Our apartment. Tonight. 8 PM.
I'll be there.
I left work at 6 PM. Went home. Cleaned everything even though it was already clean. Made dinner—pasta with the sauce Julian liked. Set the table. Changed clothes three times before settling on jeans and a dark sweater. Casual. Approachable. Not the armor I usually wore.
At 7:45 I was pacing. Rehearsing what I'd say. How I'd apologize. How I'd make this right.
At 7:58 there was a knock on the door.
I opened it. Julian stood there in jeans and a hoodie. He looked tired. Hurt. Beautiful.
"Hi," he said quietly.
"Hi. Come in."
He stepped inside. We stood in the entryway for a moment. The distance between us felt massive even though it was only a few feet.
"I made dinner," I said. "Your favorite pasta. If you're hungry."
"Maybe later. Can we just—can we talk first?"
"Yes. Of course. Living room?"
We moved to the couch. Sat on opposite ends. The space between us hurt.
"I'm sorry," I said before he could speak. "For everything. For the things I said. For trying to control you. For comparing your love to recklessness. For not saying I love you back when you deserved to hear it. For all of it."
Julian looked at me. Waited. Like he knew there was more.
"I need you to understand why I reacted that way. Not as an excuse. Just—so you know where it was coming from." I took a breath. "When my stepfather hurt my sister and I retaliated, my family covered it up and sent me away. I spent years believing the only way to protect people was to control everything around them. To see threats before they materialized. To eliminate vulnerabilities before they could be exploited."
I leaned forward. Hands clasped between my knees. Not looking at him because this was hard enough without seeing his reaction.
"When you wrote those articles and exposed yourself, it triggered every fear I have about losing people I love. My sister was hurt because I didn't control her environment well enough. Didn't see the threat until it was too late. And with you—God, Julian, the thought of something happening to you because I didn't protect you properly, because I let you take risks I couldn't control—it made me panic."
"Elio—"
"Let me finish. Please." I finally looked at him. "You were right. What I did wasn't protection. It was control. I treated you like you couldn't make your own decisions. Like your safety was more important than your agency."
Julian's eyes were bright. Emotional. But he didn't interrupt.
"You're not fragile. You've never been fragile. You've survived things that would've broken most people. You destroyed your father's empire. Influenced national mediacoverage. Took risks that actually helped us when I was too scared to let you try. You're brave and brilliant and capable of making your own choices about your safety and your life."
I moved closer. Not touching yet. Just closing the distance.
"I should have trusted you. Should have talked to you about the risks instead of trying to shut you down completely. Should have treated you like the partner you've been instead of something that needed protecting." My voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you. I should have said it back immediately. Should have said it every day since. I love you and I'm terrified of losing you and I let that fear hurt you. I'm sorry."
Julian was quiet for a long moment. Then he moved closer. Until we were sitting right next to each other.
"Thank you for that. For the specific apology. For understanding what you did wrong." His voice was soft but firm. "I understand you were scared. I get that. Fear makes us do stupid things. But Elio—I need you to understand something too."
"Okay."
"I spent twenty-one years being controlled by my father. Being told what to do, who to be, who to marry. My entire life was about what other people needed from me. My safety, my happiness, my choices—none of it mattered as much as maintaining the family image and alliances." He turned to face me fully. "When I ran, when I came here, it was the first time I got to make real choices about my life. And yes, some of those choices were risky. But they were mine. That matters to me more than you might understand."
"I do understand—"
"Let me finish," he said gently. "When you tried to shut down my choices, even for good reasons, it felt like being back in that cage. Like losing the freedom I'd fought so hard for. That's why I compared you to my father. Not because you're like him—you'renot. You care about me in ways he never did. But the feeling of being controlled was the same."
