by Stella Rhys
“Until you quit.”
“Yes.” Her eyes were drier, calmer now as they traveled over my face. “I took your job offer because I wanted to be near you. I’m not even going to lie about it at this point. But since I’ve started, I’ve felt just… better about myself. Like I’m allowed to enjoy the things I used to feel guilty about, and like I’m the one in control now.”
She pulled me closer by my shirt till I lowered my weight onto her. I felt the heavy chains around my chest lift the second she smiled.
“You make me feel… happy,” she murmured. She paused. “Like I’ve never felt before in my life,” she exhaled. But then she swallowed hastily, looking apologetic. “And I know that’s a lot for you to hear right now, so you don’t have to say anything. Just nod or say one word to acknowledge you heard it, and we’ll move on. Just say ‘okay.’”
“How about ‘same’?” I asked as she blinked with confusion at me. “I feel the same.”
I watched that little smile on her mouth break into a grin.
“But I want to make sure you stay happy,” I whispered, kissing her curved lips. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again. I promise you that. Okay?”
She breathed out slow, steady now, and closed her eyes.
“Okay.”
24
SARA
So he does sleep.
I lay on my side for a minute after waking up. The exhaustion from last night had hit me fast and hard, and I remembered falling asleep with Julian in bed with me. For the first hour I drifted in and out, I knew he was awake, because he would murmur something to me or brush his hand through my hair. In my half-conscious fog, I remembered being convinced the man didn’t sleep.
That’s how you go from normal hardworking guy to billionaire. Zero hours of sleep a night.
I recalled stirring at three in the morning and being alone in bed. At six o’clock, it was the same thing.
So waking up at eight-thirty next to Julian in nothing but a pair of sweatpants was a bit of a shock. It was like spotting a shooting star. That lean six-pack aside, it was striking to see him simply resting for once, and just being human. There was the slightest, slightest natural smile on his smooth, pink lips, and it made me laugh to myself to think that Julian Hoult actually smiled more in his sleep than in his day-to-day life.
To avoid staring at him forever like a crazy person, I eventually dragged myself out of bed. I set my feet carefully on the hardwood, expecting to feel a bit of a lag or a haze, or some sort of emotional hangover from last night.
But I felt nothing.
I just felt… good.
Despite going to bed with a smile on my lips, I didn’t expect to wake up happy. Confessing everything to Julian last night had been a roller coaster. At some points, I felt dread and fear for what he was learning about me. At others, I felt almost the same exhilaration I felt when I was on the bike with him.
I felt open. And free.
Light on my feet, in his white T-shirt and my blue panties, I wandered the beautiful house I hadn’t had the chance to soak in last night. It was actually too big for me to explore every room of, and I had little interest anyway after finding the floor-to-ceiling wall of books in the living room.
There had to be a thousand of them. Maybe more. The shelves stretched even around the corners of the wall, with a polished wooden ladder attached. My hungry eyes scanned over the spines of probably a hundred books before landing upon one that made me smile, because it was the only one with bookmarks sticking out of its pages.
The French Language: Idioms and Phrases.
I couldn’t help grabbing it. It was the morning’s second piece of adorable evidence that Julian Hoult was in fact human. He didn’t know how to speak French, and he wanted to learn. Simple as that.
I imagined it was for the purpose of business, considering the resort in Biarritz, which was of course on the French side of Basque Country. So plucking it from the shelf, I headed for the porch outside, toward the vintage porch swing that had been calling my name since I spotted it out the window. Padding over in my bare feet, I sunk back into the luxurious pillows, a little grin on my lips. The trip to Biarritz was the day after tomorrow.
But within the first few bookmarks I peeked at, I realized Julian had not purchased this book for the purpose of work.
My eyes unblinking, I flipped through, mentally collecting all the phrases he had saved to learn.
I miss you.
I think about you.
I love you more than you know.
I breathed in deep.
Okay, Sara. I reminded myself it wasn’t a big deal – that all adults had dating histories. It was just part of life. But then I remembered what Julian had said to me barely eight hours ago, before I allowed myself to tell him everything.
“I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about another woman.”
I couldn’t help but doubt that with these bookmarks sitting in my lap. I couldn’t even deny they were his. He had notes scrawled around in that perfect handwriting I’d come to memorize in my time at his office. And if that weren’t proof enough, a loose piece of pressed flower stationery fell out from the next page.
It was a letter written in neat but swirling cursive, and it was entirely in French.
The only word I recognized was Biarritz.
“Morning.”
Julian’s voice prompted my sharp gasp. Clasping my heart, I looked up to find him standing on the porch in front of me, the sun beating down on his wide, muscled shoulders, and his glimmering blue eyes staring down at me.
“Morning,” I returned, a tinge of guilt in my voice. I glanced down at the French book. “I thought it was for work purposes,” I explained, my voice tight. “I didn’t realize it was…”
“What?” Julian challenged lightly. “What is it that you think you’re looking at right now?” he asked. I swallowed.
“Remnants of a very passionate affair.”
“No.” He gave a short laugh. “For the most part, you’re wrong.”
