25. Natalie
CHAPTER 25
NATALIE
A s we pull into Julian’s driveway, the atmosphere inside the car remains tense. Despite our efforts to keep the conversation light, Julian’s decision regarding Aria's sleepovers seems to have cast a slight pall over the morning.
When the car comes to a stop, I turn to Julian and place my hand on his. He relaxes slightly at my touch, and I offer a small smile.
I decide to wait in the car while Julian passes Aria off to her sitter, then we will head to work together. After he unbuckles her and pulls her from her seat, Aria's tiny face appears at my open window, her eyes wide and hopeful.
“Can I have a hug, Natalie?” Aria asks, her sweet nature touching my heart.
"Of course," I reply, smiling as I turn and stretch my arms towards her, Julian holding her up to reach me. She wraps her little arms around me with surprising strength, and I hug her back, basking in her kindness.
As I release her, I catch the look of quiet gratitude in Julian's eyes, mixed with the ever-present tension that seems to shadow him these days. I try to offer a reassuring smile, wanting to ease his burden, even if just for a moment. Then the two of them disappear inside, leaving me alone in the car.
Resting my hands on my stomach, I take a deep, steadying breath. I thought today I might find the moment to tell Julian that I'm pregnant, but that doesn't seem like a strong possibility considering that his stress level has now been cranked up to eleven. The last thing I want is to add to his stress, to become a burden myself.
A baby is supposed to be a miracle, the love of two partners coming together to grow a tiny human being. A baby deserves to be loved, to be cherished, to be wanted. The uncertainty of Julian's reaction still hangs over me like a dark cloud, dampening any joy I might feel about carrying his child. When I do eventually tell Julian, I want him to be happy about it.
After a few minutes, Julian reappears from the house and approaches the car. Even from a distance I can see the weight on his shoulders, the tension in his muscles. Each day is growing more difficult as we slowly trudge through the surrounding chaos toward some kind of answer. It feels like everything is building up, dangerously close to reaching a breaking point.
When Julian slides back into the driver's seat, I reach for his hand again, holding it tightly in both of mine. "Everything's going to be okay, Julian. We'll handle whatever comes our way," I say, though the words sound slightly hollow even to my own ears.
He nods, managing a strained smile. "Thanks, Nat. I really appreciate you being here today."
Just as Julian turns the key, a sudden shriek from inside stops us dead in our tracks. My heart leaps into my throat as I throw open the door, dread flooding through me. Julian is already out of the car, rushing toward the house with impossible speed.
Instinct propels me forward, following closely behind him. We find Aria in the living room, standing on a chair, her face a mask of horror. A young woman—whom I assume to be the sitter —flies into the room at that moment, her face white with a panic that matches my own.
"There’s a spider! A big one!" Aria cries out, pointing to a corner of the room.
Relief washes over me, and I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my heart. It was just a spider. Aria is safe. Everything is okay.
Before the sitter can say anything, Julian rushes to Aria side, scooping her into his arms to comfort her. His own relief is palpable, yet I can see the incident has rattled him, the strain of his broader worries making even a small scare like this feel monumental.
"Okay. I’ll get rid of it," Julian says gently, setting her down and grabbing a piece of paper to usher the intruder out.
“Julian, I'm so sorry,” the young woman stammers, visibly shaking. “I was just in the bathroom, I didn’t mean to leave her alone or anything like that.” She continues to ramble apologies while Julian remains quiet, methodically taking care of the spider.
For a moment, I'm worried Julian might snap and take his frustrations out on the sitter, but he remains in control of himself. He soothes Aria tenderly, and eventually reassures the sitter that everything is okay, and she doesn't need to beat herself up over something as mundane as a spider.
As hard as he's trying to manage it, this incident has highlighted the stress under which Julian is operating daily. I can't imagine how difficult it must be for him to have to manage his fears and maintain his composure in front of Aria all the time. How long can he keep this up? How much can he handle before the stress becomes too much, and something worse than just an argument results?
Aria, now safely on the ground, rushes to me and clings to my leg, her earlier terror replaced by a residual shiver. I kneel down to her level, brushing a strand of curls from her face, and offer a comforting smile. "All safe now, Aria. No more spiders to worry about," I reassure her, my tone light, trying to make her smile.
Julian folds his arms, his face drawn tight with stress. Watching Aria so close to tears over a mere spider seems to have struck a deeper chord in him. "That's it," he declares, his voice firm with resolve but edged with fatigue. "I'm not letting Aria out of my sight until all this is resolved."
I straighten up, surprised by the intensity of his declaration. "That's a bit of an overreaction, don't you think? It was just a spider."
He turns to me, his eyes sharp, a hint of frustration flickering through them. "Sure, this time. But next time? It could be serious."
The sitter's gaze shifts back and forth between me and Julian. Sensing the rising tension, she gently pulls Aria from my leg and leads her out of the room.
“Julian,” I begin, “I can understand that you're worried about Aria, but?—"
“No, you don't understand, Natalie. You don’t have kids—you don't get it.”
His words sting, more than I expect. He’s right—I don’t have children, at least, not out in the open where everyone can see. The reminder of my pregnancy fuels me with indignation.
I feel a rush of anger at his assumption, at the ease with which he dismisses my capacity to care and worry. "Just because I don't have children doesn't mean I can't understand the instinct to protect someone," I snap back, my voice harsher than intended.
