“I’m terrified,” I whispered into his mouth, succumbing to the demanding plea of his lips against mine. His tongue licked my soul from my bottom lip, taking with it every intangible molecule previously consumed by doubt.
“I know.” His hands secured my head as he murmured against me, holding my cheeks in place while our mouths continued to torture and devour. “I’ve never been more afraid of anything, except losing you.”
Already in heels, I lifted myself higher, standing against the balls of my feet to reach his face, my hands holding securely around the rough line of his chiseled jaw. His lips abandoned mine, leaving them cold and burning while his head nestled into my shoulder.
“I wish you knew,” his words were muffled against the searing skin of my neck, excitedly responding to the touch of his lips, “how much I love you, Aideen.” My head fell to the opposite shoulder, a natural response to Julian’s mouth against my neck, pleasurably tortured by the soft, wet marks he left against my skin. Love. I tightened my hold, pulling his head back from my neck so I could meet the fire behind his darkened eyes. Blue on blue, a burning fury of cobalt and red in reunion, exchanging only the mutual sensation of erratic, bound hearts.
“Will you take the key?” His hands fell to my shoulders, his fingers lifting to delicately hold my neck within his possession while his circling thumbs riddled my insides.
“No.”
“You’re so,” his lips pressed against my forehead, “stubborn. We’ll be late for our reservation.”
My knees were wobbly and weak within his hold. I couldn’t move. My body refused to pull itself from Julian as my hands wound through his cropped brown hair. It was softer than silk, with just enough length to hold within my tightened fists. Someday. I held myself against his chest, elevated by my heels, and felt his arms secure around my body in an embrace worth waiting a lifetime to receive. Our bodies aligned, pressed together in isolation of movement, suspended from reality for just one minute, beginning to adhere missing pieces of my puzzle. Our puzzle.
“Julian.” My words were muffled against the soft wool of his coat as I mindlessly glanced at the sidewalk. I felt his lips against the top of my hair, the softest pressure against my scalp.
“Yes?”
“You found me on the fifth day.” His hold stiffened. I wasn’t sure if he felt pain upon reflection or, if like me, the memory secured him, allowing him to hold onto the intangible and previously lost.
“I did.” His words fell against my hair, drifting beneath skin and bone where they finally sank into my heart. My broken, shattered, and now healed, heart. I don’t know how long we stood there, but I refused to move. So did he. I wanted to skip dinner, avoid eating at all if it kept me from him and from learning the truth of everything. But the funeral. Ah, yes. Reality. I had to attend my ex-best friend’s funeral because my ex-boyfriend-current-who-knew-what-he-was killed him.
“We should,” I stammered against my words, “…dinner…right?”
Julian pulled back, his expression the softest I had seen, consumed with sentiment and longing while his eyes poured into mine. “That’s a good place to start.”
Shifting his hold so his left arm wrapped around my shoulders, he moved the car door to allow for me to enter. The seats were plush, lined with a soft leather that screamed to be touched. I wiggled in, nestling into the seat behind David as Julian climbed in after me.
“Is this new?” I inquired, reaching for the seatbelt.
“The car? Yes.” Ugh, rich people. My head fell against the seat, rolling to look out the window while David pulled away from the curb. I was lost in the passing traffic when I felt Julian’s tentative fingers intertwine with mine against my thigh. When I looked up at him, startled by his soft touch, his affectionate possession, I noticed his gaze was just as lost in the passing world outside of the car.
“That’s a heavy sigh,” he whispered, his head turning toward mine. “Do you want to talk about it right now or pretend a little longer?” Not realizing the sound even left my lungs, I turned from the window once more, exchanging glances with the mystery at my side.
“How long is a little longer?”
Julian smiled, his mouth lifting in amusement. “Until morning.”
“Until morning then.” I nodded, returning my eyes to the fixtures of busy Boston streets. It was hard to consider eating a meal before attending a funeral. Elliott’s funeral.
