Chapter 168
Evelyn's POV
I exchanged a glance with Julian. We'd agreed to keep the details of the attack quiet—both to avoid questions we couldn't answer and to prevent panic among our friends. But Isabella was too smart to accept vague explanations indefinitely.
"It was more serious than we initially let on," I said carefully. "There were multiple intruders. We both got caught in the confrontation."
"Multiple intruders," Isabella repeated slowly. "At a private military contractor's secure facility. Who somehow got past all of Julian's security measures and physically attacked both of you." She crossed her arms. "That's the story you're going with?"
"Isabella—" Julian started.
"No." She held up a hand. "I'm not stupid. And I'm not going to push for details you clearly can't or won't share. But—" She turned to me, and her voice softened. "But I need to know if you're safe. Really safe. Because if being with Julian means you're going to end up in the hospital every other week, then maybe—"
"It's not Julian's fault," I interrupted. "If anything, I'm the one who brought danger into his life. Not the other way around."
Isabella looked at me like I'd just suggested the sky was green. "How could you possibly be the dangerous one? You're a—" She stopped, clearly searching for a diplomatic way to phrase whatever she was thinking. "You work in consulting. You analyze contracts. That's not exactly a high-risk profession."
I couldn't help it. I laughed. It hurt my ribs and probably made me sound slightly unhinged, but the sheer absurdity of the situation—of trying to maintain my cover story while sitting in a hospital bed covered in injuries from a fight with trained killers—was too much.
"What's funny?" Isabella demanded, looking between Julian and me with increasing suspicion.
"Nothing," I managed, trying to get my laughter under control. "It's just—the situation is more complicated than it looks. But I promise you, Julian is not the problem. He's actually the only reason I'm still alive."
That was true enough, even if she had no idea just how literal that statement was.
Isabella studied me for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But if you ever need help—if things get too dangerous or too complicated or too anything—you call me. Understood?"
"Understood," I said softly, genuinely moved by her concern.
She pulled the chair closer to my bedside and started unpacking the pastries. "Good. Now eat something. You look like you haven't had a decent meal in days." She paused, glanced at Julian. "Both of you."
We spent the next twenty minutes in surprisingly comfortable companionship. Isabella chattered about wedding plans—the big ceremony we'd supposedly rescheduled for next week—and about the gossip circulating through New York's social circles.
"Half the people think it's wildly romantic," Isabella said, biting into a croissant. "After all, your husband passed away, so remarrying is perfectly reasonable. The other half think you're pregnant and trying to avoid scandal."
I nearly choked on my coffee. "What?"
"Oh, don't worry, I shut that rumor down immediately. Told everyone that Arthur's marriage to you was essentially a charitable arrangement, that you two never had a real marital relationship in that sense." She paused, studying my face. "That is the truth, isn't it?"
"More or less," Julian said quietly, his hand tightening slightly on mine.
I closed my eyes briefly. I'd always told myself I didn't care what other people thought, that their opinions and gossip meant nothing to me. But hearing Isabella's matter-of-fact explanation—hearing her defend the truth of my marriage to Arthur without judgment or pity—I felt something loosen in my chest. Relief, maybe. Or gratitude that I didn't have to carry the weight of those assumptions alone.
Isabella's expression turned more serious. "I'm happy for you both. Really. Even if the circumstances are—" She gestured vaguely at the hospital room. "Unconventional. You're good together. You balance each other out."
"Thank you," I said, meaning it. "That means a lot."
She was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. "Can I ask you something? And you can tell me to mind my own business if I'm overstepping."
I tensed slightly. "Okay."
"Are you happy?" The question was simple, but her eyes were sharp. "With Julian, with this life, with everything that comes with it—are you happy?"
I looked at Julian. At this man who'd seen every dark corner of my soul and loved me anyway. Who'd taken a bullet for me without hesitation.
"Yes," I said simply. "I am."
Isabella smiled, but there was something wistful in it. "Good. That's—that's good." She stood abruptly, brushing croissant crumbs from her jeans. "I should go. Let you rest. But before I do—" She pulled out her phone. "There's someone else who wanted to visit. I told him to wait in the hallway until I checked if you were up for company."
My stomach tightened. "Who?"
"Adrian." She said it casually, but I could see her watching for my reaction. "He's been worried sick since he heard that you are in the hospital. I know things are complicated between you two, but—" She paused. "But if you're not ready to see him, I can tell him to come back another time."
I glanced at Julian. His expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. The last thing he probably wanted was Adrian in this room, seeing me in a hospital bed, playing the concerned stepson.
But Isabella was right. Things were complicated. And part of moving forward meant dealing with those complications instead of avoiding them.
"It's fine," I said. "He can come in."
Isabella's eyes flicked to Julian. "You sure about that?"
"It's fine," Julian echoed, though his tone suggested it was anything but. "We're all adults here."
"Okay." Isabella typed something on her phone. "I'll send him in. But Evelyn—" She fixed me with a look that was half concerned friend, half protective sister. "If being with Julian really is too dangerous, if you ever want out—" She glanced at Julian apologetically. "Adrian would take you back in a heartbeat. You know that, right?"
I couldn't help it. I laughed again, softer this time. "Isabella—"
"I'm serious." She wasn't smiling. "I know you love Julian. I can see that. But love isn't always enough when people are getting hurt. When you're ending up in hospitals. And Adrian—he's safe. Stable. He could give you a normal life."
"I don't want normal," I said quietly. "And I don't want safe. I want—" I looked at Julian. "I want this. Even with all the complications and danger and hospital visits. I want him."
"Okay." Isabella held up her hands in surrender. "I had to ask. But okay." She headed for the door, then paused with her hand on the handle. "For the record? I actually called Adrian before I came here. So he's probably already outside."
"Isabella—" Julian started, but she was already pulling the door open.
"Don't blame me," she said cheerfully. "I'm just trying to make sure Evelyn has options."
And with that completely unhelpful statement, she disappeared into the hallway, leaving Julian and me staring at each other.