by Anna Zaires
That whole situation makes me sick, so I try not to think about it. The only reason I even know as much as I know is because Rosa refuses to leave it alone, constantly begging me to ask Julian for updates. Her strange obsession with Julian’s right-hand man worries me, even though I’m coming to the conclusion that Rosa was right about Lucas having zero interest in her. Still, as much as I don’t want her to get involved with him, I also don’t want her to be heartbroken—and I’m afraid things are trending in that direction.
“Are you sure your parents don’t mind us coming so late?” Rosa asks, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s almost nine in the evening.”
“No, they’re really anxious to see me.” I glance down at my phone, which pings with yet another text from Mom. Picking it up, I skim the message and tell Rosa, “My mom already has the table set.”
“And they don’t mind me tagging along?” She chews on her lower lip. “I mean, you’re their daughter, so of course they want to see you, but I’m just the maid—”
“You’re my friend.” Impulsively, I reach across the limo aisle and squeeze Rosa’s hand. “Please stop worrying about it. You’re not imposing.”
Rosa smiles, looking relieved, and I glance at Julian to see his reaction. His face is impassive, but I catch a glimmer of amusement in his gaze. My husband is clearly not worried about imposing on my parents so late in the evening. And that makes perfect sense. Why would something like that faze him when he unapologetically abducted their daughter?
This should be an interesting dinner indeed.
* * *
“Nora, honey!” As soon as my parents’ door swings open, I’m enveloped in a soft, perfumed embrace. Laughing, I hug my mom and then my dad, who’s standing right behind her. He holds me tightly for a few moments, and I feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest.
When he pulls back to look at me, there is a sheen of moisture in his eyes. “We are so glad to see you,” he says in a low, deep voice, and I smile up at him through my own veil of tears.
“Me too, Dad. Me too. I really missed you and Mom.”
As soon as I say that, I remember that I’m not alone. Turning, I see that my mom is looking at Rosa and Julian, her smile now stiff and unnatural.
I take a deep breath to prepare myself. “Mom, Dad, you already know Julian. And this is Rosa Martinez. She’s my best friend on the estate.” I invited Lucas to join us for dinner as well, but he refused, explaining that he’s part of the security detail tonight and needs to remain outside.
My mom nods cautiously at Julian. Then her smile warms a fraction as she looks at my friend. “It’s nice to meet you, Rosa. Nora told us all about you. Please, come in.”
She steps back to welcome them, and Rosa walks in, smiling uncertainly. She’s followed by Julian, who strolls in looking as cool and confident as ever.
“Gabriela. It’s so good to see you.” Giving my mom a dazzling smile, my former captor leans down to brush his lips against her cheek in a European gesture. When he straightens, she looks flushed, like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Leaving her to recover, Julian turns his attention to my dad. “It’s a pleasure meeting you in person, Tony,” he says, extending his hand.
“Likewise,” my dad says, his jaw tight as he takes Julian’s proffered hand in a white-knuckled handshake. “I’m glad you were finally able to make it out here.”
“Yes, so am I,” Julian says smoothly, releasing my dad’s hand. I notice red finger marks on his hand where my dad purposefully squeezed too hard, and my heart skips a beat. However, when I sneak a glance at my dad’s hand, I realize with relief that there’s no corresponding damage there.
Julian must’ve forgiven my dad this small act of aggression—or at least I’m hoping that’s the case.
As we walk toward the dining room, I steal covert looks at my husband’s handsome profile. Having my former captor in my childhood home is beyond strange. I’m used to being with him in exotic, foreign locations, not Oak Lawn, Illinois. Seeing Julian in my parents’ house is a bit like encountering a wild tiger in a suburban mall—it’s bizarre in a scary way.
“Oh, honey, you’re so thin,” my mom exclaims, eyeing me critically as we enter the dining room. “I knew you wouldn’t start rounding out with the baby yet, but you look like you’ve lost weight.”
“I know,” Julian says, placing a hand on my lower back. His touch both warms and discomfits me, coming as it does in front of my parents. “With the nausea, it’s been tough getting her to eat well. At least she stopped losing weight. You should’ve seen her four weeks ago.”
“Was it really bad, honey?” my mom asks sympathetically when we stop in front of the table. She’s keeping her eyes on my face, clearly determined to ignore Julian’s possessive gesture. My dad, however, grits his teeth so hard I can practically hear the grinding noise.
“It got better once we learned that I’m pregnant. I started eating plainer foods at regular intervals, and it seemed to help,” I explain, flushing. It’s odd to talk about my pregnancy in front of my dad. We had danced around the issue during our video chats, with Dad gruffly asking after my health and me brushing off his inquiries. I know he hates the fact that I’m pregnant at my age, and despises the whole situation with Julian. My mom probably feels the same, but she’s much more diplomatic about it.
“I hope you can eat tonight,” my mom says worriedly. “Your dad and I prepared a lot of food.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage, Mom.” Smiling, I sit down in the chair Julian pulls out for me. “Everything looks delicious.”
