Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Sophie
The Alps appear first as a pale, jagged line beneath the wing, snow catching the early light like something almost unreal.
I watch them as the plane begins its descent into Milan, the clouds thinning in slow layers until the landscape sharpens into fields, roads, and the faint geometry of a waking city.
I should be reviewing notes for the day ahead, but instead I find myself tracking the horizon until the wheels finally touch down with a soft, controlled jolt.
Once I make my way through customs and the arrivals terminal, I expect to see a chauffeur with a sign with my name on it. What I do not expect is Julian standing just beyond the secured exit with one hand in the pocket of his trousers and the Blackwell car waiting several yards behind him.
For half a second, I slow. He is dressed simply by his standards, dark trousers and an open-collar shirt beneath a lightweight jacket, but the effect is somehow worse than a suit.
His hair is pushed back neatly, silver catching at the temples in the morning light, and the sight of him pulls a warm, involuntary reaction through my body before I can steady it.
Julian’s eyes find mine and stay there.
“Hi,” I say when I reach him.
“Hi.”
I glance toward the waiting car.
“I thought the driver was picking me up?”
“He is.”
I look back at him.
Julian’s mouth shifts slightly. “I came with him.”
That answer does very little to settle me.
“You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”
“I know.”
There is nothing more attached to it. No explanation, no attempt to make the gesture smaller than it is. Before I can respond, Julian reaches for the handle of my suitcase.
“I can take that,” I tell him.
“So can I.”
“Apparently.”
A faint smile touches his mouth as he hands the luggage to the chauffeur, who places it in the trunk before opening the rear door for us.
Julian waits for me to get in first. The back seat is spacious enough that we could sit comfortably apart, but when he slides in beside me, his knee comes within inches of mine.
The door closes, sealing us into the quiet leather interior while the chauffeur pulls away from the terminal.
“How was the flight?” Julian asks.
“Long, but fine.”
“Did you sleep?”
“A little.”
“That means no.”
“It means I watched two terrible movies and eventually gave up.”
He smiles. “Productive.”
“Extremely.”
The conversation fades naturally, and I reach for my phone before the silence has time to become something else. There are messages from Grace, two from my team, and one from Maya asking whether I landed safely. I answer them while the outskirts of Milan begin to move past the window.
Every few minutes, I feel Julian’s presence beside me more than I see it. The clean trace of his cologne reaches me whenever he shifts. His forearm rests along the seat between us, close enough that I am conscious of the space separating our hands. I keep my attention on the city beyond the glass.
“You’ve been here before?” Julian asks.
“Once. Years ago.”
“For work?”
“Mostly.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“It was a conference. I escaped for one afternoon.”
“Then you haven’t really seen Milan.”
I glance at him. “Are you volunteering as a tour guide?”
His eyes hold mine for a beat.
“If the schedule allows.”
The answer lands more softly than I expect. I look back toward the window. Julian shifts slightly beside me.
“You have a brief meeting at the office later this afternoon. Mostly introductions. Dinner afterward with Matteo, Alessandra, and a few of the regional team.”
“I saw the itinerary.”
“I assumed you did.”
“I do read the emails Daniel sends me.”
“I’ve noticed.”
His tone is dry enough to make me smile.
By the time we reach the city center, the morning has sharpened into bright sun against stone facades and narrow streets.
The hotel rises ahead of us behind a row of trees, elegant and understated, exactly the kind of place Blackwell would use without ever needing to advertise why.
The chauffeur stops beneath the awning. Julian gets out first, then waits while the driver retrieves my suitcase.
“The front desk has everything,” he tells me.
“Your suite is ready.”
“You’ve already checked?”
“Yes. I’m staying at this hotel as well. But I have to head back to the office for meetings.”
Naturally.
I glance toward the entrance.
“What time do I need to be downstairs?”
“The car will be here for you at 4:00.”
“All right.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. Julian looks at me with the same focused stillness he has had since I stepped through the terminal, and my pulse gives one irritating jump in response.
“I’ll see you later,” he says.
“You will.”
I turn before I can read anything else into the moment and follow the bellman inside, as I walk to the front desk to check in and receive my room keys.
Upon entrance, my suite is lavish but quiet, cool, and large enough to make unpacking feel like moving in.
