I’m not sure how long Julian holds me while I process everything, but I’m grateful for his company.
Slowly, the grief I felt before fades until I’m left with something I didn’t expect.
Relief.
It feels good to talk to someone about everything, even if that someone is Julian. And maybe—just maybe—it was meant to be that way.
He isn’t overly emotional and anxious like my mother, who would probably break down crying with me, and he isn’t like Lily, who would go into graphic detail about the ways she plans on murdering Oliver. Neither one of them would truly understand me and what I need.
I don’t want crying or revenge. I want this.
At some point, Julian carries me to one of the booths in the back of the bar. After spending the last twenty minutes using his shirt as a tissue and his chest as my personal punching bag over the subject, I’m emotionally and physically spent.
Julian brushes my hair out of my face. “Aren’t those tests a bunch of probabilities? There’s no way they can be one hundred percent accurate.”
“Yes, but the risk…I can’t consciously bring a child into this world who might spend most of their short life in agony.” My voice sounds so small and uncertain.
“I understand.”
We stay quiet for a few minutes until Julian breaks the silence.
“Oliver and his family are obviously still stuck in the 1700s, but you know there are plenty of ways to have a child.”
My shoulders slump. “I know.”
Oliver said the same thing countless times, but his story eventually changed once the terms of his inheritance became clear. He stopped making an effort while gaslighting me into believing I was the problem.
Everything about our relationship imploded, along with my mental health.
“Then, what’s the matter?” Julian asks.
I twist one of my rings. “He made me feel…”
He crushes my body against his. “What?”
“Defective.” I choke up.
“Did he say that specifically?” The way Julian’s voice quickly shifts into something dark and menacing has the hair on my arms rising.
I don’t answer—not out of fear for Oliver’s safety but because I don’t want Julian’s pity.
“I’m going to kill him.” Julian’s expression sends a shiver down my back.
“When did we go from wanting to murder each other to wanting to murder for one another?” I tease in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
“Since I found out how much he hurt you.”
I bat my tear-soaked lashes. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“He never deserved you.”
My next confession rushes out of me. “I’m not torn up about him or his marriage.”
“No?”
“No. It might not seem like it, but I’m relieved. I know all of this is for the best, although I wish my breakup and life weren’t so publicized.”
“Then, why are you crying?”
“For myself, mainly. And for the show I was promised.”
“What happened?”
“The network pulled out of the contract this afternoon after the news broke.”
His jaw ticks. “If a network doesn’t stand by you for something like this, you’re better off without them.”
I sniffle. “What if another opportunity doesn’t come around?”
“It will.”
“You sound awfully confident about that.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m surprised you’re not.”
My gaze drops.
He lifts my chin. “You can tell me anything. I won’t hold it against you or think any less of you.”
My shoulders slump. “I let Oliver redefine my self-worth. I doubted everything that made me feel like me because I thought that was part of growing up. That love was about compromise.”
“If you have to change yourself to fit someone’s ideal version of you, then that’s not love.”
I stare down at my clasped hands. “I realize that now.”
“What took you so long?”
“Honestly? I forgot who I was before. But then coming back here by myself…it’s given me time to think.”
We share a knowing look before Julian motions for me to exit the booth.
“What?” I stand on shaky legs.
“How do you feel about getting out of here?”
“And going where?”
“To do something fun.”
I don’t realize where Julian is taking us until I see the litup Ferris wheel slowing to a stop as Harvest Festival attendees hop on and off.
“No way.” I dig my boots into the ground.
“Why not?”
“I’m embarrassed.”
His head tilts. “About what?”
“All the stories being posted about me.”
“People around here barely read the news, let alone gossip columns.”
“But I look like a hot mess.” I point at my swollen face.
He closes the gap between us and gently brushes his thumb beneath my right eye, wiping away a spot of mascara I must have missed during my visit to the bar’s bathroom. “You look beautiful.”
My head spins faster than the teacups in the distance. “You’re only saying that so I go along with your plan.”
“If I wanted you to go along with my plan, I would have told you about the competition I have planned.”
