Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Sophie
Julian leads me through the quieter side of the house, past a series of rooms that feel less staged than the entrance hall and more lived in.
Family photographs interrupt the artwork along the walls, some formal and others candid enough that I have to slow down to take them in.
There is Adrian laughing with a glass in his hand at what looks like a summer lunch, Katherine standing beside a stone terrace with one arm around each of her sons, Richard much younger and noticeably less polished than the man I know from photographs now.
Julian notices where my attention lands.
“You’re looking at the evidence,” he says.
“Evidence of what?”
“That we were occasionally allowed to behave like normal people.”
I smile. “Occasionally?”
“Very.”
He stops beside an old black-and-white photograph of Richard standing with Julian’s grandfather in front of a much smaller property. The image is framed simply, without a plaque or any indication that it carries more significance than the others.
“My grandfather bought the original portion of the estate,” Julian says.
“My father expanded it later.”
“You sound like you’re describing an acquisition.”
“That’s probably because my family has always been better at acquiring things than discussing them.”
The answer pulls a laugh from me, but the humor doesn’t stay on his face for long.
We continue into a smaller library where several cabinets hold documents, ledgers, photographs, and correspondence spanning decades.
It is not the corporate archive I saw in New York.
These records are personal, the kind of material families keep because throwing it away feels too much like erasing something.
Julian opens one cabinet and removes a leather-bound ledger.
“This belonged to my grandfather,” he says.
“He kept records of everything. Property improvements, investments, repairs. Even household expenses.”
I turn several pages carefully. The handwriting is compact and exact.
“He was meticulous.”
“He was terrified of losing what he built.”
I look up.
Julian is studying the ledger rather than me.
“That fear seems to run in the family.”
His eyes lift.
There is no offense in his expression, only a quiet recognition that I have said something true.
“Probably,” he replies.
I close the ledger and rest my hand over the cover.
“Do you ever think about what all of this means beyond the company?”
“What do you mean?”
“The houses. The company. The name. Everything that gets handed down.” I glance around the room.
“Legacy.”
Julian leans one hip against the table.
“That sounds like Adrian.”
I smile faintly.
“Does he think about it more than you do?”
“He talks about it more.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I know.”
He looks toward the windows before answering.
“Adrian likes the idea that something should mean more because it survives us. He thinks about what people remember, how the family is perceived, what we leave behind.”
“And you don’t?”
“I think about whether what we leave behind is useful.”
The distinction feels exactly like him.
“Useful is a very engineering answer.”
“It’s the one I have.”
I study him for a moment.
“Is that enough?”
His expression shifts slightly.
“For what?”
“For you.”
The question changes the room.
Julian straightens from the table, and I can see him considering the answer before he gives it.
“I’ve never really thought about it that way.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You should.”
“You’re telling me you’ve never wondered whether this was the life you actually wanted?”
His eyes stay on mine.
There is no quick deflection this time.
No dry answer.
Nothing.
I wait.
Julian looks down at the ledger between us.
“I wanted the work,” he says finally.
“I knew that much.”
“The engineering.”
“Yes.”
“But not necessarily everything that came with it.”
“No.”
His answer is quiet.
I keep my voice just as low.
“Then did you choose the rest, or did you just become responsible for it?”
Julian’s jaw tightens slightly.
“I don’t know.”
The honesty of it catches me. I am accustomed to interviewing people who fill uncertainty with language. Julian does the opposite. When he does not know, he seems to distrust every word available to him.
“You’ve really never asked yourself that?” I say.
“I suppose I decided it was irrelevant.”
“Why?”
“Because the responsibility existed whether I wanted it or not.”
He looks at me then.
“And wanting something else wouldn’t have changed that.”
I feel something in my chest shift. There is no self-pity in him. If anything, that makes the admission heavier. I close the cabinet slowly.
“What would you have chosen?”
His mouth pulls faintly at one corner.
“You’ve asked me versions of that before.”
“I know. I’m asking something different now.”
Julian watches me. I do not reach for my notebook. He notices that too.
“What are you asking?” he says.
I take a breath.
