“Yes.” Juliette nodded. “Definitely.”
“Alright, then I’ll see what I can do to make sure Charity books her wedding with us.” Anne-Sophie smoothed her golden waves back from her face. “I suppose there’s only one question left.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you going to leave?” She inclined her head. “Or stay?”
And that really was the question, wasn’t it? Originally when she left Rodrigo in D.C., she’d come back to Mystic Cove as a last resort. Because she had nowhere else to go. But over the past couple of days, she hadn’t felt so strongly about leaving. Things had changed. She wasn’t counting down the days until she could finally escape again, instead she was looking forward to each new one because she was finally doing what she always wanted.
Of course, it helped tremendously that she actually enjoyed working with Brock. She loved designing and sketching roomlayouts, making colorways, and choosing decor. Plus, she’d reconnected with her sisters. The only issue remaining was what had been left unsaid between herself and her mother.
Oh. And whatever was going on with Brockton.
She told herself it was nothing. Just a lapse in judgment. A mistake. One she might accidentally make again.
“Jules?” Anne-Sophie’s voice drew her from her thoughts. “Are you going to stay?”
Juliette ran her teeth along her bottom lip. “Well, you left.”
“True, but I come back to visit.” She tapped her manicured nails along the side of her coffee cup. “Often.”
“I…” She couldn’t lie. But she didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know yet.”
“Okay. Well, that’s better than nothing.” Anne-Sophie nodded and pulled her designer wallet from her overly expensive purse. “Just promise me if you leave, it won’t be like last time.”
“I promise.” At least this was one Juliette could keep.
At some point, she would be forced to have a conversation with her mother. To be honest, she’d been dreading it, even though she knew the time was creeping up on her. Their relationship was a conundrum of expectations and hurt feelings. Gigi preferred full control of situations. She was analytical, precise, and knew exactly how to get her way without any objections. Men feared her, women respected her. She was ruthless when it came to demanding respect, and her gaze could slice a person’s ego in half. Her demeanor was cutthroat, and her praise, if warranted, was minuscule at best.
Despite that, Juliette still thought approaching her mother might be easier than having to face Brock again.
Brock, who knew her better than anyone. Brock, who went off to boot camp and never spoke to her again. Brock, whose touches and kisses made her feel like home. It was almost as though no time had passed at all, except that he’d becomeincreasingly talented—if his fingers were that impressive, she could only imagine how good his tongue would feel. And she wanted it. She wanted to find out, she wanted to share that side of herself again. Hell, she wantedhim. She wondered what he looked like beneath those rough jeans and layers of flannel and Henleys. Probably all hard, solid muscle. Maybe a few battle scars.
Trying to balance her delicate relationship with Gigi and her increasingly unexpected feelings for Brock was like walking along a tightrope. One slip, one accident, one mistake, and she’d fall. Sure, Juliette would have to mend things with her mother, and she would…eventually. But in the meantime, she was going to have to figure out a way to keep things as professional as possible with Brock, something that was going to be increasingly difficult since she couldn’t stop imagining the feel of his fingers between her thighs.
CHAPTER 18
Brock wasn’t expecting Juliette to still be in the guest bedroom when he woke up. But maybe a small, slim part of him had hoped to find her curled under the comforter, sound asleep in the bed, like she belonged there.
Which was why he knew when he saw the bedroom door cracked open, she was already gone. He peeked into the room to find the bed made, like she’d never been there at all. Her clothes were still sitting in the dryer, and his were missing. The image of Juliette creeping out of his house wearing nothing but a thermal and flannel pants made him grin.
There were some things he had to take care of this morning, but once he finished his errands, he had every intention of finding her so they could talk about what happened last night. If she wanted to act like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean anything, then he would let her. He knew she had just got out of a relationship. It was unlikely she’d want to get tangled up in something with him, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. It was already going to be absolute agony having to face her again, remembering the feel of her soft skin against his calloused palms. Those breathy little moans echoed in his mind, making it impossible to think clearly.
But he would have to maintain a boundary with her. Because once Juliette found out the real reason he left her all those years ago, there would be absolutely no reason for her to stay. She would do just as her mother said. She would leave him. She would break his heart.
Brock showered and dressed, then headed toward Yaya’s house. He sent a quick text to Anders, checking in on the standing of their current projects. Gigi’s apartment was complete, and all they had on the current schedule were a few basic renovations, and then their focus could be on getting the beach house ready for weddings.
On the drive to Yaya’s, he couldn’t focus on anything that didn’t involve Juliette. She was at the forefront of his mind. Last night replayed again and again in his mind like a movie with the controls set in slow motion. He’d memorized every inch of her. Every curve, every incline of her head, every tilt of her lips. And those eyes—the pale, silvery blue of them kept him frozen in place like an early winter’s frost.
I waited for you.
Her words echoed in his mind, and anger caused his muscles to bunch and tighten. His fists closed around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. She had waited for him for who knows how long, and he’d left her alone. He’d abandoned her. He was young and foolish and had absorbed every word Gigi said to him all those years ago.
You’ll end up just like your father, Brockton.
You simply aren’t good enough for Juliette.
His growing frustration only amplified when he realized his father was already at Yaya’s house. His sleek Mercedes took up most of the driveway, so Brock parked along the side of the road. The cloud of anger hung around him as he climbed the steps to his grandmother’s house, and his mood darkened when he walked in, looking for a fight.