My ears perk up. “Did you say competition?”
His laugh acts like a shock to the system. “Told you.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’d rather show you.” Julian places his hand on the small of my back and pushes me in the direction of the entrance to the festival. I try to shake him off a few times and remind him of our established rules, but he chooses to ignore me while leading me toward the food area.
“Please tell me you’re not suggesting a food-eating competition.”
“No, but we should get you fed and hydrated.”
“I only had two shots of tequila before Henry cut me off.”
He shoots me a look.
“Okay. Three. But that’s it. I swear. See.” I walk backward in a straight line while reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.
Julian rolls his eyes as he steers me toward the barbecue tent. He stacks our plates to the top with enough food to feed a small family. I can barely eat half of it, although I do guzzle three cups of water to appease him.
My experience with casual relationships might be scarce, but I’m smart enough to know him comforting me like this isn’t standard protocol. Neither is me accepting it without putting up my walls.
I didn’t realize how much I needed to be taken care of until Julian showed me what I was missing, and I’m not sure how to process that information.
Luckily, Julian doesn’t let me get lost in my thoughts as he pulls me away from the food tent. With my stomach full and my head no longer feeling fuzzy from crying and tequila, he leads us toward the opposite side of the festival.
A ringing bell in the distance catches my attention. “Carnival games?”
He stops near a tent and turns to me. “I can’t think of a better way to have a friendly competition.”
“Is there such a thing as far as we are concerned?”
“I suppose not.”
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“Whoever wins the most games is crowned the victor.”
“And what do we get if we win?”
He scratches his cheek. “I don’t plan on letting you win, so I doubt it’ll be much of an issue for you.”
I scoff. “Game on.”
Julian and I pick the tent closest to us, which happens to be one of my old favorites, the ring toss. He swaps a few singles for two sets of rings.
“Good luck.” He passes me the rings.
I roll my eyes and toss my first ring. It hits the side of the glass bottle before falling to the ground.
He goes next and tosses his ring in a way that comes off well-practiced with how it slides down the neck of the bottle perfectly.
My mouth drops open. “How did you get that on the first try?”
“Nico loves this game.”
My eyes narrow. “How many of these games have you played?”
“All of them.”
“You’re a cheat.” I shove his shoulder.
“Don’t be a sore loser.”
“I haven’t lost yet.”
“Emphasis on yet.”
I throw my next ring with a little more force this time. Unlike the last one, it hits the rim of the glass, although it never makes it around the bottle.
Closer.
Julian tosses his next two back-to-back, landing both of them like a show-off.
I turn to face him with a frown. “What do you want if you win?”
“When I win, I’ll let you know.”
Asshole.
Julian and I bounce between tents. Thankfully, he picks games that only require one good arm, although my relief is short-lived as he kicks my butt at the ring toss, the dunk tank, a milk-bottle knockdown game, and a shooting hoops game.
Much to his surprise, I win a game of Skee-Ball, balloon darts, shooting targets, and a match of cornhole.
After drinking some apple cider and snacking on a couple of Coney dogs, we arrive at the final competition with an even score.
“Feeling nervous?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“You’re mighty confident.”
“Because I already know I won.” He guides me toward the last game.
Someone slams the mallet against the plate, and the bell at the top of the high striker game rings like a death knell. This game was Julian’s favorite, so I usually passed on playing it solely because I knew I could never hit the bell like he did.
“I’m down one arm.”
“Is your good one acting up? It wasn’t an issue for the other eight games.”
My eye twitches.
“Do you want to go first?” He offers me the mallet.
“Take it away.” I motion toward the base. Despite knowing I lost, I plan on being a good sport about it and at least trying my hand.
He modifies his grip before slamming the mallet down against the metal base. To no one’s shock, the metal piece shoots up toward the top and smashes into the bell.
“Winner.” The game attendee offers Julian a choice from the wall of plastic toys and stuffed animals.
“Qué lástima,” I say. “It seems like they’re out of blow-up dolls for you.”
