Julia turned to walk away but stopped again, facing Christa one last time.
“You’re right about one thing, though.”
“And what’s that?” Christa sounded contemptuous.
Julia smiled knowingly. “My husband is an exceptional lover. He’s attentive, creative, and absolutely mind-blowing. And tonight and every night, the woman enjoying his adventurous nature will be me.”
She gave Christa a long look.
“Not bad for a mouse.”
“I’m sorry you had another run-in with Christa.” Paul’s tone was sympathetic as he escorted Julia from St. Anne’s to a small Lebanese restaurant that was within walking distance. “I guess she’s only here to harass you.”
Julia fidgeted with her wedding ring, moving it back and forth with her thumb.
“She told me she was going to ask questions after my paper. She’s going to try to make me look stupid.”
Paul wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“She can’t make you look stupid because you aren’t stupid. You stand your ground. You’ll be fine.”
He squeezed her before removing his arm.
“You look good. Much better than the last time I saw you.”
She shuddered, recalling when she’d said good-bye to Paul outside her apartment in Cambridge the summer before. She’d been thinner and sadder, but cautiously optimistic that life at Harvard would suit her.
“Married life agrees with me.”
Paul grimaced. He didn’t want to think about what Julia’s married life included, because he couldn’t stand the thought of her sleeping with Professor Emerson. He hoped to God Emerson had given up his penchant for BDSM and treated Julia with gentleness.
An image of Emerson tying Julia up flashed through his mind. His stomach rolled.
“Are you all right?” Julia peered up at him. “You look a little green.”
“I’m fine.” He forced a smile. “I’ve just noticed that the Rabbit is gone.”
“It was about time, don’t you think?”
“I’ll miss her.”
Julia focused her attention on the sidewalk in front of them.
“She returns at tense moments. My legs are wobbly just thinking about standing in front of all those people.”
“You can do it. Just pretend you’re presenting your paper to me. Ignore everyone else.”
Instinctively, Paul reached out to take her hand but stopped himself.
He gestured to her awkwardly, trying to disguise his movement.
“Uh, you cut your hair.”
She tugged one of the dark locks that fell short of her shoulders. “I thought it would look more professional. Gabriel doesn’t like it.”
“I’ll bet he doesn’t.”
(Paul neglected to mention the fact that he agreed with the Professor.)
He gestured to her left hand. “That’s quite a rock you have.”
“Thank you. Gabriel picked it.”
Of course he’d buy her a big-ass ring, Paul thought. I’m surprised he didn’t have his name tattooed on her forehead.
“I would have married him with a ring from a box of Cracker Jack.” Julia looked at her hand wistfully. “I would have married him with a tie from a garbage bag. I don’t care about this kind of stuff.”
Exactly. I could have never given her a ring like that. But Julia is the kind of girl who would be happy with next to nothing, provided she loved the guy enough.
“He paid off my student loans,” she offered quietly.
“What, all of them?”
She nodded. “I was going to consolidate them and start making payments, but he insisted on paying them.”
Paul whistled. “That must have cost him.”
“It did. It’s taken some getting used to—the fact that we share everything including a bank account. I had a very small checking account when we got married. He had . . . more.”
“How do you like living in Cambridge?” Paul changed the subject, far from eager to learn how much more the Professor had.
“I love it. We live close enough to Harvard so I can walk. Which is good, because I don’t drive.” Julia sounded sheepish.
“You don’t? Why not?”
“I kept getting lost and ending up in sketchy neighborhoods. I called Gabriel from Dorchester one night and he had a fit. And that was after I’d used the GPS.”
“How did you end up in Dorchester?”
“The GPS screwed up. It didn’t recognize one-way streets. It even told me to do an illegal U-turn while I was driving through one of the underpasses. So I ended up farther and farther away from my house. After that, I quit.”
“You don’t drive at all?”
“Not in the greater Boston area. Gabriel’s Range Rover is difficult to park and I was always worried I was going to hit someone. Boston drivers are crazy. And don’t get me started on the pedestrians.”
Paul resisted the urge to itemize Gabriel’s myriad failings, and settled on one.
“Why doesn’t he get you a new car? Obviously, he can afford it.”
“I want something small, like a Smart car or one of those new Fiats. Gabriel says they’re like driving a can of tuna.” She sighed. “He wants me in something bigger, like a Hummer.”
He bumped her shoulder playfully. “Planning on invading Baghdad? Or just Charlestown?”
“Very funny. If I can’t parallel park the Range Rover, how the hell am I going to park a Hummer?”
Paul laughed, opening the door to the restaurant.
Before he could ask the host for a table for two, a commotion emerged from a nearby table. A little girl, who was probably three or four years old, was hitting a button on her book repeatedly, generating a few bars of a song over and over again.
As the girl continued this behavior, Paul and Julia looked around the restaurant. The other patrons were less than impressed.
A woman who was modestly dressed and wearing a hijab tried to persuade the girl to exchange her musical book for another, nonmusical one. But the girl shrieked in protest.
It was at that moment that an older man who had been sitting near them noisily demanded that the waiter silence the girl. He further complained that she was ruining his lunch and that children who cannot behave themselves should not be allowed in restaurants.
The woman flushed a deep red and tried once again to persuade her daughter to switch books. But once again, the girl refused, kicking loudly against the table leg.
At that moment, the host approached them.