“You know,” I whispered, swallowing some of my nerves, “I, um, I don’t need you to come in with me. To the funeral. It…I mean…the whole…you know…the whole who you really are thing…”
“You’re adorable.” Julian winked at me, his free hand combing some hair behind my ear. “The who I am thing has nothing to do with my affection for you. I have a gun, babby. If someone tries something because of who I am, I’ll spill their guts without question.”
“And start a war?” I eyed him suspiciously, hoping he would deny my comment.
“Over you? I already have.” His smile faded. “We’re here. I’m starving. I read some really great reviews of this place. It’s all who you are.”
“What?” Julian released his hold on my hand and climbed from the car, waiting for David to leave the car before coming to my door. I stepped out, glancing around at the luxury cars in queue for the valet. I felt Julian’s hand at the base of my back, shifting my attention to his shimmering eyes.
“The menu,” he continued, “it has several dairy-free, happiness-free, fat-free, whatever-free options.”
“How considerate of you.” I rolled my eyes as we entered the restaurant.
The entrance swarmed with couples and groups, already indulging over happy hour and the beginning of their weekend. One couple caught my eye while they sat on a bench, waiting for a table, lost in each other entirely. It was innocent, full of promise, and yet they had no clue who I was with or what we were doing after dinner. They were probably going on a date, maybe to watch a movie, and I was going to attend a funeral mass for my ex-best friend with the man who killed him for me because my ex-best friend tried to kill me first. Sigh.
“Hey,” his whisper was behind my ear, sending a shiver along my neck, “what’s wrong?” Julian squeezed my shoulders while we stood in line, receiving my shrug in response.
“Mr. Molloy.” A man dressed in a crisp navy suit approached, his smile parting his tanned face. “It is you! My, what a pleasure and surprise. When I saw the reservation book, I thought surely it was a mistake. To imagine you would come to our establishment! Welcome.” The man, too eager for my liking, reached for Julian’s hand, swiftly shaking it before he even acknowledged me.
“Our table?” Julian inquired before the man addressed me, likely protecting me from this man’s fake enthusiasm. Thank you, Fuckoy. I owe you one.
The man obliged, hurrying to collect two elaborate menus from a shelf along the wall, and motioned for us to follow. I peeked at Julian once his hands fell from my shoulders, my heart stopping with him three steps ahead of me. I fell into a haze, watching his backside disappear from me, the popped collar of his coat nearly covering his ears. He’s here. I’m here.
Julian was stopped twice by patrons, and I simply stood in awe of his charm from the crowded space with the canoodling couples and drunk happy-hour enthusiasts. His expression melted with ease, a suave and natural manner with which he could act, turning on the charisma and charm for anyone. But for me, it wasn’t fake, faux, a dream.
“Aideen Leary.” My eyes refocused at the sound of his voice, receiving his wide grin, the one likely to combust panties all over the Eastern seaboard. “I’ve been staring at you and calling your name for two minutes. What’s gotten into you?”
“It’s real. Isn’t it? All of it?” My fingers knotted while I spoke, confidently staring into his mesmerizing eyes. His hands fell into their right spot, holding my face while he kissed my forehead.
“Yes.”
It’s real. All of it. Lies, omissions, secrets, tattoos, guns, and Julian. I knew him. In the deepest depth of my aching soul, I knew him. That’s why I stayed, why I followed him, going against my better judgment and desire to kill him while complying with whatever vague story he told me to display. It’s real.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered into my ear. “Would you rather go?”
I shook my head, looking at Julian expectantly. I needed to eat something before going to Elliott’s funeral so I wouldn’t pass out. Julian’s hands abandoned my face, gliding down my arms and leaving a vibrant tingle through my sleeves in their wake, quick to intertwine with my knotting fingers.
“Our table.” He nodded behind him. “Shall we?”
Julian led us through the tables of people, some gawking at him while others snapped photos on their phones, toward a small flight of iron steps that wound up to another level. He refused to release our hands, and I delighted in the tug of my skin beneath his while he climbed ahead of me. The clamorous noise of the restaurant’s busy evening dissipated as we mounted the staircase, arriving inside a dimly lit hallway.
