Julian drove home in silence, pondering on the events of the day. He thought about his childhood and things that had transpired in his family. He vowed never to end up like his father, with children who resented him, but deep down, he knew he was treading that path already.
What was with the contract marriage? Why couldn't he actually explore a relationship with Ashley whom he already felt connected to much more than any of the other women he'd been with.
He told himself he was going to put in more effort. Perhaps take her on another trip.
This time around conscious and not on a whim.The irony of this decision was lost on him.
First of all he was going to make her dinner himself this time around. He sensed she seemed to enjoy his little surprises.Surely she didn't hate him yet to feel disgusted by the idea of another trip together, he hoped.
He got home and just as expected, she wasn't yet home. He went to work and within an hour dinner was ready and just in time for her arrival as she heard her car pull in through the driveway.
"Welcome home," Julian said from the kitchen island, as she entered. His sleeves were rolled, tie gone. A bottle sat in a decanter that didn't need to brag about its price. Next to it, sat two plates beneath silver cloches, the kind restaurants use when they're being shy about what they were charging.
"You made dinner yourself, this time?" she asked, amused.
"Does it matter if I did ?" A hint of a smile.
"Sit. Eat before you tell me how your day tried to kill you."
He made a perfect steak and mashed potatoes for the both of them and included something delicate and lemoned for her. He made her a side of greens that had never known a sad fridge. She laughed despite herself.
"You do realize this isn't normal," she said, taking the first bite and nearly forgiving the entire week.
"Normal is overrated," he said. "And besides, you work. You get fed. It's the least I could do."
"And sending thousands of dollars apparently."
She had received another credit alert from him.
"Guilty as charged."
"Who feeds you though?" She asked him, trying to lighten the mood.
"Asides the chefs, seeing you enjoy your food is filling for me."
She smiled at him, kept her eyes on the plate and let the quiet do some work.
She was pleased was an understatement. This week has been positive business wise and personally. He was beginning to look and sound like a God sent to her because, "what!" She screamed in her head.
This was fairy tale level, just when she thought it couldn't get better. He called her, jerking her from her riotous thoughts.
"Truth or dare," he said lightly, and she almost choked.
"We are not doing Vegas in the kitchen, nah" she told him, smiling.
"Ofcourse, house rules, then. low stakes." He sipped his wine, proceeding.
"Truth, did the press line finally stop jamming?"
"Mostly," she said. "We had a paper jam that could have taken out a lesser woman. I prevailed."
"Of course you did." He looked unfairly pleased.
"Dare. give me one win I'm allowed to brag about on your behalf." He asked again.
"You don't brag," she said.
"I do it when it's earned."
She thought about it, then shrugged.
"We shipped a rush order that should have failed. It didn't."
"I'm bragging," he said simply, and meant it.
They ate without hurrying. He asked two or three insightful questions that proved he'd actually listened ,when she described her work. She returned the favor, and the banter sat neatly on top of something steadier.
When they finished, he didn't let the pause stretch.
"I have a proposal," he said, and then, quickly softened it. "An invitation. Tomorrow."
Her fork clicked, gentle, against china. "Tomorrow?"
He nodded once. "You're off at ten. I've arranged for that to be true."
"You arranged my…?" She blinked. "Julian."
"Pressed the world into being accommodating," he corrected. "Forty-eight hours. No meetings. No cameras. Just… away."
"Away where?"
He tilted his head, refusing to ruin the surprise. "Blue. Quiet. Good weather."
"That narrows it down to Earth."
"Trust me," he said.
She drew a breath and weighed the shape of the word trust in her mouth. "Terms?"
"Simple. You pack light. I'll cover the rest." A beat. "And if at any point it stops feeling like a good idea, you say so. We turn around. No questions, no debt."
She stared at him for a long second. The contract marriage in its clean lines had not included him offering escape like a gentleman thief, complete with a return policy.
"Pack what?" she asked, stalling and secretly deciding.
"Comfortable shoes," he said. "A dress you like for a dinner you'll pretend isn't formal, if you like. A sweater for wind."
"You rehearsed that," she said.
"I came prepared," he said, unbothered.
"And work?"
"Is banned after breakfast," he said. "Phones in a bowl till the sun goes down. Consider it tyranny with your consent."
"Tyranny," she repeated, a smile threatening. "Fine. But I choose the music."
"Deal," he said immediately. "I'll bring silence as a backup."
He inclined his head as if they'd just concluded something diplomatic.
She rinsed her hands at the sink while he paged the staff through the discreet panel by the fridge. Plates were whisked away by magic she didn't have to see. Wealth, she was learning, wasn't just about having things. It was about making your life easier.
"Do I get any hint?" she asked, leaning on the island.
"Sea or sky," he said.
"That's not a hint."
"It's both," he admitted, faintly smug.
He checked the time. "You're tired," he decided. "So am I. Its time for you to get some rest."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that," he said. He hesitated then, the smallest fracture in his usual certainty. "There's one more term."
She lifted a brow.
"I want it to be easy for you," he said, and there was no game in his voice. "Not perfect just easy."
Something softened behind her ribs. Hope is a reckless organ, she told it to behave.
"Then we'll try," she said. "And if it isn't, we'll say so."
He took her plate to the counter, returned with a small, flat packet and set it near her hand.
"What is it?"
"Open it on the plane," he said. "Not negotiatiable."
"Bossy," she said.
"Prepared," he returned.
"Thank you" she said quietly.
His eyes widened, "We aint even airborne yet"
"Not that silly, for everything else. You make been married bearable."
Shit! Shit!shit! She said in her head the moment the words were uttered. What was she thinking of scaring him off like that? It was too late and she couldn't take it back.
He held his chest in an exaggerated fashion " Bearable? ouch. I was hoping for more than that, note to self: try harder."
She laughed now, he did make everything better. suddenly cured of her embarrassment, thankfully
He stood in his own skin and let her decide what kind of evening it would be.
Instead, he looked at her mouth and then at the floor, quickly re-evaluating. "May I?"
She nodded before she remembered she was supposed to be cooler than this.
He kissed her once. Not a promise of forever. A promise of tomorrow. Clean, deliberate, a line drawn and not crossed.
When he stepped back, he'd reclaimed his composed edges. "Ten o'clock," he said. "Pack light."
"I'll try," she said.
She smiled despite everything. "Goodnight, Julian."
"Goodnight, Ashley."
He turned toward his study. She watched him go, then proceeded upstairs to the bedroom.
On the bed she touched, she touched the sealed packet she wasn't allowed to open. In the mirror, a very tired woman looked almost like someone who could be happy on purpose.
Ashley slid into bed, the kiss still neat in her mouth, the promise sitting carefully beside it.
She slept blissfully, unaware of the storm, her friends were racing to hold back.