Chapter 27 Julian
Julian
The hotel room door had barely closed behind us before Vivienne was pulling me toward the bed, her hands already working at the buttons of my shirt with focused determination.
"Let me take care of you," she said softly, pushing the fabric off my shoulders to reveal the tension I'd been carrying all day.
I started to protest—I was fine, barely hurt, nothing that warranted this kind of attention—but the look in her eyes stopped me. This wasn't about my actual injuries. This was about her need to touch me, to reassure herself that I was whole and hers.
So I let her.
Vivienne's lips found the slight bruising on my shoulder first, pressing soft kisses that had my heart hammering in my chest. She worked her way across my collarbone, down my chest, pausing at each mark the afternoon had left behind.
"Does this hurt?" she murmured, her mouth brushing over my ribs.
"No," I managed, though my breathing had become uneven for entirely different reasons.
She continued her exploration, her hands and mouth working in tandem until she was kneeling before me, looking up with eyes dark with desire and something deeper—love, trust, a connection that made everything else fade into insignificance.
When she freed me from my remaining clothes and took me into her mouth, I had to brace myself against the wall behind me, my hands fisting in her hair as pleasure rolled through me in waves.
She worked me with skill and obvious enjoyment, the soft sounds she made around me nearly as arousing as the sensation itself.
"Vivienne," I warned when I felt my control beginning to slip, but she just hummed and took me deeper, making it clear she wanted exactly what I was about to give her.
My release hit me hard, leaving me boneless and sated, barely able to stand as the aftershocks rolled through my body. Vivienne rose gracefully, pressing a soft kiss to my lips that tasted of salt and satisfaction.
"Better?" she asked with a smile.
"Much," I managed, though my voice was rough. "But now it's my turn—"
"Julian," she interrupted gently, her hands framing my face. "We don’t have to keep score. I wanted to do that for you. That's all."
The simple statement hit me harder than it should have.
In my previous relationships, everything had been transactional—pleasure given with the expectation of receiving, favors traded like currency.
But Vivienne was teaching me that love didn't work that way, that sometimes giving was its own reward.
"Come shower with me," I said, pulling her close. "At least let me hold you."
We made our way to the bathroom, where the shower was large enough for two and the water pressure was exactly what my sore muscles needed. I washed Vivienne's hair with gentle fingers, my fingers massaging her scalp until she was practically purring against me.
"This is nice," she murmured, her back pressed against my chest as the hot water cascaded over both of us.
"It is," I agreed, wrapping my arms around her waist and just holding her, feeling the tension of the day finally drain away.
By the time we dried off and collapsed into the hotel's comfortable bed, exhaustion had caught up with both of us. Vivienne curled against my side, her head on my chest, one arm draped possessively across my stomach.
"I love you," she whispered, already half-asleep.
"I love you too," I replied, pressing a kiss to her hair.
Within minutes, we were both asleep.
Morning arrived with sunlight streaming through the hotel curtains and the soft buzz of my phone on the nightstand. I reached for it carefully, not wanting to wake Vivienne, and saw several messages from Roy about meetings that needed to be rescheduled.
"What time is it?" Vivienne asked, her voice muffled against my chest.
"Just after eight," I said, setting the phone aside to run my fingers through her hair. "I have some work I need to handle this morning. Conference calls, email responses. Nothing that can't be done remotely."
"You could work from my parents' house," Vivienne suggested, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me. "Mom will be at school until four, so you'd have the place to yourself. Dad and I will bring lunch back with us from the farmer's market."
The idea of spending the morning in her childhood home, surrounded by the evidence of her life before we met, surprised me with how much I liked that thought.
"Are you sure your parents wouldn't mind?"
"They'd love it," Vivienne said with a smile. "Especially after yesterday. It'll show them we're serious about being part of each other's lives."
An hour later, we were in the car heading back to her parents' house, both of us showered and dressed, the morning stretching ahead with the comfortable routine of an established couple rather than the chaos of the previous day.
We were about halfway there when my phone rang, and as I was pulling it out, Vivienne’s started going off as well. I glanced at the screen—Kane—while Vivienne frowned at hers.
"Roosevelt High," she said, her voice tight with surprise.
We answered our respective calls, and I watched Vivienne's face as she listened to whoever was talking to her.
"Julian?" Kane's voice came through my phone.
"Everything OK?"
“I’m so sorry, I thought it was Scarlett. But the photo with Vivienne and Raphael was taken by a photographer who was hired by Raphael himself. The photo was released this morning. I didn’t even think to check his connections."
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of my failure to protect Vivienne from this mess. "Is there anything we can do?"
"I'm working on damage control now," Kane said. "But the photo's out there. We can't put that particular genie back in the bottle. It also turns out he’s done this in the past to other women as well. Not that it can fix the photos that are already leaked, I was going to make things a little tricky for him right now, but it turns out I’m a little too late. His previous lady friend did some damage that he won’t be recovering from anytime soon.”
As I hung up, I turned to Vivienne, her mood completely shifted from the excitement of spending the morning with her father. I was ready to apologize, ready to promise I'd fix this somehow.
"I understand," Vivienne said finally, her voice carefully controlled. "Thank you for letting me know."
She ended the call and looked at me with a mixture of disappointment and resignation.
"I've been let go," she said quietly. "The photo of me and Rafael was published this morning. They said my conduct is incompatible with their institutional values."
I felt rage surge through me, hot and immediate. Eight years of excellent teaching, dismissed because of a misleading photograph.
But she was looking at me with an expression that wasn't devastation—it was thoughtful consideration.
"I'm sorry," I said anyway. "This is my fault. If you'd never met me—"
"Then I'd still be teaching at a school that cares more about appearances than actual education," Vivienne interrupted. "Julian, I'm disappointed, yes. But I'm not going to let this ruin my time here with my dad. Or with you."
"You're not upset?"
"I'm upset that they didn't even ask for my side of the story," Vivienne said. "I'm upset that eight years of excellent work means nothing compared to one out-of-context photo. But I'm not devastated. Maybe this is the universe telling me it's time for something new."
I studied her face, looking for signs of denial or false bravado, but found only genuine acceptance.
"You're remarkable," I said quietly.
"I'm practical," Vivienne corrected. "And right now, the practical thing to do is enjoy the day with my dad, bring you lunch, and worry about job hunting when we get back home."
The car pulled into her parents' driveway, and Vivienne leaned over to kiss me softly.
"It's going to be fine," she said with conviction. "Everything's going to be fine."
And looking at her, at the strength and resilience she carried so naturally, I almost believed her.