31. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
ANDREA
After Carter and Maisie left, Julian asked if he could take me to his art gallery.
I’ve been wanting to go after spending countless hours of stalking and admiring it online, so excitement immediately thrummed to life inside me.
It’s exactly what I need to redirect my mind after what happened at Elite.
The gallery is extremely popular and usually packed on the days it’s open to the public.
As I follow him through the parking garage, I try to remember when he grabbed my hand and why I let him.
No one else is around so this technically goes against the rules, but I lack the audacity to pull away from things I enjoy.
It’s become unwaveringly natural for us that I don’t think he even realizes he reached for me.
“Here we are,” he states as we stop beside a shiny blacked-out coupe that looks like it costs more than my parents’ mortgage.
I tsk. “You’ve been holding back on me, Julian Havord.
” The moment I hear the click and beep telling me it’s unlocked; I practically jump inside.
His chuckle reaches me just before I close the door and admire the pristine tan interior.
The second he slides into the driver’s seat, I ask, “What kind of car is this?”
“It’s an Aston Martin Valour. ”
I fasten my seatbelt. “How much did it cost?”
Looking over at me, he lifts a brow. “I don’t think you want to know.”
“Not if it’ll send me back into a coma,” I joke, laughing, but he doesn’t. Instead, he frowns as he turns the key, making the car thrum to life. Spotting the bruises on his right hand, my stomach grows queasy, and I have to look away from the sight. “Why’d you get this one?”
He blinks away whatever thoughts had swarmed his mind and offers me a small smirk. “For the adrenaline,” he replies with a shrug. “But I’ll probably sell it when I start a family.”
I look over at him, intrigued. “That’s important to you, isn’t it?” I ask as he maneuvers through the parking garage.
“What?”
“Having a family.”
There’s a beat of silence between us and I wonder if he’s only now realizing exactly what he said.
“It is,” he states, stopping at the booth to scan his resident card.
The barrier arm lifts, and he pulls out onto the traffic-filled street with so much finesse that my mouth goes dry.
He surprises me by adding, “I don’t know if it’s how I grew up, but the idea of having another person who shares the same blood as I do in the world would be pretty cool.
Maybe even fill a missing piece I have inside of myself. ”
It’s the way he says the last sentence that nearly breaks my heart. “I get that,” I tell him softly.
He tosses me a hopeful look. “You do?”
I nod. “Yeah, of course. I hope you get that someday.”
I watch his throat bob with a swallow. “Thank you.” He clears the croak in his voice before asking, “What about you, then?”
“Two boys and a girl,” I answer. His head turns so fast that I laugh. “What?”
“Nothing it’s just. . .” He shakes his head, focusing back on the road. “You’ve thought about it.”
“Of course I have. I’d love to have mini versions of me and the man I love one day.”
The corner of his mouth lifts and I can tell he likes that idea too.
We ride in comfortable silence after that, listening to the radio as he veers through traffic.
My eyes keep wandering to his hands. The way they look and how they move is doing something to me.
The veins pop in the perfect places like a sculpted work of art.
I want those hands on my skin—wrapped around my—
“We’re here,” he states, pulling into a private parking spot reserved for the owner of the building.
“Stay there, ma cerise.” He shuts off the engine and gets out.
Confused and trying to catch my breath, I watch him round the car.
Then he opens my door and holds out his hand for me to grab.
I stare at it for a moment before looking up to find his grin.
“Is my offered assistance offending you?”
I blink. “No.” You’ve just turned my brain to mush is all.
Clearing my throat, I slip my hand into his, expecting a simple step up.
Instead, he braces a foot against the car, wraps his other arm around my waist, and lifts me effortlessly into the air.
I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s setting me down gently on the sidewalk.
When I look down to hide the blush staining my cheeks, I see the large puddle he was helping me avoid.
“All good?” he asks, closing the door behind me.
I nod, avoiding his eyes. “Mhm.” My eyes wander to the sign that reads The Prince Gallery , and my thoughts drift to The Sullied Prince , his hauntingly beautiful painting. It tugs at my heartstrings, causing irrational thoughts to enter my mind like lunging myself at Julian and never letting go.
