“Julian,” my forehead creased in worry, “who would have a tattoo like that?”
“Oh,” his sigh was hushed, words sleepily flowing from his mouth, “someone important, I suppose. Any other questions before I hold you against me all night and dream only of you, darling?”
I turned around, falling on my back so I could look at him. He was on his side, his arm limply lying across his chest once I’d moved from beneath its hold. He went from intensely alert to limp within three minutes, his breathing slowed before my very eyes. I woke him from sleep before, saw him wake, but never had I witnessed the vision that was Julian Molloy falling asleep.
“Mmm,” he murmured. “Come here, babby.”
“Can I ask you something? Julian?” I interrupted his sleeping attempt to hold my head against his chest, although in that moment there wasn’t much else I desired. Dark sapphires peered at me through squinting eyelids, beckoning my thoughts.
He slowly turned onto his side, placing his right hand against my hip, a delicate gesture reminding me of his affection and protection, permitting my inquiry.
“When I was in the hospital…and everything that we talked about and did…did we ever…I mean…” I felt the pressure of his palm heavily against my hip as Julian leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss against each of my eyelids while I blinked away my blush. My fingers nervously twirled around the pendant dangling along my clavicle.
“No,” he whispered, “some treasures are worth the wait. Goodnight, babby.”
The emptiness consuming my lungs relieved my chest, delightfully tickling its path throughout my soul. It began with gentle warmth, kindly greeting me as my eyelids sagged with pleasurable exhaustion and comfort. Comfort to feel nothing, comfort from feeling everything. The pleasant intoxication of imminent slumber never promised so much until I was lying in Julian’s arms, my body lulled into my dreams by the slow movement of his rising chest.
***
Tap. Tap. It was a quiet announcement, a gentle request for permission to enter. I rolled onto my back, thankful at the renewed ability to move with fluidity no longer similar to a tortoise on its back. My blurry eyes watched the door, waiting for someone to enter. Tap. Tap. Stubborn moron.
“Come in,” I finally acknowledged, grumbling with my dried throat. I need something to drink and fast, before I’m stuck just keeping these thoughts inside of my beautiful head. The door opened only a few inches, but just enough to allow his clean-shaven face to poke through.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he cooed from behind the door, his eyes smiling with delight. His grin was enough to weaken my resolve, completely distracting me from the fact my throat was about to break from its pained dryness. I could only smile, reciprocating his happiness to see me.
“You look different,” I squinted. “Why are you hiding behind the door?”
“Well,” he pursed his lips, chuckling at me, “it’s not just my face that’s somewhat different. I didn’t want to alarm you.”
“Just get in here.” My stubborn moron. With a playful sigh, he opened the door to reveal his surprisingly impeccable attire. I knew my eyes widened like a fool, as though I never saw a man so finely dressed as Julian. It was Julian, after all. He exuded impeccability. With his quick approach, I studied the tailored navy suit and crisp white shirt decorated with a matte navy-striped tie. His fingertips combed along my temples, tickling their way toward my chin while Julian leaned forward to kiss my forehead. Responding to the electric pulse flooding through my body, my weak fingers tugged along the fabric of his tie.
“That’s quite the knot,” I whispered, lifting my eyes toward him as he nestled his bum on the side of my mattress.
“It’s a trinity knot,” he informed me, his hands cupping mine against his chest. “I’ll show you how to remove it sometime.”
“I beg your pardon?” And please. Please do.
Julian’s eyes flickered with amusement. “I’ll teach you how to make one sometime. Undoing it is the easiest way to understand how it’s assembled, of course. What did you think I meant? Pervert.”
My tongue probed along my lips, struggling to moisten the parched lines of my mouth. I needed to get out of the hospital. I needed to start my life with this man. I have to.
My fingers stretched along the comforter, soft cotton securing me beneath its warmth. I slept. My mind and heart calmed their race, the insufferable battle to outdo one another. However, still waking in the midst of a dream, my sentiments were serene. I squinted in the darkness, allowing my eyes to part from the burn of slumber, alarmed when my vision fooled me into believing I was alone. Keep going, fingers. You’re bound to hit something. Nope. Nothing. I jolted upward, my heart rapidly pounding. I was alone, left abandoned within his walls, in his bed. Our bed. If his words were true, and I gathered Julian learned his lesson with dishonesty and omissions, then those tainted walls were also mine. Therefore, I could finally roam without fear of being killed. Sort of. Part of me will never live down that notion. Being killed or accosted by Liam. Either of those were pervasive and persistent worries of my new identity.
