by T. K. Leigh
“How’s Julian?”
I hold my head high, doing my best to maintain my composure at his question. “We’re not together anymore.”
“I figured as much.”
“You did?” I arch a brow.
“You were both at Sonia’s funeral but didn’t acknowledge each other. I wasn’t aware you were friendly with her.”
“I could say the same about you,” I shoot back, not wanting to discuss the fact that my connection to Sonia is actually through Julian’s alter ego, August Laurent.
“The firm represents her.” He pauses, then corrects, “Represented her.”
All I can do is nod, silence falling between us once more.
“Can I come in?” Trevor finally asks, his eyes imploring me as he hunches his shoulders, trying to shield himself from the rain. “Just for a minute. I just… I just really want to talk to you. If you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll leave and never bother you again. Okay?”
I study him in quiet contemplation. After the way he ended things, I don’t owe him anything. But my curiosity gets the better of me.
“Fine.”
Turning from him, I enter the apartment, the warmth thawing my cold fingers. After shaking the water off his coat, Trevor leaves it in the entryway, then follows me into the living room. I grab the proof copy of the magazine off the coffee table and shove it back into the envelope, keeping the identity of Julian’s alter ego a secret for now.
“Do you know what today is?” Trevor asks.
I scrunch my brows together, wracking my brain, but nothing comes to mind. A few months ago, I would have been able to remember every anniversary we shared. Now those memories have faded.
“December fifteenth?”
“Exactly.” He steps toward me, a heat I haven’t seen in years crossing his expression. “Do you remember what happened on December fifteenth twelve years ago?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“We were at a football game. But not just any football game. It was a momentous game, and not because of any Bowl placement for the Huskers. Something else happened at that game. Do you remember what that was?”
Closing my eyes, I chew on my bottom lip, the memory of the game he’s referring to returning with striking clarity. I can almost hear the roar of the crowd in the stands. Smell the hot dogs and beer. Feel the frigid wind whip against my face.
“You told me you loved me, and not just as a friend.”
When I open my eyes, there’s a smile on Trevor’s mouth. It reminds me of the carefree, spirited person I met my freshman year, not the Trevor he turned into. He’s my Trevor again.
“And do you remember what happened after that?”
“The game went into double overtime. By the time we won, I was so cold. I joked I had hypothermia and the only way to make sure I didn’t perish was by stripping so we were skin to skin.”
“You sure did.” As he continues closing the distance between us, our chests rise and fall in sync. Suddenly, everything about him becomes familiar, simple, easy, like riding a bike. Despite the passing of time, you don’t forget how to hop back on, even after a nasty fall. It may take some time to build up the courage to ride full on again, but you eventually do.
“I didn’t really have hypothermia,” I say in a breathy voice.
“I know. But I would have been an idiot to turn away your offer for some skin-to-skin time.” He adjusts his stance, his hand going to the small of my back and bringing my body flush with his. He lowers his mouth toward mine, the warmth of his breath dancing on my lips. “I was such an idiot to push you away, Evie. I knew it was a mistake, but refused to admit it. I hated seeing you with another man. It drove me crazy to think someone else was enjoying my laughs, my smiles…my lips.”
Hypnotized by his heartfelt plea, I succumb to the pull Trevor has on me, all reason leaving me as his lips brush against mine for the first time in over six months.
“I don’t care what I have to do to win back your heart, I’ll do it. You’ll never have to doubt me again, just please… Give me a chance.”
He doesn’t even allow me to respond as he presses his mouth even firmer against mine, kissing me like he did for so many years. When he first broke up with me in June, this was exactly what I wanted. But now, it feels lacking, foreign…wrong. It’s missing something…something only Julian’s kisses ever provided me. A feeling of love. I’m no longer thinking of kissing Trevor, but of Julian, recalling the magnitude of his blue eyes in the photos Viv selected for the article. I’d expected to see all shots with his head cut off, recalling the numerous times the man I thought to be August Laurent insisted his anonymity was all he had. Instead, every single photo was of him, August…
Trevor kisses me deeper, but his hand roaming my frame lacks the confidence Julian’s touch had. I’m transported to the Steam Room the day I received that first phone call from August Laurent, his voice still strong in my memory.
“If I ever find someone worth giving this all up for, I’ll gladly grant your magazine an exclusive photo shoot and you can plaster my face from here to kingdom come.”
The realization hits me like a freight train. Breathless, I stumble away from Trevor, as if he holds some contagious disease. I stare into his eyes, but all I see are Julian’s. The same deep pools of sorrow and pain staring back at me from the pages of the magazine. It’s not August in those images. Not to me. It’s Julian.
Bringing my hand to my lips where the ghost of Trevor’s lackluster kiss lingers, I step back. The truth has been glaring at me all along, but I was too stubborn to open my eyes. Yes, I was angry at Julian for lying, but what really irritated me was the idea of him sharing himself with all those women. He never did that. They only got to know August Laurent…mysterious, enigmatic, aloof.
I got to know Julian Gage.
My broken, damaged, tortured Julian.
My lascivious, passionate, amorous Julian.