The chandeliers and curtains have just the right touch of elegance.
The fully equipped kitchen along with the dining area and living room make it hard to believe this is just a hotel.
I walk back to the bedroom, which is adorned with art work and a massive king size bed—which makes me reconsider this entire evening, as I am nearly exhausted.
I barely have time to unzip my suitcase before my phone lights up with Maya’s name.
I hesitate for a second, as I haven’t told Maya about everything that happened in Boston.
The main reason being is that she would not let me forget about it, if I did.
Since Julian has been rather distant and cold, a part of me believes that it was just a night of intense passion, and we both can forget about the whole thing once this assignment comes to an end.
At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
I reach for the phone and I answer on video as I prop the phone against the dresser.
“You alive?” Maya asks.
“Barely.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
“I’ve been awake for approximately a year.”
She laughs.
“Did Blackwell send the royal carriage?”
I pause as I pull a blouse from my suitcase.
“The car was there.”
Maya studies my face through the screen.
“That wasn’t my question,” she says.
I pause again.
“Julian came with it.”
Her eyebrows rise.
“Julian came with the chauffeur?”
“Yes.”
“Personally?”
“Yes, Maya.”
She sits back. “Interesting.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything,” she says with her inquisitive grin.
“You were about to.”
“I was thinking very loudly.”
I shake my head and hang the blouse in the wardrobe.
“He said he decided to come, as he had some time in between meetings.”
“And you believe that?”
“I believe he was physically at the airport.”
Maya laughs.
“I have to get ready,” I tell her.
“Fine. Call me later.”
“If I survive.”
“You’ll survive,” she says.
If only she knew. I end the call before she can turn the conversation into an interrogation.
I stare at the phone for a few more seconds, as I turn to rush to the bathroom to shower and redo my makeup.
By 4:00, I am downstairs, and within fifteen minutes, I arrive at the location.
The Milan headquarters occupies several upper floors of a restored building near the business district, modern inside without losing the old stone bones of the structure.
Matteo Ricci meets me near reception, warm and polished, while Alessandra Conti joins us moments later with a tablet tucked beneath one arm.
“So you’re Sophie,” Alessandra says.
“I am.”
“We’ve heard about you.”
I glance toward Julian, who is standing several feet away speaking with another executive.
“That sounds ominous.”
Matteo smiles. “Only from people who dislike difficult questions.”
“Then I’ll try not to disappoint.”
The introductions move quickly, exactly as promised. I meet two regional directors, an engineering lead, and a finance executive whose name I write down immediately because there is no chance I will remember everyone without notes.
Julian stays nearby without hovering obviously enough to be called hovering.
Almost.
When Matteo walks me through the European expansion timeline, Julian is within earshot speaking to Alessandra.
When one of the regional directors pulls me aside to explain a restructuring decision, I glance up and find Julian looking in our direction.
He looks away only after I catch him. I make a note of it and say nothing.
Dinner begins early at a private room not far from the office.
It remains entirely professional, but the atmosphere is looser than the introductions upstairs.
Matteo tells a story about the first Blackwell office in Milan, Alessandra corrects half of his details, and Julian sits across from me with one hand around his wineglass.
I am listening to Matteo when I feel Julian’s attention. I look up. His eyes are already on me. The glance lasts only a second before Alessandra asks me a question about American coverage of European technology firms. I turn toward her and answer, but the awareness remains.
Later, when the wine is poured again, Julian leans slightly toward me.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“The wine?”
“Yes.”
I take another sip. “I do.”
“I thought you might.”
Something about the certainty in his voice makes me look at him.
“You picked it?”
He lifts one shoulder. “I approved it.”
“That sounds suspiciously specific.”
“It’s wine, Sophie.”
His mouth curves as he says it. I turn back toward the table before he can see how much that small exchange affects me.
The rest of the evening passes quickly. By the time we return to the hotel, I am tired enough to welcome the quiet of the elevator. Julian steps inside with me, and once again as the door closes, the tension is thick enough to make my knees weaken.
“You’re at 9:00 tomorrow,” he says, breaking the silence.
“I know.”
He turns to me as he speaks again.
“Matteo first, then Alessandra. And then the operations interviews.”
“Yes,” I say.
The elevator stops at my floor. I step out, then turn back toward him.
“Good night.”