Page 107 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

His expression has gone thoughtful again.

“You seem lighter,” I say.

“Not exactly relaxed, because I’m not convinced you know how to do that, but closer.”

He gives a low laugh.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was.”

We begin walking again, more slowly this time. The conversation wanders away from the company entirely. He tells me about summers when he and Adrian used to race boats badly enough that the estate staff eventually stopped allowing them near the dock without supervision. I tell him about Emma convincing me to sneak out of our house at sixteen and then panicking so badly that we were home before anyone noticed.

The stories are small. That is what makes them intimate. Nothing is being extracted for an article. Nothing is being polished for publication. By the time we reach the far end of the garden, Julian has stopped checking the time altogether.

I glance toward him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You usually do.”

“Do you talk about any of this with Adrian?”

Julian considers it.

“Not like this.”

“Your parents?”

“No.”

“Steve?”

He shakes his head.

I slow my steps.

“Then who?”

Julian stops.

The look he gives me is so direct that the rest of the garden seems to fall away.

“No one.”

I search his face.

“Julian.”

He exhales quietly and looks out toward the lake before returning his eyes to mine.

“This is the first time I’ve said any of this out loud to another person.”

I don’t know what to say to that. For once, I don’t try.

***

By the time dinner is served, the light over the lake has softened into gold. We eat on the terrace rather than in the formal dining room, where the table has been set simply with linen, candles, and a view that makes everything else feel unnecessary. The staff moves quietly between courses, and after the first glass of wine, the conversation settles into something far less structured than an interview.