I WOKE WITH A very stiff neck, courtesy of Julian’s hard body.
And I was sweaty. God, I hated being sweaty. Honestly, it was challenging to tell if the sweat was coming from me or if it was coming from Julian, but it was there. Oh, it was there, causing my cheek to stick to his chest. My palms, too, were damp as they dragged down his stomach over slick abs.
To clarify, I hated feeling sweaty. But experiencing Julian as a sweaty mess? That maybe wasn’t so bad.
In peeling open my eyes, I found minimal sun filtering through the hotel room curtains, which meant the heat in the room was caused by…something else. It wasn’t exactly a mystery. Last night, the way Julian’s body had pressed next to mine was soothing. This morning, it was sending my hormones into overdrive. He was very much everywhere right now. I could feel him everywhere.
Suddenly, the massive body that was both beneath and beside me shifted, and his grip wrapped around my wrist.
That was the moment I realized my fingers had been absentmindedly tracing muscles that were awfully close to the waistband of Julian’s pajama bottoms. It was also the moment I realized that his hand, the one that had been in my hair when I fell asleep, was tightly gripping my hip.
“Careful with that hand there, Lily.”
His voice was raspy and guttural, only making this entire situation worse.
Why did he have to be so…so hot? Literally, of course. It was roasting beneath these sheets.
“I wasn’t trying…I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t come up with a good explanation for what I’d been doing.
Julian’s low chuckle rumbled beneath me, an earthquake to all my senses. He still held my wrist, plucked between his fingers, and used his hold to carefully return my hand to his chest. His skin felt feverishly hot, and I tried to pull my touch away and sit up. But Julian’s grip was unrelenting, and I ended up smashed against his chest again.
“Go back to sleep,” he grunted.
“I’m hot, Julian.”
“I know you are.” He cleared his throat. “Peel back the top layer, then. We still have two hours until our reservation.”
“Our reservation?” I tried sitting up again, and this time, Julian let me, heaving a big, resigned sigh. It was the sigh of a man who knew he wasn’t getting back to sleep.
He rubbed a hand over his face before answering. “Yes, I made a reservation for brunch.”
“When?”
“It’s for eleven o’clock.”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, hoping if I just couldn’t see Julian and how he was stretching his arms behind his head leisurely while lying half-naked in bed next to me, I could think clearly.
It was a lot to ask.
“No, when did you make a reservation?” I clarified, opening my eyes again.
“Oh.” Julian’s head tilted thoughtfully. “On Wednesday, I think. It was after you gave me the itinerary for the weekend, and I noticed there was nothing scheduled this morning until the ceremony.”
“Yeah, that was purposeful.” This morning had been set aside for mental preparation. And physical, of course. But mostly mental. “I need to get ready.”
“I’m not letting you obsess and worry about this wedding for eight hours. You don’t need that long to get ready, Daisy. But you do need to eat.”
“You’re really taking this whole eating thing seriously, huh?”
He nodded. “You’ll feel even more miserable going into this with an empty stomach. Especially if you plan on drinking tonight.”
I supposed he had a point; I needed at least one stiff drink to get me through this night, and I didn’t want it going straight to my head. Besides, I needed Julian to put on clothes. Like, immediately. Leaving would help with that.
“The fresh air will be good for you,” he added.
“We’re in New York City,” I said, even though he’d already convinced me. “I’m not sure fresh is the best way to describe the air.”
“At least it won’t be as hot as it is in here, Jesus,” Julian muttered, kicking the sheets the rest of the way off.
Nope, having Julian further exposed while lying in bed did not help the heat situation. I hadn’t noticed last night, but dear Lord, his pajama pants were gray—of all colors, they were gray—and they were also way too thin for this situation. The morning after the Halloween party, I’d felt more than my fair share of Julian Briggs, but seeing all that outlined was—
Julian cleared his throat, interrupting the free show I was enjoying. Fuck, and he knew it. When he spoke, it was with a gruffness that tickled my nerve endings. “Save those looks for tonight when you’re trying to fool everyone into believing we’re dating.”
I opened my mouth to say a downright lie. “I wasn’t looking—”
“It’s okay, Juni.” He pushed off the bed without looking at me. “I was, too.”