He flips me off, making a parent gasp as they walk by.
“Sorry, ma’am.” He looks away with pink-tipped ears.
“Ma’am,” I mimic in that rough, hushed voice of his.
“Shut up and lose already.” He passes me the mallet.
I step up toward the base while adjusting my grip to match Julian’s hold on the mallet. With a deep breath, I swing my arm up before slamming the mallet against the base. The metal piece climbs to the center of the strip, never reaching the bell like Julian did.
“If only I could use both arms.” I glare at the bell.
“That doesn’t matter.”
My eyes roll. “Yeah, right.”
“It’s more about science than strength.”
“Sure.”
“Nico can do it, and he doesn’t have half your power—even with a broken arm.” He passes the carnival worker a ten-dollar bill. “Let me show you.”
“Here.” I pass him the mallet, only for him to shake his head.
“It’s easier if I demonstrate with you.” He steps behind me and places his hands over mine.
Qué lástima: What a pity.
“You want an excuse to touch me.” I speak low enough for only him to hear.
His lips press against my ear as he whispers, “Only because you won’t let me otherwise.” He fixes our hands while ignoring the slight tremble in mine.
“If we smash the plate with all our might”—he swings back with me and whacks the mallet against the base, making the metal piece slide a little higher than mine—“we still won’t hit it.”
“Why?”
“Because you have to hit it just right.”
“All right, Goldilocks. Prove it.”
He repeats the same motion, although this time the mallet hits the center. The metal piece skyrockets to the top and slams into the bell, making it ring.
“See?”
I stick out my tongue. “Show-off.”
He lets go of my hands with a laugh. “Try again and aim for the center.”
I repeat the motion like he taught me. The metal piece climbs higher than before, but it doesn’t hit the bell.
He passes the worker another ten-dollar bill. “Keep going.”
My eyes slide toward the line building behind us. “There are other people who want to try.”
“They can wait.”
I try once more, aiming for the same spot Julian showed me. Although I don’t hit the bell, I’m getting closer.
“Again.” He taps the center of the base. “Right here. Focus more on hitting the target than how hard you hit it.”
“All right.” I follow Julian’s exact instructions to a T, hitting the spot he showed me at the perfect angle with the right amount of strength.
The ring of the bell has me throwing myself into his arms with a huge smile. “I did it!”
He wraps his arms around me, giving me a squeeze, and lifts me up. “You did.”
“I don’t care that I lost the competition.”
“No?”
“Nope! Because that was awesome. I’ve never been able to win that one before.”
“I know.” His eyes shine brighter than the flashing light above us.
A few people around us laugh and clap, reminding me of our audience.
“You can let me down now.”
He follows my request, turning it into a whole ordeal as my body slides down his.
My cheeks burn by the time I land on my feet.
“You put up a good fight.” He hands me the stuffed unicorn he picked out.
“Save me from the fake display of sportsmanship and get on with your gloating.”
“Fine. It felt good kicking your ass again.”
“There’s the cocky Julian I know and despise.” I grin.
Before I have a chance to stop him, he steals a quick kiss. It’s nothing more than a soft brush of his lips over mine, but it makes my head spin and my heart race like I ran a marathon.
“Sorry.” He pulls away and scans the group of random festival attendees waiting for their turn at the game.
“Just…You…We have rules for a reason.”
His gaze drops to my lips. “I know. It won’t happen again.”
Except the strange look on his face doesn’t fill me with confidence.
Julian places his hand on the small of my back and steers me toward the other side of the fairgrounds, keeping his touch to a minimum as we navigate the large swarms of people.
“So now that you’ve officially won, what do you want?” I ask as we near the entrance.
“You’ll find out when the time is right.”
“Julian!” I grab at his arm, but he steps out of reach before I have a chance to latch on. “Where are you going?”
“Far away before I give in to temptation and kiss you again.”
I’m beginning to hate my rule about no touching in public, especially when I’m hit with a sudden feeling of emptiness as he disappears into the crowd.
I was so distracted by his words that I forgot to get an answer from him.
Damn.
