25. Love and Loss
Chapter twenty-five
Love and Loss
Julian
I stared aimlessly at the empty spot beside me in the bed, unable to sleep, feeling like the world’s biggest bastard.
I regretted every word I’d said to Nicolette in the car.
I’d let fear of the unknown—and Cyrus’s warnings—eat at me all afternoon.
What he’d said made sense. And my pride had gotten the better of me.
I couldn’t stand the thought that I’d let Nicolette fool me. That she’d lured me into a trap.
What a laughable thought.
But there was nothing humorous about this. I’d hurt her. That much was painfully clear. There had been nothing manipulative or false about the betrayal in her eyes.
And here I was accusing her of lying to me when, from the very first moment I met her, I’d lied to her about who I was. About my intentions.
Even now I could hear her crying—doing her best to muffle it while calling me every foul name she could think of. Muttering about how stupid she was to ever care for me. And she was right. And it gutted me that I’d made her cry. That I’d broken something between us I wasn’t sure I could repair.
I ran my hand over the empty space beside me, wanting more than anything to have her there. I’d grown accustomed to her soft breaths at night, the way she would curl against me or sigh in her sleep. More than that, I loved how animatedly she spoke about her passion for medicine and helping people.
I loved how her mind worked. And I even appreciated how she’d coaxed me into opening up about my past—something I’d guarded for centuries.
Almost as if I’d been ashamed of living so long.
But the way it fascinated her made me want to share it all.
In her own way, she was helping me come to terms with what I was.
Perhaps it was because with her, I felt almost human. Almost alive.
And now I could hear her plotting how to find a cure without me—and how she couldn’t wait to leave me.
I had to fix this. Fix us.
I sat and scrubbed a hand over my face, trying to think of what to say—or do.
I hadn’t truly cared about another woman in many years—since my wife, Giovanna.
Not enough to want to work things out. I’d forgotten how to do that.
Every relationship in the last six hundred years had been dispensable. A means to an end.
But . . . Nicolette was different.
Why hadn’t I bloody well remembered that before I threw unfounded accusations at her?
I didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t stand another moment away from her.
I threw the covers off and tore out of bed, ready to run to her side and beg her forgiveness.
It was then that I remembered the locket her father had given me when I’d visited him that morning.
It was Grace’s, and he thought Nicolette would want to have it.
I retrieved the locket from my suit coat pocket and opened it, and inside was a picture of Nicolette and her mother on the day she’d graduated from medical school. Nicolette was adorably holding up a sign that read, REPLICATION MATTERS . A nod to her mother and to the science they both loved.
I traced my thumb over the tiny image, over the bright, earnest smile she wore. The same smile she’d given me on occasion. The one that made my endless existence feel worth something. Worth living.
And suddenly the weight of what I’d done pressed down on me with crushing force.
I padded out into the living room and paused.
Nicolette sat curled on the couch in the dark, wrapped in a blanket, illuminated only by the glow of her and her mother’s laptop screens.
Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks waterlogged.
But her expression? Her expression was pure determination.
The look of a woman who was going to leave me, come hell or high water.
I felt physically ill. I hadn’t felt that way since I was human.
“Nicolette,” I whispered as I edged toward her.
She ignored me.
It didn’t deter me. I was just as determined as she was—but for the opposite reason. I wanted to give her reasons to stay, not to leave. I wished I’d never made that damned bargain with her. Wished even more that I hadn’t questioned her, or lied to her, or let my pride speak for me.
I sat on the couch, careful to keep my distance. It only made her type more furiously.
“Nicolette, I’m an arse.”
“Agreed. You can leave now.”
She’d spoken to me—that was something. I edged closer, aching to touch her, to make this right.
“Will you allow me to apologize? To make amends?”
“You can do whatever you want,” she said, eyes fixed on her screen. “It won’t change my mind. Not even that bare chest of yours.” Her voice was flat. Final.
I feared it more than I cared to admit.
“Nicolette, I’m sorry. Deeply sorry. I let Cyrus’s words get to me, and I shouldn’t have,” I pleaded my case. “It’s all just so bloody frustrating, and my feelings for you have grown deeper than I ever imagined they would, and it made me question myself.”
