(Sal here. SO SORRY! Wattpad was being weird, and wouldn't save the changes I made this morning, so very quickly I rewrote everything and deleted the first version of this chapter. Here's the new and improved B.E.V., which will make much more sense I hope.

Also, Julia's not incapacitated again or anything, but she is in a bit of a daze. That's why I'm having John tell this part of the story. And there's very important things that happen here that she would probably forget to mention. So, take it away, Deaks...)

Freddie emerges from the hall, humming a little something under his breath. His eyes scan the parlor. "Where's Julia?"

"Hm?" I look up. For I didn't even notice she had disappeared until now, when Freddie mentions it. My mind is still set on a little tune that's been developing ever since I opened that silly fortune cookie. I'm not drunk, by the way, I'm just a little woozy. I've been officially drunk before, and on such occasions I was never this sentient; I'm sober enough to catch the difference.

There's Ray Charles, a personal favorite of mine (along with Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder- I do love those American blues and funky soul), coming from the dining room. I'm as English as Freddie is unpredictable, but I can't help swaying a little to his version of "America the Beautiful." Good is good under any circumstances.

Freddie hears it, too, but it has a different effect on him. His eyes narrow a little. Without warning he darts across the parlor out of sight. Behind me the music stops, and some other song by Sam and Dave replaces Ray. I almost protest, almost complain "Freddie, I was enjoying that!" but I don't. There's no point.

"Did anybody see where she went?" Freddie asks, his voice now harboring an edge of fear.

"She went down the hall," Rudy says, waving his hand.

"Oh, right," he nods, then sighs. "I swear, she's like the wind."

With that, Freddie sits back down on the sofa and takes one more sip of wine. Not to be over-analytical, but he seems tense all of a sudden. His fingers drum anxiously against his knee, and he looks over his shoulder as if he's waiting for Julia to stroll back in at any second.

"I can go get her," I offer as I rise slowly to my feet.

"No, John, I'm just being a little paranoid, it's okay-"

"Not at all! I can at least go see what she's up to," I reply. "I'm curious now."

So I move a little clumsily down the hall, peer into the rooms there. When I check Robert's nursery, I see her silhouette against the corner thanks to his little nightlight. I tiptoe inside, but Julia doesn't notice. She's sitting quietly in the rocking chair, head in her hands, although from what I can see, she isn't crying. But there's nothing about her huddled form that implies she is happy. And only two minutes ago she was poking at Freddie about lucky numbers. My God, these two. Her emotions swing just as randomly as his.

"Julia?" I whisper.

She sits up. "Oh, I'm sorry, I really shouldn't be-"

"It's fine, it's fine. What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I'm all right."

Those words again. Now I know something's wrong. "That's not true, is it?"

Julia sighs. "No."

"Do tell, please."

But tonight, she won't coax the words out. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"John, if I can't tell him, then I can't tell you."

"Tell who? Freddie?"

"It's complicated, all right?" she whispers.

I stand there awkwardly a moment, then I nod. "If you need a minute, I can leave-"

"You don't have to, it's fine, I'm the one trespassing anyway. I guess that's just what I do." She chuckles sadly. "I don't mean to trespass, I just keep winding up in the middle of everything. What for?"

I shrug, then come closer. "You're not, uh, trespassing, Freddie was just worried about you, that's why I'm here."

"Worried? Why?"

"He didn't know where you went."

Julia half-smiles. "He's funny," is all she says, speaking more to herself than to me. "What earns me his attention?"

I blink. "Well- you're nice. And pretty. And a good friend."

"But so is Mar- oh, God!" she exclaims. "It just doesn't stop!"

Now there's tears in her throat. I'm clearly not helping. I think of sending Freddie in to calm her down, but I don't know if he'll make it better or worse.

Robert stirs in his crib. "Dad-deee...." he murmurs sleepily.

"Oh, no, I woke him," she whispers. "I'm sorry..."

"It's quite all right," I say, leaning over and patting the boy's head. "Come say hello."

After a minute, Julia stands up, walks over and looks in at him. Right away she smiles, but it's that pale smile from two nights ago. The light from the hall is just enough so she can see his groggy face. Already he's falling back to sleep.

