Chapter 2 - THE HONEYMOON I TOOK BACK
The first thing I did after Julian disappeared through airport security was sit down.
Not because I was weak.
Because my knees had started shaking so badly that I was afraid I might collapse in front of the check-in counter.
Around me, JFK continued functioning as though my marriage hadn't just ended before it had properly begun.
Families hurried toward security.
A little boy cried because his father wouldn't buy him candy.
A woman laughed into her phone while balancing a coffee and a boarding pass.
Life continued.
Mine had stopped.
I stared at my wedding ring.
Twenty-three hours earlier, Julian had slipped it onto my finger beneath a canopy of white roses at a Manhattan hotel.
He had promised to love me.
To protect me.
To choose me.
Now he was boarding a plane to Maui with another woman.
And somehow, he expected me to follow.
My phone vibrated.
Julian: Where are you? Boarding starts soon.
I looked at the message for a long time.
Then I typed:
Me: Taking care of something. Go ahead.
His response came immediately.
Julian: Don't make this difficult, Clara.
There it was.
The sentence that had controlled most of our relationship.
Don't make this difficult.
Don't embarrass me.
Don't overreact.
Don't question Sienna.
I had spent four years making myself smaller so Julian could feel larger.
I was finished.
I opened the honeymoon reservation.
The Maui resort was called The Azure Palms, an exclusive oceanfront property where one night cost more than my first apartment's monthly rent.
I had reserved the presidential ocean villa six months earlier.
The reservation was under my name.
The deposit had come from my personal account.
And the remaining balance was scheduled to be charged to my card that afternoon.
Julian had never asked about the details.
He had simply said, "Make it spectacular."
So I had.
Private beachfront dinners.
A helicopter tour.
A couples' spa retreat.
A sunset cruise.
And one special surprise I had planned for our third night.
I was going to tell Julian I had received an offer to become creative director of a major hospitality design firm.
It was the opportunity I had worked toward for nearly a decade.
I had delayed accepting because Julian wanted me available for his social events and business dinners.
I had even considered turning it down.
The thought made me feel physically ill.
I called the resort.
A woman with a warm voice answered.
"Thank you for calling The Azure Palms. This is Natalie. How may I assist you?"
"My name is Clara Mercer. I have a reservation beginning tonight."
"Of course, Mrs. Mercer. We're delighted to welcome you."
I swallowed.
"There's been a change."
"Certainly. What would you like to adjust?"
"I want to remove Julian Mercer and Sienna Cole from the reservation."
A pause.
"Both guests?"
"Both."
"Will you still be arriving?"
I looked toward the security checkpoint.
"No."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Because your arrival is today, some cancellation charges may apply."
"That's fine. Please cancel the villa and all the activities. Refund whatever is refundable to the original payment method."
"Absolutely. May I ask whether you would like us to contact the other guests?"
"No. They can arrange their own accommodations."
Another pause.
Then Natalie said quietly, "I understand."
I wasn't sure she did.
But I appreciated that she didn't ask.
Next, I called the airline.
I couldn't cancel Julian's ticket because he had booked it through his corporate travel account.
But I could cancel mine.
And I did.
Then I opened the joint credit card Julian had insisted we use for wedding expenses.
It was linked to my personal banking account for automatic payments.
I froze the card and contacted the issuer about separating my financial obligations.
I wasn't going to finance his vacation with Sienna.
Not another dollar.
By the time I finished, my phone displayed seventeen missed calls.
All from Julian.
I finally answered.
"Clara, where the hell are you?"
His voice was sharp.
Impatient.
Not worried.
"I'm at the airport."
"Then get to the gate. They're closing the doors."
"I'm not coming."
Silence.
"What?"
"I'm not going on the honeymoon."
He laughed once.
A short, disbelieving sound.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm serious."
"Clara, we can discuss your feelings when we arrive."
"My feelings aren't luggage, Julian. You don't get to check them and collect them later."
His breathing changed.
"You're embarrassing me."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
That was what mattered.
Not our marriage.
Not the promises.
His embarrassment.
"I'm sorry you feel embarrassed," I said. "You should probably ask yourself why."
"Is this because of Sienna?"
"Yes."
"She's there for work!"
"Then I hope the two of you have a productive business trip."
I ended the call.
For the first time in four years, I hung up before Julian did.
