Chapter 10 Julian
TEN
JULIAN
THE PAST
The next morning
Light filters through the window straight into my face, warming it nicely as I slowly wake up on Sunday morning. I stretch out on the bed like a cat, eyes still close, reaching for the other side of the bed. It’s cold. I blink my crusty eyes open to confirm Igor’s gone.
The pang of disappointment is silly. I shake it off easily.
My boyfriend isn’t one for morning cuddles. He likes a strict routine, and runs at least ten kilometers on the hills of Sant Armellu every morning, before hitting the ring with his team. Even on Sundays.
Boyfriend.
The grumpy Russian built like a God whom I’ve been obsessed with for years is my boyfriend. And we sucked each other’s dick last night.
I fall back on the bed, biting my lip and grinning until my cheeks hurt.
I can’t wait to tell him that I got accepted into an agro-engineering school to study viticulture and agroecology.
They have the most famous and high-entry oenology degree in Europe.
I’m so excited my whole body vibrates with it.
I didn’t want to mention it because Lana is still waiting on her college applications, and she’s been pretty stressed about it.
The acceptance emails should have hit her mailbox this morning.
I saunter to the en-suite bathroom, lathering my body with Igor’s body-wash.
Next to an untouched bottle from the supermarket he probably bought when he first got here is the one I keep getting him every other month.
The smell of Immortelle fills the room quickly, mixing with the steam of the hot water.
The scent of honey, chamomile and spice washes over me.
I get hard taking a long sniff. It’s so ingrained in my brain that this specific scent is Igor’s that if I close my eyes and wrap my hand around my dick, it’s like he’s with me, dropping to his knees to get me off again, just like he did last night .
“Breakfast’s ready!” someone shouts as they bang on the door of the bedroom.
“Shit.”
Everyone knows Igor’s a morning person. The sound of the shower can only mean that he has someone over and as much as I want to claim him for everyone to see, he’s been cagey about disclosing our relationship to Don Moretti and the Moretti men.
Being the son of Alessio Bartoli, the genius chemist behind the Moretti-Bartoli Empire, grants me grace with the old fucks who serve our fathers as capos, but Igor thinks he won’t receive the same protection.
Not all of them are homophobic, but some tend to prioritise ‘traditional values’, as they call it.
Can’t wait for Lana to take over and kill them all.
I dry off fast and throw on my crop top and my jeans from yesterday–commando. When I reach the door, Lana’s leaning on the opposite side, arms crossed over her.
“Shut up!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“That little smirk on your face says enough.” She chuckles at my grouchy retort.
“Maybe change your clothes before you come downstairs. Mammona is the most perceptive person in the family and if she hasn’t clocked you and Igor yet, she definitely will if you can’t even be bothered to change your top and wear underpants.”
“Ew, don’t say underpants.”
Rolling her eyes, she descends the stairs on her way to the kitchen. I listen to her advice, because it makes sense, not because she’s the boss of me. If there were one other person but Lana and Giulia I would tell my little secret to, it would be Mammona anyway, but Igor needs to be on board.
Five minutes later, I enter the bright living room to loud cheers.
Pietro and Colomba are hugging their daughter while she looks stricken and has that fake smile on her face I know so well.
The twins are on their iPad on the sofa and aren’t paying much attention, but nothing short of a kidnapping attempt would break their glued faces from the device they share. Which is fair, to be honest.
“What did I miss?” I ask.
“Oh, Julian. Lana has such good news.”
She forces a chuckle, but her parents are oblivious to it. Only Mammona looks at her like a hawk.
“Come on, tell me. What has you so happy?”
“I got accepted into the London School of Economics.”
My blood freezes in my veins, but my smile remains plastered to my face, like a permanent feature I can’t shed.
“Isn’t that amazing?” Colomba exclaims with unrestrained enthusiasm, hugging us both, Lana on her left and me on her right. “Pietro and I submitted her application. You know how she gets, always so modest. I knew she had the grades.”
We’re supposed to go to school together. We’re the same age, we took a gap year to figure out what we wanted. We planned our whole future for the Moretti-Bartoli venture and what we’ll do when we’re taking over.
“That’s… great.”
“Yeah, so great,” she echoes.
Pietro and Colomba are so elated for their daughter and busy planning her big move to London that they don’t notice we’re not jumping as high as they are.
Feeling joy for my best friend is as easy as breathing but right now, air is scarce.
“I had no idea,” she breathes while we take a seat at the table.
“Are you really gonna go?”
“Of course she’ll go. It’s one of the best schools in the world.”
Pietro’s unwavering in his belief in Lana. He’s trained her to be his heir since she was twelve. Nothing will come between him and the future he’s planned for his daughter.
Our plans fizzle out in front of us.
The door at the back of the house screeches as it opens then closes, dragging my attention to Igor, stepping into the room.
His hair is wet. Black strands fall at the top of his head, giving him a boyish look. Despite being a massive six foot four man at twenty-one, when he’s caught off guard, he looks so young and vulnerable. It’s probably my favourite look.