"He's so cute," she coos. "Hi there, Robert. Oh, I love his curls, he must get those from you."

"I don't know about that," I mutter, feeling my face heat up. "I think he looks more like his mum."

"Maybe, but he's definitely got your mouth."

I look at her. "What does that mean?"

"That you have a nice mouth, and this kid is lucky to have it," she pops back softly. "What did you think I meant?"

I just smile. I'll be damned. God made two of them.

"He's getting so big so fast. I already can't wait till the next one arrives," I whisper. Suddenly I have an idea. "Hey, do you know what it'll be?"

"What?"

"Is it going to be a boy or a girl? Do you know?"

"Actually," she muses, "I believe I do."

"Well?"

"John, you don't want me to spoil the surprise, do you?" she chides me. "I've put my fingers in enough pies the past two weeks. That needs to unfold in its proper time."

"Oh, very well," I sigh. "You'd do it for Freddie, though."

Julia kind of chuckles and shrugs. But she doesn't deny it. Her eyes study Robert quietly for the next few seconds, and then she whispers, "John?"

"Hm?"

She pauses. "Have you ever had to make a really hard choice, one you knew would define the course of the rest of your life?"

"Well- I mean, we all do at some point, right?"

Julia nods, brows knitting a bit. That's not the answer she was hoping for, so she goes on. "I mean- let me put it like this. Let's say, you get stranded in some foreign country, miles and miles from home. And... in the meantime, you meet a girl from this country, and you fall madly in love with her, and she with you- but she has a reputation for being a man-eater. And, uh, every day you spend near her, there's some kind of reminder that she will not maintain romantic relationships for very long.

"And then one day, you just stumble upon a one way ticket back, set for the very next day at high noon- but there's a catch."

"I can't come back?" I guess.

"Right. And you can't bring anyone with you. It's the last trip ever from this country to your home. You don't get another chance; if you stay, that means you sever all ties to that world, and you stay right where you are, but if you go," she shudders, "you'll... never see the woman you love ever again."

Julia stares blankly at her Polaroid pictures, and I notice for the first time that there's a band on her ring finger. "So," she finishes. "What would you do? Would you choose your love, or your life?"

And it's a truly hard question, she's asking me. I'm no fool, I know exactly what she's on about. I've talked to K and Tim enough times to know that Julia isn't from around here. But even if I were to remove her from the picture, I honestly can't give a straight yes or no answer.

"I'm not asking your advice," she says after a moment. "I just want to know what you would do."

So I say, "I guess it depends on the lover, really, and how much you trust them- how much you, you know, believe in them."

"Faith," she murmurs. "I suppose you're right. It's about faith."

Quietly I ask her, though it's none of my business, "Do you have faith in Freddie?"

"What does this have to do with F-"

"Oh, Julia, come on. I'm not stupid, you know." I draw back a little, deciding I might have been a little too vitriolic there, and in a less edgy voice I go on- or would go on, that is, but we are interrupted.

"What are you two doing in here?" My wife's voice gently cuts in. I turn, and she steps into the nursery.

"We're just awkwardly staring at little boys while they sleep," Julia whispers with a smile.

Freddie's head appears rather comically in the doorway. "You mean, you like to do that, too?" he murmurs.

"Every chance I get, fella," Julia replies. "For the same reasons, though, right?"

Freddie snickers, nodding. "One can only hope."

Her smile widens, but something in her eyes changes, grows sadder, when she looks at Freddie. Perhaps I'm imagining things again, for the change is clearly lost on him. He walks in as well, and now the four of us are standing in Robert's bedroom and whispering. What a weird bunch of people we are.

"So tell me again, where is it you found this one?" Freddie asks in a lofty whisper. "Was it Harrods?"

"No," Veronica laughs. "We sent in for Robert. Mail order."

"Ah, yes, that's right! I think they sell them at Harrods, too, though, they have everything. That would be worth a shopping trip right there. Don't you think, darling?"

Freddie shoots a look at Julia, as if he's trying to measure her response to his words. I saw him do the same thing after he made his remarks about the "ceremony" earlier. But she only chuckles and kisses his shoulder, gives him nothing to bounce off of. She's terribly quick with the slippery, noncommittal answers.