And it’s true. My parents have outdone themselves. The table has everything from my dad’s rosemary chicken—a recipe he only uses for special occasions—to my grandmother’s tamales and my favorite dish of roasted lamb chops. It’s a feast, and my stomach growls in appreciation at the delicious smells emanating from the glass-covered platters.
Julian takes a seat to the left of me, and Mom and Dad sit down across from us.
“Come, sit next to me on this side,” I tell Rosa, patting the empty chair to my right. I can see my friend still doesn’t feel comfortable, convinced she’s somehow imposing. Her usual bright smile is uncertain and a bit shy as she sits down next to me, smoothing her palms over the front of her blue dress.
“This table is amazing, Mrs. Leston,” she says in her softly accented voice.
“Oh, thank you, sweetheart.” My mom beams at her. “Your English is so good. Where did you learn to speak like that? Nora told me you’ve never been to the US before.”
“No, I haven’t.” Looking pleased at the compliment, Rosa explains how Julian’s mother taught her American English when she was a child. My parents listen to her story with interest, asking a number of follow-up questions, and I use this opportunity to excuse myself to visit the restroom.
When I return a few minutes later, the atmosphere at the table is thick with tension. The only person who appears at ease is Julian, who’s leaning back in his chair and regarding my parents with an inscrutable gaze. My dad is visibly bristling, and my mom has her hand on his elbow in a classic calming gesture. Poor Rosa looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.
I sit down and debate asking what happened, but I have a feeling it would stir up the hornet’s nest even more. “How’s the new job going, Dad?” I ask brightly instead.
My dad takes a deep breath, then another, and attempts something that’s supposed to be a smile. It looks more like a grimace, but I give him credit for trying.
Before he can answer my question, Julian leans forward, placing his forearms on the table, and says, “Tony, you may not be aware of this, but your daughter is now one of the wealthiest women in the world. She will want for nothing, regardless of her choice of profession or lack thereof. I understand that having a child during college is not optimal, but I would hardly call it ‘destroying her life,’ particularly in this situation.”
My dad’s chest swells with fury. “You think the child is the only problem? Y
ou stole—”
“Tony.” My mom’s voice is soft, but the inflection in it makes Dad stop mid-sentence. She then turns toward Julian. “I apologize for my husband’s bad manners,” she says evenly. “Obviously, we’re well aware of your ability to provide for Nora financially.”
“Good.” Julian gives her a cool smile. “And are you also aware that Nora is becoming a sought-after artist?”
I pause in the middle of reaching for a lamb chop and gape at Julian. A sought-after artist? Me?
“I know that a gallery in Paris expressed some interest in her paintings,” my mom says cautiously. “Is that what you mean?”
“Yes.” Julian’s smile sharpens. “What you may not know, however, is that the owner of that gallery is one of the leading art collectors in Europe. And he’s very intrigued by Nora’s work. So intrigued, in fact, that he just sent me an offer to purchase five of her paintings for his personal collection.”
“Really?” I can’t hide the eagerness in my voice. “He wants to buy them? For how much?”
“Fifty thousand euros—ten per painting. Though I’m sure we can negotiate for more.”
I stop breathing for a moment. “Fifty thousand?” I would’ve been ecstatic to get five hundred dollars. Hell, I would’ve taken fifty bucks. Just the fact that someone wants my doodles is beyond belief. “Did you say fifty thousand euros?”
“Yes, baby.” Julian’s gaze warms as he looks at me. “Congratulations. You’re about to make your first big sale.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe out. “Oh. My. God.”
I can see the same shock reflected on my parents’ faces. They, too, are stunned by this turn of events. Only Rosa seems to take this development in stride. “Congratulations, Nora,” she exclaims, grinning. “I told you those paintings are amazing.”
“When did you get this offer?” I ask Julian when I can speak again.
“Right before we got here.” Julian reaches over to give my hand a gentle squeeze. “I was going to tell you later tonight, but I figured your parents might want to know too.”
“Yes, we definitely do,” my mom says, finally recovering from her shock. “That’s . . . that’s incredible, honey. We’re so proud of you.”
My dad nods, still mute, but I can see that he’s just as impressed. And possibly beginning to change his mind about the potential of my hobby.
“Dad,” I say softly, looking at him, “I don’t intend to drop out of college. Even with the baby on the way, okay? Please, don’t worry about me. Truly, I’m all right.”
My dad stares at me, then at Julian, and then at me again. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches for the platter with the lamb chops and pushes them toward me. “Go ahead, honey,” he says quietly. “You must be hungry after the long trip.”
I gladly take the offering, and everyone else begins loading their plates.
The rest of the dinner goes about as well as could be expected. While there are a few tense silences, the majority of the meal is spent in relatively civil conversation. My mom asks about life on the estate, and Rosa and I show her some photos on Rosa’s phone. In the meantime, my dad gets into a political discussion with Julian. To everyone’s surprise, the two of them turn out to have the same cynical views on the situation in the Middle East, though Julian’s knowledge of geopolitics far exceeds that of my dad’s. Unlike my parents, who get their news from the media, Julian is part of the news.
He shapes the news, in fact, though few outside the intelligence community know that.
