Chapter 47
Julian
The scent of her perfume hit me before I saw her. Neroli. Vanilla.
It was a Tuesday—a gray, meaningless Tuesday.
I hated Tuesady's more than Monday's. It was the day after she'd come back. I was in the lobby of my building, waiting for a car that was late, scrolling through emails I wasn’t reading. My head was throbbing. I hadn’t slept.
Thinking about everything she had said kept me awake, replaying the way she kissed me and then simply walked out.
And then the air changed. I looked up.
She was leaning against the marble column near security ,waiting for me. A black coat, a silk dress the color of red wine. Her hair was down, catching the lobby’s gold light. She held a small black box.
My heart stopped. Just fucking stopped. For a full three seconds, I couldn’t breathe. She gave me a slow, knowing smile that went straight to my dick and my damaged pride simultaneously.
“What are you doing here?” I sounded petulant.
She didn't let it bother her. She walked over, stopping close enough that I could have leaned in and kissed her. I didn’t—even though every cell in my body was screaming for me to.
“I brought you something.” She held out the box.
I didn’t take it. I shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to maintain the wall I'd built. “I don’t need anything.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know you don’t.” She didn’t pull her hand back. “It’s a Patek Philippe Calatrava.” Her voice was quiet, intimate. “It matches the one you gave me. You wanted 'couple things,' didn't you?”
She remembered. That stupid shit I mentioned. I guess this was her way of pursuing me, just like she’d promised.
A lump formed in my throat, and I hated it. I wanted to smile; I was actually giddy inside. I stared at the box, but kept my face a mask of faux indifference. I looked at her.
“A year” I said, and my voice was quieter than I meant it to be. “You were gone a year. Should we even have couple things?”
“We should. We will. I’m going to buy us matching outfits next, and you're going to love it” she said, stepping closer, she took my wrist, and turned my hand over. She placed the box in my palm and closed my fingers around it. Her touch was warm. It lingered. “Open it when you’re ready.”
She leaned in then—not for my mouth, but for my cheek. It was a soft press of her lips that was over before I could process it.
“I’ll see you Thursday,” she whispered against my skin.
Then she was walking away, her heels clicking against the marble as she headed toward the exit, leaving me standing there like an idiot in the middle of my own lobby.
I took the watch out of the box. I tucked it into my breast pocket. It sat over my heart for the rest of the damn day.