Chapter 100
Evelyn's POV
Saturday arrived with the kind of crisp autumn clarity that made Manhattan's skyline look like something from a postcard. I stood in my bedroom, staring at the garment bag hanging on my closet door, and tried to convince myself that attending my stepson's engagement party was a perfectly reasonable decision that wouldn't end in spectacular disaster.
Standing in my bedroom getting ready for the engagement party, I found myself already dreading Sunday. Five days without him. Five days of sleeping alone, eating alone, coming home to an empty apartment. Five days to work on my mother's case without his watchful presence, yes—but also five days of missing someone in a way I'd never let myself miss anyone before.
The irony wasn't lost on me that I was now hiding investigative work from the man who'd forced me to stop hiding everything else. But some things—like the full extent of what I was willing to do to find my mother's killer—weren't things I was ready to share. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I pushed the thought away and focused on the present. Tonight was the engagement party. Tomorrow, Julian would leave. And then I'd have five days to remember how to be alone again.
Somehow, I didn't think I was going to enjoy the reminder.
"You're overthinking again." Julian's voice came from the doorway, rough with amusement. He'd been watching me stand frozen in front of that garment bag for the past ten minutes, wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts that hung to mid-thigh.
"I'm thinking the appropriate amount," I said, not turning around. "Which is to say, I'm thinking about all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong."
"Name one." He crossed the room, his bare feet silent on the hardwood, and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. The heat of his chest seeped through the thin cotton, and I felt my body relax against him despite my spiraling thoughts.
"Isabella figures out we're sleeping together and tells the entire Russell family, who tell the entire Winthrop family, and suddenly everyone's asking questions about why Arthur's widow is fucking the CEO of Titan Security."
"Only if we give them reason to figure it out. Which we won't." His lips found the curve of my neck, and I shivered. "We've been over this. Professional distance in public. Friends and colleagues. Nothing more."
"You say that now, but—"
"But nothing. I can behave myself when necessary." His hands slid up under the shirt to grip my bare hips. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."
I turned in his arms to face him, studying the sharp angles of his face in the morning light. "You're really okay with this? Pretending we're nothing?"
"I'm okay with protecting you from scrutiny you're not ready for." His gray eyes held mine, steady and certain. "There's a difference between hiding because we're ashamed and being strategic about timing. Tonight is Isabella's night. Let her have it. We'll figure out the rest later."
The certainty in his voice should have reassured me. Instead, it made my chest tighten with something uncomfortably close to guilt. "I'm being a coward."
"No. You're being smart." He kissed my forehead. "There's a time to burn bridges and a time to navigate carefully. You'll know when you're ready to stop caring what they think. Until then, I can wait."
"What if I'm never ready?"
"Then we'll deal with that when it happens." His smile was sharp. "But I don't think that's going to be a problem. You threw the phone in the ocean, remember? You're already braver than you think."
I wanted to argue, to point out all the ways I was still hiding, still afraid. But he was looking at me with such absolute faith that the words died in my throat.
"I'm wearing the burgundy dress," I said instead, because if I was going to walk into that engagement party and face the assembled judgment of New York's elite, I might as well look devastating while doing it.
"Good." He kissed me, slow and deep, his hands sliding up to cup my face. "Now get dressed before I decide we're not going at all."
"We have to go."
"I know. Doesn't mean I want to spend an entire evening pretending I don't know exactly what you look like under that dress." His thumb traced my lower lip. "Or that I don't know how you sound when you—"
"Julian." I cut him off, my face heating. "Focus."
"I am focused. Just not on the engagement party." But he stepped back, releasing me with obvious reluctance. "Fine. Get ready. I'll go make coffee and try to remember how to act like a professional colleague instead of a man who's completely obsessed with you."
"Good luck with that."
"I'm going to need it." He headed for the door, pausing to look back at me. "Especially when you walk out in that dress. Fair warning—I make no promises about my self-control."
---
Two hours later, I stood in front of my full-length mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back at me. The burgundy silk clung to every curve, the deep V-neckline revealing just enough to be interesting without crossing into scandalous. Isabella had been right—the dress made me look like something from a noir film, all dangerous elegance and barely restrained violence. My mother's silver cross rested at my throat, the only jewelry I wore besides the simple diamond studs Arthur had given me years ago.
I'd swept my hair up into a loose chignon, leaving a few tendrils to frame my face. Minimal makeup—just enough to emphasize my eyes and the sharp lines of my cheekbones. The overall effect was striking in a way that made my pulse quicken with something between anticipation and dread.
"Jesus Christ." Julian's voice came from behind me, reverent and rough. I met his eyes in the mirror and watched them darken as they traced the lines of my body. "You're going to cause a riot."
"That's not the plan." I turned to face him, taking in the sharp lines of his black suit, the way his tie brought out the gray in his eyes. "The plan is to blend in, remember? Be unremarkable. Let Isabella have her moment."
"Sweetheart, there is nothing unremarkable about you in that dress." He crossed to me, his hands settling on my waist. "But I'll do my best to keep my appreciation professional. In public, anyway."
"You're impossible."
"And you're beautiful." He kissed me, careful not to smudge my lipstick. "Ready to go pretend we're nothing more than business associates?"
I thought about Adrian, about Isabella, about the assembled forces of New York society who would scrutinize every interaction, every glance, looking for scandal. About the investigation we were conducting in secret, about the conspiracy we were unraveling, about the danger that lurked beneath the surface of champagne toasts and polite conversation.
"No," I said honestly. "But let's go anyway."