Chapter 145
Evelyn's POV
The rest of the week unfolded in a similar pattern.
We went to a comedy show in Brooklyn and laughed until my sides ached. We found a tiny bookstore in the Upper West Side and spent two hours browsing, each of us picking out books for the other. We took the Staten Island Ferry just for the view of the skyline, standing on the deck with the wind in our faces.
One morning, Julian woke me at dawn.
"Come on," he said, already dressed. "I want to show you something."
I groaned but let him pull me out of bed. Twenty minutes later, we were in Central Park, walking through the Ramble as the sun rose.
The park was nearly empty at this hour. Just us and a few joggers and the birds beginning their morning songs. Everything was soft and golden, the light filtering through the trees in a way that felt almost magical.
Julian led me to Bow Bridge and stopped in the middle, turning to face me.
"This is my favorite spot in the city," he said quietly. "I used to come here when I was a kid. When things got bad at home, when the pressure got too much. I'd stand right here and pretend I was somewhere else. Someone else."
I stepped closer, taking his hands. "You don't have to pretend anymore."
"No." His smile was crooked. Vulnerable. "I don't. Because this—right here, right now, with you—this is better than anything I could have imagined."
He kissed me as the sun broke over the skyline, painting everything in shades of gold and rose. And standing there on that bridge, in the heart of the city that had witnessed so much of my pain, I felt something shift inside me.
Hope.
Real, tangible hope for a future that didn't involve running or hiding or surviving.
A future that involved this. Us. Building something beautiful out of all the broken pieces.
On Friday, Julian surprised me with tickets to a Broadway show.
Not one of the big tourist attractions, but a smaller production in an off-Broadway theater. A musical about love and loss and finding yourself in the wreckage.
We sat in the balcony, Julian's hand warm in mine. The music was beautiful and heartbreaking. By the final number, I had tears streaming down my face.
Julian didn't say anything. Just pulled me against his side and let me cry, his hand rubbing slow circles on my back.
Afterward, we walked through Times Square. Even at night, it was chaos—tourists and lights and noise. But Julian kept me close, his arm around my shoulders, shielding me from the worst of the crowd.
"You okay?" he asked when we finally escaped to a quieter street.
"Yeah." I wiped at my eyes, probably smearing what was left of my makeup. "That was just... intense."
"Good intense or bad intense?"
"Good." I leaned into him. "It reminded me that feeling things—really feeling them—isn't weakness. It's what makes us human."
Julian stopped walking and turned to face me. His hands came up to frame my face, thumbs wiping away the last of my tears.
"You're the strongest person I know," he said fiercely. "And the fact that you can still feel this deeply, after everything you've been through—that's not weakness, Evelyn. That's courage."
I kissed him right there on the sidewalk. Poured everything I couldn't say into that kiss—the gratitude, the fear, the overwhelming love that threatened to consume me.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Julian rested his forehead against mine.
"Let's go home," he whispered.
So we did.
That night, we made love with a slowness that bordered on reverence.
Julian undressed me carefully, his hands gentle on my skin. He traced every scar with his fingertips, his lips, like he was memorizing me. Learning me.
"You're beautiful," he murmured against my collarbone. "So fucking beautiful."
I pulled him down to me, needing to feel his weight, his warmth. "Julian—"
"I've got you." His mouth found mine. "Always."
He moved inside me with aching slowness, each thrust deliberate and deep. His eyes never left mine. One hand laced with mine against the pillow. The other cradled my face with unbearable tenderness.
"I love you," he said, his voice rough. "God, Evelyn, I love you so much."
"I love you too." The words came easily now. No fear, no hesitation. Just truth. "I love you."
The orgasm built slowly, spreading through my entire body like warmth. When it finally crested, I cried out his name, my fingers digging into his shoulders. Julian followed moments later, his face buried in my neck, my name a prayer on his lips.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, hearts gradually slowing. Julian's hand traced lazy patterns on my back. I pressed my ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"Best week of my life," he murmured into my hair.
I smiled. "We have three more."
"Then the best is yet to come."
Sunday morning, Julian woke me with coffee and a croissant.
"Pack a bag," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We're leaving the city."
I blinked at him, still half-asleep. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see." His smile was mysterious. "Bring comfortable clothes. And a swimsuit."
Two hours later, we were in his car, heading east out of the city. Ghost sat in his carrier in the backseat, meowing his displeasure at being moved.
"You brought Ghost?" I asked, amused.
"She's part of the family." Julian reached over to take my hand. "Besides, she'd destroy my apartment if we left her alone for a week."