Chapter 16 #4
“What haven't you figured out?”
Sophie considers the question.
“Where the responsibility ends and you begin.”
The answer catches me more cleanly than I expect. I set my glass down.
“I don't know that there's always been a difference.”
“That sounds lonely.”
I look at her. She doesn't soften the word or apologize for it.
“Sometimes,” I say.
Sophie rests her forearms lightly against the edge of the table.
“Does anyone ever get close enough to know which version of you they're dealing with?”
“Which versions are those?”
“Julian Blackwell and Julian.”
I give a quiet laugh, though there isn't much humor behind it.
“Well you tell me. You think they're different people?”
“I think people probably treat them like they are,” she quips.
That lands closer to the truth.
I look toward the lake, where the last traces of daylight are disappearing behind the mountains.
“There are people who become interested before I've said enough for them to know anything about me,” I tell her.
“Sometimes it's the company. Sometimes it's the name. Sometimes it's what they imagine being attached to either one might look like.”
Sophie’s gaze stays on me.
“And you can tell?”
“Usually.”
“What do you do?”
“Nothing.”
“That sounds healthy.”
I smile despite myself.
“I don't invest much in something once I know what it is.”
Her expression grows more thoughtful.
“That must make it hard to believe someone when they actually care about you.”
Her words hit heavy, and I can't tell at the moment if it’s meant as a subliminal message from her. The ease I felt when I entered the room disappears beneath something more exposed.
“Probably.”
Sophie doesn't look away.
“That's a terrible answer.”
“It's the accurate one.”
She gives me a small, almost sad smile.
“I suppose that's better.”
The plates are cleared while we continue to talk, leaving only our wine and the low candles between us.
I should change the subject. I should let the evening remain what it has been and deal with everything else tomorrow.
Instead, I look across the table at the woman who has somehow worked her way past every boundary I normally keep intact.
Tomorrow she goes back to her life, and I go back to mine. The assignment ends soon after that, and with it disappears every convenient reason I have had to call her, see her, change flights for her, clear afternoons for her, or bring her halfway across Italy. I don't like the thought.
Sophie turns her wineglass slowly between her fingers.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You.”
Her hand stills. The answer costs me enough that I feel the instinct to retreat from it almost immediately.
I don't.
“Sophie, I don't want the article to be the end of this.”
She looks at me without speaking. I lean back slightly, searching for a way to say the rest without turning it into something polished enough to hide behind.
“I know you're in Philadelphia,” I continue.
“You have your career. I have no idea what the next few weeks are going to look like for me, especially after whatever is waiting in New York.” I pause, then force myself to keep going.
“But I don't want to return home and pretend whatever this is only existed because you were assigned to write about me.”
I pause.
“I don’t want it to seem like every touch or every kiss, or act that was done this past month was just for amusement.”
Her eyes soften.
“Julian—”
“I don't know what you're expecting from me,” I say.
“Or whether you want anything from me once the work is finished. I just know I want more than an article and a goodbye.”
Sophie looks down briefly, and that small movement creates more uncertainty in me than any boardroom ever has. When she raises her eyes again, there is nothing guarded in them.
“I don't want that either,” she says.
I hold her gaze. “You're sure?”
“Yes.”
Something inside me releases.
Sophie smiles faintly.
“You look surprised.”
“I wasn't sure what you were going to say.”
“That's because you're used to knowing the answer before you ask the question.”
“Usually.”
“Well, you don't get to know everything in advance.”
“I've noticed that about you.”
Her smile deepens. I reach across the table and turn my hand palm up between us. Sophie looks down at it, then places her hand in mine without hesitation.
My fingers close around hers. I stand, still holding her hand, and pull her gently to her feet. She comes around the edge of the table, and the moment she reaches me, I slide an arm around her waist and lift her.
Sophie laughs softly and loops her arms around my neck.
“Julian.”
“I've got you.”
Her eyes meet mine, warm from the wine and everything we've finally said. I carry her out of the dining room.
Two members of the staff are still clearing the adjoining room when we pass. One becomes suddenly fascinated by a tray of wine glasses. The other looks away with enough professionalism that Sophie buries her face against my shoulder to hide her laughter.
I tighten my arm around her and keep walking toward the stairs. Whatever is waiting for me in New York can have me tomorrow.
Tonight, I'm all hers.