The gallery itself is stunning. It’s a corner four-story building with white brick and long, tinted windows that seem designed to protect the artwork. Even now I see people’s gazes being drawn toward it.
“Wow,” I breathe. “You’re pretty legit, huh?”
His smile is both proud and humble. The looks he receives from women as we walk toward the gallery is. . .intense. Julian not only attracts attention, but his presence demands it. I find myself instinctively moving closer.
Inside, a ripple of excitement flutters through me. The ceilings are high, and the walls are alive with paintings that immediately draw me in. They echo the pieces in his apartment—dark and daunting, but somehow inviting you to take a closer look.
Viewing benches are positioned in front of a few featured works, ready for the event in a few days where all proceeds will go to his foundation.
“This is amazing, Julian. Seriously, it’s.
. .” I trail off, walking deeper into the room with my head tilted back to find art on the ceiling, too.
“Incredible.” His approaching footsteps have me looking over at him and I find his eyes watching me closely with a certain softness in them. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“It’s not depressing you?” he teases.
I roll my eyes. “You’ll never let that go, will you?”
He grins. “Not a chance.”
“They’re kind of comforting actually,” I admit.
“I could stare at your paintings all day and forget the rest of the world exists.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I wonder if that’s because it’s what they are to him.
The reason he paints the darkness inside of him is because it’s what comforts him.
It’s a place to lose himself in the present so his past doesn’t steal him away.
It makes sense why he disappears sometimes; he’s running from things I’ll never understand, not in the ways only a person can when they’ve experienced it. My gut always tells me this is where he goes when I can’t reach him.
He shows me around the gallery, walking me through his different works. There are so many that it’s impossible to count them. I can’t fathom the hours he’s poured into them.
Finally, we reach the fourth floor, his studio.
It’s a bright, open space with paint-stained oak floors, littered with vibrant green plants.
It smells of paint mixed with citrus, making it feel cozy and inviting.
In-progress canvases lean against the walls, a few resting on easels.
A large station shows his overwhelming amount of paintbrushes and chalk.
I assume there’s more hidden in the metal drawers and cabinets.
It doesn’t look at all like the space an artist would create such dark things.
“I’ve never let anyone up here before.” His deep voice cuts through the air.
That surprises me. Glancing over at him with raised brows, I ask, “Really?”
He dips his chin. “Not a soul.”
Except for mine . “So, what you’re saying is. . .I’m special?” I ask, grinning in delight.
The glint in his eyes is calculated as he inches closer to me with quiet confidence. “I think you’re very special, Andrea.”
I like the way he says that way too much. “You do?” I breathe.
“Yeah, I do.” He slowly reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers softly grazing my skin. When I lean into his touch, the muscle in his jaw feathers as he pulls his hand back. “It’s hard for me to let people in.”
I blink at the intense loathing I feel over his distance. “That’s understandable, Julian,” I say reassuringly, thinking back to the little details I do know about his past.
He shakes his head as if frustrated with this fact.
“I always feel myself wanting to, but there’s a blockage in my heart that keeps me in and everyone else out.
I can’t tear it down.” He blows out a breath, scanning my face with his eyes.
“I tend to fall into things alone. Sometimes I care so deeply that I let myself become a crutch because there’s a part of me that’s addicted to being something to someone in any way or form.
I don’t know much about what it feels like to matter to someone deep in their core. ”
The backs of my eyes burn, and I blink rapidly to stop the tears from forming. “Julian—”
“What happened to you at Elite?” he starts, cutting me off.
His eyes are withdrawn but still focused solely on me.
I nod, encouraging him to continue. “The not being in control of your body or your mind. I’ve been there before, and I haven’t thought of that part of my life in a long, long time.
Seeing you like that brought back a lot of things I suppressed.
I want you to—no I need you to understand why I acted the way I did. ”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” I say quickly, reaching out to touch his arm. He’s worried I’ll fear him now that I’ve seen his anger. My heart is sinking and cracking wide open.
He stares at me—conflict brewing in his features. “It’s hard for me to let people in,” he repeats like this is important.
I rub his arm soothingly. “It’s okay. ”