Chapter 22
Julian
While Freya finishes getting ready, Archer heads down to his own apartment to freshen up. I make a call to Delia, telling her we’re ready to put in an offer in for the restaurant. My fingers drum quietly on the tables as Onyx purrs in my lap, and I stroke the back of her head.
“I’ll get the paperwork sent over right now,” Delia says through the line. “I’ll be back in touch as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Delia,” I say before hanging up the phone.
Pride swells in my chest, letting the reality of this sink in. I’m helping someone who deserves it. This money is going to something good. After only knowing this girl for two weeks, it’s incredible to me how important this has become. How good it feels to help someone so genuine, so deserving.
I’ve never known anyone with such conviction, but I know that she’s going to work her ass off to make this restaurant a success.
She’ll pay us back because of her own integrity, because she’ll want to, even though we don’t need it.
Any fears I might have had before about going into business with someone new, someone I’m romantically entangled with, are gone.
It feels like so much more than that now. This doesn’t feel like just a romantic entanglement. These two people have somehow become important to me. That conversation with Freya on the couch bubbles up to the forefront of my mind.
It’s not often I face my own insecurities. Why I constantly feel so bitter. Why every morning, I erect this armor between me and the world. Why I refuse to let anyone in. I wish it made sense, but it doesn’t.
But I started to get the feeling that Freya could see this part of me that I keep hidden. She looked at me as if she wouldn’t immediately judge me or reject me if she knew the truth.
The only ones who truly know are my family, and they have vowed to tell no one. My sister might be more forthcoming with her own condition, but I’m not. And I never will be.
Suddenly, as if on cue, my phone starts ringing in my hand. Glancing down, I see Dad across the screen. Letting out a sigh, I hesitate before swiping the call and answering it.
“Hey,” I say in a flat, lifeless tone.
“Hey, son,” he replies in a better mood than I do. “What have you got going on today?”
I glance up toward my room, hearing Freya hum to herself in the distance. My family doesn’t need to know all the details of our relationship yet.
“I’m hanging out with some friends,” I answer him.
“Some friends?” he asks. “That’s great.”
“Why did you want to know?”
“Well, I was hoping to see my son. Is that a good enough reason?”
“I guess,” I mutter despondently.
This sense of guilt swims inside me, and immediately I blame it on him. All my life, my dad has been older. Older than my friends’ dads. Older than everybody else’s dad. And now he’s…eighty-two.
Sometimes I swear he calls me like this, begging to spend time with me, only to make me feel guiltier when I say no, because I know that my days with him are numbered.
And I know that’s even more reason to say yes and to get in this precious time when I can, but instead I prolong the inevitable. When my dad—or even my mom or my sister or Jack for that matter—does eventually leave me…it’ll just be easier if our relationship isn’t any closer than it is now.
I’m just saving myself the heartbreak.
Is that selfish of me? Am I just a self-fulfilling prophecy, the selfish brat of the billionaire? Never satisfied. Never putting anybody before himself.
“Don’t worry, son,” he replies casually. “Glad you’ve got some friends to spend the day with. Another time then.”
I swallow the stinging pain growing in my throat. “Yeah, another time then,” I reply flatly.
Freya walks out of my bedroom a few minutes later with her typical Freya style, a bohemian-type skirt with chunky black boots, a loose-fitting blouse covered by a snug jacket.
Around her wrist are a set of bangles, and a green emerald necklace adorns her neck.
On her fingers she has rings like me. Her hair is in waves parted on one side and draped over her shoulder, and she’s giving me a soft, angelic smile.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yep,” I reply.
My heart feels trapped somewhere between guilt and excitement. I love the idea of getting to spend the day with the two people I really want to be with. And yet beneath that pleasure is this layer of shame that I’m avoiding my family. I’ve turned down my dad. I don’t respond much to my mom.
I am the black cat in the Kade household. And I can’t help but wish I were a little different.
When Archer knocks on my door about twenty minutes later, he’s freshly cleaned in a pair of forest-green slacks, a cream-colored collared shirt, and his usual black wool coat.
He’s still wearing my ring on his left pinkie finger. The thought instantly excites me. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but my ring on his finger just feels right.
The wounds on his face have healed slightly since the night he got them. The thought of him fighting again tonight only makes me wince with worry.
I’ve never been in a fight in my life. I don’t know what it feels like to take a punch or to throw one. But either way, I imagine they hurt a lot. And yet he does this all the time.
For what? For fun? For power?
To convince himself that he’s, I don’t know, stronger or better than someone else?
It baffles me, but I try not to insert my opinion too much. It’s his life. His choices.
