Page 42 of The Illusion
Silence stretches between us. Then Asher nods. "Okay, okay. Fine. We'll stay in your—in our—house. We’ll all just shoehorn ourselves in there."
He makes it sound like we live in a tiny home or that Devon is going to need to live in a closet under the stairs. Neither could be farther from the truth. I wonder if he's already imagininghimself in that mansion, sitting in his father's office, taking over the empire. And now, what’s been said cannot be unsaid and I'm fucking terrified that he wants to go down a path I can't – and won’t– follow.
We pull into the driveway of the mansion, and Devon gets out to pack a few bags. Asher follows her inside. I stay in the car, staring at the massive stone facade, the perfectly manicured lawn, the fountain in the center of the circular driveway. I will never, ever live here. It would break me.
This house cost sixty-five million dollars and it has every amenity you can think of, but it's not a home. I could never feel comfortable here. Twenty minutes later, Asher and Devon come back out. Devon is carrying a duffel bag and a backpack. Asher has a suitcase. We load everything into the trunk and drive home.
Our home. The multi-million dollar so-called modest house on Lake Sammamish that Dean thought was subpar and that, apparently, his son thinks is small. Devon has been sleeping in the guest room at the end of the hall. It's a beautiful room, with a queen bed and an en suite bathroom and a view of the lake. Before now, she hasn't settled. But now, she'll need to.
I help her unpack while Asher makes phone calls downstairs. She moves through the motions mechanically, hanging clothes in the closet, setting her toiletries on the bathroom counter. "If you need anything, just let me know," I say.
She nods. "Thank you, Julie. For letting me stay here."
"Of course. You're family."
She looks at me, and for a moment, something flickers in her expression. Then it's gone, and she turns back to her suitcase. I leave her alone and go downstairs. Asher is in the kitchen, his phone pressed to his ear. He's talking to someone about the company, about board meetings and press releases. I pourmyself a glass of wine and sit at the island, listening. When he finally hangs up, he looks exhausted.
"How are you doing?" I ask.
"Fine."
"Asher."
"I'm fine, Julie. This is all just a lot to handle."
"I know. But you don't have to do it all alone. I’m here. I’m with you."
He looks at me, and for a second, his eyes and expression carefully blank. "I'm okay. Really."
Every bit of my being knows that’s a lie.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
JULIE
Devon movesthrough the house like a ghost, quiet and withdrawn. She eats when we eat, sits with us in the living room in the evenings, but she's like a lost girl. Asher checks on her constantly, asking if she needs anything, if she's okay. She doesn't say much.
I try to give them space. I go to work, come home, make dinner, wash up after. I don't push. I don't ask questions. I’m just as steady as I can be, for both of them. It’s what I’d appreciate someone doing for me if the situations were reversed.
We need life in this house, something different to hold onto, so Ryan and Jamie are coming over for a barbecue. I thought it would be good to have people around, to break up the heaviness that's settled over the house. Asher agreed, though he seemed distracted when I suggested it.
The doorbell rings at six. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and head to the front door. Ryan's standing there with a woman I’ve never met. She's pretty—brunette, warm smile, wearing a dress that looks effortless. Ryan's hand rests lightly on her lower back.
"Julie," he says. "This is Anna."
"Hi!" Anna extends her hand. "It's so nice to meet you. Ryan's told me so much about you all."
"Nice to meet you too." I shake her hand, then step back to let them in. "Come on in."
Ryan moves past me, and I reach out to hug him. He returns it briefly, but then clears his throat and pulls back, his hands dropping to his sides almost immediately. "Thanks for having us," he says.
"Of course. Jamie should be here any minute."
Anna follows me into the kitchen, chatting easily about the drive over, about how beautiful the neighborhood is. She's personable and genuine, and I find myself liking her immediately.
"What do you do?" I ask as I pull wine glasses from the cabinet.
