Page 125 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“Clive arranged the chauffeur for early afternoon. You have plenty of time.” Julian's hand moves slowly along my side.

“Have breakfast. Take your time getting ready. Walk around the grounds if you want.”

“You're giving me unsupervised access to the estate?”

“You've already been through the archives. The damage is done.”

I laugh softly. Then the silence returns. I know what neither of us is saying.

What happens when we leave here?

What happens when I go back to Philadelphia and he goes back to New York? What happens when my article is finished and there is no scheduled interview, no archive session, no flight itinerary giving us an excuse to be in the same place?

Last night made the answer feel simple. Morning makes me realize we never actually discussed the logistics of it. Still, I don't feel panic. There will be time.

We can talk when we're home. We can figure out what this looks like when neither of us is living inside this bubble of an assignment or a villa overlooking Lake Como.

Julian watches me for a moment.

“You're thinking too hard.”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

“I wasn't.”

“You always are.”

He gives me a look that almost makes me smile.

I run my fingers lightly across his chest.

“We'll talk when we're back?” I ask.

It is deliberately vague.

Julian understands anyway.

“Yes.”

The answer comes without hesitation. Something inside me settles. He leans down and kisses me again, slower than before, and I close my eyes as his hand moves into my hair.

For another minute, I let myself stay there with him. No questions about what any of this becomes once we leave. Just Julian's mouth against mine and the quiet certainty that neither of us believes this morning is an ending.

By 8:45, I am showered, dressed, and making my way downstairs toward breakfast when I hear voices carrying through the main foyer.

Julian is standing near the entrance with Clive, already dressed for travel in dark jeans, a white shirt, and a navy jacket. His luggage sits beside the door while one of the staff members carries a smaller bag outside.

He looks up when he sees me. Something in his expression softens immediately.

“You’re early,” Julian says.

“I could say the same thing.”

“My helicopter is already waiting.”

The reminder lands harder now that I can see his bags. I walk toward him, stopping close enough to catch the clean scent of his aftershave beneath the familiar warmth of his skin. For a second, neither of us seems particularly interested in pretending this is an ordinary goodbye.

“I’ll call you when I land,” Julian says.