The brunch spot where Julian made reservations sat around the corner from the hotel, so we walked. The November air bit through my coat as we strolled the Manhattan streets, and when I shivered, Julian put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his body heat. Practice for later, right?
I asked Julian to order for me again, despite realizing it was an uncharacteristic move. Asking a man—a man who was Julian Briggs, of all people—to make my decisions? I didn’t know what was happening to me, but letting him pick my food meant one less thing I had to worry about today.
Julian happily ordered me a massive stack of spiced apple pancakes with a side of bacon and scrambled eggs. When I glared at him on account of the sheer amount of food in front of me, he merely shrugged and told me we could take the leftovers back to the hotel.
I hated to admit it, but the pancakes were quite possibly the best thing I’d ever tasted, and Julian’s lips twitched noticeably when I moaned after taking a bite. But instead of gloating—which I’d assumed he would—he asked me more about Sofia and what I knew of the wedding. And since Sofia had been so active with sharing details of her life and upcoming nuptials on her social media, I had a surprising amount to report. She’d been putting out teasers about the ceremony’s live music for a while now. Supposedly, the artist was a big up-and-coming name, and Julian and I spent a few minutes trying to guess who it could be.
After that, I informed him he was getting a steak entree because that was what I’d RSVP’ed, and he made a joke about how the tables had turned. And lastly, I told him that—based on the venue and the seeming cost—I expected to see at least one or two high-status guests. Julian, of course, put his money on some football player I’d never heard of, while I thought a famous influencer or two was more Sofia’s style.
I was halfway through a review of the timeline for the afternoon when a wash of anxiety surrounded me. But before I could spiral too much, Julian abruptly asked about the plot of the first book in the series I’d been reading, and I forgot all about the weekend. Fiction was always more fun to talk about than real life anyway.
Unfortunately, though, at a certain point, fiction faded.
My heart pounded as we strode back into the lobby of the hotel. Julian had been right—ugh, another thing I couldn’t believe I was allowing—that a trip out into the city had been a good distraction and a much-needed break from the stuffy air inside our room. Now that we’d returned, though, I knew it was only a matter of time before my nerves returned.
Sofia likely wouldn’t even have more than seconds to spare to meet me, so I didn’t know why I was so anxious about it. It was her wedding. Our interaction wouldn’t last more than a quick congratulations, but even knowing that, I still couldn’t escape the feeling that tonight was a big deal for me, for us, for the possible beginning of something more.
Giving myself three hours to get ready for an event that was only an elevator ride away seemed like it should be plenty of time. But, no surprise, it wasn’t. We had to be out the door in the next fifteen minutes, and I was stuck staring at myself in the mirror. Full face of makeup. Hair still in curlers.
Using curlers equaled rookie mistake number one. I never should have tried something new right before an important event. But my little black dress, the one I still had to stuff myself into, inspired me to go for a classic glam look. I wanted big, swooping waves, and my curling iron had never been able to achieve that. I was almost too afraid to take out the curlers now. What if it looked horrendous? There wasn’t enough time to start over.
“Do you need help?”
Julian’s voice made me jump. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame while wearing a spotless, crisp tuxedo. It fit him perfectly. I saw him in suits all the time, but this was different. The midnight-colored jacket contrasted with the brilliance of his auburn hair, emphasizing the hue. He pushed a hand through it, letting it fall back over his forehead in a perfect, styled wave.
I was going to look ridiculous standing next to him.
His eyes drifted visibly up to my crown of curlers.
“Don’t make fun of the curlers,” I warned.
I really needed Nice Julian right now. Not any other versions.
“I wasn’t going to,” he said earnestly. “I wanted to know if you need help. You look beautiful, but I’m guessing this isn’t the final look.”
I ignored my stomach flipping and kept strictly to the topic. “Do you know how to take out curlers? You have to sort of twist them when you unroll them, so the curl falls the right—”
“Do you know how many sisters I have, Rosie?”
Without hesitation, Julian stepped behind me and started plucking the pins from my curlers, dropping them on the countertop in the bathroom.
“I don’t usually do my hair like this,” I admitted.
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because this isn’t what your hair usually looks like.” He nodded to the curls he had already taken out, acting like it was obvious when it had taken all my ex-boyfriends weeks to notice every time I got a haircut.
