The Perfect Marriage(7)

He’d said that he understood.

And she’d assumed that would be the end of it. After all, she’d done nothing to lead him on. In fact, over the next few weeks, as they closed on the loft, she had been all business. Even when James told her that he thought someday they’d live in the loft together, she smiled and said that she didn’t think his wife, or her husband, would approve of that arrangement.

“I’m going to leave Haley,” James confided. “It has nothing to do with you. We’re just not right for each other. Sadly, I’ve known that for some time. Maybe since the beginning. But I didn’t listen to that little voice inside my head that told me not to marry her. And now that same little voice is shouting at me that we’re destined to be together.”

She tried to inject some reason, but her “you barely know me” protestations fell on deaf ears.

“I’m not one of those love-at-first-sight believers,” he said, “but I’m as sure about this as I’ve ever been about anything in my life.”

Jessica never questioned James’s over-the-top pronouncements as anything but sincere. Although other men tended to tell Jessica whatever they thought would get her into bed, she somehow knew it wasn’t like that with James.

The only explanation she had for her lack of skepticism was that she believed him. And the only reason she could attribute to her conclusion was that she felt the same way.

After the sale of the loft closed, Lisa Rollins invited Jessica, James, and his wife to a group dinner. A thank-you for the rather sizable commission her firm had earned. James accepted for him and his wife but showed up at the restaurant alone.

“My wife’s working late,” he said.

Before they ordered, Lisa’s phone rang. “A family emergency,” she explained, apologizing for having to leave so suddenly.

As soon as Lisa left, James looked at Jessica with a smile that made her wonder whether he had orchestrated Lisa's sudden departure.

“Did you create her family emergency?” Jessica asked.

“No, but I do plan to take full advantage of it,” he replied.

They stayed in the restaurant until the ma?tre d’ told them that the staff had to go home, at which point James suggested they go to a bar he liked so the night didn’t have to end.

She told him she had to go home. But when he put her in a cab, they kissed, and from that moment, she knew that everything he’d said about their future would come true.



Owen heard the first guests arrive. That was also the time that the party music abruptly changed from the crap his stepfather liked—Sinatra and other crooners from a million years ago—to the crap that his mother favored—soulless Top 40 pop.

He stayed sequestered in his bedroom until the moment the clock on his computer read nine, then stepped into the living room to keep his promise to his mother.

Jessica and James were on opposite sides of the crowded room. James was in the company of a woman whose dress was a size too tight, whose hair was dyed a shade too blonde, and whose body language—the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder when she laughed or touched James’s arm when he laughed—was a little too desperate. His mother was talking to some guy with tennis-player hair.

A girl not much older than Owen approached with a tray of champagne flutes. He was tempted to grab one, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother shaking her head.

“No, thank you,” he told the girl.

“Are you in college?” she asked.

Owen’s first thought was to lie. She was obviously in college. And once he told her that he was still a year away, he knew their conversation would be over.

But he wasn’t the type to lie to a girl. To his parents, sure. But not to a girl.

“Next year. I’m a senior in high school now.”

“Cool. Where do you go to school?”

“LaGuardia.”

“Nice. I had a friend who graduated from there. What’s your . . . do they call them majors?”

“Yeah. I’m instrumental. I play the violin.”

“You must be really good. My friend was a vocal major, and I swear, she sings like an angel.”

“I’m okay. Where are you at school?”

“NYU. Freshman. So we’re practically the same age. Is this your parents’ party?”

“Mom and stepdad. First anniversary. So you can only imagine how much I really want that drink. Unfortunately, my mother is watching me like a hawk.”

The server laughed, a lovely sound.

“I’m Owen, by the way.” He thought about extending his hand, but realized that she was holding the tray, so that wouldn’t work.

“Emily,” she said. “You know, I can hide some rum in a Coke and nobody will know.”

“Yeah?”

“For you, sure.”

Owen was trying to think of something witty to keep Emily with him a few seconds longer when out of his peripheral vision, he saw his father enter the loft. That was par for the course. The first, and probably last, moment of the party that Owen was actually enjoying, and now it would be cut short.

“Oh, great. My dad just got here,” he said.

“Wait . . . your father’s coming to celebrate your mother’s anniversary with some other dude?” She laughed that sweet laugh again. “I better get you that rum and Coke. You’re gonna need it.”