by Kat T. Masen
Julian mentions something about his publicist and gracefully excuses himself, promising to meet me back at the bar. I watch him walk away and assume the blonde latching onto him is his publicist. Letting out an annoyed huff, I move toward the bar.
It’s time to get some alcohol into me, especially if I’m here to entertain myself, or so I thought until an eccentric-looking man stands beside me. Judging by his gray ponytail slicked back and his tan, making Mickey Rourke look like an albino, I’d say he’s in his late sixties.
“G’day, darling. Whatcha got there?” He motions at my drink.
“Uh, some fancy champagne,” I answer, lifting my glass.
“I can tell by your accent you ain’t a local. Don’t drink that stiff stuff. Bartender!” He whistles to the man. “Mate, give this girl a Tooheys dry.”
The bartender grabs a glass and holds it under the tap. I see the foam filling the glass to the brim. On closer inspection, it looks very similar to beer.
The music is louder than I expected, forcing me to lean over and raise my voice. “I’m not really a beer drinker—”
The man roars in laughter. “Darlin’, that’s what they all say.”
Four beers later, I’m as drunk as a skunk. The stuff tastes like shit, but Barry’s hilarity entertains me. He’s a storyteller, and something tells me that him wrestling with a crocodile is his biggest claim to fame.
“So which fella are you here with?” he asks.
“No fella, well, it’s kinda complicated.” I let out an unexpected burp, covering my mouth in shame.
“I got a nephew about your age, lives on a farm up north. I think you two would hit it off,” he slurs.
“Aww, thanks, Barry, but I’m hoping this new guy is it. I mean, it’s crazy complicated, you know? He dated… no sorry, was engaged to my best friend. My brother hates him to the core. It’s insane, right?” I let out a hiccup, oblivious to my incessant rambling. “So why can’t I stop wanting him? He is so delicious and smart. God, did I just say all that? What the crap is in this Tooheys?”
“Nothing that makes ya heart lie, young lady.” He laughs.
I take another drink of the beer, unaware the warmth invading the space beside me is Julian. He stands almost touching my body, his aftershave close enough to inhale. I close my eyes for a moment, allowing the sensation to spread to areas in my body that lay dormant.
Holy shit, I can’t avoid this.
“Everything okay?” He looks between Barry and me.
“Awesome. Have you met Barry? Barry, this is Julian,” I introduce.
“Congratulations, mate. I read your book, and you, fella, are talented.” He raises his glass to toast.
Julian is humble, thanking Barry and briefly chatting about the book. Maybe it’s the four beers, or is that now five, which left me with the impression Julian doesn’t want me alone with Barry. He stands over me in an overprotective manner.
Fuck, that’s kind of hot.
Okay, it’s pep-talk time, Adriana.
First, stop reading books with alpha males because it’s fucking fiction. Except for my brother—he is alpha male to the extreme.
Gross, now you’re thinking about your brother?
Shut up, brain!
I can see Julian is trying his hardest to keep his hands away from the small of my back. You know—that jealous she’s-with-me gesture guys do. It isn’t my imagination. I bet my life on it.
And maybe another beer too.
Julian’s publicist walks over. I try not to listen to their private conversation, distracting myself with the view when I feel the palm of his hand on the small of my back.
Okay, brain, you won this one. Holy damn.
“I need to go do an interview. Will you be okay with Barry?”
I let out a high-pitched laugh. “Barry? He’s as harmless as a crocodile in the wild!”
Barry raises his glass, roaring in hysterics at my pathetic joke.
“Slow the drinking. Okay?” Julian warns. He walks away once again with his publicist. Slow down the drinking, pfft! Okay, Dad.
“My nephew got no chance against him. Darlin’, you got yourself a great catch.” Barry grins.
“He is gorgeous, right?” I slur, watching Julian smile as he shakes the hands of some guests. “I mean like sooo damn hot, you just can’t look away.”
“Look in the mirror, darlin’, you’re a little firecracker if ever I met one.” Barry winks, then announces he is off to dance, leaving me alone. Maybe it’s the copious amounts of beer, but my eyes will not peel away from Julian and his publicist.