“For the most part?” My brow twitched. The porch swing swayed lightly with the faintest squeaking as I sat there cross-legged, gazing curiously up at Julian’s unreadable expression. “Will you tell me the story behind it?” I finally asked.
The only giveaway of the deep breath he took was the heavy rise and fall of his sculpted chest.
“Yes,” he answered. “But we’re going to need to get breakfast first.”
25
SARA
I wondered if Julian’s story was something horrific, and the stunning Riva yacht he had me boarding was for the sole purpose of softening the blow.
After grabbing breakfast to go at a charming little pastry shop, we took Emmett’s truck to a glittering white marina, where I found myself standing before a gleaming, forty-foot black and mahogany speedboat I could’ve sworn I’d also seen in my dreams before.
“If this is your way of keeping me distracted while you confess your secrets, I don’t appreciate it, because it’s kind of working,” I said, hardly able to help a smile as I gazed at Julian. He had his Persols pushed up, giving me a clear view of those eyes looking bluer than ever. I wasn’t sure if they were reflecting the water or his light blue button down, but they were striking enough that I almost tripped while getting onto the boat.
Without flinching, Julian caught me.
“Actually.” He squeezed my hand tight till I was solidly on my feet. “The boat is for the purpose of distracting me.”
“Oh.”
Oops.
I didn’t consider till now that it might actually be hard for Julian to talk about himself or his past. It wasn’t my instinct to imagine that anything was hard for him. That was why the bookmarked French book was so charming and curious to me.
At least it was until I saw the love letters – or whatever they were.
“How’d you learn to drive a boat?” I asked, in the seat next to Julian’s as he navigated out of the dock.
“My grandfather taught me.” He looked like some classic Hollywood movie star with his hair lightly slicked back, his sleeves pushed up and his Persols back on. I decided on a cross between young Clint Eastwood and prime James Dean.
“Your mother’s father?” I asked.
“My father’s father. He taught me how to steer a boat, how to line a fishing rod – he also taught all eight grandkids how to use our chest voices when heckling opposing outfielders. So we’d be loud enough to actually distract them.”
The sun bounced off Julian’s shades as he smiled, his hand on the wheel and his posture relaxed as the boat accelerated to knife through the shimmering blue water. It was a breathtaking sight.
“Your grandfather sounds like fun.”
“He was. He was also ‘that guy.’ Similar to your dad.” Julian glanced at me to catch my big smile. “Yeah, he was loud and happy and animated. He asked my grandmother on a date about two minutes after he first spotted her at the stadium, and when he took her out that night, he told her he was going to marry her, have three kids with her, and buy the Empires for her.”
“And he did?” I grinned. “I mean the three kids part.”
“Yes. That he got right. Same with the marriage part, obviously. He was a lower-middle class kid from Brooklyn, but he wound up making most of his money through property rentals, and he did try to buy the Empires twice before, but his bids were rejected.”
“Oh no. Was your grandma holding him to the whole thing about buying her the team?”
“Not at all. She teased him every day about how she didn’t believe he’d ever be able to do it, and that he was batting six sixty-seven on promises.”
“Lord. Such a baseball family,” I smirked. “They sound too cute. Is your dad also ‘that guy?’”
“No, my dad would be more like me.”
“Serious and scary?”
Julian laughed. “Yes, but less scary. A little nicer. No – a lot nicer.”
“Really? Tell me about him.”
“Well, he did inherit some of my grandfather’s romantic side. To the point that I grew up thinking all kids celebrated Mother’s Day with the same fanfare as Thanksgiving and Christmas. We used to spend the entire month before the day planning her surprise. We would get all her favorite foods, decorate the entire house with her favorite flowers.”
“Which were?”
“Ranunculus flowers,” Julian said, his perfect hair blowing slightly in the wind. “The name is misleading. They’re really beautiful.”
I exaggerated my surprise to tease him.
“Huh. Julian Hoult likes flowers?”
“Hard not to with the way I grew up. Every April of my life revolved around flowers,” he grinned. “Dahlias were also high on the list. Hydrangeas, too. Mom liked all the harder to find colors, so Emmett and I usually started ordering a month before Mother’s Day. Dad was in charge of planning and executing the menu for the night, and Emmett and I were on ordering and décor.”
“And by Emmett and you, you mean…”
“Just me,” Julian laughed, his eyes crinkling adorably behind his sunglasses. “There were these big, chocolate-covered strawberries that were Mom’s favorite, and timing that order so they stayed fresh would always cause Emmett to melt down. There was always a point where he got overwhelmed and meditated by coloring and making cards.”
“Oh, no! Poor Emmett.” I couldn’t stop grinning as we zipped fast now under the sun and through the water, my mind filled with images of baby Emmett having a total breakdown while baby Julian made calls and spreadsheets in preparation of the Hoult Family Mother’s Day. “So, is this where Julian Hoult’s famous organizing and planning skills originated?”
“Possibly. Though my father did start me on business classes around middle school. He said all my grandfather’s real estate was purchased on a whim, when property was cheap, so it was unreasonable to believe that his kind of success would just replicate or fall in our laps. We had to earn it.”
