37. Chapter 37
Julian
Elowen reads the words a second time, her expression unreadable. I stand motionless, barely breathing, giving her the space and time to process.
“Your button nose,” she reads aloud, her tone somewhere between question and accusation.
“Perfect,” I confirm without hesitation.
She continues studying the list, her expression gradually shifting from guarded skepticism to something more complex. It’s not quite forgiveness, but perhaps the consideration of it.
“You continue to surprise me,” she says finally.
“Good, because I wake up thinking about how I hurt you. I go to sleep remembering how I suggested straightening your hair. I sit in board meetings wondering how many times you looked in the mirror and hated your nose because I pointed it out.
“I was a controlling asshole who took you for granted. I mistook your kindness for weakness. I treated our marriage like a corporate achievement. I was hopelessly in love with you then,” I continue, my voice dropping to something just above a whisper, “and I still am now.
That never changed. What changed was that I finally understood what love actually is.
“I could live without you, but I don’t want to.
I’m empty without you. Functional, but hollow.
The only positive I can do from here on out is to surprise you every single day.
Being able to prove to you that I won’t return to the jerk making lists about women would be a gift.
You have every right to worry that I’ll regress,” I point out, related to her own con about me from her list. “But I can show you that you won’t have to worry about that.
Even if you never take me back, my new job is being a better person for our children. ”
I’m close enough to see the small flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, to count the freckles dusting the bridge of her perfect nose. Close enough to touch her, but I don’t.
Elowen stands motionless for what feels like an eternity, though it’s probably only seconds. Her eyes never leave mine, searching for sincerity, perhaps, or the final proof that my transformation is real.
“You hurt me,” she says finally, her voice steady but soft.
I nod, accepting this truth without defense. “I know.”
“I needed to find myself again after you,” she continues, “to remember who I was before I became an extension of Julian Plaza’s perfect life.”
“And you have,” I acknowledge. “You’re extraordinary, Elowen. You always were. I just couldn’t see it through my insecurity and control issues.”
“I wasn’t perfect, either. I let it happen.”
This surprises me—not her self-awareness, which has always been one of her strengths, but her willingness to share it with me now.
“We both have work to do,” I agree softly.
“Yes.”
I wait, terrified and hopeful, as she takes a small step toward me, then another. The distance between us shrinks to mere inches.
“Yes?” I echo, uncertain which question she’s answering.
“Yes, I want you to be part of this life.” Her voice grows stronger with each word. “And yes, I still love you.”
The relief that floods through me is so intense it’s almost painful. My knees actually weaken. It’s a physical reaction I would have once found embarrassing, but now simply accept as the body’s honest response to overwhelming emotion.
“Really?” The question escapes before I can stop it.
Elowen’s smile is small but genuine, reaching her eyes for the first time today. “Really.”
Then, with the deliberate care that characterizes everything she does, Elowen reaches out and takes my hand. Her fingers lace through mine.
“We should finish touching up,” she says after a moment, her practical nature reasserting itself.
“Of course,” I agree, reluctantly releasing her hand and moving back toward my abandoned workstation.
We return to our tasks side by side, the sanctuary stretching around us in near-completion.
When I pass her a tool, our fingers touch and linger.
When she demonstrates a technique, her hand rests on mine a moment longer than necessary.
It’s not the automatic, entitled touches of our past, but conscious choices to bridge the space between us.
My hand finds hers across the workspace, our fingers interlocking naturally.
“I love you,” I say simply.
“I love you, too,” she replies, her fingers tightening around mine.