The Affair Read online

  “You won’t die,” Nadia said in a stronger voice, so her sister would hear her. She hadn’t died from losing Nicolas. Things happened in life. People died, broke promises or each other’s hearts, or ran off with someone else. She realized now that you couldn’t count on anything or anyone staying the same forever. And whatever happened, you had to get through it. Even more so if you had kids. You had to stay alive and keep on going for them. It was what she was doing now with Sylvie and Laure. She had to be okay for their sakes, no matter how broken she felt inside, or how hard it was.

  “If he’s that religious, he’ll forgive you,” Nadia said. Though maybe not. She hadn’t forgiven Nicolas, and she wasn’t going back to him. But his sins were fresh, and he had humiliated her publicly. She thought that made a difference. What mattered to Harley was that his wife had slept with someone else, not who knew it. On the contrary, Olivia’s transgression had been her darkest secret, especially from him, and even from her sisters until that summer. She bitterly regretted telling them now, because their reaction had made her realize that she’d been wrong not to tell him. She could see now, from his reaction, that her first instinct not to had been right. And it was too late to confess to the lie fifteen years later.

  “What if he never comes back?” Olivia asked. Nadia didn’t want to say that Harley wasn’t as young as they were. He would probably die before her, and she’d have to survive without him one day. And if Harley took an extreme position to her confession, Will would need her more than ever. But Harley wasn’t a cruel man. Nadia doubted that Harley would never forgive her, or reject Will for his mother’s sins. He loved him too much to do that, no matter who his father was.

  “I think he will come back,” Nadia said. “Give him time. He probably needs to sit with it for a while. This is a huge shock for him. He’s a very straightlaced, serious guy, but he loves you, Ollie. He probably feels like he’ll die without you too.”

  “He says he’ll never believe another word I say. He asked me how many other men I slept with. I’ve never, ever cheated on him again.” She was wracked with sobs again after she said it, and Nadia’s heart ached for her.

  “I believe you.”

  “I wish I hadn’t told him.”

  “In the long run, you probably did the right thing,” Nadia tried to reassure her, although she wouldn’t have told him, and had tried to convince Olivia not to. Nadia had thought it was too risky, and she wasn’t happy to be proven right. Harley had reacted just as severely as she’d feared.

  They talked for over an hour before Nadia got on the plane. Will came home after the movie, and fortunately didn’t ask where his father was and went to read in his room.

  “You have to pull yourself together for Will,” Nadia told her. “You don’t want to have to explain this to him.” There was no mistaking how distraught she was. She was acting as though Harley had died. But maybe their marriage had. Nadia recognized it as a distinct possibility, and so did Olivia.

  “God, no. And Will is so damn smart, he always figures things out.” But not this time. How could he possibly guess what his mother had told Harley? He couldn’t.

  Nadia called her one last time before the flight took off, and Olivia sounded more composed, although she was morbidly depressed, and every five minutes she had tried to call Harley. She had texted him too. He hadn’t responded to her pleas and apologies and sobbing messages.

  “I’ll call you when I land,” Nadia promised. It was a six- or seven-hour flight to Paris at that time of year, depending on the weather, but she knew that Venetia and Athena would be checking on Olivia too. They hadn’t told their mother yet, and didn’t want to spoil her time in Palm Beach. There was nothing she could do anyway. What would happen next was up to Harley now. Only he could decide Olivia’s fate. The future of their marriage was in Harley’s hands.

  Nadia thought about her sister as she settled back in her seat and the plane headed northeast to Europe. She had her own future to think about now too. She and Nicolas would be filing their agreement soon with the notaire for the divorce. Neither of them had been unreasonable, and Nadia was surprised by how simple the process had become, in uncontested divorces. French law had eased up considerably when both parties agreed. Her lawyer had explained that most divorces got mired down in lengthy disputes over money, custody arrangements, or property. But since neither of them was taking an adversarial position, and the only thing Nadia wanted was use of the apartment, which he had agreed to immediately, and child support, they were among the lucky few who could get through the process quickly. Her attorney had pointed out that it sometimes took years where tangible assets were concerned. Sometimes the children were adults and had left home by the time they resolved it. He cited one case he’d had that had taken nineteen years, but he said that was unusual. But most divorces weren’t as bloodless as theirs, or as simple. He said that if nothing changed before they signed the agreement, they could be divorced in one or two months after they signed. As Nadia thought about it, she realized they would be divorced before next summer. A few tears rolled down her cheeks, thinking about it, and Olivia’s situation, and then she fell asleep.

  She woke up halfway through the flight, and tried to watch a movie. She couldn’t concentrate on it and didn’t want a meal. She hoped Olivia had been able to reach Harley by then, and could talk about what had happened, and that ultimately he would forgive her, although it might take a long time. She had discovered herself that love didn’t die as quickly as one thought it would. It died slowly, like a living being as its lifeblood leaked away, shifting its weight occasionally, moving slightly, so you knew that it was still there, dying, but not dead yet. Nadia felt that way about Nicolas. She still loved what he used to be, and the marriage they’d had, not what he had turned it into, and they’d become. Wrapping up the memories and burying them was painful, but cremating them in the white-hot fire of hatred was probably even more so. Nadia was still waiting for her love of Nicolas to die a gentle death. The embers were still warm, and not fully out yet, and she accepted the possibility now that maybe they never would be. Sadly, when she thought of their marriage ending, she thought of how gentle and loving he had always been, the happy times, the things they had in common, and everything she loved about him. But when she thought of staying with him, she thought of him cheating, and was sure he’d do it again. It didn’t leave much room for someone new to take his place, but she didn’t want that anyway.