My shoulders drop when I see him. I wish I could just tell him how I feel right now, ask him to be my crutch while I grieve the student life I’ll never have with my best friend, all the plans we made that her parents stomped over.
“Ah, Igor, perfect timing,” Pietro says as he invites us all to take a seat at the long table.
Mammona’s hawk eyes find mine but her weathered face remains neutral. I know she’s studying my reaction, and seeing through all the practiced smiles and bullshit fake enthusiasm Lana and I are giving.
I exchange a look with Lana, who’s head is down. She’s already resigned. So she’s not going to fight for what we said we would do?
Her parents talk animatedly about where she’ll live, and the phenomenal teachers she could select for her first year. My smile falls a little more.
“Since Lana’s going to attend the London School of Economics, Igor, we’ll need to talk about your assignment," Pietro says. “The best is if you have flats in the same building, preferably next to each other. Or in the same flat, if you two are not uncomfortable with the idea.”
“Sir? London? I'm going to London?” Igor asks.
Pietro continues to lay out his plan for Lana’s bodyguard to come with her. Him and Colomba remain unaware of the devastation their conversation is causing, sharing ideas back and forth and reminiscing of their own trips to the city.
Lana’s gaze snaps up abruptly as realisation sets in.
I can’t meet her gaze. I just push around the eggs on my plate.
Under the table, I feel her hand on my knee.
I inch it away and it falls off my leg. I dare a glance on the other side of the table. Igor respectfully nods, agreeing with whatever Pietro tells him, while his golden brown eyes are fixed on me.
I almost told him I loved him last night. Maybe I should have.
What difference will it make now if I tell him?
“When are you going?” I ask Lana without looking at her.
“I don’t know.” She bites into her own food, chewing like Mammona’s breakfast recipe insulted her, her face contorting with pain.
I want to yell that it’s nothing compared to what I’ll lose. It’s not fair.
It’s not fair that her parents didn’t tell her they registered her to a school miles away. It’s not fair that the man I love has to go with her. I wanted our lives here. Simple and care-free like it’s always been.
“Autumn term starts at the end of September,” she murmurs as she checks her phone.
Three months.
I have three months to love the man at the other side of the table.
In the dark. Stolen kisses and sneaking around seemed more fun a few hours ago, when I thought I had years to be at his side.
I know I’m young, and so is he. But I don’t want anyone else.
He’ll probably find someone new in London in no time.
I push my plate. “I think I’m still hungover,” I say as I force a self-deprecating giggle. “Thank you for breakfast Mammona, but I should go. My mum loves our Sunday ritual.”
It’s not a complete lie. But it’s also not the whole truth.
Mammona’s hand falls on mine. She lets go before it becomes awkward but it’s enough.
I say quick goodbyes, nothing like my usual hugs. Lana notices. Of course she does. It’s not her fault but she’s still the culprit, taking him away from me. I love to spend time with her, but right now, I need to be left alone.
I’m stepping out of the mansion when I feel him before I hear him. His presence is too big in my life and in my heart. He’s impossible to ignore.
His calloused hand encircles my wrist to stop me before I cross the lawn.
“Julian.”
That’s it. He only says my name. It sounds like a plea. For what, I don’t know.
“I’ve heard London’s great in summer,” I say, keeping my gaze to the expanse of the garden and out where the sea shimmers with accents of gold.
“Pup.”
I shake my head.
“Pup, look at me.”
I’ve never been able to refuse him anything he asks.
He drops my wrist, keeping a safe distance while we’re out in the open. I hate it. It’s just as far as when he’ll move all the way to the UK.
“I don’t want you to go with her,” I finally say when I’m able to meet his eyes. I see him through a thin shroud of tears, lips trembling.
I feel weak. I hate it. My mum always says I’m soft-hearted and I never understood what it meant until now. It’s like something wide just opened up and he’s the only one who can fill this massive void.
“Jules,” he placates. “It’s my job.”
“Ask him to reassign you. Stay here. Please.”
Softly, as though I’m a cornered animal, he steps forward and glides the back of his fingers to my cheek. “Pietro doesn’t trust anyone else with Lana’s life. I don’t trust anyone else. And I know, deep down, you don’t, either.”
“I want you to choose me.”
His hands frame my face, forcing me to look up at him. His soft expression has turned almost pained. “I do. I always do. You’re mine. It doesn’t change if I live in London or here, you hear me?”
I nod mindlessly.
He jerks his head side to side before he takes me into a kiss. It’s a claiming as thorough as the one he did last night, making hope surge through me again.
Before I can fully fall into him, he steps back, and removes a ring from his finger.
“Here. Keep this.”
It’s a simple band of silver, but I slide it on my hand immediately, next to the many others adorning my fingers. The warmth of his skin seeps into the metal to settle on mine like it’s always been here.
I’ve read about Russian traditions. Food for thoughts, I like to call it. So I slide the ring on my right ring finger.
Igor’s nostrils flare before he smiles at me, blinding and all consuming.
I’m so fucked.
How will I ever get enough of that smile he reserves just for me?
“I have nothing to give you,” I tell him.
“You already did.”