We have no real plan for our day other than to just spend it together. Honestly, at this point, I couldn’t even tell you what day of the week it is, and I don’t really care. We’re going to take Freya out to lunch to celebrate her new job, her new venture, I guess in some ways her new life.
An hour later, we’re sitting inside at a diner in the middle of the city, and it’s a beautiful winter day. The sun is out, and the snow has melted.
“So what now?” Freya asks, clutching a cup of espresso between her fingers.
“Now we wait for Delia to call us back and give us news about the property,” I say.
“Then the fun part begins,” Archer adds. “We get to go shopping.”
“Are you guys really sure about this? I mean, this is going to be a lot of money.”
Archer and I make eye contact without looking at Freya. “We’re just going to ignore her, right?” he says.
And I laugh. “Since we’ve told her nearly a hundred times already, yeah, I think we can ignore her now.”
“Both of you stop it,” she says, slapping our arms at the same time.
From behind me, I hear the squeal of a child and turn in time to see a young boy racing toward me, shouting, “Juju! Juju!”
My cheeks turn fiery red as I recognize étienne galloping toward me with excitement.
“A friend of yours?” Archer asks with a laugh.
Just then, étienne reaches my chair, practically leaping into my lap. I’d be a monster if I didn’t at least smile at him and give him the hug he so desperately wants.
After wrapping his tiny arms around my neck, he pulls away and begins mumbling semi-incoherently in French, telling me about how his mother and he just had lunch.
Just then, I hear élodie’s voice as she scurries toward us.
“étienne!” she says, scolding her son. “Je suis désolée, Julian.”
“It’s okay,” I laugh as I let the boy sit on my lap.
“I didn’t mean to disturb your lunch.”
“Really, it’s fine.”
A tall, handsome man approaches her from behind, resting a hand on her shoulder. I realize now is that time for awkward introductions. And I have to admit, I’ve sort of been dreading this one.
“Julian, this is my boyfriend, Mark.”
I stand up with étienne on my hip. “Enchanté,” I say.
“Nice to meet you too,” he replies with a thick American accent.
I feel the eyes of my two counterparts at the table watching us. Clearing my throat, I turn toward them.
“élodie, this is Freya and Archer.” They exchange greetings and handshakes. The boy on my hip giggles. “And this is étienne,” I say.
I feel them watching, their curiosity so apparent it burns. I can practically see the questions swirling around in their minds.
“Well, we better get going,” élodie says. “On y va, étienne,” she adds, trying to take her son from my arms.
He doesn’t want to leave, clutching to my neck, and I’m assaulted by guilt that I haven’t seen him more.
“Perhaps one day soon, we can go to the park together again,” I offer.
“He would love that,” she says softly with a smile.
“Allez, étienne. Il est temps d’y aller.”
The boy looks into my eyes with softness. “Je peux venir voir Onyx bient?t?” he asks.
I chuckle. “Of course you can come see Onyx soon.”
“Salut, Juju,” he replies, hopping down from my arms and taking his mother’s hand. We wave at the three of them as they leave.
My spine is straight as a rod as I sit back in my seat, discomfort flooding my veins. I reach for the glass of water on the table, guzzling half of it down while Archer and Freya stare at me.
Setting down my glass, I acknowledge them. “I realize how this looks.”
“Julian, is that your—”
“No,” I cut Freya off from the rest of the question. “He’s not mine. Not really.”
She lets out a sigh of relief.
Archer leans forward, his arms on the table. “Are you sure? Because it sort of seemed—”
“I know how it seems,” I say. “But he’s not mine. I’ve just been helping her.”
“Helping her?” Freya asks. “Is she your ex or something?”
“No. She’s a dancer at Legacy. She’s been raising him alone, and she just needed some help, so I stepped in.”
“Why?” Freya asks.
I look at her as if that’s the wildest question I’ve ever heard.
“Why? Because I can. Because I want to. When étienne was born, she had nothing. Her parents abandoned her. And I don’t know why it sparked something inside me. I have everything, and they have nothing. She needed help…so I helped her.”
I give a shrug, casually trying to play it off. Meanwhile, tears are welling in Freya’s eyes.
“It started with paying her extra for her rent. Then I’d buy him clothes. He would sometimes come stay with me if she had to work late. He loves Onyx. But that’s all. We’re just friends.”
Freya’s lips press together tightly as she fights a smile. “Julian Kade,” she says accusingly, with humor lacing her tone.
“What?” I ask, snapping with attitude.
“Do you have a heart of gold?” she asks.
“I do not,” I practically growl.
“Yes, you do,” Archer adds with a laugh. “You have a fucking heart of gold.”
“Fuck you both,” I say. “You’re paying for lunch now.”
They’re both giggling to themselves as they watch me. And I can’t help but fight the smile creeping across my face.