I have to give my parents their due. For people who believe that Julian belongs behind bars, they are surprisingly gracious hosts. I suspect it’s because they’re afraid of losing me if they alienate Julian. My mom would dine with the devil himself if that would ensure continued contact with her only daughter, and my dad tends to follow her lead when it comes to difficult situations.
Still, they watch Julian during the meal, eying him as warily as they would observe a savage creature. He’s smiling, his potent charm turned on full-blast, but I know they can sense his ever-present aura of danger, the shadow of violence that clings to him like a dark cloak.
When we get to coffee and dessert, Julian gets an urgent text from Lucas and excuses himself to step outside for a few minutes. “It’s nothing serious,” he tells me when I give him a worried look. “Just a small business matter that needs my attention.”
He walks out of the house, and Rosa chooses that moment to visit the restroom, leaving me alone with my parents for the first time since our arrival.
“A business matter?” my dad asks incredulously as soon as Rosa is out of earshot. “At ten-thirty at night?”
I shrug. “Julian deals with people in different timezones. It’s ten in the morning somewhere.”
I can see that my dad wants to question me further, but thankfully, my mom jumps in. “Your friend is really nice,” she says, nodding toward the hallway where Rosa went. “It’s hard to believe she grew up like that.” She lowers her voice. “With criminals, I mean.”
“Yes, I know.” I wonder what my parents would think if they knew that Rosa had killed two men. “She’s wonderful.”
“Nora, honey . . .” My mom casts a furtive glance around the empty room, then leans forward, lowering her voice further. “I know we don’t have much time right now, but tell us one thing. Are you truly happy with him? Because now that you’re both on US soil, the FBI might be able to—”
“Mom, I can’t live without him. If anything happened to him, I’d want to die.” The stark truth escapes my lips before I can think of a gentler way to say it. I soften my tone. “I don’t expect you to understand, but he’s everything to me now. I truly love him.”
“And does he love you back?” my dad asks quietly. He looks older in this moment, aged by the sorrowful pity I see in his eyes. “Is someone like that even capable of loving you, honey?”
I open my mouth to reassure him, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to say the words. I want to believe that in his own way Julian does love me, but there is a tiny kernel of doubt that’s always present with me.
My dad hit the nail on the head.
Is Julian capable of love?
Truthfully, I still don’t know.
Chapter 16
Julian
The black Lincoln is already waiting when I step outside.
“I told them you were busy, but they insisted on this meeting,” Lucas says, melting out of the shadows near the house. “I figured it was best to let you know.”
I nod and walk over to the car.
The window in the back rolls down. “Let’s take a ride,” Frank says, unlocking the door. “We need to talk.”
I give him a hard look. “I don’t think so. If you want to talk, we’re going to do it right here.”
Frank studies me, likely wondering how much he can push me, and I see the exact moment he decides not to annoy me further.
“All right.” He climbs out of the car, his gray suit stretching across his round stomach. “If you don’t mind the nosy neighbors, sure.”
I scope out our surroundings with a practiced glance. Unfortunately, he’s right. There’s already a curtain twitching across the street.
We’re beginning to attract attention.
“There is a small park around the block,” I say, reaching a decision. “Why don’t we walk in that direction? You have exactly fifteen minutes.”
Frank nods, and the black Lincoln pulls away, likely to circle the block. I have no doubt there is additional security staying out of sight, just like my men. There is no way the CIA would leave one of their own with me without protection.
“All right, talk,” I say as we start in the direction of the park. I gesture for Lucas to follow at some distance. “Why are you here?”
“The better question is: why are you?” Frank’s voice is edged with frustration. “Do you know how much trouble your presence is causing us? The FBI knows you’re in thei
r jurisdiction, and they’re going apeshit—”
“I thought you took care of that.”
“I did, but Wilson refuses to let it drop. He and Bosovsky are sniffing around, trying to dig up a cover-up. It’s a fucking mess, and your visit isn’t helping.”
“How is this my problem?”
“We don’t want you in this country, Esguerra,” Frank says as we round the corner. “You have no reason to be here.”
“No?” I quirk an eyebrow. “My wife’s parents are here.”
“Your wife?” Frank snorts. “You mean that eighteen-year-old you kidnapped?”
Nora is twenty now—or will be in a couple of days—but I don’t correct him. Her age is hardly the main issue. “That’s the one,” I say coolly. “As you know full well, since you dragged me from dinner with her parents . . . my in-laws.”
Frank gives me an incredulous stare. “Are you fucking serious? Where do you get the balls to look these people in the eye? You abducted their daughter—”
“Who is now my wife.” My tone sharpens. “My relationship with her parents is none of your fucking business, so stay out of it.”
“I will—if you stay out of this country.” Frank stops, breathing heavily from keeping up with my longer stride. “I’m not kidding about this, Esguerra. We can delete files and records, but we can’t erase people. Not in this matter.”
“You’re telling me the CIA can’t silence two nosy FBI agents?” I give him a cold look. “Because if they’re the only issue—”
“They’re not,” Frank interrupts, quickly realizing where I’m going with this. “It’s not just the FBI, Esguerra.” He reaches up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “There are higher-ups who are nervous about your presence here. They don’t know what to expect.”