“If there were no Blackwell board, no family expectation, no company that needed you, what would your life actually look like?”
For several seconds, Julian says nothing. Then he turns toward the doorway.
“Come outside.”
I follow him without hesitation.
We step onto a terrace that opens toward the gardens, and the afternoon has softened while we were inside. Sunlight lies across the gravel paths, warm against clipped hedges and white roses climbing one of the stone walls. Beyond the garden, the lake glitters between the trees.
Julian walks beside me at an easy pace.
“I’d still build things,” he says.
I glance toward him.
“That part wouldn’t change?”
“No.”
“What would?”
He takes several steps before answering.
“The scale.”
I wait.
“I don’t think I ever wanted thousands of people depending on every decision I make,” he says.
“Or to know that if I make the wrong one, it doesn’t stop with me.”
His hands slip into his pockets.
“I would’ve liked to finish something and simply be done with it.”
The admission sounds almost foreign coming from him.
“No board meeting afterward?”
“No.”
“No investors calling?”
“Definitely not.”
I smile. Julian looks toward me, and the tension around his mouth eases.
“Maybe a smaller company,” he continues.
“A lab. A few people I trust. Enough room to work without becoming the story.”
“That sounds suspiciously peaceful.”
“It does.”
“Would you know what to do with peaceful?”
His gaze sharpens with amusement.
“Probably not.”
I laugh softly.
We continue down the path until the garden opens near a low stone wall overlooking the lake. I rest my hand against it, letting the breeze move through my hair. Julian stands beside me. There is no recorder between us now, no notebook, no table. Just the two of us and the sound of water below.
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me?”
“If no one expected anything from you.”
“I thought we established that I’d still write.”
“You did.”
“So what are you asking?”
“What would you stop doing?”
That takes me off guard.
I look out toward the lake.
“I don’t know.”
“Now I don’t believe you.”
I glance at him.
He is smiling slightly.
I shake my head.
“I’d probably stop treating every assignment like someone is waiting for me to fail.”
Julian’s expression changes. I continue before I can reconsider.
“I know I’m good at what I do. I know that now. But there’s still some part of me that walks into every room prepared to prove I deserve to be there.”
“You don’t have to prove that to me.”
The words are simple. They hit harder than they should.
I look at him. The breeze catches a strand of hair and blows it across my face.
Before I can move it, Julian reaches out.
His fingers brush the strand away. The touch is gentle, almost absentminded, but his hand does not fall immediately.
His fingertips trace lightly along the side of my face before stopping near my jaw.
My breath catches as Julian’s eyes remain on mine. The space between us narrows without either of us stepping closer. For one suspended moment, I think he is going to kiss me. I am not sure whether I want him to or whether I already know I do.
His hand lowers slowly and I look away first.
“You’re very different here,” I say quietly.
Julian glances toward the lake.
“I know.”
“That wasn’t a criticism.”
“I know that too.”
I turn back toward him.
His expression has gone thoughtful again.
“You seem lighter,” I say.
“Not exactly relaxed, because I’m not convinced you know how to do that, but closer.”
He gives a low laugh.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was.”
We begin walking again, more slowly this time.
The conversation wanders away from the company entirely.
He tells me about summers when he and Adrian used to race boats badly enough that the estate staff eventually stopped allowing them near the dock without supervision.
I tell him about Emma convincing me to sneak out of our house at sixteen and then panicking so badly that we were home before anyone noticed.
The stories are small. That is what makes them intimate. Nothing is being extracted for an article. Nothing is being polished for publication. By the time we reach the far end of the garden, Julian has stopped checking the time altogether.
I glance toward him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You usually do.”
“Do you talk about any of this with Adrian?”
Julian considers it.
“Not like this.”
“Your parents?”
“No.”
“Steve?”
He shakes his head.
I slow my steps.
“Then who?”
Julian stops.
The look he gives me is so direct that the rest of the garden seems to fall away.
“No one.”
I search his face.
“Julian.”
He exhales quietly and looks out toward the lake before returning his eyes to mine.
“This is the first time I’ve said any of this out loud to another person.”
I don’t know what to say to that. For once, I don’t try.
***