"How many do you think we should invest in?" he quips to her softly.

"You said you had your heart set on twelve," she whispers back. "Is that still the plan?"

"No, that might be more than we could handle. I'd say eleven is closer to the mark."

"Eleven, my God," she laughs. "We could have our own baseball team. Boys or girls?"

"I was thinking, five mini-mes, and six mini-yous, to keep the mini-mes in line."

"You think they'll let us just walk out of Harrods with eleven children?"

"Well, we'll have to do it in installments, you know, one at a time. Or else, yes, they might get a little suspicious, I think."

They've clearly forgotten they're not alone. Veronica smiles at me in an "Aren't they precious?" sort of way.

"Silly man," Julia purrs. "You wouldn't last two minutes as a dad."

"Whatever gives you that idea?"

"I know you. In no time at all, you'd be sick to death of the whole parenting business."

"Parenting is for nannies," Freddie explains simply. "That leaves just the spoiling to us."

"You really want your kids to turn out to be spoiled rotten little beasts?"

"Why not? They'd be chips off the old block. The rottener, the better."

Julia presses a little closer against Freddie's side. "So tell me, since when did you want babies?"

"Darling. Haven't you heard? They're the latest trend. I mean, look, John has one and a half, and he's always ahead of the curve anyway."

Veronica bursts out laughing. It is a little funny; no one's ever been able to fit me and "ahead of the curve" in the same sentence without including the word "not" somewhere in the middle.

Julia's hand subtly closes over Freddie's, and he immediately turns his over so that now their fingers are interlocking. Veronica tugs on my sleeve, silently tells me that we should "give them a moment," and slips out of the nursery. I follow, albeit begrudgingly, but not before I watch them affectionately nuzzle each other's noses.

'You know what I think?" Veronica murmurs.

"What?" I say at a normal volume. We're back in the parlor, so we no longer have to speak in low voices.

"It could be they didn't just fake a marriage," she keeps whispering. "I think they might really be married."

I almost shrug it off, but then I do a double take. "You think so?"

"I mean, it makes sense. They act like newlyweds just come back from their honeymoon."

"Still on their honeymoon, more like. And she's wearing a ring," I add, thinking back to Roger's observation at the club about married women. "But, I dunno, I don't think- I mean, you couldn't pay Freddie to get married."

"You wouldn't have to," Freddie's driver murmurs. "He'll do it for free."

I turn. "What do you mean?"

But the tall, burly fellow says nothing else, and instead rises to his feet when Julia and Freddie appear from the hall. Only yesterday, wasn't it, that he joked about her being heartless- and only two days ago, that she called him a vampire. Only twenty-four hours prior to this very minute, all one thought the other felt was hatred. And now, look at them, holding hands, standing so close together. My wife hit the nail on the head; lovecats, indeed they are.

"We should probably be heading home, darlings, let you do your thing," Freddie informs us, with a little sly glance at the girl. "There's, um, a few things we need to take care of ourselves."

'We do," Julia mutters a little absently, but then she notices his tone, and her brow arches. "We do?"

He doesn't verbally respond. "Thanks for being so understanding- and for letting us crash your house again."

It's here that we come around to farewells, giving hugs and claps on the shoulders, everybody telling everybody they had a marvelous night.

Freddie picks up his suit jacket and drapes it over his arm. As he does, something black falls out of the inside pocket, but he bends down and snatches it back off the floor before my eyes can adjust and identify it. Julia steps into the kitchen, asking where she might find a black ballpoint pen- and if anyone has seen her shoes.

It's at that very moment, as Freddie stands back up and takes a step, that he trips over one of her sandals and just barely keeps from falling flat onto his face.

He kneels on the floor and waves the shoes around like a captured battle flag. "Found them," he announces in a slightly irritated, but nonetheless playful, singsong.

Julia runs back out, having heard him stumble. "Oh, I'm so sorry..."

Freddie glares at her and throws her the shoes. "Next time I'll be throwing them at you instead of to you."

"Warning noted," Julia whispers. "Nothing broken?"

"Only my spirit," Freddie sighs dramatically, sending Julia into another giggling fit as she slides her feet into the wedges.