My beautiful, caring, kindhearted Julian.
“Evie?” Trevor’s concerned voice cuts through. “Are you okay? I thought—”
“He’s showing his face.”
He tilts his head to the side and pinches his lips together. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s showing his face,” I repeat, this time louder. My heart pounding, I snap out of my stupor and grab my boots, tugging them over my leggings. “He said it himself.” My voice grows increasingly excited and frantic with each word I speak, my heart ready to burst. “He would only reveal who he was when he found someone who made it worth giving up. He’s willing to walk away just to have a chance with me. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
I whirl around, heading toward the front door. As I’m about to open it, I pause, facing Trevor once more. His brow furrows in confusion at my sudden change of demeanor. I don’t know how to explain it, either.
Flinging my arms around him, I plant one last kiss on his cheek. It’s fitting, in a way. Trevor is the reason I met Julian in the first place. Now he’s the reason I finally opened my eyes to what’s been staring at me all along.
“Thank you, Trevor!”
I spin from him, dashing out of the apartment. As I run into the rain, I feel a little like Jimmy Stewart in It’s a Wonderful Life when he rushed through the streets of Bedford Falls, desperately trying to get home to the people he loved. And that’s what I’m doing, too...trying to get home.
Julian is my home.
Chapter Forty-One
Adrenaline courses through me as I jump out of the cab in front of Julian’s building. The entire drive from Chloe’s, I tried to figure out what to say. I’m not sure any words will be adequate, but I suppose apologizing for my behavior, admitting I was wrong, is probably a good start. He claimed he’d give it all up for me, but I refused to listen, insisting I’d never be able to believe another word out of his mouth. So he did one better. He showed me. Now it’s time I show him how much he means to me, how sorry I am for all this wasted time.<
br />
I’m a nervous wreck as I ride up the elevator to his penthouse apartment. I don’t know what to expect when he opens the door. I hope he opens the door. I never even stopped to consider he might not be here or, worse, is here but refuses to speak to me. After all, I deserve it. I refused to speak to him.
When the elevator slows to a gradual stop and the doors open, an emptiness settles in my stomach, my mouth growing dry. This is it. My grand gesture. I like to think Julian wouldn’t want those photos to be published in an article revealing August Laurent’s identity if he’d given up on me. Then again, I could be wrong. It could all be a ploy by Viv to get me to agree to the assistant editor position. I have no way of knowing anything for sure, not until I see Julian again. And for the first time in weeks, I do want to see him.
Heading toward his door, I square my shoulders, summoning every ounce of courage I possess to swallow my pride and admit I made a colossal mistake. I was the one who had the balls to admit my feelings to Julian in the first place. Now I have to be the bigger person and admit I was wrong about him, about both August and Julian.
I bring my hand up to the door, but before I have a chance to knock, it swings open. I still, momentarily taken by surprise before a familiar smile greets me warmly.
“Guinevere,” Camille sighs, holding out her arms and taking me in them, hugging me. “It is so good to see you.” She pulls back, not a hint of disapproval in her gaze as I’d expected to see. I’m more than aware of how close she is to Julian. I have no doubt he told her what happened. “Although I suspect you’re not here to see me.”
I laugh. “While I have missed you and your cooking, no. I’ve come to talk to Julian.”
“He’ll be so happy to learn you’re here. He’s been an absolute bore these past few weeks.” She smiles, then her expression falls flat. “But he’s not home.”
“He isn’t?”
“No. He left about an hour ago. He’s at a charity auction for the foundation Sonia’s sister started in her name.”
“Of course.” I chew on my lower lip, contemplating my next move. Now that I’ve had my big epiphany, I hate having to wait another second.
“It’s just over at the Four Seasons.”
I glance down at my clothes before lifting my eyes back to hers. “I don’t think I’m dressed for that kind of event.”
“So? That didn’t stop Cinderella from going to the ball.”
“She had a Fairy Godmother. And a bunch of talking mice as friends. I don’t exactly have any of that.”
Camille’s eyes dance, her expression turning conniving. “I don’t think I can help you with talking mice, but I have something better than a Fairy Godmother.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Come see for yourself.” With a wink, she turns from me and walks back into Julian’s home. I hesitate at first, then step inside.
The instant I do, his warmth and energy fill me. For the past few months, this place was like a home. I felt more comfortable here than I ever did in the apartment I shared with Trevor. Julian never reminded me he was the main bread earner in our arrangement, as Trevor so often did. The difference is just another reminder of the person Julian is. He never flaunted his money, except to spoil me. Our relationship was never a competition. It was a true partnership.
Camille stops outside one of the guest rooms, then pauses before pushing open the door. Curious as to what’s going on, I walk inside, my gaze instantly falling on a stunning sapphire blue ballgown hanging outside the closet. The fitted bodice has a sweetheart neckline and off-the-shoulder sleeves. Jewels overlay the satin material down to the waist, then the dress juts out into a flowing skirt Julian seems to like, considering most of the formal gowns I’d worn all summer were of a similar style.