Julian's expression tightens, his jaw setting stubbornly. He looks like he wants to argue more, to defend his stance, but he holds back, perhaps recognizing the volatility of the moment.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to step back from the edge of this escalating argument. It's not the time or place, and certainly not with Aria here. Julian mirrors me, taking a breath of his own and softening slightly. He doesn't apologize or continue the argument, and neither do I.
Instead, we let the moment pass, a silent acknowledgment that some battles aren't worth fighting, not when they risk the peace of the child he’s striving to protect.
The living room is momentarily hushed, the air still uncomfortably thick. I don't want the morning to end like this. I'm determined to bridge the gap, to soften the harshness of our last exchange.
I step closer to Julian, closing the distance with a purposeful yet gentle demeanor. As I reach him, I pause, looking up into his eyes. There's a darkness in them, a deep burden he continues to carry alone. Without a word, I rise onto my toes and press my lips to his in a soft kiss. It's a silent plea for understanding, a gesture of empathy.
Pulling back slightly, I hold his gaze. "I know I can't understand exactly what you feel," I say softly, my voice firm yet tender, "but I know you're worried about Aria, and I get that. Not every disagreement has to escalate into a fight." My hands find his, squeezing them lightly to emphasize my sincerity.
He watches me, still guarded, though I can see his internal struggle as he tries to open up, to trust me. "I know. It's just that when it comes to Aria’s safety, I can't help but think the worst. I want to protect her from everything."
"I know you do," I respond, my voice soothing. "And you're doing an incredible job. You can't let this situation make you paranoid. It’s not good for you, and it’s not good for her either. She needs the freedom to be a child, even with all this going on."
Julian's expression softens, the lines of strain around his eyes relaxing as he considers my words. "You’re right," he admits, his voice a low murmur. "It's just hard, you know? To find that balance between keeping her safe and being overbearing."
My hands move up to cradle his face, drawing him down to my level. "You don't have to do everything on your own anymore," I whisper before pressing another kiss to his lips, this one deeper, lingering, charged with the tension of our unresolved emotions and the undeniable attraction that always simmers between us.
This time, Julian reciprocates, deepening the kiss and becoming more insistent. I feel his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer as his body responds to mine, each touch reigniting the familiar heat that dances along my skin whenever we're this close. I open my mouth to his, our breaths mingling, hearts pounding.
But as much as I want to lose myself in this moment, the reality of our situation—my pregnancy and the unresolved threats—presses urgently against my conscience. Reluctantly, I pull away, placing a hand on his chest to steady myself, both physically and emotionally.
Julian looks at me, his gaze holding mine. "Nat?" he breathes out, his voice husky.
I offer him a small, apologetic smile. "This is probably not the best time,” I remind him, fully aware that Aria could burst into the room at any moment.
Julian nods slowly, understanding yet visibly affected by the intensity of our connection and the necessity of restraint. "You're right. As always," he adds with a wry smile, his fingers lingering on my waist for a moment longer before he steps back.
We find Aria and her sitter in the kitchen, an array of colorful crayons and paper on the dining table. What a different life that would be, every problem solved with a cookie or a crayon, or strong hug from Daddy. Of course Julian is crazy with worry over Aria. I've only just begun getting to know her, and already she's stolen my heart.
One day—sooner than I had expected—I’m going to have my own little one to protect. I can only imagine how much stronger that instinct must be when it's your own child, a tiny piece of yourself that you've pledged to lead through the world.
Julian and I watch Aria spread her art supplies across the kitchen table, a kaleidoscope of colors and possibilities laid out before her. Aria, fully engrossed in her creative process, occasionally looks up to ask for our opinion on which shade of blue is the sky or which green makes the best grass. Each time, Julian bends down to her level, engaging with her questions seriously and thoughtfully, his deep voice gentle and encouraging.
It's these moments, watching Julian interact with Aria, that reinforce the depth of his character—his kindness, patience, and innate protectiveness. These qualities, which so strongly define him, resonate with me more profoundly in the calm after our earlier storm of emotions.
As Aria decides on a particularly vibrant shade of green, Julian catches my eye and gives me a small, knowing smile. We're going to be late for work.
“Okay, kiddo. It's time for Daddy and Natalie to go to work,” Julian announces, gently ruffling Aria's hair.
Aria looks up, her face momentarily clouded with disappointment. "Do you have to go, Natalie?" she asks, her voice tinged with the innocent sorrow of a child not wanting the fun to end.
"I do, sweetie," I reply, kneeling beside her. "There’s a lot of work waiting for me, but I promise to come back and see more of your beautiful drawings soon, okay?"
Aria nods, mollified for the moment, and then throws her arms around my neck. "Be careful, okay?" she says, echoing the concerns of our adult conversations in her own childlike way.
"I will, Aria," I tell her, squeezing her tightly before releasing her. I stand and turn to Julian, who has been watching our exchange. "Your daddy and I will keep each other safe," I assure Aria.
Julian presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before he stands as well and thanks the sitter for watching Aria today. We leave the house in silence, neither of us speaking until we're back in the privacy of Julian's car.
Before he starts the engine, Julian lowers his head, his voice soft. “Nat," he begins, his voice quivering slightly, "please, be really careful, okay? I’m worried about your safety too.”
His concern for me is beautifully raw. "Ever the protector," I say, stroking his hair. "But remember, don’t let it overwhelm you. We’re in this together."
He nods, his eyes reflecting a mix of resolve and affection as they lift to meet mine. "Together," he agrees.