  The only serious candidate who had crossed her path was Greg, and she wasn’t in love with him. She knew she never could be the way she had been with Nicolas, in the beginning. But maybe a love like that only happened once in a lifetime. That was a possibility she accepted too. Maybe the people you loved after that were more like friends or companions, people to travel through life with, on parallel tracks, always with a little distance, but not interwoven or entwined. She and Nicolas had been part of a single fabric, their threads forming a single design. He had torn what they had in half, and shredded their marriage, and there were only tatters left.

  She wondered if she could ever truly love Greg. He was a good person, a smart man. He wasn’t interested in becoming involved with her children, which might be a good thing. He wouldn’t interfere, and Nicolas was their father and was staying closely engaged with them. Greg was a possible companion for her, an intelligent, caring partner she could share a life with. He was civilized and not passionate. She wondered if that was what she needed now. But it felt more like a business alliance than a love relationship to her. And eventually, he’d go back to the States, New York or Dallas or somewhere, and she didn’t want to live there. It would be a big change for her girls. She didn’t want to take them away from Nicolas now. They needed to see him, and to have him close by. And she couldn’t imagine living in the States herself, and leaving France.

  She wondered too what Nicolas was going to do. It didn’t seem as though his relati
onship with Pascale was continuing or prospering, even with the baby. She wasn’t a deep person and was content to have someone else carry her responsibilities, like Nicolas. The baby was an add-on, an accessory, to pick up and put down at will. And she seemed to feel that way about Nicolas too. Sylvie had told her that she thought it was already over. But if not Pascale, there would be another woman in his life eventually. He said he still loved Nadia, whenever he had the chance to tell her, but what did that mean and how long would that last? How soon would he cheat on her again? Twice in eleven years was twice too often. He was a passionate man. He loved women, and he would fall in love again. He didn’t keep his emotional life on a low simmer in full control at all times, like Greg, never letting it heat up too much. It was less dangerous that way, which was why Greg did it, having been burned himself.

  Part of Nicolas’s appeal was how he threw his heart into everything, with total abandon, giving his whole soul to whatever he was doing, or whomever he was loving. She had benefited from that for sixteen years of their loving each other, and Pascale had only been around for a few months. Maybe the next time would be forever. Or as close to it as he could get. Maybe he was a man who needed different women for different stages of his life, different decades. She couldn’t really expect him to be the same man at fifty or sixty that he had been in his thirties. Or the same man now at forty-two that he had been when they were students and he was madly in love with her, and they stayed in bed for hours instead of going to class. But oddly, she could see him doing that into the future. She wondered if he was going to remain a boy for the rest of his life. Greg was decidedly and indisputably an adult, to the very core of his being. There was no whimsy in him, but that innocent, magical side of Nicolas is what had led him astray and into Pascale’s arms.

  She thought about it until they landed, got off the plane, and headed to baggage claim. She took an Uber into the city, and texted Nicolas that she had arrived. He answered that the girls were excited and couldn’t wait to see her in the morning. He had had a wonderful time with them, but they were ready to return to their mother. She was home to them. He was the outsider now, and he knew it. And even more so with his wife.

  * * *

  —

  It was cold in the apartment when she got home. She turned the heat up in their room, so it would be warm in the morning. There had been a severe cold spell while they were gone. The housekeeper had bought groceries, so she’d have enough to make them breakfast. They were going back to school the day after, so they’d have a day together. She was back in her role as mother, always thinking about them first. She left her suitcase in the front hall, and walked around the apartment. She was wide awake with the time difference from New York. She was proud of herself. It had been her first Christmas vacation when she wasn’t with them the entire time, and she had gotten through it. She’d had a nice time with her mother and sisters, although it was odd being with her niece and nephews without having Sylvie and Laure with her. She went to bed late, after calling Olivia, but she didn’t respond. She called Venetia, who had no news either.

  Nicolas arrived early the next morning. The girls threw themselves into her arms. She had hot chocolate ready for them, and offered Nicolas coffee. He took a cup from her with a smile. It felt good to see her, and was warm and familiar. He had missed her. He always did now.

  The girls bounded around the apartment, happy to be home, and Nicolas lingered for a few minutes. She came back to the kitchen, while the girls settled in. She loved having them home, the apartment always seemed empty to her when they were with him.

