“I checked,” he said, already ahead of me. “She is doing well, Emily said she would stay the weekend with her. Everything’s covered.”
I wanted to say a million things, but my emotions were bubbling beneath the surface, and I didn't trust my voice. So I smiled at him, jumping from my chair and practically throwing myself in his arms.
Paris in the spring feels like a dream someone else is having.
It’s warm but not heavy. The air carries the scent of flowers and baked bread and something old and romantic that feels woven into the streets themselves. Julian has been here before, many times, but he lets me lead because it’s my first time. He told me that this ismycity to discover.
We walk everywhere.
We eat too much.
We linger.
He watches me like I’m something he’s afraid might disappear if he looks away too long.
There are kisses pressed to my temple as we cross streets. His hand always finds mine. He pulls me into doorways just to steal a quiet moment, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm on my skin.
It’s not rushed.
It’s not desperate.
It’sus.
And somewhere between a late-night dinner overlooking the Seine and the way he traces slow patterns on my back in the dark, something inside me settles completely.
In the past six months, there have been so many moments where the words almost slipped out.
When he brings me coffee exactly the way I like it, without asking.
When he sits beside my mother for hours, listening more than speaking.
When he texts meHome late.and then still shows up earlier than I expected, jacket over his arm, eyes lighting up when he sees me waiting.
I never said it.
Not because I didn’t feel it.
Because I was afraid.
Afraid of scaring him, of naming something that felt fragile simply because it mattered so much. Julian has never said it either, but I feel it in everything he does. The way he shows up, chooses me, again and again, without spectacle.
The media loves us.
They call us balanced. Perfect. An unlikely match that somehow works.
Julian North: business, law, power.
Lucy North: softness, care, philanthropy.
Sometimes it feels like a story people want to believe in so badly that they don’t look too closely at how real it actually is.
And sometimes… I forgot there was ever a contract at all.
On the flight home, I’m exhausted in that deep, contented way that comes from happiness instead of stress. I curl into Julian’s side, my head tucked beneath his chin, his arm firm around me like an anchor.
The cabin lights are low. The quiet hum of the plane is steady and soothing. He reads while I stay safe and warm in his arms.
We land after midnight, and even though I know I will be exhausted tomorrow, I am so happy. So content in what he gave me from that trip, not the expense or the luxury, but his time and attention and even though it is unsaid, his love. I felt it in every moment.
