Chapter 4
Julian
“Mom,” I call, marching down the long hall of my parents’ house.
The piano plays in the distance, so I head toward the sitting room at the top of the stairs.
In my right hand, I fist the now-stained black shirt.
Anger courses through my veins as I think about that careless girl getting custard all over my tailored shirt, clearly not caring how much it cost or what it means to me.
My parents should really remove those swinging doors. What a hazard.
Or…maybe you should walk through them more carefully, a voice harps in the back of my mind.
“Mom,” I shout again, flustered and aggravated.
“I’m in here,” she calls back with a casual softness. As I turn the corner into the room, I find her sitting at the piano, playing something new. The sound of her piano playing is so familiar and calming, and I pause to take a heavy breath.
She stops and glances up at me with pity when she sees the frustration on my face. Not an ounce of surprise.
“What happened?”
With a surrendering sigh, I walk over to the bench and take a seat next to her. It’s a spot in the house more familiar to me than my own bedroom. I grew up on this piano bench, learning the keys before I could even reach the pedals.
“Nothing,” I mutter, because being here, in this place of comfort with her, suddenly makes whatever I was stressing about a moment ago start to fade.
“Wanna play?”
I toss my stained shirt on the top of the piano and rest my fingers on the keys. The feel of them grounds me. Slowly, I play a few chords, and she accepts that as my answer.
As we play an old song of hers together, she whispers, “It’s just a shirt.”
“I know,” I mumble in reply. Though it’s more than a shirt to me. It’s part of an entire ensemble, one meant to protect me. But she wouldn’t understand.
“Wanna talk about what’s bothering you?” she asks.
I only shake my head as I continue to play the lower chords while she plays the higher ones, not sure how to articulate this frustration, not just with the shirt but with everyone and everything.
Even that strange encounter last night in the elevator has stuck with me.
The armor I put up worked because that guy looked right through me, and for the first time in a long time… that made me feel so empty.
I know I look and act like a pretentious dick, but it’s not like I enjoy feeling this way.
I don’t know why I feel so compelled to do it, but it’s almost as if I fulfill the role everyone else has set out for me.
The Ronan Kade’s son, the son of a billionaire, the son who was given everything he ever wanted, must be a spoiled brat.
So that’s the part I play, whether I like it or not.
If I tried, she’d tell me that everyone loves me and everyone is proud of me, and she wouldn’t understand anyway.
“Are you bringing a date to the party?” she asks, nudging my side with her shoulder.
I chuckle, letting only my mom see the smile curling on my lips. “No, Mother.”
“Why not? You haven’t met anyone?”
“Intentionally, no.”
“Someday, Julian. Someone is going to find out you have a heart of gold, and they’re going to fall head over heels for you.”
As she teases me, I can’t help but snicker. Then I tilt my head in her direction as I mutter, “If you tell anyone, I’ll never talk to you again.”
She laughs, throwing her arm around my shoulder and hugging me tight. Normally, I’m not one for physical affection, but it’s my mother, for fuck’s sake, and it’s not like there’s anyone around to see.
Or so I assumed.
Someone clears their throat behind me, and I spin around to see Amelia’s friend, standing at the top of the stairs. Her wavy black hair is draped over her shoulders, and her blue satin blouse hangs from her petite frame, the sleeves too long for her arms.
“Sorry, Mrs. Kade. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she murmurs nervously. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving. Thank you again.”
This girl must be joking. Why can’t she just leave? I roll my eyes as I turn my back to her.
“Oh, that’s okay, Freya. Thank you so much. You did extraordinary today. Your parents must be so proud.”
My skin pricks with resentment as I glare down at the keys under my fingers.
“They are. Thank you.”
“Our driver will make sure you get home safe. It’s really coming down out there,” my mom adds. Just then, as if on cue, it thunders again.
“I appreciate that,” Freya replies.
“Bye, Mom.” Desperate to be away from this conversation, I stand from the bench and brush past Freya toward the stairs. I don’t get far before my mother calls back for me.
“Julian, why don’t you share a ride home with Freya so you can help with all her things?”
I freeze mid-step, and my shoulders fall away from my ears as my teeth grind. “Can’t Lucien help her?”
“Julian Miles Kade.”
