"He really exists," I said, perhaps too emphatically. "He really is coming. The driver will be back to drop him off once his meeting is finished."
"Of course, honey," Mom said, but I could see she was humoring me.
We moved to the back deck to set up for dinner, and I found myself doing the familiar dance of helping in my mother's kitchen. It was comforting and slightly suffocating in equal measure—the assumption that I forgot where everything went, the way my mother directed traffic with the efficiency of someone who'd been cooking for this family for three decades.
"Grab the serving spoons from the drawer by the sink," Mom instructed my father as she transferred a casserole to a serving dish.
As I reached into the cabinet above the counter, stretching to reach the higher shelf, my shirt rode up slightly. I heard my father's sharp intake of breath behind me.
"Vivienne, what's that bruise on your side?"
I looked down and realized he could see the purple mark on my hip from where I'd bumped into Julian's dresser. The concealer I'd used on my face hadn't extended to body bruises I'd forgotten about.
"I just bumped into something," I said quickly, pulling my shirt down. "Dresser corner, I think. You know how clumsy I can be."
But now both my parents were looking at me with the kind of careful attention that made my stomach clench. Mom had stopped stirring whatever she was cooking, and Dad had moved closer with the protective alertness I remembered from childhood.
"Two bruises?" Mom asked quietly. "Sweetheart, is everything alright?"
The implication hung in the air like smoke. I could see the worry in their eyes, the way they were trying to reconcile the confident daughter they'd raised with the woman standing in their kitchen with multiple injuries and a boyfriend who might not actually exist.
"It's fine," I said firmly. "I'm fine.Julian is wonderful, these are just accidents, and everything is perfectly normal."
But I could see they weren't convinced, and I felt the familiar weight of being the daughter who lived far away, whose life was largely mysterious to the people who loved her most.
The sound of a car in the driveway interrupted the tension, and I felt a rush of relief so intense it made me dizzy.
"That'll be Julian," I said, moving toward the front door with something approaching desperation.
Through the front window, I could see the same black sedan, and Julian emerging from the passenger seat looking polished and confident despite having spent the last hour on a business call. He was wearing dark jeans and a casual button-down that somehow managed to look both relaxed and expensive, and even from a distance, I could see why my mother had doubted his existence.
He was almost too good to be true.
"Mom, Dad," I called back toward the kitchen, "Julian's here."
I opened the front door just as Julian reached the porch steps, and the smile that crossed his face when he saw me was so genuine, so full of warmth and relief, that I felt my own tension ease.
"Hi," he said simply, reaching for my hand.
"Hi yourself," I replied, squeezing his gloved fingers. "How was the meeting?"
"Productive. Crisis averted." His eyes searched my face, checking the bruising, assessing my mood. "How are your parents handling... everything?"
"They're a little suspicious," I admitted quietly. "I think they're not entirely convinced you exist, and the bruises aren't helping."
Julian's jaw tightened. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
"It's nobody's fault," I said firmly. "And they're going to love you. Come on."
I led him through the house toward the back deck, where I could hear my parents finishing the dinner preparations and what sounded like whispers. Introducing Julian should have been exciting. Instead, I felt nervous in a way I hadn't since high school.
"Mom, Dad," I called as we stepped onto the deck. "I'd like you to meet Julian."
The silence that followed was deafening. I watched my parents' faces as they took in Julian—his easy confidence, his obvious quality, the way he immediately stepped forward with his gloved hand extended and a genuine smile.
"Mr. and Mrs. Ellis," Julian said warmly. "It's such a pleasure to meet you. Vivienne talks about you constantly."
My mother's mouth was slightly open. My father was staring like Julian might be a mirage that would disappear if he blinked.