  “Laure is going to be an amazing skier one day,” he said with a smile. “She’s fearless. Sylvie is more cautious, and sensible. She’s more like you. Laure will probably throw herself off a lot of cliffs one day. Like me.” He hesitated, and then looked at her seriously. “I know we have our date at the notaire in a week. I just want to check in with you…is that what you really want? A divorce?” She nodded. She wondered if he was going to try to fight her on it now. She hoped not. She wanted to get this behind her, the last of their painful memories. She wanted closure. Olivia had told her it was for the best and she’d be glad she did it. Nadia wondered how she felt about that now, with Harley walking out on her. Nadia suspected she was probably asleep. It was early in New York. She hoped Olivia had heard from Harley by now.

  “Yes, it’s what I want,” Nadia confirmed to Nicolas. “It’s not how I wanted our life to turn out. But it did, and we have to face it.”

  “Why? Why can’t we turn it around and try to fix it?” he asked. Nadia knew she’d feel like a fool if she did, and everyone would think less of her for it, if she put up with what he’d done and went back to him now. And she didn’t want to.

  “The divorce is the right thing for a lot of reasons. Most of all, because I’d never trust you again. I don’t want to live like that. Nor would you. You’d feel like a criminal on parole,” she said seriously.

  “I could live with it. Maybe one day you’d forgive me,” he said hopefully.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Have you tried? To forgive me?” She shook her head in answer.

  “No, I haven’t. I’ve put all my energy into getting over you, not forgiving you,” she said honestly.

  “That’s not very nice of you,” he said, looking hurt and boyish, which was so Nicolas. It was the part of him she loved, and also that infuriated her at other times.

  “What you did wasn’t ‘nice,’ ” she reminded him, and he looked embarrassed, and nodded. It had been hideous, and agonizing for her. Crushing.

  “I thought you were more French than that,” he said ruefully, and she laughed. He was ridiculous at times, which she had loved about him.

  “It turns out I’m not. I thought I was more French too, but not on this subject. I don’t want a husband who has a mistress, or a little quickie affair to break up the boredom of marriage from time to time, or a big affair, which breaks my heart.”

  “I was never bored with you,” he said, serious again. And she was never bored with him either.

  “And it was no little fling,” she reminded him. “It was a wild, passionate, crazy love affair, all over the press, and you had a baby with her. It couldn’t have gotten much worse.” He hung his head, knowing he couldn’t argue with her. He felt deeply remorseful for what he had done, even if it was too late now, which it seemed to be for her.

  “I just don’t want us to end in divorce,” he said so sadly that it tugged at her heart. She didn’t want it to either, but there seemed to be no other right answer. “That’s so ugly and so sad, and so final.”

  “I don’t feel like I have any other choice,” she said, and he could see he couldn’t sway her. She couldn’t forgive him. He had wanted to give it one more try before they met at the notaire a week later. If there was any chance at all of turning the tides, he wanted to try and convince her while he saw her face-to-face. He had nothing to lose now, but he could see that she was immovable on the subject. He had pushed her too far, and been too foolish, even heartless, with what he’d done. Now he had to face the consequences. He had lost her.

  He didn’t let her see the tears in his eyes when he left.

  * * *

  —

  Venetia called her at 8 a.m. in New York. “Olivia found out where he’s staying,” Venetia filled her in. “He’s at the yacht club.”

  “Did he call her?”

  “No. She checked, and he’s registered there. He still hasn’t answered any of her calls and texts. She had an anxiety attack last night and had to go to the emergency room. She’s okay now, they gave her a Xanax.”

  “How is she explaining this to Will?”

  “She told him that it’s work-related, that she has a big trial starting tomorrow, which isn’t true. And that Harley is in Washington for a conference that starts tomorrow. Apparently Will called hi
m and he confirmed it, and he’s talking to him.”

  “That’s something at least. God, what is she going to do if he leaves her?” Nadia asked, worried about her.

  “She’ll get through it. You did,” Venetia said simply. “I hope he doesn’t, but he might. He’s a very old-school guy. He deals with criminals every day, and hands down sentences and punishments. So I guess that’s what he’s going to do here.”

  “She’s not a criminal, for chrissake,” Nadia defended her. “She did something really stupid, and yes, she told a terrible lie. But did it really hurt him in the end? Or Will? This is not a hanging offense.” Why did life have to be so harsh and cruel at times?

  “Maybe to him it is,” Venetia said, and Nadia sighed. “How are the girls?”

  “Happy to be home. They had fun with Nicolas but they seemed thrilled to see me. I am too.” She smiled. “But I had a nice time with you.”

  “Did you see him when he brought them back?” Venetia asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “How was it?”

  “Sad. He gave it one last stab before we sign the final agreement next week. He still wants us to get back together. I can’t.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Venetia said, sounding matter-of-fact. “Do you still love him?”

  Nadia hesitated. “That’s beside the point. Yes, I still love him. I probably always will. He was my first love. That doesn’t die overnight or maybe ever. If he were dead, I’d still love him. But it’s over. It’s not a viable marriage. He’d probably do it again.”

  “Then you leave him again. I just don’t see why you want to divorce him, if you still love him. Maybe you could breathe life into your marriage again after all.” Venetia was always the most practical among them, Athena the most compassionate and forgiving, and Olivia by far the toughest and least forgiving. It was ironic that she was in the situation she was in now, begging her husband for forgiveness for her own crimes, and not being forgiven so far.