Our host doesn’t move an inch. “You’re late.”
Julian’s gaze flicks to me, and his jaw tightens. “You look… comfortable,” he says. “Cozy.”
“I showered,” I reply, grabbing my wineglass with the hand attached to the arm Lucien’s holding so that he has to let go. “And put on clean clothes.”
Lucien reaches for his own glass and smiles as he leans back in the chair.
Julian sits, tension coiled under his skin like a wire pulled too tight. He looks different too. His hair is still damp, and his shirt is open at the throat. This version of him is less diplomat and more wealthy-playboy-on-vacation. I wonder if he’s wearing clothes from his to-go bag, or if his are also from our host’s supplies.
Lucien pours him wine.
Julian doesn’t touch it. “You were flirting,” he says flatly, and it’s not clear whether it is directed at me or our host.
Lucien raises a brow. “I was conversing.”
“With intent.”
“With interest,” Lucien corrects. “She’s smart and beautiful. You know that’s my type.”
Julian’s eyes cut to me and then back to Lucien. “You don’t have a type. Unless you count every woman between the ages of twenty and sixty.”
Lucien laughs and shrugs. “The heart wants what it wants.”
Julien glares at him and turns toward me. “Be careful, Iris. This man has no heart.”
I lift my chin. “I can take care of myself.”
Lucien watches over the rim of his glass, amusement glittering in his eyes.
Julien mutters something under his breath and then takes a sip of his wine. “What were you two discussing before I interrupted?”
“We discussed how the two of you know each other through work,” I say.
Julian stiffens. “Lucien?—”
“I told her nothing,” Lucien interrupts mildly. “Relax.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Lucien shrugs. “Iris asked questions. I deflected, but I couldn’t not answer. It’s rude to not answer, especially when the questions come from such a beautiful woman.”
Julian shoots him another hostile glare.
I look between them. “You’re both exhausting.”
Julian exhales sharply. “You shouldn’t be alone with him.”
Lucien laughs outright. “She’s far safer with me than with you.”
Julian’s hand tightens around the knife on the table.
“Enough,” I say. “I can’t sit here and pretend that this is a normal dinner with normal conversation. I’m scared and worried and way out of my depth. Unless you want me to have a major meltdown, you’ll stop this stupid word game and tell me something about yourselves.”
Lucien studies me. Julian looks away, a faint blush on his cheeks as if he’s ashamed.
Finally, Lucien says, “Julian and I have intersected professionally.”
“That’s still vague.”
