start to clench. “Jules, sweetheart, look at me.”
She does, opening her eyes and gazing at me in the half-light of the hallway. Her pupils are dark, and I’ve never seen her look as sexy: breathless and gasping, and coming undone for me. I slip my thumb into her mouth, letting out a low growl of my own when she starts to suck—it’s a lot, her warm tongue and the tight clench of her pussy around my fingers, and then she’s coming with a whimper that I swallow in a kiss, feeling the pulses ride through her body, over and over again.
Finally she exhales and rests her forehead against my shoulder, her whole body going boneless. “Holy shit,” she murmurs with a laugh.
“You needed that?” I ask, pressing my lips against her flushed, sweaty cheek.
“I needed you,” she says immediately, then freezes, like she’s said too much.
She ducks out of my arms. “Come on,” she says, buttoning her jeans up and turning away from me, heading toward the hallway. “I think there’s ice cream.”
I watch her go, her round ass and the long, graceful line of her back. Jesus Christ, I am in trouble. “Sure,” I mutter, more to myself than anything. “Ice cream sounds good.”
15
Jules
The McAdams charity race is the next day, at a track an hour north of Boston. The weather has cleared for good and it’s a perfect summer day, warm and golden. Cal rolls the windows of the SUV down and cranks the music on the fancy sound system, Paul Simon crooning cheerfully and the wind blowing my hair around my face. Cal reaches across the gearshift, laces his long fingers through mine.
I squeeze his hand, unable to help myself. In theory, I know that what’s happening between us is wrong, and complicates things in a major way. But I can’t bring myself to regret it, either, when it felt so fucking good. I just don’t know what the hell is supposed to happen now.
When we arrive a valet takes the car and we head up into the McAdams suite to watch the race. “This sure beats the cheap seats,” I tease, and Cal laughs.
“Perks of being engaged to the owner,” he winks.
The suite is like something out of an English hunting lodge, all dark wood and leather couches, a tall window overlooking the track spanning one whole side of the room. Uniformed waiters weave through the crowd, proffering trays of champagne and the most intricate little hors d’oeuvres I’ve ever seen. I spy blinis topped with caviar, vol-au-vents full of crab meat, even individual potato chips topped with bites of steak tartare and quail eggs. I’m glad I didn’t listen when Cal told me it was totally casual—instead I opted for a simple black dress and a pair of open-toed booties in a cognac-colored leather I found last summer at Century 21 down in the city.
“Do you think they have pigs in blankets?” Ez asks hopefully, standing on his tiptoes to peer at the offerings. His hair is slicked back and he’s wearing a tiny gray cardigan that frankly makes me want to eat him up.
I hide a smile. “You know, Ez, I feel like this is the kind of place where if we ask nicely we can probably make that happen for you.”
“Jules!” I turn around and there’s Cal’s mom in a soft-looking wool sheath, the cap sleeves revealing biceps that are surprisingly toned for a woman her age. “You made it.”
“We did! This is incredible,” I say, gesturing around the suite as Ezra trots off to find his sister.
Diana smiles. “It’s always a fun day for us.”
“I can see why.”
“So how did it go yesterday?” she asks me, dropping her voice a bit and leading me over to a pair of club chairs. For one demented second I think she means between Cal and me, before she continues, “with the kids and Vivian.”
“Oh!” I lay a hand against my suddenly warm cheek. “Well, she’s a piece of work,” I say truthfully. “But the kids were total champions.”
“They’re the best, aren’t they?” Diana says with a satisfied nod. “I can’t get enough of Ezra’s imagination. And Lottie is just ferociously smart. Do you know she fixed the printer in my home office when she was seven? Just took the whole thing apart and put it back together again, like it was a puzzle.”
We chat about the kids for a while, before finally Diana leans back in her seat. “Cal told me the two of you went out to the cottage while they were gone,” she says pleasantly.
“We did!” I say again, my skin flushing. Suddenly, I get the sense there’s more to this conversation than just friendly small talk. “It was incredible out there. I’d never been to the Vineyard,” I find myself babbling. “So Cal decided to show me around.”
“It’s my favorite place,” Diana tells me, and I remember what Cal said about the Budweiser drafts and hide a smile. “I’m glad you were able to enjoy it.” She leans in again, conspiratorial. “I have to confess, Jules, Cal and I are usually very close. I was surprised that he kept you a secret for so long.”
Ah, here it is. I take a deep breath. “I know,” I tell her apologetically. “I think both of us were just feeling it out. But when it’s right—”
“It’s right,” Diana agrees. She glances across the room where Cal is talking cars with Lottie, the two of them engrossed in a detailed discussion of engines and horsepower and torque. “I’ll be honest with you, Jules, between you and those children I’ve never seen him this happy. He’s like a completely different person the last few days.”
“I—” That surprises me. I glance at him across the room one more time, then back at her. “He is?”
Diana nods. “It’s hardly a secret that my son has always been a bit of a playboy,” she says, reaching up and plucking a flute of champagne from a tray as a waitress passes by. “And he’s very charming, which I’m sure you’ve noticed. But I always worried that running around like he did might cause him to miss out on some of the more important things in life And after he lost Rob and Mel, I was worried he might try and drown his sorrows, you know, distract himself with the Formula One circuit again. But it’s nice to see him settling down. And I have you to thank for that.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. Suddenly, I feel like I might cry.
Hearing her say that leaves a block of ice in my stomach. Even after everything that’s happened between Cal and me in the last couple of days, I still don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. “He really loves those kids,” I finally say.
Diana smiles. “I don’t think they’re the only ones he loves.”
She excuses herself to go talk to one of the race’s co-sponsors and I
do a lap around the suite to compose myself, checking on Ez and Lottie and ordering a glass of wine at the bar. I look around for Cal, spying him holding court right in the center of a noisy crowd of people—including a couple of beautiful blondes in slinky dresses who are hanging on his every word.
A bit of a playboy, I think with a wince. Right.
I take a deep breath and make my way over, weaving through the huddle just in time to hear Cal casually place a fifty-thousand-dollar bet.
“That’s big talk for a retired driver,” the other guy needles, and Cal makes a show of laughing.
“I can still beat you any day. Jules,” he says, smiling when he sees me. “This is Gavin Jenkins—the second best F1 driver on the East Coast. Jenks, this is Jules Robinson, my fiancée.”
“Fiancée,” Gavin echoes. “How the hell did you get a girl this pretty to agree to marry you, Cal?”
“Well, I’m very rich,” Cal deadpans, and I almost snort my wine. He turns to me. “Jenks here’s been eating my dust for almost fifteen years now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gavin says with a crooked grin. “You talk a lot of shit, McAdams, but we’ll see if you can back it up out there on the track. Could be you’re too old and fat and happy to be much competition these days.” He grins, raising his glass in a toast. “See you at the starting line.”
Cal lifts his chin. “See you at the starting line,” he promises.
My eyes narrow, and I put two and two together, and come up with a terrible idea. “Hold on a second,” I say, clutching his arm. “What does he mean?” I remember what Olivia told me back at the Agency, about Cal’s background in Formula 1. “You’re racing in this thing?”
“Whoops.” He grins, that irritating who me? smile that riled me so much during our first few days together. “Did I forget to mention that part?”
“It’s not funny.” My heart rate has picked up, a feeling like I’m about to cross-examine a witness and I’m underprepared. “You can’t be serious.”
