Chapter 13 #3
A moment later, Matteo appears at the end of the corridor to collect Julian for the next meeting, and the day moves forward again. Still, as I return to my notes, the image stays with me, and the look on his face before he remembered anyone else was watching.
Dinner runs later than planned, but the conversation stays easy enough that I barely notice the time. I am seated between Carlo and Alessandra, with Matteo across from us and Julian farther down the table beside Giulia and two regional executives I met earlier in the day.
Julian is quieter than he was at lunch. Every few minutes, I catch him looking down at his phone, reading something, typing a short response, then setting it beside his plate before picking it up again.
The change is subtle, but I have watched him closely enough over the last few weeks to recognize when his attention is divided.
Carlo turns toward me as the second course is cleared.
“So,” he says, “I hope they’re giving you at least a little time to enjoy Italy.”
“I think so,” I reply.
“I’m heading to the estate tomorrow.”
Carlo’s eyebrows rise. “The estate?”
I nod. He looks past me toward Julian.
“Full access, then.”
Julian lifts his gaze from his phone and looks directly at me before answering.
“Yes,” he says. “That’s the idea.”
Matteo gives a low laugh from across the table.
“Now I’m offended. We’ve been asking Julian to bring us back there for years.”
“You have offices,” Julian replies.
“We also have excellent taste.”
Alessandra smiles. “When was the last time you were there?”
“Last summer,” Julian says.
“For a few days.”
“Then perhaps you should make sure the place is still standing,” Carlo says.
Julian’s mouth shifts. “That crossed my mind.”
He looks toward me again.
“We should leave around noon tomorrow,” he says.
“All right.” I glance at him. “How long is the drive?”
That gets an immediate reaction from the table.
Carlo laughs first.
Alessandra smiles into her wine.
I look between them. “What?”
“You’re not driving,” Carlo says.
I turn toward Julian.
He looks entirely too calm.
“We’re taking the helicopter,” he says.
I stare at him for a second. “A helicopter.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never been in one.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“That sounds reassuring.”
“It’s quicker,” Julian says.
“The drive can take close to three hours depending on traffic. This gets us there much faster, and we can start the afternoon without losing half the day.”
I glance at Carlo.
“So everyone knew this except me.”
Carlo lifts his glass. “Welcome to Blackwell logistics.”
The table laughs, and I shake my head.
“Of course,” I say. “Why sit in traffic when you can just fly over it?”
Julian’s eyes stay on mine for a moment.
“Exactly.”
Conversation moves on, but the awareness of him never quite leaves me.
Even when he is speaking with Giulia or answering one of Matteo’s questions, I catch the occasional glance in my direction.
Once, when Carlo leans closer to show me something on his phone, I look up and find Julian watching us with that same unreadable stillness I have learned not to mistake for indifference.
By the time dinner ends, the room has thinned and several people are already making their way toward the entrance. I stand, gathering my bag and notebook before making the rounds to say goodbye.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” I tell Matteo as we shake hands.
“The pleasure was ours,” he replies.
“Try to enjoy the rest of the trip.”
Alessandra gives me a warm smile when I reach her.
“And be kind to us in print,” she says.
“I make no promises.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
Carlo takes my hand next.
“Do us proud,” he says.
“Or at least don’t make us sound boring.”
“I can probably manage one of those.”
He laughs.
Outside, the car is already waiting. Julian walks with me toward the entrance but stops just inside the doors.
“Be ready at 11:00 tomorrow,” he says.
“We’ll leave from here and head to the helipad.”
“I thought you said noon.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Again?”
His eyes meet mine.
“It happens.”
I adjust the strap of my bag.
“Are you coming back to the hotel?”
“No,” Julian says. “I have a few things to finish here.”
His phone is still in his hand.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“All right.”
There is a brief pause before he steps back.
“Good night, Sophie.”
“Good night.”
The dismissal is polite, but definite. I turn toward the waiting car before I can spend too much time wondering what happened on that phone earlier or why his mood shifted so quickly afterward.
The ride back to the hotel is quiet. By the time I reach my suite, Milan is glowing beyond the windows, all warm stone and scattered lights stretching between the rooftops.
For a few minutes, I stand there wishing I had seen more of it than conference rooms, offices, restaurants, and the back seat of a car.
Then I turn away and start packing. Most of my things are still organized from the flight, so it does not take long.
I fold the last dress into my suitcase, set tomorrow’s clothes aside, and check the messages waiting on my phone before opening my notebook one final time.
Grace has sent a reminder about the draft deadline.
I close the notebook, set the alarm, turn out the light, and let the room go quiet.