Chapter 25
Russell
Iwake up the next morning with Jules’ soft body strewn over mine, already hard and dreaming of her curves, lips, tongue. What I want is to roll her over and make her writhe under my touch, find that spot inside her that makes her legs shake.
But I want to feed her. And because I’ve been spending all my time either at the hospital or with her and Gus, the only thing that’s well-stocked in this condo is the wine fridge, which came full of regional bottles as a closing deal.
As silently as possible, I slide out of bed, glad Jules is a heavy sleeper. For a second, I stand there, watching her as she pulls a pillow up and holds it against her chest to fill the spot I occupied before.
Jealous of a fucking pillow.
Shaking my head, I grab my things and walk to the first-floor bathroom so the sound of me showering doesn’t wake her. When I’m fresh and dressed, I leave a note on the counter and step out into the cool December morning.
Chicago is known for its brutal winter, but today is mild, the sun shining against fallen snow, people in general good spirits, since the wind is not yet at face-hurting levels.
It takes me five minutes to walk to the coffee shop, another five to get the order, and no more than twenty later I’m in the elevator again, riding up to my place.
Last night, when Jules got here, it was like every thought she had was written on her face. The opulence of the place. The plain, open wanting.
And while she was wide open with excitement, I was practically gaping with the urge to fill it.
To meet her every need. I can already picture Gus’s room across from ours—an office for her, a playroom for him.
This place has been damn near clinical since the day I moved in, and it would be nice to pick up toys and throw pillows.
To see some form of life here, other than myself.
When the elevator doors open, I find Jules on the couch, wrapped in a pristine white blanket and staring at the fireplace. My phone buzzes in my pocket—Orie, probably, asking me if we’re still good for that hockey game. I’ll answer him later.
“Where’s your tree?” Jules asks when I circle the couch and hand her one of the lattes. I swallow, glancing to the corner of the living room, which is more than big enough for one—in fact, I could do a sixteen-footer, stretching up into the second story, which is open in this part of the condo.
“No need,” I shrug, settling down with her. “Santa’s not coming this year.”
She smiles at me over the top of her coffee, “But you’ve been so good.”
My cock twitches, and though I want to show her just how good I can be to her, I instead clear my throat and direct the conversation toward something I’ve been thinking over for a while.
My phone buzzes again, and I ignore it, planning to text him back after talking to Jules.
“That guy at your firm,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “Parker?”
“Peter,” she corrects, casting her eyes down, her smile fading.
“Peter,” I correct, though I honestly don’t give a fuck what his name is. Over the month we’ve spent together now, I’ve heard enough about Peter to be okay never hearing his name again. “He still being a dick?”
Jules shrugs, “Probably. I think—well, I think I’m just a little tougher about it now.”
I take a sip of my latte, studying her. I think I know what she means.
Things have been…good. I’ve enjoyed being around her and Gus, and I’d like to think my presence in her life has made things easier.
It’s certainly improved her outerwear and kept her from walking home in the dark after her markets shifts.
“You said you’d be done helping Sienna when the market is over,” I say, remembering a conversation we had about Sienna’s natural beauty business.
Apparently, she asked Jules to stay and help with packing orders in the new year, but Jules said she wouldn’t need the extra job with Gus’s surgery paid for.
“Right,” Jules eyes me, and I wonder if she knows where I’m going with this.
“…so why not stick with Sienna, drop Peter, and use the spare time to start your own firm?” I ask, even though what I want to say is that she should move in here and let me take care of her until she gets her own firm off the ground.
And I have no doubt that she would. I might know nothing about PR or marketing, but the way Jules talks about it, there’s plenty of missed opportunity at her current firm that she could fix in a new one.
But the moment I suggest it, an expression like pure terror crosses her face, and she leans forward to set her drink on the coffee table before wrapping her arms around her torso.
Behind her, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, it starts to snow gently, and I’m instantly reminded of a million Christmases in this city with my dad.
Walking the streets with him and Alena, going to the tree lighting downtown.
Ice skating in Maggie Daley, shopping on the magnificent mile.
Alena and I would help him pick out gifts for all his work friends, and once we got older, he’d give us his credit card and a budget to pick out our own gifts.
Not quite as magical, but still fun to shop with my sister. For her to try and gently steer me away from the bejeweled jeans and cowboy boots I picked out just to fuck with her.
