Chapter 123
Elara
"Elara—" He set down his glass and rose from the chair, taking a step toward me.
"Because from where I'm standing," I continued, my voice rising despite my efforts to control it, "it looks like you're doing a pretty good job of letting me go. Congratulations, by the way. When's the wedding? Should I mark my calendar, or will I not be invited to that either?"
"Stop it." He crossed the room in three strides, closing the distance between us before I could retreat. "Just stop. You don't understand—"
"Then explain it to me." I tilted my chin up to meet his gaze, refusing to be intimidated even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "Explain how you can tell me I'm yours one day and get engaged to someone else the next. Explain how I'm supposed to believe anything you say when—"
"The engagement party was my grandfather's idea," Julian cut in, his voice tight. "I didn't—I wasn't planning—"
"But you didn't refuse." The words fell between us like stones. "You didn't say no. You didn't tell him you couldn't go through with it because—because—"
Because why? Because of me? Because of one night together that had probably meant nothing to him beyond physical release? Because of feelings I wasn't even sure he was capable of having?
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Julian stood so close I could smell the whiskey on his breath, could see the war raging behind his eyes. His hand lifted, as if to touch my face, then fell back to his side.
"It's complicated," he said finally, the words barely above a whisper.
I laughed again, the sound bitter and broken. "No, it's not. It's actually very simple. You have a fiancée. You're getting married. You're going to have a baby with her. And I'm just—what? Your last bit of fun before you settle down? Your dirty little secret on the side?"
"Don't say that—"
"Then tell me what I am!" The words burst out of me, raw and desperate. "Tell me what I'm supposed to be to you, Julian. Because last night you said I was yours. You said you were keeping me. And now you're out there celebrating your engagement to someone else, and I don't—I can't—"
My voice broke. I pressed my lips together hard, refusing to cry, refusing to give him that satisfaction. But my eyes burned, and I could feel the tears threatening at the edges of my vision.
"Elara." Julian's voice had gone soft, almost pleading. "Last night wasn't—I meant what I said. Every word of it."
"Then what am I?" I demanded, my voice shaking. "If you meant it, if I'm really yours, then what am I? Where do I fit in this perfect life you're building with her?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Heavy, measured footsteps that I recognized immediately.
"Julian?" Mr. Vane Senior's voice carried through the door. "Are you in there?"
The blood drained from my face. If Julian's grandfather found me here, in this room, alone with Julian during his engagement party—
Julian's eyes locked on mine, and I saw my own panic reflected back at me. His hand shot out, gripping my arm hard enough to bruise, as if to keep me from bolting.
"Yes, grandfather," he called toward the door, his voice remarkably steady. "I'm here."
"Sloane is looking for you. She says you've been gone too long. The guests are all waiting to see you both cut the cake."
"I'll be right there."
But Mr. Vane Senior's footsteps didn't retreat. Instead, they drew closer, and I heard the doorknob rattle.
"What are you doing in there with the lights off?" the old man demanded. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"Just a headache," Julian called back, his grip on my arm tightening fractionally. His eyes bored into mine, silently commanding me to stay quiet. "I needed some quiet."
"Again?" Mr. Vane Senior's voice carried a note of disapproval. "I'm sending Lucy up with her headache remedy. But you need to come out soon, Julian. Sloane is worried about you. You've been gone nearly half an hour, and people are starting to notice."
"I understand, grandfather. I'll be out in a few minutes."
"See that you are." There was a pause, then: "And Julian? Sloane is pregnant and emotional. This party is important to her—to all of us. Don't make her wait much longer."
"I won't."
Only after his footsteps had faded down the hallway did Julian release my arm. I sagged back against the door, my legs suddenly weak. That had been too close. Far too close.
"She's pregnant and emotional," I repeated softly, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Of course. Can't keep the pregnant fiancée waiting."
The reminder of Sloane's condition—of the baby she was carrying, Julian's baby—hit me like a physical blow. In my previous life, I'd been the one pregnant with his child first. I'd been the one waiting, hoping, believing that somehow it would all work out. And look how that had turned out.
Julian turned away from me, one hand coming up to press against his temple. In the firelight, I could see his face had gone pale, a fine sheen of sweat gleaming on his forehead.
"Julian?" Despite everything, despite my anger and hurt, I recognized that look. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough." He swayed slightly, catching himself against the back of the chair.
The migraines. Of course. Too much stress, too much alcohol, too many expectations pressing down on him. In my previous life, I'd learned to recognize the signs—the way his jaw would tighten, the slight squint around his eyes, the barely perceptible tension in his shoulders. I'd spent hours researching treatments, learning massage techniques, anything that might help ease his pain.
I watched him lower himself back into the chair with careful, measured movements, as if any sudden motion might shatter his skull. His eyes closed, his jaw clenched, and I could see the vein pulsing at his temple.
I should leave. Should take this opportunity to slip out while he was distracted by pain, to escape before anyone else came looking for him. This wasn't my problem anymore. His migraines, his stress, his complicated life—none of it was my responsibility.
But my feet wouldn't move. I stood there, frozen, watching him suffer, and I hated myself for what I was about to say.
"Do you... do you need help?" The words came out small, uncertain. "With the headache?"
His eyes opened, finding mine across the dim room. Something flickered in their depths—surprise, maybe, or hope. "You remember how?"