Chapter 15 Julian
Julian
I watched from the studio window as Vivienne pulled away. The urge to follow, to abandon the chaos of the photo shoot and spend the rest of the day talking and being with her, was almost overwhelming.
Focus, I commanded myself, turning back to the controlled mayhem of the studio. You have a business to run.
But even as I threw myself back into the work, approving setups, directing poses, making the thousand small decisions that turned fabric into art, part of my mind remained fixed on the break room, on the taste of her mouth and the way she'd looked at me when I'd asked her to be my girlfriend.
Official. We were official now.
The thought sent a jolt through my chest every time it surfaced.
"Julian?" Jeremy, the photographer, called out. "Can you look at these shots from the first setup?"
I moved to the camera's display screen, and my breath caught.
The images from after Vivienne's suggestion were dramatically different from the earlier static poses.
The model was captured mid-movement, the emerald dress flowing around her like water, the fabric alive with motion and light.
It was exactly what Vivienne had envisioned, the dress telling its story instead of just being worn.
"These are incredible," I murmured, scrolling through the sequence. "The difference is night and day."
"Your friend's suggestion about movement completely changed the energy," Jeremy said. "We've been incorporating it into every setup since. The clothes really come alive instead of just being displayed."
I felt a surge of pride that had nothing to do with my own work. Vivienne had seen something that I, with all my years of experience, had missed. Her fresh perspective had elevated the entire shoot.
As the afternoon wore on, that revelation continued to ripple through every setup.
Models who had been posing like mannequins began moving naturally, and the clothes responded beautifully.
By the time we wrapped at six p.m., I knew we'd captured something special, something that existed because Vivienne had been there.
Back in my office, I pulled out my phone and selected two images—one from before Vivienne's suggestion and one from after. The contrast was striking. I typed out a message to her.
Julian: Before and after your insight today. You changed everything.
I attached both photos, then hesitated before adding, Thank you for seeing what I couldn't see.
The response came within minutes.
Vivienne: Oh my God, Julian! The difference is incredible. You can actually see the story the dress is trying to tell. It’s truly amazing!
Before I could respond she messaged again.
Vivienne: Also, I'm honored that you listened to the random teacher who wandered into your professional space with opinions ??
I smiled at my phone, as I formed a response.
Julian: Not random. Essential. The entire team has been talking about how your perspective shifted the whole shoot. You should be proud.
Vivienne: I'm mostly proud that I didn't trip over any expensive equipment or accidentally ruin anything
Julian: You improved everything you touched. How are the papers coming?
Vivienne: Slowly but surely. I'm discovering that seventeen-year-olds have very strong opinions about the working conditions in 19th-century textile mills. Some of these essays are actually brilliant.
I found myself grinning like an idiot again. Even exhausted from grading, she was passionate about her students' insights, genuinely excited about their engagement with history.
Julian: I'd love to read some of them sometime. If your students wouldn't mind.
Vivienne: Really? You want to read high school history essays?
Julian: I want to understand what makes you light up the way you did just now when you texted about them.
There was a longer pause before her response came.
Vivienne: You might be the first person outside of education who's ever asked me that. Most people can’t wait to change the subject when I mention my work.
Julian: Their loss. Your passion for teaching is one of the things that drew me to you from the beginning.
Vivienne: One of the things? What were the others? ??
I leaned back in my chair, considering how to answer that. The truth was complicated—her intelligence, yes, but also her curves, her genuine reactions, the way she'd handled those drunk idiots at the bar with quiet dignity. The way she'd stood up for Delaney today without making it about herself.
Julian: Your intelligence. Your kindness. The way you see things others miss. The way you move through the world like you belong wherever you choose to be.
Julian: Also, you're breathtakingly beautiful.
Vivienne: Julian Thorne, are you trying to make me swoon while I'm grading papers about factory conditions?
Julian: Is it working?
Vivienne: Maybe a little ?? But I really do need to focus on these essays if I want to have any chance of enjoying Monday evening.
Julian: Monday evening. I've been thinking about that.
Julian: Are you nervous about the ride?