“Ah. Now I see how you and Dad are more alike,” I nodded, glancing behind us to see how far we’d gone. At this point, the marina was a sparkling white dot far, far away. “I take it Emmett’s more like Mom?”
“No, my mom is a good balance of fun and serious. Emmett would be more like my crazy grandfather. Not a surprise at all that he was always my grandparents’ favorite grandchild.”
“Really? It wasn’t you?”
“I was a close second,” Julian chuckled. “I was a bit fickle. I wasn’t easy to amuse at all, and that just kills the fun of playing with kids.”
I giggled at the image of Julian playing with children. Again, not something I’d imagine for him, but clearly, he was full of more surprises than I gave him credit for. Or he was just far more human than I could ever really fathom.
“So Emmett was the happy, smiley kid.”
“Shocking, right?” Julian said dryly despite his grin. “I’ll admit he was hilariously cute as a kid. Pretty much never stopped smiling – thought anything you said or did was fucking amazing. My grandpa used to bring him around the bleachers when Emmett was a toddler, and he’d just introduce him to complete strangers. He just thought there was no chance someone at an Empires game would prefer to actually watch the game than meet this ‘fine young gentleman.’”
“Oh, God. That’s actually too cute.” I felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest as I watched Julian. Maybe it was the sun hitting his brilliant smile, but it looked like he was beaming at the mere thought of his family.
“Meanwhile, my grandmother was glued to the game. She loved her grandkids, but if there was baseball going on, she wasn’t taking her eyes off the field for anything.”
“So, she came here from Germany, went straight to a game to get a feel of Americana, and then became the most hardcore baseball fan in your family?” I clarified, completely charmed.
“Absolutely,” Julian replied. Oh, yeah. The man was beaming. “She likes to pull my President of Baseball Operations aside every once in awhile, and give her some pointers on who to sign during free agency. She’s almost ninety now, but still keeps a mental Rolodex of player contracts and salaries throughout the league, just to think of possible trade scenarios. The players think she’s terrifying. They call her Rosemarie The Reaper.”
“Oh my God.” I had to take my sunglasses off to wipe at the tears squeezing from the corners of my eyes from laughing so hard. “Are you sure it’s not your grandma you take after, Julian?”
“You know, it’s gotta be a mix of both her and Dad,” Julian decided with a little smile. “I’m a reflection of them. Emmett’s a reflection of Grandpa.”
“In that case, your entire family had to be your grandparents’ favorites. There’s no way they weren’t.”
“Oh, we were. And we still are. Though for different reasons now, probably.”
I stilled as I remembered that there was a reason we were here on this boat. There was a part of this story that wasn’t about flowers and baseball and strictly good times. I knew that part was coming as I watched Julian’s curved mouth fade back to a line.
“I was twenty-three when my grandpa’s cancer spread to his bones. I remember me and Emmett and my parents spending a lot of time in hospice with him and Grandma. We would just play cards, or talk, or watch the game, but it was good. It felt like we were taking our time to say goodbye, and we were leaving off on some laughter and good conversation. We took the time to make new memories instead of just talking about the old ones. Though we did that too. It was just a nice, peaceful time, all things considered. Both my grandparents accepted what was happening, and for the most part, they were at peace with it.
“But my aunts and uncles and cousins visited occasionally to quickly ask how my grandpa was feeling before interrogating him about the will. They were afraid he was leaving his best real estate to my father, because he was the favorite.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I whispered.
I had only heard about t
hese family battles over wills and money. I didn’t have a big enough family myself to see it happen, and I really couldn’t process that things could ever get so ugly among blood – especially over something as trivial as money.
“Yeah, they were shameless. And horrible,” Julian said evenly.
There he goes.
I could always tell when a topic upset Julian. He always carefully extracted any and all emotion from his voice, carrying on with a calm that was strictly uninterpretable. The only tell was in his eyes, but today, he had those covered. In that sense, shades were like his superhero cape.
“My dad wanted to keep peace with his siblings,” Julian said. “He felt like my grandpa deserved to see his family whole before he went. And I resented that. I hated keeping quiet when these people came barreling in during our last conversations with him. We would be talking about something that was making Grandpa laugh when they’d storm through demanding answers about the will. My cousin, Paul, was the worst of anyone. He was the oldest, he was married, and he had his second child on the way, so he was hell-bent on inheriting some real estate. He pushed everyone aside to badger my grandfather till he was in tears. I don’t remember what I did, but I snapped. I remembered everyone screaming for me to stop, and I know I at least dragged Paul out of the room before I choked him out. Emmett pulled me off of him before I could do any more damage. But really, the damage was done. Everyone was screaming and crying. My dad pulled me aside and tore me a new asshole for treating family like that.”
“But what about the way they were treating their family?” I argued, my own voice shaking with the fury I felt over Julian’s asshole cousin forcing his grandfather to cry on his deathbed. “How could he possibly care about just the property when your grandfather was about to – ”
I cut off because I didn’t want to say it. Julian gripped the wheel of the boat tight.