I tossed off the covers, tumbling over the edge of the mattress when my bare feet grazed the floor. I kicked off the sweatpants Julian let me borrow at some point in my dream, probably too heated in the sandwich of luxury and comfort while I slept. I slept. I slept in Julian’s bed, with his clothes on my body, next to him. Speaking of him, I wondered where he’d gone to. Considering I woke with an urgent need to use the bathroom after all of that wine, I assumed he was placed in similar circumstances. I tapped my fingers against my hips, tipping my weight from side to side as I waited for him to return from the bathroom. Okay, this is taking too long. There were two bathrooms—one in the hall and one in his old bedroom. Where he and Liam killed Elliott. Stop. Don’t. Just take a deep breath and stop. From now on, we’re only focusing on the future. Ha! Whatever.
Step one was going to the bathroom; step two would be reprimanding Julian for leaving me in the middle of the night. Tsk tsk, Fuckoy. I learned to never assume Julian’s brother wouldn’t be around, but my bladder couldn’t wait for me to stumble back into Julian’s sweatpants. I rushed toward the door, my potty dance continuing as I stepped into the hallway. The floor was frigid despite the warmth swirling in the air. I crossed the dark hardwood to the bathroom, reflecting on the time I hid inside with Liam attempting to console me. Was that part of their game? It wasn’t a game. That was life. I was finally beginning to comprehend the magnitude of everything. Liam, Julian, me. I was imprisoned, a captive in a game of memory, possessed by the most beautiful of demons.
It hit me as I washed my hands in the bathroom, remembering Julian’s immediate irritation with Liam’s proximity to me. He wasn’t possessive. He was protective. He lost something so significantly important to him, something irreplaceable and kept out of his world and beyond his view, and had one chance to grasp for the dream dangled before him. Anyone would do whatever it took to hold on to that, especially if it was a pure, true love. Love.
Shaking my head back into the walls of reality, I noticed the faucet was still running as I gaped at my foggy reflection with only thoughts of Julian running through my mind. While my fingers turned the knob, ceasing the rapid flow of warm water, I heard rustling from elsewhere within the apartment. He leaves the bed in the middle of the night only to move furniture? This guy is weird. Okay, that’s what makes me think he’s weird? Lordy. I bit down to stifle the giggle threatening to explode as I blushed like a schoolgirl thinking of him. To think of how I felt a week ago, a day ago, drove my heart mad. We had a history, and now we needed a future.
I pulled my clammy palms against my face and finally decided to leave the bathroom on my journey to find Julian and fall asleep in his arms once more. There was a rumble as I turned the doorknob, a loud sound that paused my path in the hallway.
“Just get it over with,” I heard Julian groan from the living room, his voice intensely agitated. “Tell me why you’re here so I can kindly ignore it and return to bed, where I belong. Please enlighten me.” You bet your ass that’s where you belong. I do not like being abandoned in the middle of the night for anything. Unless it’s me doing the abandoning and it’s for some brownies, but whatever. His voice practically hissed, the irritation pulsing through his tone.
“You’re next in line because the people like you, not me. Right now, Julian Patrick, I do not like you,” his companion snickered. “They skipped your father, your older brother, bless his soul, and they don’t even want Liam. It’s hard to imagine people not desiring Liam, considering he’s fucked three-fourths of this city.”
“Just,” Liam seethed, “get on with your point.” At least my thoughts can be validated that Liam is still here. I’ll need to ask him about paying rent if this continues. And, of course, if I actually move in here. Wow—getting ahead of myself.
“Don’t you have your own home, paid for by my money?”
I felt the heat of their argument billowing into the darkened hallway as I approached the soft flickering light haloing their voices in Julian’s living room.