“Like I said,” she sings as she approaches me from behind. “I may not have a magic wand or mice that can sew, but I do have a dress.”
My mouth agape, I spin around, my mind reeling with various thoughts, the most pressing being why there’s a dress waiting for me when I haven’t spoken to Julian in several weeks.
“He had Dana set something aside,” she explains, answering the question written on my face. “He’d hoped you’d have a change of heart by tonight.”
I can’t fight against the smile pulling on my lips. I want to be angry at him for being so arrogant and assuming, but I can’t. It’s further proof that I never left his mind, that he wasn’t lying when he insisted I was the only woman he thought of since he met me.
“He’s a bit cocky, isn’t he?” I mutter in a playful tone.
“He certainly is. I’ve known Julian Gage over twenty years now. The one thing I’ve learned is when he sets his eyes on something, he doesn’t stop until he has it.”
“And he wants me.” I look back at the dress.
“Yes, sweetheart. He does. He has since the night you met.” She places her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to face her. “He may have lied to you, things may not have gone as planned, but I don’t think your story could have been written any other way. Do you?” She cocks a brow.
There’s only one answer that seems fitting. “No, I don’t.”
“Good.” She beams. “Now, let’s get you ready for the ball, Cinderella. This time, there’s no turning into a pumpkin at midnight.”
Chapter Forty-Two
I look down at my dress, a hint of the same inadequacy I experienced my first weekend in the Hamptons with Julian washing over me. Curious eyes float in my direction the instant I enter the elaborate ballroom at the Four Seasons. I summon every ounce of courage I possess, aware most of the people present have learned of our breakup and are probably wondering why I’m here. Men don crisp tuxedos. Women wear stunning gowns, glittering jewels covering their necks and ears. Impressive crystal chandeliers hang overhead, the ambient lighting not too bright as couples dance to a jazz band playing an old Ella Fitzgerald tune.
As I continue farther inside, my eyes zero in on the bar. My nerves are at an all-time high and I need something to help settle the butterflies in my stomach. With each step I take, I feel the whispers of the other guests against my skin. All summer, I never felt as out of place as I do now. I had Julian at my side back then. This is just another reminder of everything he did for me, how he made me feel empowered amongst those who view it their duty to judge others.
Once I have a manhattan in my hand and take a sip, I return my attention to the enormous ballroom, searching for Julian. But it’s hard to find him in a sea of what I estimate to be over five hundred people.
After Sonia’s passing, I’d received word of this event to raise funds for the foundation her sister had started in her name with the purpose of providing help and resources to other women in similar situations as Sonia found herself in.
Thankfully, the police brought Ethan in for questioning based on the information I, as well as Julian, provided. When the robbery gone wrong angle didn’t pan out, they took a closer look at Ethan and ended up arresting him after his alibi fell through. Once I learned that, I felt a bit of vindication for Sonia, knowing Ethan wouldn’t get away with what he’d done. But there are times I turn on the TV and listen to newscasters discuss recent developments in her case that I can’t help but feel I could have done something to prevent this from happening in the first place. I can only imagine what Julian must be going through, the guilt that must consume him over the fact he tried to help, but it wasn’t enough. Just like with his mother. I should have stood by his side and comforted him during this difficult time that must have reopened old wounds. I hope it’s not too late to do that.
As I search for Julian, or at least a friendly face who could point me in the right direction, a voice comes over the speakers and everyone turns their attention to the stage in the center of the room. Cameras flash, reporters lifting audio recorders to get a few snippets. That’s how it usually is at these functions. The media is invited to ensure the event makes headlines, padding egos. But here, it’s not abo
ut that. It’s about sharing Sonia’s story and encouraging more people to help those in similar situations.
“Hello, friends,” the woman says in a slight Spanish accent. Her olive-toned skin and dark hair make it apparent she’s Sonia’s sister, their appearance nearly identical. “My name is Isabella Moreno. I wanted to take a minute to thank all of you for coming out tonight to support this foundation.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Sonia would have wanted to know her death wasn’t in vain, that something good could come out of it, that perhaps she could have a hand in preventing the same tragedy from happening to someone else. It’s because of your generosity that can become a reality.”
There’s polite applause from the crowd before she continues. “I had no idea what was going on in her personal life. When the cameras were on, she was all smiles, telling everyone how happy she was in her marriage. We all believed it was the perfect love story. It wasn’t until this past year that I learned the truth. It all started when she told me she’d hired an escort named August Laurent. Or, as many of you know him, Julian Gage.”
She steps away, revealing a man in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, like many of the other men here. But he’s not like any of the others, not to me.
Low murmurs and a few gasps ring out as he steps up to the podium, many of the attendees just as surprised about this revelation as I was when I first learned the truth.
“Good evening.” Placing his hands on the podium, he pauses in contemplation, briefly closing his eyes before looking at the assembled guests. “Since Sonia’s death, I’ve debated what to do, what to tell all of you. I’ve kept this secret for years. My work depended on me being able to maintain my anonymity, and it worked. But losing Sonia made me reconsider things. It made me realize the importance of telling those you care about how you feel. You may not get another chance.”
