Chapter 2
“You'll never have to work again.”
The sentence made me want to laugh.
Before marrying Julian, I'd worked as a museum development consultant. I'd built donor programs, restored failing arts grants, and paid my own rent in Manhattan.
The Whitmores had spent three years describing my career as something charming I used to do.
Now Margaret was offering me the privilege of never doing it again.
I turned to Julian.
“Did you know about this meeting?”
He swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Did you know about the money?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
I looked at the woman carrying three children my husband had apparently conceived while still coming home to me every night.
“How long?”
Julian answered.
“Evelyn.”
“How long?”
His jaw tightened.
“Seven months.”
Seven months.
I counted backward automatically.
Seven months earlier, we'd spent a long weekend in Vermont.
Julian had cooked breakfast in the cabin kitchen because I'd burned the pancakes.
We'd walked through snow until my boots soaked through.
That night, he'd made love to me in front of the fireplace and told me we should start trying for a baby.
Seven months.
I stared at him.
“You asked me to stop taking birth control four months ago.”
His face changed.
Margaret shifted in her chair.
Vanessa looked at him too.
Apparently, that detail was new to her.
Julian leaned forward.
“I didn't know what was happening yet.”
“You knew you were sleeping with her.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Yes.”
“And you were sleeping with me.”
Vanessa flinched.
Charles cut in.
“This conversation is not productive.”
I looked at him.
“No. I imagine the productive part is where I sign.”
His expression did not change.
Charles Whitmore had negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions. My marriage was probably the smallest hostile transaction he'd handled in years.
He tapped the divorce agreement.
“You will retain your personal assets. The twelve million is separate. There will be no challenge from Julian.”
“Generous.”
“Evelyn,” Julian said softly.
That softness hurt more than anger would have.
I turned toward him.
“Tell me not to sign.”
He froze.
No one moved.
Even Vanessa stopped touching her stomach.
I heard the faint ticking of an antique clock near the library doors.
“Tell me this is insane,” I said. “Tell your father to put away the check. Tell her whatever happened between you was a mistake. Tell me you're willing to fight for the marriage you asked me to believe in.”