Chapter 146
Eleanor's POV
The Bugatti purred as we pulled away from the Vance estate, those iron gates swinging shut behind us.
Winter was fading in Greenwich, spring near at hand—a crisp mild night dotted with stars overhead. The air stayed cool yet carried faint hints of coming warmth. I stared at the passing streets; everything felt somehow brighter, better.
"Julian," I said, turning to him. "What did you and your mom talk about?"
His mouth quirked up. "Our future."
"What kind of future?"
He glanced at me, then suddenly pulled over. Before I could ask why, he'd turned to face me, one hand still holding mine, the other brushing hair back from my face.
"This kind." His voice dropped. He leaned in slowly until his lips were almost touching mine. "Tomorrow. Just the two of us. We don't have any classes, so it's the perfect chance to go out."
My heart kicked. "Tomorrow?"
"Ten AM. I'll pick you up." He kissed the tip of my nose. "We'll go wherever you want. Do whatever you want. Just be together."
My throat went tight. "Yes."
"Yeah?" His smile spread, real and unguarded. "You're not gonna make me work for it?"
"I could," I admitted, smiling back. "But I don't want to. Yes, Julian. Tomorrow. Ten AM."
"Good." He kissed my forehead before settling back and pulling onto the road. "That's my girl."
Those three words settled warm in my chest and stayed there the whole drive home.
---
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face in the candlelight, the way he'd looked at me when he asked me to get engaged—like I was the only thing that mattered, like he'd waited his whole life for this.
We're engaged.
Still felt unreal. Wonderful and terrifying.
I gave up on sleep around six and spent the next four hours tearing apart my closet.
By the time I settled on light gray cashmere over a white turtleneck and dark jeans, my room looked like a bomb had gone off. The outfit was perfect for the mild late-winter weather—not too heavy, but warm enough for the lingering chill in the morning air.
My phone buzzed at exactly ten.
Outside. Take your time, Red.
I grabbed my bag—phone, keys, that lip balm Julian once said he liked—and hurried downstairs.
He was leaning against the Porsche when I stepped out, black cashmere sweater and dark jeans that should've been casual but somehow weren't. His ash-blond hair caught the late winter sun—brighter now than it had been in December, with that particular quality of light that meant spring was coming. When he saw me, that slow smile spread.
"Hey, beautiful."
My cheeks heated despite the mild air. "You're biased."
"Doesn't make it wrong." He pushed off the car and opened my door. "Your chariot, princess."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop smiling as I got in. The leather was cool but not freezing—nothing like the bitter cold of deep winter.
Julian noticed my slight shiver anyway. "Heat's coming. Give it a sec."
He got in and we pulled away, Greenwich unfolding around us. The trees lining the streets were still bare, but there was something different about them—a faint swelling at the branch tips that promised buds weren't far off.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"You'll see." His hand found mine, fingers lacing together like we'd done it a thousand times. "Trust me?"
"Always."
The word hung there, heavier than I meant.
"Always," he repeated quietly, bringing our hands up to kiss my knuckles without looking away from the road. "Gonna hold you to that, Red."
---
We ended up at the old diner behind Greenwich High—faded red booths and a waitress who'd been there forever. Same place we'd come as kids, stealing fries and fighting over pie.
"Pancakes?" Julian asked as we slid into our booth.
"You remember?"
"Elle, I remember everything." He said it casual, like it wasn't the most romantic thing I'd heard all week. "Blueberry pancakes, extra whipped cream, and you always steal my strawberries even though you could order your own."
"I don't steal them," I protested, warmth flooding my chest. "You give them to me."
"After you hit me with those puppy eyes." His smile was teasing. "Which I've never been able to say no to. Still can't."
The waitress appeared—Donna, who'd served us since middle school. Her eyes lit up seeing us together, really together, not glaring across the table.
"Well, well," she said, grinning. "About damn time."
Julian laughed. "That obvious?"
"Honey, this whole town's been waiting for you two to figure it out since you were fourteen." She pulled out her pad. "The usual?"
We nodded, and she left, still smiling.
I looked at Julian. "Everyone knew?"
"Apparently." He took my hand, thumb tracing my palm. "Everyone but us."
"I knew," I said quietly. "I think I knew for a long time. Just didn't let myself believe it."
Something shifted in his face—surprise and tenderness and relief. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I squeezed his hand. "I was too busy chasing someone who didn't want me to notice the person who'd been there all along."
Julian's jaw tightened—the only sign Arthur's mention still got to him. But his voice stayed gentle. "Glad you noticed eventually."
"Me too."
Our food came and we fell into easy conversation.
I stole a strawberry. He stole a bite of my pancakes. Perfect and familiar and exactly what I needed.
When we left, the late winter sun was bright and surprisingly warm—that deceptive warmth that made you think spring had arrived until the evening chill reminded you it hadn't quite. Julian took my hand as we walked back, and I found myself leaning into him.
"Where to next?"
Julian hesitated. "There's somewhere I want to take you. If that's okay?"
"Of course. Where?"
"St. Mary's. The church." He glanced at me, suddenly uncertain. "I know it's not romantic, but there's something I want to do there. With you."
A warm glow washed over me. "But you didn't believe in any of this before, did you?"
"I do now." He shook his head with a smile. "Let's go."
---
St. Mary's sat on a quiet corner, stone weathered but still beautiful in the mild late winter sun. The light had that particular quality of early spring—clearer, brighter than the pale winter sun of December. We climbed the steps hand in hand, and Julian pulled open the heavy door.
Inside was dim and hushed, light coming through stained glass in shafts of blue and ruby and gold. Old wood and incense hung in the air, our footsteps echoing soft on worn stone.
I went to the Virgin Mary without thinking—drawn by habit, by comfort. Knelt on the faded cushion and clasped my hands.
Please keep Julian safe. Keep my family safe. Keep us together.
Simple prayer. Childish maybe. But it was what I wanted most.
When I opened my eyes and stood, Julian was kneeling behind me, head bowed, hands clasped. Colored light fell across his face—blue and gold and crimson—and something about it made my breath catch.
I waited quiet, not wanting to interrupt.
After a long moment, he crossed himself and stood, turning with an expression I couldn't read. Vulnerable. Open. Like he'd just set something heavy down.
"Ready?" he asked soft.
I nodded and took his hand.
We stepped back into the mild late winter sun, and I had to squint against the brightness—stronger now than it had been in the depths of winter, with that quality of light that made everything look sharper, more vivid.
"Excuse me, miss?"
I turned. An old woman in a worn brown coat, gray hair in a bun. Holding tarot cards.
"Yes?"
"May I read for you?" Her eyes were deep-set and dark, carrying weight I couldn't name. Something about her gaze made me shiver despite the mild air. "Just one card. Please. It's important."
Julian's hand tightened on mine. "Thanks, but we're—"
"Please." Her gaze hadn't left my face, urgent now. Almost pleading. "Just one card, child. No charge. But you need to know."
Something in her tone made me pause. Against my better judgment—against Julian's slight head shake—I nodded.
"Alright. Just one."
Relief flashed across her face. She shuffled with practiced ease, then fanned them face-down. "Choose."
I hesitated, hand hovering. They all looked the same—worn backs with faded stars and moons. Finally pulled one from the middle.