Chapter 9 Julian
Julian
"Sir! Sir, you need to wake up!"
I jolted awake to find Roy shaking my shoulder, the late afternoon sun streaming through my office windows. My neck was stiff from sleeping on the couch, and my mouth felt like cotton.
"What time is it?" I rasped, struggling to sit up.
"Six-fifteen," Roy said, his usually composed demeanor cracked with worry. "The gallery opening starts at seven-thirty. If you want Henry to take you—"
"Shit." I was on my feet instantly, my mind calculating travel time. With Friday evening traffic, my driver wouldn't get me to Vivienne until well after seven-thirty. "No time for the car, have Henry pick her up and I'll arrive separately."
Roy's eyes widened. "Sir?"
I was already moving toward the small bathroom attached to my office. "I'm taking the bike."
"But you never—"
"Tonight I will."
I had never taken my motorcycle to a formal event—it wasn't a part of the image I’d carefully cultivated.
Not part of the controlled persona I presented to the fashion world.
But tonight, I didn't care about image or expectations.
I only cared about being there when Vivienne arrived since I wouldn't have time to pick her up myself.
The shower was quick and brutal, ice-cold water shocking me fully awake.
I pulled on the outfit I'd selected for tonight—a black suit I'd tailored specifically to complement Vivienne's dress, with subtle emerald details that would tie us together without being over-the-top. Everything had to be perfect.
Twenty minutes later, I was weaving through downtown traffic on my Aston Martin AMB 001 Pro, the city blurring past in streaks of light and shadow.
I'd forgotten how much I loved evening rides, the evening lights along with the control, the speed, the way the world simplified when it was just me and the machine.
I pulled up to the gallery just as a sleek black car, my car, I realized, glided to the curb. I parked hastily, not caring about protocol or appearance, my attention focused entirely on the woman stepping out of the vehicle.
Vivienne.
My driver—Henry, I thought distantly—was helping her from the car with professional courtesy, and I felt an unexpected stab of jealousy at the man's hand on her elbow, at being witness to her beauty first.
She was breathtaking. The dress I'd created fit her like a dream, the emerald silk catching the light from the gallery's entrance and making her skin glow like warm honey.
Her hair was swept up in an elegant twist that showcased the delicate line of her neck, and when she turned slightly, I caught sight of the earrings I'd commissioned catching the light.
But it was more than the clothes, more than the styling. Vivienne herself was radiant, transformed not by what she wore but by the confidence it had given her. She stood straighter, moved with more grace, seemed to inhabit her own skin in a way that took my breath away.
I found myself walking toward her with single-minded purpose, barely registering the photographers clustered outside the gallery entrance snapping photos. All I could see was her.
Vivienne looked up as I approached, and I saw confusion flicker across her features, maybe even a touch of wariness. It wasn't until I caught my reflection in the window of the car, that I realized what she was seeing—a man in a motorcycle helmet walking toward her.
I slowed and pulled off the helmet, running my free hand through my disheveled hair as I came right up to her.
"Vivienne," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I'd intended.
Her expression shifted from confusion to something softer, warmer, and I watched her gaze travel over me—taking in my slightly mussed hair, the fitted suit, the way I was looking at her like she was the only person in the world.
"Sorry I wasn't there to pick you up myself.
You look..." I started, then stopped, searching for words that could capture what I was seeing.
Not just beautiful—that was too simple, too much about the surface.
"Radiant," I said finally. "That dress is just a minor detail.
Like finding just the right frame to surround the most exquisite masterpiece. "
The smile that spread across Vivienne's face was worth every sleepless night, every obsessive detail, every moment of the past week spent bringing my vision to life.
She wasn't just wearing my creation—she was inhabiting it, making it hers, proving that I'd been right about her from the very beginning.
She was extraordinary. And tonight, the whole world would see it.