“I can’t,” Jules says, bringing me back to the present moment as she shakes her head. “I’ve thought about it, but it’s just…scary, I guess.”
Moving closer to her, I unravel the blanket from around her shoulders and fold myself into its embrace. It’s surprisingly soft—a throw blanket added by the decorator that I’ve hardly ever touched.
“You do scary things, Jules.”
She shakes her head again, puffing up her cheeks and letting out the breath, “Yeah, but not get evicted scary. The salary from the PR firm pays Gus’s tuition, and—”
“Let me pay for it.” She’s shaking her head the moment I start the sentence, but I don’t let her cut me off.
Taking her hands in mine, I hold them to my chest, staring her down with the look I normally reserve for the bedroom.
“Let me pay his tuition out for a few years. Let me do the same for your rent—or move in with me. I want this for you, and I want Gus to have a mom who’s not exhausted and frustrated from her work.
You love this shit, and I think you could do a much better job with your own place.
This thing…I’ll be getting my inheritance because of you, Jules.
And even if I wasn’t, I want to invest in you. So let me.”
Jules stares at me, inhaling sharply, then drops her gaze to her hands, held against my chest. I was engaged to Margot for nearly a year, and this feels like the most intimate moment of my life.
“Russell,” she says, staring at her hands on my chest. “Where…where is this going?”
I could play dumb. Ask her what she means by that—but I’m not dumb. I know what she’s asking and have felt that question knocking around in my head for the past few weeks.
But that’s not true—I knew from the moment I saw her that I’d never really be able to do something fake with her.
Knew from the moment I caught sight of her hips and ass that I’d want to touch her, and knew from the first time she opened her mouth that I’d never back down from one of her challenges.
That we could be the type of people to rise to each other again and again, climbing together and always making the other better than they were before.
This time, a string of buzzes rumbled from my phone, making it slide toward the lip of the coffee table.
“One second,” I say, snatching the phone and preparing to rip into Orie for a total fucking lack of patience, or just to put it on silent, but then I see who the texts are from.
Alena.
“Shit,” I mutter, standing up and unraveling myself from the blanket with Jules. The texts are from my sister, who just confronted her shitty, cheating husband.
Jules’ face falls, and she shivers, looking up at me with a broken expression.
“I—” I turn, looking around frantically for my wallet. “I have to go. But I—”
The words are there, sitting in my mouth like marbles, ready to fall out. But for some stupid reason, I swallow them down instead.
I should just tell her how I feel about her. What I want from her. But panic courses through my body, worry for my sister taking precedence.
“…I don’t know,” I finish instead, feeling lame and like a coward for not just telling her how I really feel. Because this moment needs more attention, needs for me not to be distracted.
“You don’t know,” she repeats, her eyes trailing down, catching on my phone.
“It’s—” It’s like I said last night. It could be real.
It already is, for me.
You’re getting a fake fiancée, not a real one.
She made herself clear when we started this. And then, we made it clear that it was just physical. So, what’s happening right now—is she trying to say she wants to make this real? Or is she worried that I’m going to try and make it something it’s not?
Would admitting how I feel about her be crossing a line? But she asked me where this is going—does that mean she’s thinking the same thing as me, or wants to make sure I’m not getting the wrong idea?
My phone buzzes again in my pocket, and I let out a sharp, anxious breath. Matt never gave me any reason to think he would be violent, but he also never gave Alena any reason to think he might eventually cheat on her, right after they’d finally managed to get pregnant.
I should just take a moment and explain what’s going on to Jules. But Alena has been so ashamed, and so secretive about the thing, that I feel a sense of loyalty holding me back. She’s already mortified about the entire thing.
And besides, it just doesn’t feel like there’s enough time to really explain.
“Just—stay put, okay?” I say, finally finding my wallet where I tossed it and moving to the door, watching Jules as she turns on the couch, looking at me with an expression I can’t read. “And we can talk about it when I get back.”
Jules makes a noise that approximates agreement, but it doesn’t quite land. Instead, it sounds more like whatever you say, which is beyond frustrating, but I can’t stay to make her understand.
I’ll just have to talk to her about it later.
When my phone starts full-on ringing, vibrating insistently against my thigh, I make my choice, turning and walking out the door, leaving Jules behind in my condo, alone.