Даниэла Стил - The Affair

Greg was leaving the next day. The house had been finished just in time, and had required endless hours of work on Nadia’s part to achieve it.

“Now I don’t want to leave,” he said, and put an arm around her. They had become friends while she worked on it, but he had never gone beyond the line of friendship, and she didn’t want him to. She found him incredibly attractive to look at, but she wasn’t attracted to him. She wasn’t drawn to any man. She found that Nicolas had vaccinated her. She was content with her children and her work. She didn’t miss having a man in her life, knowing now how wrong it could all go, and how devastating it could be. She’d been too badly hurt to want a relationship for now.

“I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate when I get back. Nadia, you made all my dreams come true. You created a real home for me. I can’t wait to get back.” Greg had told her he hadn’t dated anyone since he moved to Paris. He hadn’t had time. Now he had a real home. Even Nadia thought it needed a woman’s touch to soften the masculine strength of it. As they stood in his living room, admiring his Picasso, he turned to her and kissed her. She couldn’t tell him, but she felt nothing. She was still too broken inside to want anyone, and he sensed it immediately.

“Too soon?” he asked her, and she shook her head.

“No, maybe too late.” She wanted to feel more for him than she did, but she didn’t, and didn’t know if she ever would again. There was a piece of her missing now. She wasn’t heartbroken. She was empty, and she knew that Nicolas had taken the missing piece with him, and it had gotten lost somewhere. It was as though her heart had been so shattered, it had been removed.

She and Greg sat down on the dove-gray velvet couch in his living room, and he pulled her close to him. It felt good sitting with him, she just didn’t know how much more of her there was to share with him. Her affection for him had been expressed in the home she had designed for him.

“I love being with you,” she said softly, “I just don’t know how much I can connect with anyone right now. I think he broke something deep inside me.”

“That’s how I felt after Sharon,” Greg said quietly. “The feelings come back. They’re just different.”

“I liked myself better before,” she admitted to him. “I feel alive with my kids now, and my work. The rest of me is just dead, or gone, or buried somewhere. I can’t seem to find it, or turn the switch on.”

“You will,” Greg said confidently. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve never met another woman like you, and I’m not going to lose you, Nadia. What you did with my home is an incredible gift.” He had paid for it, but he knew you couldn’t pay for the love and talent she had poured into it. She had given herself to him in all the little details she had thought of, the touches she had added that would give him so much pleasure for years. He wanted to share it with her. He knew with certainty that she was a woman who would never cheat on him as others had. She was a woman of honor to her very core.

“Thank you for loving the house.” She smiled at him and nestled next to him as they sat there admiring it.

“How could I not love it? You’re an extraordinary woman, and eminently lovable. I’m sorry he hurt you so badly. You’ll get over it one day.” And if she didn’t, she wasn’t sure she minded anymore. She was content. She felt fulfilled. She had her work and kids and friends. She was no longer in pain. Seeing the look on Greg’s face in his new home was enough for her. She didn’t need more than that for now, or even want it.

They left the house together, hand in hand. He dropped her off at her place, and he was going to go back to his new house and spend the night. She had had the bed made up for him with new Porthault sheets in case he wanted to sleep there before he left for Texas. It was his kingdom now, his domain. Her job, she knew, was giving others the joy of a home they loved. She couldn’t think of anything better, or anything she loved doing more.

She kissed him on the cheek before she got out of his car, and he didn’t try to kiss her again. He knew better. She slid out of his car with a wave and he watched her go inside. Then he drove back to the house she had turned into a magical place for him. Nadia was the magician, and his friend.

—

After Nadia turned Greg’s new house over to him, she took four days off to be with her girls. Their Christmas Eve was warm and cozy. She was going to miss them for the week they’d be away with their father, but she was looking forward to seeing her sisters in New York. Athena was flying in with Joe, during a break in the show. There was no place like New York at Christmas, except maybe Paris, and she felt blessed to have both cities in her life. The girls loved New York at that time of year too. They had been there before, but their week of skiing in Val d’Isère was going to be fun for them, and Nadia kept everything light and happy and fun before they left. It was their first Christmas season without their father at home. She made Christmas Eve dinner for the three of them. She had turned down all the Christmas parties she’d been invited to. She didn’t feel ready to see their friends yet. The affair had just been too public, the fallout too enormous, and the baby was the final blow. She felt fine again, but not ready to face people who were still happily married or in couples and felt sorry for her. Their pity was more than she could bear. She could see it in their eyes when she ran into them, and she didn’t want to have to put on a show of how great things were. Things were good, and she was grateful for that, but not great yet. Greg was probably right. It would take time. But she wasn’t sure that time would change how she felt about him. He had become a good friend while they’d worked on his house, but in a funny way, he still seemed too American to her, too stripped clean of eccentricities and Gallic charm. There was something about French men that made her feel like a woman, or made her heart dance like Nicolas used to. If she ever fell in love, she wanted to feel like that again. Or maybe it was just too late and that part of her was dead. She wondered if she’d ever know.

—

Nicolas arrived on time on Christmas morning to pick up the girls. She noticed that he was thinner, and pale, and she could tell that he’d been writing. He looked that way when he stayed home for days and weeks on end, writing and editing and rewriting. She wondered who read his manuscripts now. His editor probably.

“Merry Christmas,” he said solemnly, and she smiled at him.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, and hugged the girls tightly before they left. Laure turned back for one more hug, and then they ran to catch their flight to Chambery to get to Val d’Isère. Nadia was leaving for New York that afternoon. She had given Agnes and her other employees the week off and closed the office. They had worked like demons until all hours of the night for weeks, getting Greg’s house installed. They had earned the time off. Nothing would happen over the holidays anyway. Their clients were all busy, and new ones wouldn’t surface until mid-January.

Nadia had a date in January to appear in front of a notaire, which was similar to an attorney with some powers like a judge, to confirm their divorce agreement, since it was being handled à l’amiable, on friendly terms. Because there was no dispute in their divorce, according to recent laws, they didn’t have to go to court and could deal with it in the notaire ’s office. And after that, it would be final in roughly two months. It was a simple procedure as long as there was no disagreement about the terms. Nicolas had finally stopped saying he wanted to come back, which was a relief to her. Nicolas had understood at last that Nadia had no desire to resume their marriage and wouldn’t let that happen. Nicolas was crushed but didn’t try to argue with her. Sylvie and Laure were getting used to the idea, and so was she. She was going to be a divorced woman, which reeked of failure to her. Failure to keep her husband’s interest, to keep him out of someone else’s bed, to keep him from having a baby with a twenty-two-year-old girl. In some ways, Nadia blamed herself. He had done it, but she felt that she must have set the stage for it to happen, maybe by being too busy, working too hard, or assuming that he would love her forever no matter what. As it turned out, love was a fragile flower that didn’t live as long as one hoped. For some it did, but not for all. They hadn’t been among the lucky ones who made it until the end. She accepted it now. And out of respect for her, Nicolas had to accept it too.