With a disgruntled sigh, I turn around and stare at her. Daisy Kade might be a sweet woman at heart, but she can be a fierce mother when she needs to be, enough to have me listening to her like a child at twenty-six.
“You realize I’m a grown man, right?”
“Then act like it.”
“Fine,” I mumble under my breath. “Let me get my shirt.”
With a scoff, I march off toward my old room, feeling Freya’s eyes on my back as I go. Who the hell does this girl think she is?
And what is with that sense of style?
Not to mention the way she accepted my mother’s praise.
Annoyed, I yank a shirt off a hanger in my old closet. It’s another black button-down, but it’s not nearly as fitted since it’s years old, from before I put muscle on my shoulders and arms. The fabric strains against my biceps, and I internally blame the cook once again.
When I emerge from my room, I find the girls in the kitchen, packing up Freya’s things. With a cold, emotionless expression on my face, I grab her large thermal bag and cart it out through the front door toward where Lucien is waiting by the car under the covered courtyard.
I’m supposed to be grateful to my parents for forcing me and my sister to do chores and help out around the house even though we have an abundant staff to do nearly everything for us. My father says it builds character, which is funny because all I could really grasp from any of it was resentment.
“I can handle that, sir,” Lucien says as he takes the bag and loads it into the trunk.
“Oh, I’ll hold it on my lap,” Freya calls from behind me, and I roll my eyes at the sound of her voice. “I don’t want it tipping over in the trunk.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with a pleasant smile.
Freya climbs into the back seat, and I feel my sister approaching from behind. “Be nice,” she mumbles in my ear as she grabs my arm. “Help her to her apartment, please. Show her how sweet you are, Julian.”
“I’m not sweet,” I grumble.
She shoves me on the shoulder, and I glance back at her with a mischievous smirk. Ignoring me, she leans down to say goodbye to her friend. Then Lucien shuts the door, and I’m enclosed in uncomfortable silence with Freya in the back seat.
The first five minutes of the ride are quiet, and I would have preferred it stay that way, but she speaks up to ruin that.
“Thank you for your help, but you really don’t need to walk me up to my apartment. I can handle it.”
“I’m well aware,” I say flatly, staring out the window and away from her.
I’ve barely laid eyes on the girl, but with her obstinate personality, I really don’t need to.
Sure, she’s beautiful—stunning even. But that’s where the attraction stops.
An attitude like hers is literally the opposite of what I’m looking for.
If she ever wanted a quick, no-strings arrangement at the club, I’d be interested, but I think it’s far too late for that.
“Did I do something to you?” she asks.
I turn toward her, feeling every muscle in my face tighten. “I don’t even know you.”
Her lips part, and her brows lift. “Exactly, and yet you have been nothing but rude to me since you came crashing into me.”
“First of all,” I argue, “you came crashing into me. And second of all, don’t think yourself special. I treat everyone like this.”
She scoffs, looking away from me and out the window. I watch her, seeing the way her full lips press together and her black brows tense, forming a delicate wrinkle between her eyes.
“Take him home first,” she says to Lucien. “I don’t need his help.”
Lucien tenses as his eyes find me in the rearview. “Sir?”
“Yes, take me home,” I mutter. “If she wants to handle it herself, let her.”
She makes a frustrated sound. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry my sister didn’t give you warning that I’m not the most amicable person, and I don’t go out of my way to make you feel comfortable.”
“Oh, she did,” Freya replies.
My head turns toward her with surprise. I can feel Lucien watching me, his hands clenching around the steering wheel. He’s probably mentally hoping I drop it and stop being such a pretentious asshole to this girl, but I wish I could tell him and everyone else that I can’t help it.
This is who I am.
“She did? What exactly did she say?” The thought of my sister talking about me to her friends, warning them about me, has me feeling unsettled.
Freya turns toward me, and my gaze fixes on the red lipstick across her pouty lips. On her warm golden skin and the expressiveness in her eyes as if she can say far more with them than she needs to say with her mouth.
Suddenly, I find myself hating just how gorgeous she is.
“She said you pretend to be miserable and hateful all the time, but it’s just an act to try and get pity from everyone in your life.
I think she feels bad for you, but I don’t.
I’m not as selfless as Amelia. Because I think you really are miserable, so you try to make everyone miserable right along with you. ”