“Julian’s next in line because the fucking fools of Boston like him. He has admirable qualities. That’s how our families operate,” their companion continued his instruction, taking on a tone of lecture. “You imbeciles know this! To maintain power, our hierarchy is arranged based on who would please the most people, not who is in birth order or which one of my family members I actually fancy. However, it seems Julian Patrick isn’t pleasing the right kind of people. Me being one of them.” What? Inching closer, I continued listening to the debate. It was risky, dangerous, and entirely addictive to listen like an interloping criminal. No omissions, no lies.
“New queen of the Republic,” Liam scoffed, a gentle thud and rustling of papers following his voice, “that’s a wonderful headline, Grandfather. Julian, should I get this framed for you?”
“Shut the fuck up, you arrogant fool,” their companion snarled, reminding me with the precision of his tone that it was Grandpa Fuckoy who interrupted our evening. “This is printed all over the city, Julian. This rubbish is going to taint more than you even realize. It is going to break walls, crumble foundations…”
“Then let it!” Julian roared. My demon’s voice vibrated, threatening to shatter walls and emulsify the windowpanes. Time for me to get out of here. I spun around, searching in the darkness for a path back to my room. An eerie silence flooded Julian’s home, weighing heavily against me.
“Bird.” Dammit. With my bottom lip pierced between my teeth, I turned to see Liam watching me from the living room doorway, his lips twitching into an apologetic smile. Aware I was only in Julian’s shirt, I tugged against the hem, lowering it over my thighs. My legs are killer, of this I am already aware, but I wasn’t prepared to die in response to the mere vulnerability brought on by their innocent exposure.
“I’m just coming back from the bathroom.”
“Right.” Liam sighed, glancing into the living room as he nodded toward me. Footsteps echoed toward him, announcing Julian’s presence before he peered into the hallway from the living room.
“Julian.” I swallowed, feeling my knees weaken beneath the hem of his shirt and his intensely radiating stare. His brow relaxed, only to meet once more in a fold of disappointment. The hopeless expression was a tortuous moment of grief flashing across his face.
“What did you hear, babby?” His question was soft as he entered the hallway. “And…where are your pants?” My heart twitched with the warmth softening his sad stare as his mouth wiggled into a brief smile.
“Oh, um.” I looked at the brothers, blushing profusely. “Pants are in the bedroom. I wasn’t paying attention. Just going to the bathroom. I’ll be on my way.”
“You would be best served leaving this home entirely,” my most favorite elder in the history of old, arrogant bastards announced, his crusty shell of a soulless body entering the doorway. Julian’s arms were tightly crossed along his chest, the muscles alert with tension as he walked to my side, spinning to acknowledge his grandfather. My eyes flickered everywhere but at Julian’s face, the dark, pristine hardwood of Julian’s floor, his bare feet, oh my God, Liam’s trousers, anything.
“She’s why you came,” Julian bellowed, his hands flying into the air out of angered desperation. “Here she is! You can be as disgustingly disrespectful and horrid as you wish, but do know your words are meaningless and inconsequential, Grandfather. She’s whom my heart has chosen. It’s always been that way. She has an impenetrable skin.” Hardly.
“According to that magazine, she’s also who the people have chosen, Grandfather,” Liam mocked.
I continued to avoid them, studying what I could away from their inhospitable glances. The left cuff of Liam’s trousers was folded over the hem, disturbing me in such a manner that I desired only to fold it pack into its proper place. That sort of thing really irks me. Okay, but here I am thinking about the disarray of Liam’s pants when Grandpa Fuckoy is glowering at me like Satan.
I moved my anxious focus from Liam’s pants to the floor, following a pattern in a plank of wood until it hit their grandfather’s feet. His shoes were unmarred, entirely clean of use, a soft black leather protruding from his gray tweed pants. He was nearly as tall as Julian and Liam, towering over me with pure intimidation. Watching his wrinkled hands, decorated with spots of age and dull ink, fold and relax from tightened fists, I realized that man was in charge. He was the boss, the patriarch, the leader. My gaze lifted to his wrists, one decorated with an enormous, reflective gold watch, leading to his forearms that were exposed by the folded sleeves of his white dress shirt. He had more tattoos than Julian and Liam combined, a canvas of faded Celtic symbols painted into his skin. My gaze traced the lines, circles, and symbols, my eyes and heart stopping at the lines within the base of his Celtic cross that reminded me of math class.
Can’t. Breathe.