Julian’s parents live in a sprawling mansion in Paris’s 16th arrondissement. It’s stunning and massive, but what I find the most impressive about it is that they somehow found a way to make it a cozy home.
Standing in the middle of the large living area, I spy a display of framed photos on an armoire in the corner. While Julian is distracted, talking to a couple I don’t know, I sneak away and look at each one. Grinning to myself, I pick up a photo of young Julian with light brown hair and tiny round glasses on his face. His dad is holding him in one arm, smiling up at him with love while Julian laughs.
“What are you doing?” he mutters from behind me.
“You wear glasses?” I ask. “I want to see you in glasses.”
He takes the photo from my hand and sets it back down on the mantel. “I got corrective surgery.”
“Bummer,” I reply with a smirk. “Do you bleach your hair?”
He runs his fingers through it self-consciously. “Yeah, why?”
Without answering, I stand upright. Biting his bottom lip, he keeps himself from smiling, but I can’t take my eyes off him. Suddenly, I remember that ice prince I met in an elevator one night who seemed like the last man on earth I’d ever fall for, and now look at us. He is my drug of choice.
“I’m obsessed with you, you know.”
He rolls his eyes and glances around to see if anyone can hear us, which they can’t.
“I’ve noticed,” he grumbles, but it’s fucking adorable how much he tries to look unaffected by my compliments. But then his eyes carefully track upward until they meet mine. With a sigh, he leans into me, our bodies flush as he whispers, “I’m obsessed with you too.”
My grin nearly splits my face in two. “I noticed. Jesus, Julian, get a hold of yourself. It’s so obvious.”
He pokes me harshly in the chest, dimples piercing his cheeks as I lean in and kiss him quickly on the mouth. But instead ofpulling away in frustration, he leans back into me and takes my mouth for a longer, still chaste kiss.
As we pull away, I ask, “Have you heard from Freya?”
“No,” he replies, pulling down his cuffs and immediately adopting his usual mask. “Amelia said everything was going well and that we shouldn’t bother her.”
“That’s no fun,” I complain.
“Julian, sweetie,” a beautiful older woman says in a motherly voice as she approaches him.
He turns toward her, and I watch the moment his cold, emotionless exterior melts away again to reveal a warm, loving man.
“Mom,” he replies before wrapping his arms around her in an embrace. “Happy anniversary. Where’s Dad?”
“Oh, who knows? He was showing Matis something he wants to add to the garden.” As the woman’s eyes find me standing here, they widen with interest. “And who’s this?” she asks as she puts out a hand.
I can see the moment Julian’s spine stiffens. “This is…Archer Wilde. Archer, this is my mom.”
A little part of me withers inside at that introduction. Just Archer. Not friend. Not boyfriend. Just Archer.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” I say as I shake the woman’s hand.
“You too, Archer,” she replies, a touch of disappointment on her face as well. “Thank you for com?—”
“My boyfriend,” Julian blurts out.
His mom and I both freeze and stare at him as he shuffles his feet.
“Mom, this is myboyfriend, Archer Wilde. Archer, this is my mom.”
I do my best not to laugh because I don’t want him embarrassed by this little slipup. Instead, I turn to his mother with a warm smile. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
She appears downright giddy with this development. Clasping her hands in front of her chest, she looks at me with renewedinterest, as if she wants to scream and announce my presence to the rest of the party.
“Mom…” Julian says in warning as he notices her stifled excitement. “Don’t freak out.”
