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A memoir.
The logic behind her words is undeniable—but more importantly, all logic aside, her words are heartfelt. Sincere.
When I used to look at her, all I saw were the distractions. Her body. Her beauty. Her raw sex appeal. But now that I know her, really know her, I recognize she’s so much more than anyone gives her credit for.
Julia is insightful, mature, considerate, and even savvy. But best of all, she’s mine. And all this time, I’ve been downplaying what I feel for her. Not anymore.
Never again.
I love her.
I love her more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And for once, the idea doesn’t terrify me.
***
“I should check on Jay,” Julia mentions.
We pause in the hallway, my hand on the keycard, about to unlock my door. My eyes travel over her, taking in the earnestness in her expression. She’s serious.
We just closed out our day with another memorable dinner in Vienna, and I’m approximately three minutes away from carrying out an elaborate plan to make her come at least three times with three distinct parts of my body—and she wants to talk to Jay?
“What for?” I try to sound inquisitive, but I know there’s a tinge of disgust detectible in my tone because Julia lets out a long exhale.
“He’s my friend.”
I’m tempted to ask her if we’re talking about the same Jay. Surely she can’t be talking about the overgrown man-baby who pitched a fit all because I had the audacity to show up when invited. And yeah, I’d be pissed off too if a handsome, obscenely rich motherfucker crashed my vacation with a borderline perfect woman, but I wouldn’t be a little bitch about it.
“Julia, last night he stormed off like a petulant child,” I remind her. “Why do you have to check on him? He should be apologizing to you. Profusely.”
“I’m loyal,” she explains, raising both shoulders—and yeah, I know she is. “If loyalty doesn’t matter to you, tell me now because it’s the most important thing to me.”
Today was the best day I’ve had in years. Waking up in bed together, exploring Vienna, and talking through the bleakest and most repressed memories I have…. It sounds corny, but it meant everything to me. She means everything to me. Putting Jay back into the equation is a step in the wrong direction.
“He’s here for your money,” I finally say, wishing I didn’t sound so damn exasperated. Frustration diminishes the impact of what I’m trying to tell her—and she needs to hear this.
As I expected, Julia’s face contorts into a deep frown. When she doesn’t respond, I realize I may have crossed a line. It’s the last thing I wanted. After losing countless friends in college because I was content to spend every waking minute with Constance, I’d never do the same to Julia by isolating her.
“Your money,” I explain again, imploring her to understand that my motives aren’t selfish. “I know you care about him, but your money is all he cares about. You’re too involved to notice, but I’ve been watching him. It’s obvious to me.”
Expression still tight, she raises her shoulders. “Jay is one of my best friends. I’m happy to spend my money on him,” she snaps.
“Sure. Spend your money on anything you want. You have too much of it anyway. But don’t spend it on someone who doesn’t even care about you.”
Her tight expression somehow darkens. She crosses her arms over her chest, and for once she seems to be at a loss for words. “Are you jealous?” she finally questions, raising an irritated eyebrow. “You’re jealous that I—”
“That you’ve fucked him?” I interject, my expression dark to match hers. “That you’ve let him touch you? I’ve done all those things. I’m not jealous. I don’t get jealous of anyone.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
“I told you. He uses you,” I repeat, stating it like it’s a fact.
“And you don’t? You don’t act like my body is up for trading and bargaining?” she counters.
“No. Hell no. We’re not going to fight about the deal anymore. Everything I’ve done with you—everything I’ve given to you or said to you—is because I care about you. I’ve chosen you. You don’t think I have options? Look at me, Julia. Of course I have options.”
Julia is silent, like she’s only now realizing that even a recluse likes to get around.
“You don’t think I was twenty-eight once?” I continue, taking a step closer to her. “I’ve fucked so many women I can’t even keep track. But you’re the one I want. And screw it: Even if you don’t want me—which would kill me, by the way—I won’t stand by while someone mistreats you. I’m not jealous. I just care.”
