Chapter 22 Vivienne #2
"They'll love you," I said, meaning it. "You're honorable, hardworking, you treat me well. That's all that really matters to them."
The rain was beginning to lighten, the heavy downpour becoming a steady drizzle. Soon we'd be able to ride again, and this intimate moment would end.
"Julian?" I said.
"Yes?"
"Thank you for stopping me before. For having enough control for both of us."
Julian's smile was soft and warm. "Someone has to be the responsible adult in this relationship."
"Usually that's my job," I said with a laugh.
"We can take turns," Julian suggested, and the idea of sharing responsibility, of being partners in that way, made my breath stutter in my chest. How long had I been wanting exactly that?
By the time we made it back to the studio, the rain had stopped completely and my clothes had mostly dried. Julian walked me to my car, his helmet tucked under his arm, looking reluctant to let me go.
"Pack light," he said. "Just essentials for a few days."
"I'll pack quickly and then start looking at flights," I said. "What time works best for you tomorrow?"
“Don't worry about flights. I'll take care of the travel arrangements. I'll have my driver drop me off at your place this evening with my bags. We can leave together in the morning."
"Julian, you don't need to buy my ticket," I protested. "I can handle my own travel expenses."
"I know you can," Julian said gently. "But I want to. Let me do this."
I felt the familiar tension between independence and allowing myself to be cared for. It was still so new, this feeling of having someone who wanted to handle the details, who had the resources to make things easier.
"Okay," I said finally. "But I'm buying dinner while we're there. And I'm paying for any activities or entertainment."
Julian's smile was amused but affectionate. "Deal."
The drive home gave me time to think about packing, about what Julian would need to know about my family, about how surreal it was that in less than twenty-four hours I'd be introducing him to my parents.
At home, I rummaged through my closet, pulling out clothes that would be appropriate for a home-town visit while also looking nice enough to not pass for lounge-wear.
I packed my most flattering jeans, a few nice sweaters, my best boots, and a few casual dresses that would work for everything from church to dinner out.
I was just starting to research flights on my laptop when my doorbell rang. Through the peephole, I could see Julian standing on my front step with a leather overnight bag, looking perfectly put-together despite our day of riding in questionable weather.
"That was fast," I said, opening the door. "I'm not even close to finished packing."
"No rush," Julian said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. "We have all evening."
"Actually, I was just looking at flights," I said, leading him to my laptop on the dining table. "There's a 10 a.m. departure that gets us there around noon, or we could do the 2 p.m. that arrives at—"
"Vivienne," Julian interrupted gently. "Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"The flight search. We won't need commercial flights."
I looked up from my laptop, confusion clear on my face. "Why not?"
Julian set down his bag and moved to stand beside my chair, his expression slightly uncertain. "Because we'll be taking my plane."
"Your plane?" My voice came out higher than intended. "You have a plane?"
"A small jet," Julian clarified, as if that made it less shocking. "It's more convenient for business travel, and it means we can leave whenever we want without worrying about airline schedules."
I stared at him, once again struck by the casual way he mentioned things that were completely outside my realm of experience. A private jet. Of course he had a private jet.
"Julian," I said slowly, "Exactly how wealthy are you?"
Julian's jaw tightened slightly, and I could see him choosing his words carefully. "Wealthy enough that travel logistics don't have to be complicated."
It wasn't really an answer, but it was answer enough. I felt the familiar vertigo that came with glimpsing the true scope of Julian's world—a world where private jets were practical solutions rather than impossible luxuries.
"I keep forgetting," I said quietly, closing my laptop. "About the scope of... all this."
"Does it bother you?" Julian asked, and I could hear genuine concern in his voice.
I considered the question honestly. Did it bother me? The wealth, the luxury, the way Julian could casually solve problems with resources I couldn't even imagine having?
"It doesn't bother me," I said finally. "But it does remind me how different our worlds are. I was worried about airline baggage fees, and you're talking about taking a private jet like you’re calling an Uber."
Julian knelt beside my chair, his hands finding mine. "Our worlds might be different, but what matters to me is the same as what matters to you. People we care about, experiences that bring us joy, building something meaningful together."
"Even when building something meaningful involves private air travel?" I asked with a smile that took the sting out of the question.
"Especially then," Julian said, bringing my hands to his lips. "Besides, this way your parents get to see their daughter when she wants to be there, not on someone else’s schedule. Isn't that worth something?"
The thought of my parents' faces when they hear that their daughter was on a private jet that landed at their small regional airport made me laugh despite myself. "They're going to think I've lost my mind."
"Or that their daughter has excellent taste in men," Julian suggested with a grin.
As I finished packing—Julian offering opinions on outfit choices when I asked for his opinion—I felt the excitement building again.
Tomorrow, I'd be taking Julian home to meet the people who mattered most to me.
And somehow, despite the private jets and the penthouse and all the reminders of how different our backgrounds were, it felt exactly right.
Because underneath all the wealth and sophistication, Julian was still the man who'd rescued me from drunk idiots at a bar, who'd spent a week creating something beautiful just for me, who'd shared his darkest secrets in my bed.
The man who was currently folding my sweaters with the same precision he brought to everything else, while asking detailed questions about my parents' interests so he could make a good impression.
Private jet or not, he was mine. And tomorrow, my parents would see exactly why that mattered more than anything else.