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After dinner, Julian comes back to my place. He sits on the edge of my Art Deco style mid-century Italian bed I bought recently from La Maison London. I don’t often like antiques, but I suppose Julian’s been rubbing off on me so when we were wandering around their London showroom, I had to have it or else I might have died.
His fingers are pressed into his mouth. He’s squinting over at me as I take off my Serpent Bohème ring from Boucheron and I press the bow necklace into my chest, try to feel closer to BJ than I am right now. Then take it off me too because I feel weird wearing it to bed with Julian.
I think about BJ’s crest ring a lot still, the one I threw away at the Mandarin on that night. I shouldn’t have done that. It was his dad’s before it was his, I should have at least given it back to Henry to give to Hamish.
It wasn’t mine to lose like that. And there are a million ways I could spin that, say that I wasn’t BJ’s to break and he broke me, but I was.
I was, I am. And he has.
“Together, huh?” Julian nods at me from my bed, interrupting my sad little reverie.
“No, sorry—” I shake my head, embarrassed instantly. “I know. You don’t date.”
He nods once. “I don’t.”
I shake my head as I press my hands into my cheeks, trying not to let him know I’m embarrassed.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
His eyes squint and he glances over at me. “How did you mean it then?”
I shrink a little. “Sorry.”
“You’re in love with someone else,” he reminds me.
“I know.” I frown.
“So how the fuck might we be together then?” He stares over, jaw all tight but rather sexy.
“Are you cross at me?” I ask after a minute in a very small voice.
“A bit.” He glares over at me.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” He gives me a dirty look. “Because you’re so fucking annoying. What do you want? Do you know what you want? Because it’s everything and it’s nothing.” I say nothing and he swipes his hand through the air. “You’re just a right fucking pain in the arse.”
“That was a bit mean…” I pout a little.
And then Julian rushes me, grabs my face with both hands and kisses me backwards into my chest of drawers.
I make a little yelp because the draw knob digs into my back, but he ignores it.
“What are you doing?” I ask, not stopping him.
“This, with you,” he says as he unzips my black and white, off-the-shoulder two-tone crepe mini dress from Balmain.
I pull back to look at him quizzically. “Now?”
“Yes.” He unbuttons his own C-embroidered cotton-poplin shirt from Celine Homme.
“Why?” I frown at him, confused.
He looks down at me, breathing heavy as he pushes his hand through my hair. “Because this—” He stares at me to make a point. “—is what we do.”
He kisses me again, hard. And then pulls back and points at me threateningly. “And don’t you dare fucking think of me—”
I let out a confused laugh. “I’ll try my best?”
He kisses me more as he lays me down on the bed.
“We’re not together,” he tells me as he looks down at me.
I give him a look. “This feels like a mixed message…?”
He shakes his head, hovering over me. “You love him. I love no one. Yeah?”
I shrug, a bit confused. “Okay?”
“Okay.” He nods and drops his weight on me.
