Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren Weisberger

pretended to weigh this. ‘Forty-five minutes and I’ll––’

      ‘Any attempts at bargaining only add time onto the total.’

      He held up his palms. ‘I’m afraid there’s no deal.’

      ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘You going to fend for yourself tonight?’ she asked, grinning. Julian was an equal partner with the cleaning, bill paying, and dog care, but he was useless in the kitchen and he knew it.

      ‘As a matter of fact, I am. I’m fending for both of us, actually. I cooked dinner for you tonight.’

      ‘You what?’

      ‘You heard me.’ Somewhere in the kitchen a timer began to beep. ‘And it’s ready as we speak. Please be seated,’ he said grandly in a faux British accent.

      ‘I am seated,’ she said, leaning back against the sofa and kicking her feet up on the coffee table.

      ‘Ah, yes,’ Julian called cheerfully from their miniature kitchen. ‘I see you’ve found your way to the formal dining room. Perfect.’

      ‘Can I help?’

      Julian walked back in holding a Pyrex casserole dish between two oven mitts. ‘One baked ziti for my love …’ He was about to set the dish down on the bare wood before Brooke yelped and jumped up to retrieve a trivet. Julian began to spoon the steaming pasta.

      Brooke could only stare. ‘Is this where you tell me you’ve been having an affair with another woman for the entire duration of our marriage and you want my forgiveness?’ she asked.

      Julian grinned. ‘Shut up and eat.’

      She sat down and helped herself to some salad while Julian spooned ziti on her plate. ‘Baby, this looks incredible. Where did you learn to do this? And why aren’t you doing it every night?’

      He looked at her with a sheepish smile. ‘I may have picked the ziti up at the store today and just heated it in the oven. That’s possible. But it was purchased and heated with love.’

      Brooke held her wineglass aloft and waited for Julian to clink it. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said, and meant it. ‘Absolutely, incredibly perfect.’

      As they ate, Brooke told him about Randy and Michelle and was pleased to see how happy he was, even going so far as to suggest they drive to Pennsylvania and babysit for their new niece or nephew. Julian brought her up to date on Sony’s plans now that the album was nearing completion and told her about the new manager he’d hired on the recommendation of his agent.

      ‘Apparently, he’s the best of the best. He does have the reputation of being a little aggressive, but I think that’s probably what you want in a manager.’

      ‘Well what did he seem like when you interviewed him?’

      Julian thought about this. ‘I’m not sure “interview” is the right word. It was more like he laid out his entire plan for me. Says we’re at a crucial junction right now, and it’s time to start really “orchestrating the action.”’

      ‘Well, I can’t wait to meet him,’ Brooke said.

      ‘Yeah, he’s definitely got a little of that smarmy Hollywood thing going on – you know, where you feel like they’re always working an angle? – but I like how confident he is.’

      Julian emptied the remainder of the wine bottle evenly between their glasses and sat back in his chair. ‘How’s everything at the hospital going? Was it a crazy day?’

      ‘It was, but guess what? I got the highest ratings in patient evaluations of anyone on staff, and they’re going to give me a few more peds shifts.’ She took another sip from her wineglass; it would be worth the next morning’s headache.

      Julian broke into a huge smile. ‘That’s great news, Rook. Not the least bit surprising, but absolutely great. I’m so proud of you.’ He leaned over the table and kissed her.

      Brooke did the dishes, then took a bath while Julian finished some work on the new website he was designing for himself, and they met back on the couch, each clad in flannel pajama pants and T-shirts. Julian spread the throw blanket across both their legs and grabbed the clicker.

      ‘Movie?’ he asked.

      She glanced at the clock on the DVR: ten fifteen. ‘I think it’s too late to start one now, but what about a Grey’s?’

      He looked at her with a horrified expression. ‘Seriously? Can you, in good conscience, make me watch that after I cooked you dinner?’

      She smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m not quite sure “cooked” is a fair word, but you’re right. Your choice tonight.’

      Julian scrolled through their DVR list and clicked on a recent CSI episode. ‘Come here, I’ll do your feet while we watch.’

      Brooke flipped herself around so she could rest her legs in his lap. She could’ve purred with happiness. On television the detectives were examining the mutilated body of a presumed prostitute lying in a landfill outside of Vegas, and Julian watched with rapt attention. She didn’t love the gadget-oriented murder mystery stuff as much as he did – he could watch them find killers by scanning and lasering and tracing things all night long – but tonight she didn’t mind. She was happy to sit quietly next to her husband and focus on the wonderful sensation of his kneading her feet.

      ‘I love you,’ she said as she rested her head on the armrest and closed her eyes.

      ‘I love you, too, Brooke. Now be quiet and let me watch.’

      But she had already drifted off to sleep.

      She had just finished getting dressed when Julian walked into their bedroom. Despite the fact that it was Sunday, he looked stressed out.

      ‘We have to go right now, or we’re going to be late,’ he said, grabbing a pair of sneakers from their shared closet. ‘You know how much my mother loves late.’

      ‘I know, I’m almost ready,’ she said, trying to ignore the fact that she was still sweating from her three-mile run an hour earlier. Brooke trailed Julian out of the bedroom, accepted the wool coat he handed her, and followed him down to the street.

      ‘I’m still unclear why your dad and Cynthia are in the city today,’ Julian said as they ran-walked from their apartment to the Times Square subway station.

      ‘It’s their anniversary,’ Brooke replied, shrugging. It was unnaturally cold for a winter morning, and she desperately wanted a cup of tea from the corner bodega, but they didn’t have a second to spare.

      ‘And they decided to come here? On a freezing day in March?’

      Brooke sighed. ‘I guess it’s more exciting than Philly. Apparently Cynthia has never seen The Lion King and my dad thought it’d be a good excuse to visit us. I’m just glad you’ll get to tell them the news in person …’

      She sneaked a look at Julian and saw him smile, just a little. He should be proud of himself, she thought. He’d just gotten some of the best news of his career, and he deserved it.

      ‘Yeah, well, I think it’s safe to say that my parents are going to be lacking in the enthusiasm department, but maybe your parents will understand,’ he said.

      ‘My father already tells anyone who will listen that you have the songwriting talent of Bob Dylan and a voice that will make them cry,’ she said, laughing. ‘He’ll be thrilled, guaranteed.’

      Julian squeezed her hand. His excitement was palpable.

      Brooke managed a weak smile as they transferred to the 6 train.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Julian asked.

      ‘Oh, nothing’s wrong. I’m so excited for you to tell them all I can barely stand it. I’m just slightly dreading having to deal with the awkwardness of both sets of