Part 7
Part 7 · 5 min read ·
“London?”
Julian repeated, staring at me.
I stood beside my suitcase while the hotel porter waited politely a short distance away.
“Yes.”
“You accepted London?”
“Three months ago.”
The words seemed to confuse him more than finding me standing in front of Serena.
He looked from me to the suitcase again.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
I almost smiled.
It made perfect sense to me.
I had accepted a job.
I had completed the necessary paperwork.
I had packed my belongings.
And I was on my way to the airport.
But Julian looked as though I had done something impossible.
“You told me you turned it down.”
“I did turn it down.
The first time.”
His face tightened.
“What do you mean, the first time?”
“The architect who replaced me had to return home.
The position opened again.”
“And nobody thought to tell me?”
I watched him carefully.
He was still angry.
But it was a different kind of anger now.
Not the irritation of a man whose wife had interrupted his afternoon with another woman.
It was the shock of a man discovering that his wife had made a decision without asking permission.
“I tried to talk to you,” I said.
He let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Don’t tell me that.”
“I asked you to come home on Wednesday.
You had a client dinner.”
“That was months ago.”
“Yes.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
I continued.
“I asked you again the following week.
You said you were exhausted.”
“Emma, I work.”
“I know.
You reminded me often.”
Serena shifted in her chair.
Her earlier smile had disappeared.
She looked at Julian.
“Wait.
You’re actually moving to London?”
I turned toward her.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Nine months.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
I could see her trying to understand something.
Then she looked back at Julian.
“I thought she rejected that job.”
The way she said it told me Julian had discussed my career with her.
I wasn’t surprised.
What hurt was realizing that Serena knew about the opportunity I had sacrificed while my own husband had barely listened when I tried to tell him it had returned.
Julian ignored her.
“Emma, we need to talk.”
I looked at my watch.
“My car is waiting.”
“Then tell the driver to wait.”
He said it automatically.
As though my schedule were another inconvenience that could be moved to accommodate him.
I felt an old instinct rise inside me.
The instinct to apologize.
To promise that I could find another flight.
To rearrange my plans because Julian had suddenly decided our conversation was important.
Then I remembered the months I had spent trying to talk.
I remembered the messages from Serena.
I remembered the first time he told me our marriage couldn’t survive nine months apart.
And I realized I wasn’t going to miss my flight.
“No.”
Julian stared at me.
“What?”
“I’m not asking the driver to wait.”
His expression hardened.
“You’re seriously going to walk away in the middle of a conversation?”
“We weren’t having a conversation until you saw my suitcase.”
The couple at the neighboring table became very interested in their menus.
I wished they weren’t watching.
But I wasn’t willing to pretend that Julian’s embarrassment mattered more than my departure.
“Let’s go somewhere private,” he said.
“There’s nothing I need to say privately that I haven’t already tried to tell you.”
He stepped closer.
“Emma, you’re my wife.”
I looked at him.
For years, those words had meant partnership to me.
Now they sounded like a claim of ownership.
“Yes,” I said.
“I am.”
“Then you can’t just leave for another country without discussing it with me.”
“I tried.”
“You should have tried harder.”
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
There it was again.
The responsibility for his refusal to listen had somehow become mine.
“How much harder, Julian?”
He frowned.
“What?”
“How many times was I supposed to ask for your attention?
How many dinners was I supposed to wait through?
How many times did you need to tell me you were too busy before I was allowed to believe you?”
His face reddened.
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“I’m not exaggerating.”
Serena looked uncomfortable.
She glanced down at her wineglass and then at the surrounding guests.
I wondered whether she was finally seeing the part of Julian that I had spent years making excuses for.
He lowered his voice.
“We can discuss your complaints when we get home.”
I looked at my suitcase.
“I’m not going home.”
He stared at me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m going to London.”
“No, I mean afterward.”
I was quiet for a moment.
“I don’t know.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You’re saying you might not come back?”
“I’m saying I don’t know what our marriage will look like when the assignment ends.”
“Because of a job?”
I felt my breath catch.
He still couldn’t see it.
Even now, with Serena sitting at his table, Julian apparently believed London was the only issue.
“Not because of a job.”
“Then what?”
I looked at Serena.
She went very still.
Then I turned back to my husband.
“Because I saw the messages.”
Julian’s expression changed.
It was subtle at first.
His shoulders stiffened.
His mouth opened slightly.
“What messages?”
I wasn’t going to play that game.
“The ones Serena sent you on Thursday morning.
Three months ago.”
Serena looked up sharply.
Julian said nothing.
I continued quietly.
“The message about the previous night not being a mistake.”
His face drained of color.
“And the one asking when you were going to tell me those late meetings weren’t only work.”
Serena lowered her eyes.
For the first time since I had walked onto the veranda, neither of them seemed interested in how the other guests might view me.
Julian stepped forward.
“Emma, listen.”
I shook my head.
“Please don’t tell me I misunderstood.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Is it?”
He glanced toward Serena.
She looked hurt now, though I couldn’t tell whether she was hurt by his silence or by what he might say next.
“You don’t understand everything that’s been happening,” he said.
“Then explain it.”
His eyes moved toward the nearby tables.
“Not here.”
I waited.
He didn’t speak.
I realized that even now, Julian wanted me to protect him from the consequences of his own choices.
He wanted privacy.
He wanted time.
He wanted another opportunity to control the conversation.
I had given him months.
“How long?”
I asked.
He looked at me.
“How long what?”
“How long has this been going on?”
Serena made a small movement in her chair.
Julian rubbed his forehead.
“Emma, please.”
“How long?”
He looked away.
“Things became complicated a few months ago.”
“A few months ago,” I repeated.
He nodded reluctantly.
I thought about the second London offer.
About the Thursday morning messages.
About how I had sat in the kitchen while he kissed my cheek and pretended nothing was wrong.
“Was it already happening when you convinced me to turn down London?”
His face tightened.
“Not like that.”
The answer was careful.
Too careful.
“What does that mean?”
Julian took a breath.
“Serena and I were working closely.
We were spending a lot of time together.”