“Please. It made you question me,” her voice cracked.
I moved closer and tried to take her hand. She brushed me aside.
“Just go, Julian. We were stupid, or I was stupid, to think that maybe there was something real between us. But obviously I was wrong. So, we are . . . well . . . we’re over.”
Her hesitation and trembling voice gave me the tiniest shred of hope that she didn’t want what we had to end.
Perhaps that was what made me say . . . “I love you.”
She whipped her head toward me, stunned into silence.
I felt just as stunned. But it was true. I realized in that moment I’d been falling in love with her from the second I met her. It was why I’d kept who I was from her for so long. I hadn’t wanted her to know I was a monster. But today I’d proven to her that’s exactly what I was.
“You’re lying,” she stuttered, shaking her head vehemently. “Don’t say things like that to me—especially after accusing me of sending those notes to myself and of lying to you. It’s not funny. And I don’t believe you.”
I didn’t blame her. I hardly believed it myself after being so adamant about never falling in love in my state. But there was no denying it now that I had said it. It was like giving myself permission to feel it.
“I love you,” I repeated more resolutely this time.
“No, you don’t.” She refused to believe me.
“I do, and I’ll do whatever I can to prove it to you. Hell, I’ll drink your blood, become your lab rat, fall at your feet, anything. Just tell me what to do. Please,” I begged like I never had before.
She blinked as if contemplating it, but then sat up straight, defiantly. “I don’t believe you.”
“No. I don’t think you want to believe me. And I won’t force you, even though I could, because if I did, I would hate myself more than you hate me at this moment.”
I stood and braved leaning down to kiss her head—just once. “I love you, Nicolette. And if you wish, I would like to work things out with you.”
She bit her lip, staring up at me as if she didn’t recognize me.
I wasn’t sure who I was anymore either. All I knew was that I wanted to be Nicolette’s husband.
“Your father gave me this when I visited him today.” I unfurled my hand to reveal the locket. “He thought you might like it.”
Her eyes welled with tears, but she didn’t reach for it—as if touching anything I held would burn her. So I let it slip from my fingers and fall into her lap.
She picked it up and pressed it to her chest as if it were a precious treasure. “I thought this was lost in the accident,” she whispered. “She never took it off.”
“Your father said he found it in a hidden compartment in her desk.”
“I wonder why . . .” she trailed off. “Never mind. I know how you feel about all the mysteries surrounding my mother. You probably blame me for her death,” she cried.
She knew how to land an emotional punch. I felt it keenly.
“No, love, I blame my world. A world that I’m sorry found you.”
And then it hit me—how to prove to Nicolette that I truly loved her.
I had to let her go.
“Nicolette, if you wish to leave me,” my voice warbled, hating to say the words, “I will help you disappear. You and your father.”
She blinked up at me, her mouth parted, but no words escaped for several seconds. Finally, she stuttered out, “You’ll honor our bargain?”
“You’ve fulfilled your end of it. You made me more human than I deserved.”
A single tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek. For a sliver of a moment, I thought perhaps it meant she would tell me she wished to stay. But in disbelief she stuttered, “You’ll really let me leave?”
I nodded, disheartened. “It will take some time to get everything ready and find a secure place for you, but yes.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
Did she sound disappointed or bewildered? I prayed it was the first. Prayed she would tell me she wished to stay.
When she didn’t, I let out the heaviest of breaths. “Well, I suppose I should let you get some rest. It appears you will no longer need to search for a cure.”
“I guess not.”
She slowly lowered her laptop lid, her eyes fixed on me, her expression unreadable.
“For your safety, it would be best if you tell no one and still behave in public as if we are in love.”
I was in love.
“Um . . . yeah. I can do that.”
“Very well. Good night.”
I didn’t turn from her. I couldn’t.
We stared at each other for what felt like minutes, holding our breath. It was as if we were silently asking the same question: Is this truly over?
Nicolette eventually swallowed hard and, clutching her locket, hung her head, giving me my final answer.
Dejected and downtrodden, I turned from her. I had forgotten how much humanity hurt. What it was like to feel the sting of regret. And I knew I would regret nothing more than this moment.
The moment I let Nicolette go.