Chapter 185
Evelyn's POV
The next hour passed in a blur of faces and congratulations—Thomas's old military friends with their firm handshakes and knowing looks, Julian's business associates with their carefully neutral expressions and speculative eyes, Catherine crying happy tears and making me promise weekly lunches.
Adrian appeared briefly, stiff in his formal wear and clearly uncomfortable, but his congratulations were genuine and his hug was brief but real.
"Be happy," he told me quietly. "That's all I ever wanted for you."
"You too," I said, meaning it.
He nodded and disappeared back into the crowd, and I watched him go feeling nothing but fondness, the sharp edge of old longing gone completely. I'd loved him once in a desperate, drowning way, but Julian had taught me what it felt like to breathe.
"Dance with me," Julian said, appearing at my elbow with perfect timing.
"There's no music."
"There will be in about thirty seconds."
Right on cue, the string quartet started up with something slow and romantic, and he pulled me onto the makeshift dance floor, his hand warm on my waist and the other cradling mine.
We swayed together and I let myself relax into it, let the music and the candlelight and the warmth of him wash over me.
"Thank you," I murmured against his shoulder.
"For what?"
"For this. For fighting for me. For not giving up when I pushed you away."
His arms tightened around me. "I'd fight a thousand times over," he said quietly. "You're worth it. You've always been worth it."
I closed my eyes and felt tears prick behind my lids—happy tears, the kind I hadn't known existed until recently.
We danced until my feet ached, until the candles burned low and guests started filtering out, until Thomas did indeed break out a karaoke machine and Julian had to physically stop me from volunteering for a duet with Isabella, until Webb got drunk enough to corner me and slur something about how insufferable Julian had been before I came back and thank God I'd put him out of his misery, until Aiden worked up the courage to ask Isabella to dance and I watched them circle the floor with that careful attention that suggested something real might develop.
Through it all, Julian stayed close, his hand finding mine whenever we were separated, his eyes tracking me across the room with an expression that made my chest tight.
Love. He loved me. I was still getting used to that.
Eventually, when the party showed no signs of stopping and my heels were killing me, Julian leaned in close. "Want to escape? I ordered food to the room, and I'm more interested in being alone with my wife than watching Thomas butcher Sinatra."
"God yes," I said fervently.
We slipped away and up the stairs to our suite, but Webb intercepted us halfway, pressing a velvet box into Julian's hands with a smirk.
"From Thomas. Said you'd know what it was for."
Julian opened it to reveal two crystal wine glasses and a professional corkscrew, along with a note in Thomas's blocky handwriting: In case you want to try that wine tonight. Congratulations, son. I love you.
"Your father is a romantic," I said.
"My father is a meddling old man." But Julian was smiling. "Come on, let's see if that wine is as good as the vintage suggests."
---
The room had been prepared with candles lit and curtains open to show the ocean, rose petals scattered across the bed in a gesture that was probably meant to be romantic but just looked absurd.
Julian took one look and sighed. "Webb is dead to me."
"It's sweet," I protested, kicking off my heels with a groan. "In an over-the-top way."
He set the velvet box on the table and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over a chair. "Shower," he announced. "I need to wash off six hours of being appropriate."
"Me too," I said, already moving toward the bathroom. "I feel like I've been performing all day."
"Want company?" His voice carried that particular heat that made my stomach flip.
I paused, considering. My body was already responding to the suggestion, but exhaustion was pulling at my limbs and I knew exactly what would happen if we showered together—we wouldn't emerge for at least two hours, and I'd be even more exhausted.
"I think I need a quick shower alone," I said, glancing back at him with a small smile. "If you join me, we both know I won't get any rest tonight."
His grin turned wicked. "Is that a promise for tomorrow?"
"Maybe." I disappeared into the bathroom before he could change my mind.
The hot water felt incredible, washing away the tension of the day and the stickiness of champagne and perfume and too many people. I took my time, letting the steam relax my muscles, and when I finally emerged wrapped in a towel, I felt surprisingly refreshed instead of tired.
I'd left my silk robe on the hook, but when I reached for it, I noticed a box on the counter that hadn't been there before—dark plastic, discreet, with a small card balanced on top.
Curious, I picked up the card. Isabella's handwriting: A little something for your wedding night. Have fun! —I
My heart started beating faster as I lifted the lid.
Inside was lingerie, if you could call it that—sheer white lace that would barely cover anything, with matching cat ears attached to a delicate headband, a tail with a small clip, and tiny bells that would jingle with every movement.
Heat flooded my face.
I quickly shoved everything back into the box and closed the lid, my hands shaking slightly. This was absurd. Ridiculous. I was a trained assassin, not some—
But the image flashed through my mind anyway: Julian's face when he saw me in this.
I grabbed the box and my robe, wrapping it tightly around myself as I emerged from the bathroom with what I hoped was a neutral expression.
Julian was already opening the wine, two glasses poured and waiting on the table. He looked up when I appeared, his gaze tracking over me with obvious appreciation even though I was covered neck to ankle in champagne silk.
"Your turn," I said, keeping my voice steady as I clutched the box behind my back. "The shower's all yours."
He raised an eyebrow. "You okay? You look flushed."
"Just hot from the shower," I lied. "Go on, I'll wait."
He studied me for another moment, then shrugged and headed for the bathroom, pausing only to press a quick kiss to my temple. "Don't drink all the wine without me."
The moment the door closed behind him, I let out a shaky breath.
I looked at the box in my hands, then at the bed with its ridiculous rose petals, then at the wine glasses on the table. Grabbed one and downed it in three long swallows, the rich complexity of the Georgian Saperavi burning down my throat and spreading warmth through my chest.
This was insane.
But we were married now. This was our wedding night. And some part of me—the part that had spent years being nothing but a weapon, nothing but efficient and cold and controlled—wanted to be something else for him, wanted to see that look in his eyes when he realized I'd chosen this.
Before I could overthink it, I opened the box again.