When I tried to help Julian with the curlers, he swatted my hand away and told me to take a few deep breaths. So I stood there, watching in the mirror as Julian’s brows furrowed in concentration. Barely a minute later, I was left staring at the finished product. Except something still wasn’t right. Sure, the curls looked good. Really good, actually. But, it also seemed plain.
“It isn’t right,” I said.
Julian raked his eyes over me in the mirror, assessing the result, and I suppressed a shiver at how focused his attention was on me.
“It isn’t you,” he muttered before lifting a single finger. “Hold on.”
After darting out of the bathroom and then darting back in, Julian held up one of my bows. My favorite bow. I loved it because it wasn’t so floppy that it just looked like shapeless ribbons, and it wasn’t too stiff that it looked like it should be on top of a present. But how and why did he have it?
“Did you go through my suitcase?”
“Yes,” Julian said without any further explanation.
We didn’t have time to argue about that now. “I don’t know if that will go with my dress.”
“I saw your dress in the closet. It’s black. This is black. Ergo, it goes.”
“Julian—”
“Trust me.”
Oddly enough, I did. I supposed it had something to do with confidence, and Julian had too much of it. Yes, he did have a plethora of sisters, but that didn’t mean that he was a hairstylist. He really shouldn’t be trusted.
Still, I let him start pulling and twisting my hair until it was pinned with my bow in a loose, low pony. A few curls draped my face, styled but not too styled. They bounced a little as I shook my head, testing if everything was adequately secured. It was. And I was in awe.
When Julian finished, he stepped back, appraised his work, and then muttered three words beneath his breath that momentarily halted mine.
“There she is.”
My mouth opened and closed once before any words could come out. “How did you do that?”
My hair was classic and glamorous, but it also had a touch of me. Incredible.
He spoke quietly, eyes on me in the mirror. “Remember when Josie was cast as Glinda in the school’s production of Wicked?”
I nodded mutely, and he lifted one shoulder casually.
“She’d get so nervous before the shows, and I’d help with her hair so she could focus more on reviewing her lines.” He backed out of the bathroom, and I was still so shocked that I didn’t move until he returned a few seconds later, holding my dress out for me. “Let’s finish off the look, huh?”
Speechless, I took the hanger from Julian and closed the door to change. After shimmying into the dress, I quickly came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t be able to zip it on my own. Of course not—that would be too easy. Resigning myself to my fate, I walked backward into the bedroom, hoping that Julian would get the picture so I wouldn’t be forced to ask for more of his help.
He did. I didn’t even need to say a word. I felt his stilted breath on my neck and the slight tug on my dress as he worked the zipper up. His fingers brushed against my skin, and I assumed he was slipping the eye hook into place.
“All done,” he muttered. “Ready?”
The words lingered on my skin, and I closed my eyes.
He was close—too close. And this was…this was all going to go terribly, wasn’t it?
Julian breathed my name.
“Juni.”
A slight pause, and my heart skipped a beat.
“Juni, turn around for me.”
I did. Slowly, one step at a time.
As soon as my eyes met Julian’s, he noticeably sucked in, taking all the air in the room with him.
“Fuck, Juniper.”
“What?” My hands flew to my dress, smoothing it over my body self-consciously. “Is something wrong?”
Julian shook his head, his shoulders shaking as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Was he laughing right now? Honestly, at a time like this?
“God, yes—”
“Yes?” I repeated in horror.
“I mean no.” He reached out, grabbing my hands to steady them because they started smoothing even harder. Such an oxymoron and so useless. “No,” Julian intoned. “Nothing’s wrong. You just shocked me.”
Shocking wasn’t really what I was going for tonight, and I stared at Julian, looking for more. Shocking how?
“In a good way or a bad way?”
Julian smiled as he stepped closer. Goddamn, this man. Was my panic that amusing to him? His eyes shone as he brought one of my hands to rest on his arm like he planned to escort me from the hotel room. Like we were a couple. Well, that was exactly what we were, I supposed. At least for the rest of the night.
His lips brushed against my ear as he leaned in to whisper his response like it was a secret no one else could know.
“A good way, Daisy.”
