Chapter 13
Julie stiffened, pretending not to hear Lucian. Patricia nudged her, winking playfully. “It’s been years since you last met Lucian. Why don’t you go over and have a chat? You could help him cook.” Julie, understanding Patricia’s intent, walked to the kitchen. “D-Do you need help with anything?” she stammered, avoiding his gaze. Lucian chuckled deeply, saying nothing. Their eyes met. “What are you laughing at?” He shook his head, approaching her until he stood before her. A cool, minty scent filled her nostrils, causing her to take an involuntary step back. “You’re so scared of me, huh?” he asked. She shook her head, embarrassed. She wasn’t afraid; she was unsure how to face him. He extended his arms. “Please help me with my sleeves.”
She complied, hesitantly helping him roll up his sleeves. She had grown taller, now reaching his chest. He lowered his gaze. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyelashes, thick and long. Her fair skin was blemish-free, and the overhead light revealed her peach fuzz. Lucian’s eyes glinted; his Adam’s apple bobbed as if he was restraining himself. “Done,” Julie finally said, stepping back. He seemed to regain his composure, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Thank you.” “No problem. Do you need help with anything?” Lucian pointed to the tomatoes. “Could you chop these into cubes?”
She nodded, washing her hands and beginning to chop. “What are we making?” she asked. “Sirloin. Your favorite.” Her knife stilled; her vision blurred. A sharp pain shot through her fingertip. She yelped softly. “Don’t move.” Lucian tossed aside the spatula, grabbed her injured finger, and put it in his mouth. A jolt shot through her from head to toe; her face flushed. “W-Wha…” She tried to pull away, but he held firm. With each breath, warm air spread from her hand, a burning sensation. “Does it hurt?” he asked. She shook her head. Once the bleeding stopped, he bandaged her finger. “Why do you carry this?” she asked, surprised. He laughed. “There’s a kid who’s always getting injured, so I made it a habit.”
The word “kid” froze her. He was married, a father. The feelings she’d felt vanished. She mumbled a response and pulled away. “Thanks. Um, I don’t think I can help anymore. Sorry.” He smirked. “That’s fine. Just go chat with my grandma. The food will be ready soon.” He reached out to pat her head; she instinctively stepped back, avoiding his touch. Without looking at him, she left the kitchen. His hand froze; a bitter laugh escaped him. “It’s a real challenge trying to make this kid happy,” he mused.
Night fell. As Julie left Patricia’s, Patricia worried about her safety, offering a ride with Lucian after his chess game. Julie declined, walking toward the villa entrance. She still didn’t know how to be alone with Lucian. The sky was pitch-black. Cabs were scarce in the affluent neighborhood; she’d have to walk miles to the nearest bus stop. Checking her phone, she saw it was 9:00 pm. An hour had passed, and she still hadn’t reached the stop.
Suddenly, headlights shone in her eyes. She shielded them, squinting. The car looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Before she could recall, it stopped beside her. Rolling down the window, she saw Lucian. “Get in,” he said. She tried to maintain distance. “It’s okay. I’m almost there.” “There are no buses here. Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” Knowing he wouldn’t leave, she relented. “Thank you, Mr. Fuller,” she said softly, reaching for the passenger door. “Ms. Somers, sit in the back with Mr. Fuller,” the driver called.
She opened the back door and sat beside him. He looked at her sideways. “Where are you going?” “The campus. Harbor University.” After giving the driver directions, he resumed his work. The journey was silent. Julie watched the night scene. “Any idea what you’d like to do?” Lucian suddenly asked. She remembered telling her mother about Nordenburgh, but kept silent. “No.” “Have you ever thought about it?” “No.”
Noticing her disinterest, he stopped pressing, focusing on his laptop. The sound of typing filled the car. Julie observed him. His fingers danced methodically across the keyboard; long and vigorous. Each tap resonated within her. The kitchen scene replayed in her mind—him holding her hand, his mouth on her finger. A blush crept up her cheeks. “Is it hot?” he asked, seemingly with eyes in the back of his head, without looking at her. Embarrassed, she clutched her purse. “No,” she whispered. He looked up. “Why is your face flushed?” More embarrassed, she mumbled, “It’s a little warm.” He told his assistant, “Jeff, crank the AC down.” “Yes, Mr. Fuller.”
Only upon reaching the campus did she speak. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Fuller.” His voice was vexed at her formality. “Jules, you used to call me Luce. Don’t you remember?” She lowered her eyes. “I was young and ignorant. I’ve grown up now…” Reaching for the handle, Lucian grabbed her wrist.