Chapter Sixteen
Melody
When Julian Stone decides we need to do something, it happens faster than should even be humanly possible. We pack, get dressed, shower, and are on the road in his Jag within an hour.
My knees are still wobbly, my head is filled with zippy bubbles from the champagne, and I loll my head against the window to watch the world slosh by while my brain turns over the spiderweb that is these past few days.
I’m glad Julian never got around to asking about my past. Relieved.
There’s plenty of things and a person in particular I’d love to keep buried, and, while I couldn’t lie to Julian, I’m happy to omit the truth. Not because I don’t trust him, I just don’t want him to think less of me. I went through shame enough getting free of my past, I don’t need to dig it up again. Our relationship is fake, but we’re putting so much into it that it’s starting to feel real.
He’s my totally fake, totally invented fiance, and our relationship is built on a foundation of money and mutual stubbornness.
And I wouldn’t trade it away for anything.
Because that’d mean no more days waking up in his arms, no more days having him — this man who can buy anything his heart desires — reminding me that I am priceless.
I’ve never had that before.
When I look in his eyes, even when he’s talking about how this is all ‘just business’, I see the truth.
This is real.
I feel it. He feels it.
We’re both going to deny it. We might even fight it. But that doesn’t change the reality.
I won’t let anything get in the way of his goals — including my past — because I couldn’t bear to see him hurt. I want the best for him, just as much as he wants the best for me. So I’ll keep up with all this craziness of this charade.
He’s worth it.
At some point, I drift off to sleep, carried away by the comforting bounce of the road and the steady hum of the engine.
“We’re here.”
Something gentle shakes my shoulder, something stubbly kisses my cheek.
I open my eyes. First slow, then they snap open once I realize what I’m seeing.
I sit up abruptly.
This is what heaven looks like.
The last rays of sunset stream over the horizon, casting a sublime glow up on the world around me. My heart starts beating quicker, pushing adrenaline through my body. I thrust my legs out of the car and practically hop to my feet.
This sunset is more beautiful than the one I saw a year ago in Rockaway Bay, when I knew I’d found my home.
It takes my breath away.
“It’s beautiful.”
Warm, welcoming, Julian wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close against his chest. I lean into him and my body relaxes.
“I’ll never get tired of this,” he says and I don’t think he’s talking about the sunset. I put a quick kiss on his cheek.
While the flaming lantern-like sun drops beneath the horizon, casting it’s final rays of violet and red and orange into the darkening sky, we stay silent. Watching.
This moment is special.
Sunsets speak to me. This one’s singing, a beautiful harmony that reminds me just how good life can be if I let it, if I’m brave. I took a big risk to go after what’s important, to follow what my heart told me was the right thing.
I need to listen to my heart again, here and now, even if it’s risking a lot.
The sun disappears and the stars start to poke through the darkening sky, little pinpricks of light.
I turn around and look at his house for the first time.
It’s expansive, a long, sprawling thing stretched across a hillside like some beautiful creature languidly laying out to catch the sun. We’re so remote up here in the hills above Malibu — the nearest mansion is almost a quarter mile away — that it feels like we’ve stepped into some kind of dream.
“You live here?” I say, my voice an awed whisper.
He smiles and moonlight shines in his eyes. “Sometimes. Would you like to come inside?”
I shake my head. “Let’s wait a while.”
He wraps me up again and kisses me on the top of my head.
I put my arm around him, holding him tight for warmth as the night air chills. His heart beats against my back, slow, content. Every once in a while, he gives me a gentle squeeze, like he’s reminding me that he’s there.
Even though he can’t see it, I’m smiling so hard I feel like I could light up the night around us.
I listen to the waves crash against the distant shore and I listen to my heart.
“Julian,” I say, hesitantly.
How do I start? How do I bare my heart to him without chasing him away?
It’s been so long since I’ve been in this position, and the last time it ended with my world thrown upside down, shattered. It ended with me leaving my home behind just to feel safe again.
“Yes?” he says, his voice this contented, half-sleepy rumble that I feel in his chest as much as I hear it.
“I know things are only going to get tougher from here on out and I don’t want to distract you from any of that. But I told you I’d always be honest with you,” I say, and I pull a great big sigh into my lungs and let it out slowly. My chest is thumping. “This doesn’t feel fake to me anymore. I think I’m falling for you.”
Silence falls between us for what seems an incredibly long time. It’s weighty, potent, charged with energy. The world seems to go so slow, and I start to feel afraid. Not afraid that he’ll be angry or anything like that, but afraid that I might’ve said something I shouldn’t — that acknowledging that this is all real might bring it to an end somehow.
Finally, he answers me.
“This hasn’t felt fake in a long time.”
I look up into his eyes, green, lit with thought. “What does it mean for us — for after, I mean.”
His chest fills with a sigh and then he kisses me. “I’m not sure. To be honest, I’ve never felt like this for someone. It’s strange. It’s confusing. Terrifying, even. You’ve got me scrambling to figure out just what it all means. But I’ll tell you one thing,” he says.
It’s dark, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
“What’s that?”
“Whatever it costs to make this work and make this last, it’ll be worth it.”
“I might just love you, Julian Stone.”
“I might just feel the same, Melody Peres.”
Those words envelope me, filling me with warmth, with contentment, with hope.
I kiss him.
Once, slow and on the lips, taking in everything about him, luxuriating in the feel of his hands on my back and his body against my chest. I want to take him in, to have him even more a part of me.
Telling him how I feel is scary and liberating at the same time; I’m in some mixed-up relationship, in some high-society power struggle, but at least I don’t have to fake I don’t have sincere feelings for the man I’m pretending to love.
I look in his eyes.
My hurting cheeks tell me I’m beaming.
“You know, all this driving and then all this conversation, has me pretty tired.”
And there’s that smirk that I’ve come to love. “Is that so? I think I remember you sleeping most of the way down from Monterey. Which is pretty impressive, by the way. It’s a long drive.”
“Shut up,” I say, making a face at him. “What I’m trying to say is that we should go to bed.”
His smile shines back at me in the moonlight. “Say no more, love.”
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing those words from his lips. They way he says them — so confident, so unshakable — it’s like nothing can come between us; Julian Stone won’t let that happen.
I take his hand, squeezing it.
Together, we head inside.