I stood, collected my carry-on, and walked toward the exit.
My phone rang again.
I ignored it.
Then came a message from Sienna.
Sienna: Clara, this is incredibly immature. Julian is under enormous pressure. You should be supporting your husband instead of punishing him.
I almost laughed.
She had no idea what supporting Julian had cost me.
The dinners I had attended while exhausted.
The professional opportunities I had declined.
The apologies I had made for arguments he started.
The nights I had spent alone while he claimed to be working late.
I typed one sentence.
Me: He's all yours for the week.
Then I blocked her.
Outside the terminal, cold morning air struck my face.
I stood beside the taxi line, breathing it in.
It was October.
New York was entering the season when trees turned gold and people began wearing coats.
I had planned to spend the week barefoot on a beach.
Instead, I was going home.
Except I wasn't sure where home was anymore.
The apartment Julian and I shared was a luxury penthouse overlooking the Hudson.
He had purchased it before we met.
Every room reflected his taste.
Dark marble.
Expensive artwork.
Furniture no one was allowed to sit on without worrying about the fabric.
Even my books had been moved into a guest bedroom because Julian thought they made the living room look cluttered.
I had called that place home for two years.
Now I couldn't bear the thought of returning.
I called my best friend, Evelyn Brooks.
She answered on the second ring.
"Aren't you supposed to be halfway to paradise?"
"Julian brought Sienna."
Silence.
Then, very softly, "What?"
"On our honeymoon."
"Tell me you're joking."
"I'm not."
"Where are you?"
"Outside JFK."
"I'm coming."
"Evelyn, you don't have to—"
"Clara. Don't argue with me. Stay there."
She hung up.
I sat on a bench with my suitcase beside me.
For the first time that morning, I cried.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just quiet tears that slipped down my face while strangers walked past.
I cried for the woman who had believed Julian.
For the wedding I had spent eighteen months planning.
For the honeymoon that would never happen.
And for the years I couldn't get back.
Forty minutes later, Evelyn arrived in her battered blue SUV.
She climbed out before the engine had completely stopped.
One look at my face, and she wrapped her arms around me.
I held on.
"I feel so stupid," I whispered.
"You're not stupid."
"I married him yesterday."
"I know."
"Yesterday, Evelyn."
She pulled back.
"Then it's a good thing you discovered who he really is today instead of twenty years from now."
I wanted to believe her.
But my heart still hurt.
As we drove toward Manhattan, Julian called repeatedly.
Then he began sending messages.
Julian: The resort says our reservation was canceled.
Julian: What did you do?
Julian: Sienna and I are trying to fix this.
Julian: Call me immediately.
I showed Evelyn.
She glanced at the screen.
"Good."
"Good?"
"He brought another woman on your honeymoon. Now he can figure out where to sleep."
Despite everything, I smiled.
It was small.
But it was real.
Then another message arrived.
This one was different.
Julian: You have no idea what you've just jeopardized.
I frowned.
Evelyn noticed.
"What?"
I showed her.
She read it twice.
"That doesn't sound like he's talking about a vacation."
"No," I whispered.
"It sounds like something else."
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
An unfamiliar New York number.
I almost ignored it.
But something made me pick up.
"Hello?"
A man's voice answered.
"Mrs. Mercer? My name is Nathaniel Reed. I'm an attorney with Whitmore & Reed."
I straightened.
"How can I help you?"
"I'm sorry to contact you so soon after your wedding. But I need to speak with you about your late grandmother's estate."
My grandmother had died three years earlier.
Her estate had been settled.
At least, that was what Julian had told me.
"What about it?"
The attorney hesitated.
"Mrs. Mercer, has your husband asked you to sign any documents concerning the Hawthorne Family Trust?"
My blood went cold.
"Why?"
"Because we have reason to believe someone has been attempting to access assets that belong exclusively to you."
I stopped breathing.
"What assets?"
Another pause.
Then he said something that made the entire morning seem suddenly insignificant.
"Mrs. Mercer, your grandmother didn't leave you a small inheritance."
He lowered his voice.
"She left you controlling ownership in a company currently valued at approximately eighty-six million dollars."
And for the first time since the airport, I understood something terrifying.
May you like
Julian might not have married me because he loved me.
He might have married me because he knew something I didn't.
