Chapter 33
Evelyn's POV
"Stop pretending you're something you're not, At least not with me."
The words hit like a physical blow. My heart slammed against my ribs, hard and fast.
A dangerous man had seen through my disguise. And all he wanted was for me to stop pretending in front of him.
Then I thought about Julian flirting with "Emily" at the gala. The practiced charm. The smooth lines. This was probably just his usual routine with women. A game he played because he could. Because it amused him to collect secrets and watch people squirm.
"I'm not interested in the Winthrop widow, Evelyn. I'm interested in the woman who broke a man's fingers in an alley without blinking. That's who I want to know. Not the performance you put on for Adrian's family." Julian continued, interrupting my train of thought.
The silence that followed felt suffocating. He was asking me to be real with him. To show him the parts of myself I'd learned to hide. The brutal parts. The damaged parts. The dangerous parts.
And God help me, some traitorous part of me wanted to. Wanted to drop the mask and let someone see me as I actually was, instead of the fragile doll I'd been pretending to be since I'd stepped off the plane from Moscow.
But wanting something didn't make it safe. And Julian Russell was many things, but safe was not one of them.
"Fine," I said. The word scraped out of my throat. "I'll stop pretending. For you. But only for you."
"That's all I'm asking." He sounded pleased, satisfied in a way that made my skin crawl. "And Evelyn? Tomorrow's meeting. I'll be there. Representing the Russell family's interests in Adrian's future arrangements."
My stomach dropped. The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. "You're going to be there?"
I'd been bracing myself for the ordeal of watching Adrian and Isabella together. Of smiling and making pleasant conversation while my heart bled out. But I hadn't anticipated having to do it under Julian's watchful gaze. With him sitting across the room, knowing exactly how much it cost me to maintain composure.
"Why wouldn't I be?" He sounded genuinely confused. "Isabella's my cousin. And Adrian's practically family. We've done business together for years. Of course I'll be there to support them both."
"Of course," I echoed hollowly.
There was one more thing I needed to know. One question I had to ask even though I already suspected the answer. "Did Adrian and Isabella already meet? Before tomorrow?"
"Yesterday." Ice clinked in a glass. He was pouring himself a drink. "Dinner at Per Se. Very romantic, from what I heard. Isabella was quite taken with him."
Of course she was. Everyone was taken with Adrian. His quiet competence. His understated elegance. The way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room when he turned his attention on you.
I'd been taken with him too, once upon a time. Before I'd learned that his attention came with conditions. That his protection was just another kind of cage.
"Then I guess there's nothing left to say," I said. I didn't bother hiding the bitterness. "I'll see you tomorrow, Julian."
"Wait." His voice stopped me just as my finger hovered over the end call button. "One more thing."
I pressed the phone back to my ear, silent.
"I'm sending you a dress for tomorrow," he said. Matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the weather. "Something appropriate for the occasion."
"That's not necessary." The words came out automatically. "I have plenty of—"
"This is the first step, Evelyn." His voice cut through my protest. Firm but not unkind. "No pretending, remember? The widow's wardrobe, all those tasteful black dresses you hide behind—that's part of the performance. I'll pick something that suits you better."
"Julian—"
"I have excellent taste. Trust me." There was a smile in his voice now. "It'll be delivered to your apartment by morning. Wear it."
It wasn't a request. It was a command wrapped in velvet.
I should have refused. Should have told him to go to hell, that I didn't need him choosing my clothes like I was some kind of doll he could dress up.
But exhaustion weighed on me. And some part of me—the part that was so tired of performing, of being the perfect grieving widow—wanted to surrender this one small battle.
"Fine," I said. "But if it's inappropriate—"
"It won't be." His confidence was absolute. "I know exactly what you need."
The certainty in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. Like he could see inside my head. Like he knew me better than I knew myself.
"Tomorrow then," I said.
I hung up before he could say anything else. Before I could ask the question that had been burning in my throat since I'd discovered the necklace was missing.
Do you have it? Did you take it?
Because asking would be admitting how much it mattered. How much power that fragile silver chain held over me.
And I'd already given Julian too much power today.
The phone fell from my hand onto the couch. I sank down beside it, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight.
I stared out at the Manhattan skyline. Somewhere out there, Adrian was preparing for his future with Isabella Russell. Choosing wines for their engagement party. Discussing honeymoon destinations. Learning how to smile at the woman he was supposed to love while his heart still belonged to someone else.
Tomorrow I would have to watch it happen. Would have to sit in Elizabeth's parlor and pretend I was happy for them. That I wasn't dying inside every time Isabella touched Adrian's arm or laughed at something he said.
And I would be wearing whatever dress Julian chose for me. Playing whatever game he'd decided we were playing now.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about my mother's necklace. About Julian's fingers touching that fragile silver chain. About how he seemed to be collecting pieces of me—my secrets, my true self, and now even the clothes on my back.
Tomorrow would be a test. Of my control. Of my ability to maintain composure while everything I'd ever wanted slipped further out of reach.