“In another life, I would surely assume this is where you would’ve killed me,” I mumbled, bluntly speaking my thoughts. We reached a doorway opening into a small room that contained three tables covered with white linens and glowing tea light candles. An entire wall was consumed by glass, revealing a marvelous view of downtown Boston and the harbor, crests along the frozen water glistening in the setting sun. I shivered as his lips met my ear from behind, my body still beneath his spell.
“And in this life?” he questioned, his words purring into my ear while he removed my coat.
“In both…” I glanced around, aware of the man’s lingering presence while arranging menus on a table near the magnificent windows. I lowered my voice. “I know you’d kill for me.”
“Sir,” the man announced, motioning toward the table he arranged for us, nodding once Julian acknowledged him. He promptly departed, his feet quick to find the doorway without further discussion or swooning over Julian.
The table was arranged with white linens, a pewter bucket filled with ice and chilled wine. A solitary red rose decorated the small frosted glass vase at the center. It was simple, lovely. In another life, I would have hated this shit. Julian pulled out my chair and waited for me to sit before pushing my legs beneath the table and approaching his chair at my side. He took off his coat, setting both of ours on an empty chair, and took residence in the chair next to me with his back to the window.
“Quite the view I have.” I smiled, my heart on unsteady ground while it swelled in his reflection. Julian’s mouth parted into a gentle grin, his words mute, while he reached for the wine and poured some in both of our glasses. It almost felt like I didn’t have plans after dinner, as though we weren’t about to attend a religious ceremony to celebrate Elliott’s demented life and death. Almost like I wasn’t about to see Malcolm. Malcolm.
“May I ask you something?” I accepted the glass he handed me, receiving his quiet nod in response. I studied his hand, distracted by the D on the inside of his wrist, my mind wandering to the glimpse I recently had of his bare back, monogrammed with a similar script. My first initial. In my dream. What was I going to ask him? My ears warmed with adrenaline, fueled by my knotting heart.
“You’d asked me once, when you thought it charming to kidnap women off the street, what I was doing with Malcolm.”
“Yes?” His eyes glistened, almost brightened with my inquiry into the past.
“You already knew. Why did you need me to tell you?”
“Well,” Julian sipped from his wine glass, “I didn’t know everything at that point. I only knew some pieces from the hospital, information I’d learned about Elliott and Malcolm, and once I found you again, I wanted to know if, and what, you remembered. I also needed to know what story they told you. I needed to know what damage I had to repair.”
“Repair.” I considered his words. “It’s more than my memories that need repairing. It’s the fairytale. It’s more.”
Julian placed his glass against the table, reaching for my wrist and softly holding his palm against my skin. “Fairytales are just folklore lost in translation through centuries, Aideen. They only mean what you take from them. I know that’s not all that needs to be repaired, though. I’ll fix your heart too.” His hold tightened, the gesture reassuring and radiating affection. “What else did you want to know before the funeral?”
“There’s so much you owe me, Julian.” I pulled back my wrist, knotting my fingers against my lap while I looked everywhere but his sparkling blue eyes. “I don’t even know where to start with any questions. Who do I blame? It isn’t Malcolm’s fault I can’t remember anything, that it took exposure to you and being held captive to even dream of a memory. Who took them from me?” I watched him swallow the contents of his glass in one large gulp, his tongue licking the sweet residue from his lips while his thumb and index finger twirled the stem. Lethal. His stare, fixed on the crystal between his fingers, silenced both of us.
“We had a fairytale,” I whispered, looking at my lap, “didn’t we?”
The twirling stopped, his glass coming to a halt before his fist took residence beneath my chin, lifting my gaze to his. I couldn’t look away.
“We did. We can get back there. We can find that again. I owe you everything,” he divulged. “It isn’t Malcolm Young’s fault that your memories aren’t there. I’m trying to find out, babby, believe me. Someone stole them. I know that much, but I don’t know who it was.”