Page 103 of The Woman I’ve Become

Alternatively, I could call him right now and say that I’m feeling lonely. A man with sex on his mind is an easy target.

I sigh and curl into my covers. I think I will save that battle for another time.

Instead, I’ll celebrate this new freedom and enjoy the life I’ve been given.

Six Months Later

46

Manhattan, New York

“One more photo, Mr. Mayor.”

Phillip glances at me, and we both smile. “Of course,” he says to the photographer whose job it is to take the official photos tonight.

The celebration of Phillip’s win is very glamorous—over the top, almost. I survey the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel. Although the crowd is thinning now, everyone who is anyone has been here. Ladies in exquisite evening dresses, gentlemen in distinguished tuxes.

We smile for the camera for the thousandth time, our heads together. Him in a classy tux and me in a lovely black silk dress with its elegant high cowl neck and pleated back. The photographer thanks us and hurries away. The evening truly has been perfect. I’m certain it will be considered one of the most stylish events of the season. Vanity Fair and Vogue are both here covering the city’s who’s who.

Phillip gives me a peck on the cheek. “Excuse me a moment, darling.”

“I think I’ll retire soon,” I say softly before he slips away. Olivia and Catherine have already retreated to our suite.

His lips press close to my ear as he whispers, “I’ll be right behind you.”

Doubtful, I think as he is ushered to a quiet corner by several of his biggest donors and titans of the business world. I accept another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a long swallow in a silent toast to myself.

It isn’t every day one survives the demons from their past and watches their husband elected to such a prominent political position.

I sigh and make my way out of the ballroom and to the private elevator. During the few moments alone in the rising car, I study my reflection in the historic gold-framed mirrors. I returned my hair to its natural brown with just a few extra red highlights. There’s no one to fool anymore. No concerns for who might be watching.

I step out from the elevator and enter our suite. Catherine is curled up on the sofa watching late news coverage of the big win. She is so proud of her son, and she has every right to be.

“Olivia down for the count?” I ask, closing the door behind me. Olivia was so excited to dress up and stay at this beautiful hotel. The perfect “princess” night. A moment she will never forget.

“She is. I’ll be doing the same soon.” Catherine smiles. “I think I’ve had all the celebrating I can take for one evening.”

“No kidding. Well, I’m headed to the balcony to enjoy the view and wait for Phillip.” I lift my glass. “Good night, Catherine.”

“Night,” she calls after me.

The view of Central Park is spectacular. The air is cool, the night sounds rhythmic and soothing. There really is no place like this city. I’m not sure I will be leaving it anytime soon for a trip to the lake house or anywhere else. Perhaps I’ll sell the lake house. There are no good memories there. Not anymore.

This city is home.

It’s hard to believe the insanity of six months ago is for the most part fully behind us now. The official investigations are closed. For weeks the headlines of all major media outlets covered the terrifying home invasion of such a prominent family.

I saw to it that Julia was properly interred along with that cheap replica necklace her little Machiavellian sidekick left in my room. I doubt Julia would have done anything remotely as kind for me.

As far as the world knows, the woman I buried was Wendy Neely, who leaked that story to the Times in the hope of blackmailing me. When that didn’t work, she and her minions decided on the new plan that resulted in their deaths.

Rick took the file on Casey Duval to the FBI, and the Judge case was finally officially closed. It was deemed that Casey Duval was the Judge and Wendy Neely (the fake one) was his accomplice. She killed him during a psychotic episode and ended up in a mental hospital, eventually escaping and coming after her old friend Julia’s money. Wendy died at the hands of her accomplices, Alicia Hopkins and Brian Miller. End of story.

Scarcely a word of that twisted tale is true, but I have no desire to prove otherwise. I will forevermore be Julia. It’s best for Olivia anyway.

No matter that the FBI got it almost all wrong, particularly about Casey, there is no reason for me to ever worry about him. I know exactly where he is and how long he has been there. I’ve never felt the need to reveal that part of my story, and I never will.

After my marriage to Phillip was announced in the Times—his mother would have it no other way—Casey sought me out. His mistake was in sending me a message first. He dropped an envelope with a note inside into the mail slot of my Gramercy Park brownstone—the one Phillip bought me for a wedding present.