68. Sage
Sage
Ipushed through the glass doors of the lobby, offering a warm smile to the armed concierge at the front desk before heading towards our private elevator.
My gym bag was slung over one shoulder, two heavy grocery bags cutting into my other hand, but I didn’t mind the weight at all.
As the glass elevator shot up to the penthouse, I let out a soft sigh.
This new life of ours just felt so incredibly normal.
It was so easy. It was so effortlessly perfect that I actually had to pinch myself sometimes just to remind my brain that I wasn’t dreaming.
I unlocked the doors and stepped into the apartment, instantly greeted by the breathtaking, panoramic view of the ocean.
I headed straight for the kitchen, dropping my bags onto the marble island. Tonight, I was on dinner duty.
I actually loved to cook, even if Julian was undeniably much better at it.
He had done so much for me in such an short amount of time—protecting me, moving me into this fortress and funding our beautiful new life.
Stepping into the role of the domestic girlfriend, chopping vegetables and standing over a hot stove, was just one small way I could show him how incredibly grateful I was for his continuous love and support.
Within an hour, the penthouse smelled divine. A rich, bubbling pot of spaghetti was simmering on the stove, thick slices of garlic bread were crisping up in the oven, and a Caesar salad was tossed and ready in a wooden bowl.
I dimmed the overhead lights and lit a few taper candles on the dining table, watching the small flames flicker against the glass of the window.
I leaned against the counter, drying my hands on a dish towel as I looked out at the horizon.
The sun was just beginning to set, casting streaks of pink, orange, and bruised purple across the sky.
In front of the window, perfectly framed by the dying light, sat my wooden easel holding an unfinished canvas.
A profound sense of peace settled directly into my bones.
I hadn’t heard a single peep from my stalker since we arrived back to the city.
No shadows, no misplaced items or Polaroids taken whilst I slept.
The suffocating paranoia that had once dictated my every breath was slowly melting away, leaving me to momentarily forget about the creep who had been harassing me.
This apartment was heaven. And Julian… I swore he was a fallen angel, perfectly designed and sent down to save me.
The heavy click of the front door echoing through the hallway pulled me from my thoughts.
“Something smells incredible,” Julian’s low, gravelly voice rumbled through the apartment before I even saw him.
He rounded the corner into the kitchen, shedding his leather jacket. He looked exhausted but devastatingly handsome, his dark hair slightly windblown. The second his eyes landed on me, the tired tension in his broad shoulders instantly melted away.
“Hey,” I smiled brightly, walking over to meet him.
He wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto my toes to press a gentle kiss to my lips. He tasted like the cold city air and black coffee.
“Do you need any help?” he murmured against my mouth, his hands settling comfortably on the curves of my ass.
“Nope, I’m practically done,” I told him, smoothing his shirt. “But you can open the wine and pour us a glass, if you’d like.”
He walked over to the wine rack, expertly pulling the cork from a bottle of red.
While I pulled the garlic bread from the oven and started plating the spaghetti, Julian walked over to the record player in the sunken living room.
A moment later, the soft, crackling static of vinyl filled the room, followed by the opening notes of Enya's Caribbean Blue.
The smooth, soulful melody unfurled into the space, its lush, layered harmonies rolling over us like a warm, ethereal tide.
We sat down together at the candlelit table, the clinking of our wine glasses echoing softly over the music.
“How was your day?” I asked, twirling a forkful of spaghetti.
“Long,” he said smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. His dark eyes flicked up to meet mine over the rim of the glass. “Ran a lot of errands. Had some meetings regarding the end of my deployment paperwork. Standard administrative hell.”
I nodded, taking a bite of my food, but a small, secretive smile played on my lips.
Julian had been out of the apartment all day, claiming he had errands to run, but he had been acting incredibly secretive and closed-off lately. With my birthday coming up so soon, I had a very strong giddy suspicion about what he was planning.
It was a sensation I still didn’t know how to carry, being so thoughtfully fussed over.
Growing up adopted, I’d never gone without the basics, there was always food on the table and a roof over my head—but I’d never felt celebrated.
In that house, my birthdays were just another day on the calendar, often forgotten entirely.
When I’d dared to feel the sting of it, the reminder was always the same: they hadn’t been there, they couldn’t be expected to remember a day they hadn’t witnessed, and I should be grateful regardless.
I’d learned to swallow my existence like a bitter pill, but Julian was changing the prescription. The idea of someone—especially a man like him, making a fuss over the mere fact that I existed was enough to overwhelm me, threatening to break the levee I’d built around my heart.
“Well,” I murmured playfully, reaching across the table to lay my hand over his massive, scarred knuckles. “I’m just glad you’re finally home.”