"Oh, I'm glad you think it's so funny," he sniffs, pretending to get emotional. "If you're going to laugh at me, you could at least help me to my feet so I can take it standing up."

"Drama queen," she murmurs. But she walks over and takes his hand, pulling him back upright.

My wife can't take it anymore. "Are you two married?"

Freddie's brows raise. "What?"

"Is Julia your wife? Is that what really went down in Sin City?"

But the interesting thing is, neither Freddie nor Julia reply. They look at each other, then back at us- and all they do is smile. Peas in a pod. It's almost a little scary.

Veronica and I follow our friends out to the car once they've gotten themselves together. Julia throws her arms around my wife one last time. But her face, which is turned toward me, changes- and a look of despair fills her big eyes.

Then she walks up to me, asking my wife, "Ron, you don't mind if I kiss your husband goodbye, do you?"

Freddie puts his hands on his hips, prompting her to add hastily, "On the cheek."

Veronica smiles and nods her consent. So Julia leans forward, gently pecks my right cheek. As she does, she pushes one of the pictures into my hand.

Behind us Freddie mutters, "I noticed you didn't ask my permission."

To which Julia replies cheekily, "What? Is John your husband too?"

Freddie immediately breaks down laughing as they clamber into the back of the Rolls. I can't help but notice the way his face seems to glow with happiness.

Granted, I am not around Freddie all the time. What he does with his private life is entirely his affair. But in all the years I've known him, I have honestly never seen him this genuinely happy. I can't help but wonder myself what it is about this quirky girl that has so captivated him, reduced him to such a vulnerable state. Because it's quite clear the man is absolute putty in her hands.

Not to say Freddie is her puppet, the way Brian seems to think- I don't know if Freddie could allow himself to be anybody's puppet anyhow- but there's no doubt he loves her. And completely, at that. The man's admitted as much. He even wrote her that new love song, the one that sort of branched off the Beatles's "Julia."

Then what's the problem? What's still holding her hostage?

Suddenly my thoughts roll back to what Tim came close to saying. Freddie was right, it did indeed sound as though he said "the one who died." And I realize that she knows much, much more than any of us about our own lives. Perhaps she knows something about him- something that would push them apart instead of bringing them closer.

True, Freddie has a reputation. And I have no doubt it didn't help him in any way whatever when she discovered that he and Roger had had a running bet on who would go down on her first. But Freddie's trying, I can see that- and to me it only seems fair to give the man another chance. But maybe sometimes, the more you know, the less you see. And Julia apparently knows quite a lot. I can only speculate how blind that might potentially make her. She's so farsighted that she's near sighted.

The doors close. Rudy moves around to the driver's side, gets in, starts the motor. And all of a sudden I am overtaken with a strange feeling of dread, and an urge to start shouting the thoughts now flying through my head. Namely:

Julia, you stubborn thing, can't you see anything at all? He's trusting you with so much, more than I probably even know about- and you don't know whether you can trust him in return? He loves you, you know that- and if you do this, you'll break him! And there'll be nothing left of him for all the king's men to even consider reassembling. You love him, you say. And he loves you. Julia, my insecure, foolish friend, please don't do this to him- and don't do this to yourself!

But I say none of these things. It's too late anyhow. The Rolls Royce heads down the wet pavement and turns at the corner a little way down our street, the words screaming mutely within my brain. We watch them vanish around the corner. I swallow.

"Something wrong, darling?" Veronica asks as we go back inside.

I shake my head telling her I'm all right. But I'm half-lying. Perhaps I myself might be all right. Nevertheless, I can't help feeling there is something wrong- just not with me.

Perhaps another drop of gin will help me relax. As I walk back to the liquor cabinet, I look at the photo in my hands, the image of a smiling Freddie and Julia; naturally, she kept the picture of them passionately kissing. I can't help but notice how rare that smile is, the one Freddie wears. It takes up his whole face. I've never seen smiles reach all the way up into his eyes before.

I flip the photo over, and see she's written something on the back. It's two queues of numbers, frantically scrawled in black ink:

12-9-2017
214-555-7755

And in even smaller handwriting, I see a brief message below them:

Don't forget.
-J

Good Lord. I'll be worrying all night.