Vivienne: Terrified and excited in equal measure. Should I be more terrified?
I considered the question seriously. Riding could be dangerous, especially for someone inexperienced. But I'd been riding for over a decade, had never had an accident, and I'd be more careful with Vivienne on the bike.
Julian: I'll take good care of you. I promise. Safety gear, easy route, nothing too adventurous for your first time.
Vivienne: I trust you.
Those three little words hit me harder than they should have.
When was the last time someone had said that to me and meant it completely?
Most people in my world trusted my business acumen, my creative vision, my ability to make them money or advance their careers.
But personal trust, the kind that meant putting yourself in someone's hands, that was rarer than diamonds.
Julian: That means more than you know.
Vivienne: I should probably get back to these papers. But Julian?
Julian: Yes?
Vivienne: I'm really looking forward to Monday.
Julian: So am I. Sweet dreams, when you finally get to them.
Vivienne: Goodnight, babe ??
I stared at that word on my screen for a long moment. Babe. I don’t think I’ve ever truly been someone's boyfriend. Usually, my relationships were more… transactional. Mutually beneficial arrangements that served both parties' needs without getting messy with emotions or expectations.
But Vivienne wasn't interested in what I could do for her career or her social status.
She had her own life, her own passions, her own purpose.
She'd made it clear that morning that she wouldn't be available whenever I had a free moment, and somehow that made me want to spend even more time with her.
Sunday couldn't come fast enough, and not just because it brought me closer to Monday evening. I needed the weekly ride with my brothers, needed their grounding presence to help me process what was happening in my carefully controlled life.
I could probably even use some advice.
Sunday morning dawned clear and cool, perfect riding weather. My Sundays were usually kept free just for this.
I arrived at our agreed meeting spot fifteen minutes early, unusual for me, and found myself checking my phone for messages from Vivienne even though she was probably still asleep.
Archer pulled up first on his black Ducati, followed closely by Diesel on his custom chopper. Kane arrived next, looking more relaxed than I'd seen him in months, and finally Hawk roared in, completing our group.
"Look who's early," Diesel called out, pulling off his helmet to reveal his trademark grin. "Usually we're waiting on your royal highness to finish whatever fashion emergency requires your immediate attention."
"No emergencies today," I said, checking my gear one final time.
"Because you cleared your schedule for the weekend?" Kane asked, something knowing in his tone. "Word is you've been… distracted lately."
I shot him a sharp look. "Word from who?"
"I tried to get a hold of you last week and Roy mentioned you rescheduled three meetings and a photoshoot for some mysterious personal project." Archer said, his own expression curious.
"Seems like some lady may have caught his interest," joked Diesel.
"She must be a hell of a woman," Hawk added with a smirk.
I felt heat rise in my neck. These men, the closest thing I had to brothers, had always been observant, a survival skill from our military days, but their focus on my personal life was uncomfortable.
"Can we just ride?" I asked, mounting my bike.
"Oh, we're definitely riding," Diesel said, his grin widening. "But we're also talking. That's what these Sunday rides are for, brother. Checking in, making sure nobody's losing their shit in civilian life."
We pulled out onto the highway, Archer leading the group through the winding roads that led into the mountains outside the city.
The familiar rumble of engines and rush of wind usually cleared my head, but today my thoughts kept drifting to Vivienne.
Tomorrow evening, she'd be on this bike with me, her arms around my waist, trusting me to keep her safe.
The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.
We'd been riding for about an hour when Archer signaled for a stop at one of our usual overlooks, a scenic pullout that offered views of the city sprawling below. It was here, away from traffic and distractions, that we usually did our real talking.
"Alright, Viper," Diesel said as we gathered around the stone barrier that marked the edge of the overlook. "Spill it. You've been riding like a man with something on his mind."
I pulled off my helmet, running a hand through my hair. "It's complicated."
"The best things usually are," Kane said quietly. The distant tone in his voice made me think there was more to that statement—someone, perhaps. He’d been quieter lately, more distracted. Maybe complications had a name, and he just wasn’t ready to say it out loud.