We settled in the back seat of our car, the driver waiting for us when we arrived. Julian pulls me into his side and murmurs something into my hair, too quiet for me to catch, but I feel it more than I hear it. The vibration of his voice. The familiarity of it.
And instead of keeping the words locked safely inside my heart, instead of waiting for the right moment that might never come…
I say it in almost a dream-like state. My eyes are closed, my breath even and heavy, his scent surrounds me and it comes out in a sigh...
“I love you, Julian.”
Sleep claims me almost immediately, heavy and warm, pulling me under before I can second-guess myself. I don’t wake when we arrive at the penthouse. I don’t wake when he carries me inside. I don’t wake when he tucks me into bed.
I wake early the next morning. I smile before I even open my eyes, feeling this perfect moment of peace. I open my eyes and can tell by the lights that it's still early.
My mind flickers through the beautiful moments of the weekend before my body registers what is wrong. I know before I roll over that the bed is empty.
But I still check, I roll over and stare at the empty space beside, my hand reaches out without permission, and the sheets beside me are cold.
And as memory slides back into place, clear and sharp, I remember everything.
The way he held me, the way we made love and then on the car ride home... the way his body went impossibly still when I saidthosewords.
Hope doesn’t shatter all at once.
Sometimes it cracks so softly you don’t hear it until the silence feels wrong.
And for the first time in six months, I feel the ground beneath me shift.
Just a little.
But I hold on to the hope, because he told me he would be busy; he warned me before the trip, before the words slipped past my lips. I hold on to hope and the fact that I could be reading too much into this... that everything is going to be ok.
Chapter 42 - Lucy
A week of distance feels longer than it should.
Not dramatic distance. Not slammed doors or raised voices or cruel words. Just… absence. The kind that makes you question your own memory. The kind that leaves you replaying moments over and over, searching for where you mis stepped.
Julian leaves before I wake, and he comes home late into the night after I’m asleep. I don’t hear his voice anymore. I don’t get his check-ins. I don’t get his quietHome latetexts or theDid you eat?messages that used to arrive right when I needed them most.
I get Claire.
Julian is tied up today,Mrs. North.
He asked me to let you know he’ll be working late again.
Everything is under control.
The whiplash is physical.
Because everything was so good. Because Paris happened. Because I believed, really believed, that we’d crossed some invisible line together.
And then… cold. Back to thebeforeJulian. Back to the man who didn’t touch me unless it was required. Back to the distance that felt intentional instead of protective.
I haven’t seen him in a week.
Not since I fell asleep on that car ride home and made the mistake of letting the truth slip out of my mouth.
I love you.
Did it make it too real?