Okay, so she’s pretty with her platinum-blonde hair cut in a sharp bob. She isn’t exactly skinny, but she has the curves in all the right places, and when I say curves, I mean her boobs and ass are to die for. God, when did I become an insecure loser? She’s wearing a strapless silver dress which falls just above her knees with killer legs and tall pumps. My focus moves toward her body language. She is practically throwing herself at Julian. That fake laugh, the arm resting on his forearm, all the typical flirtatious moves.
It’s like she’s trying to claim him.
The heat rises in my cheeks as the pit of my stomach aches in jealousy.
Okay, but he isn’t mine. Why the fuck am I getting jealous? Maybe because he is hot, and every woman in the room has their panties in a fucking twist and then some.
Including yourself.
This unfamiliar feeling of jealousy is something I’m not accustomed to, and I hate that my train of thought leads to Elijah. I loved him. I had been secure in our relationship. Maybe back in high school there were some catfights, but for most part, I trusted him. Girls didn’t throw themselves at him.
So, is this a trust issue? I consider the fact that Julian had been in love with my best friend and tried to ruin her marriage. Both of us have a past, a past filled with great memories involving other people. This isn’t like when Elijah and I first started dating. We were kids with no past except for a few stolen kisses with other kids in junior high.
I shake my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts. An older gentleman takes to the stage and introduces himself as the head of Lantern Publishing Australia. He delivers a speech, praising Julian on his journalistic efforts which has brought him here today. After applause from the crowd, he welcomes Julian onto the stage.
Julian is calm, welcoming everyone in the room. His confidence astounds me, a far cry from the broken man I stumbled upon months ago. We often spoke about how life changed for him, but despite everything he endured, I can’t be prouder than to see him building his future once again and doing it all on his own now. In front of this crowd, something about the way he owns the room reminds me of my brother.
“To be standing here today isn’t only a dream of mine, but a reminder of our privilege. We live in a world where anything is possible. Our daily struggles are not the lack of water, food, or freedom. We’re programmed to believe one person can’t make a difference, however here I stand as one person. When you read their stories, your heart is reaching out to them. When you purchase my book, it’s bringing fresh water to a village. For as long as I have a voice, I’ll continue to share their stories and, in return, ask for your continual support. Thank you.”
The crowd raises their glasses followed by another loud applause. A few drunk folks in the crowd whistle—of course, Barry is one of them. Blondie is quick to get her hands on Julian as soon as he walks off the stage.
Fuck that bitch.
Annoyed, I walk toward the lady who’s distributing the books. I may have glassy eyes, but I can read the blurb. Julian is no doubt extremely talented. His book is a memoir of his time spent abroad. Reading the blurb alone leaves me all teary-eyed. I turn the page to read the dedication.
Dedicated to you.
My friend, my demon, my savior.
I shut the cover and hold it toward my chest. Quickly, I grab my purse to hand the lady a bill, interrupted as Julian’s tight grip pulls my hand back.
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br /> “I’ve got a special copy for you,” he murmurs into my ear.
Placing my hand into his, he leads me outside to the balcony. Only a few people mingle, the majority have moved inside as a local band starts to play.
“Big night for you.” I struggle to make conversation, the blonde playing on my mind. I want to ask him if he is fucking her. Surely, that isn’t inappropriate? You’re an idiot, and you are drunk.
“Yes, and I couldn’t have asked to share it with anyone else besides you.” He smiles.
“Or your publicist,” I blurt out.
Fuck.
He distances himself, turning to face me while pressing his lips together. “You don’t trust me?”
“You’re so fucking hot, and every woman in this room wants their hands on you. I’m not stupid, you need sex, and I’ve had way too much to drink,” I babble incoherently.
“Does every woman in this room want their hands on me?” His smirk leaves me breathless.
“Yes… no… I don’t know. Is Tooheys really just beer?”
He nods his head in amusement and turns to face the water. We remain quiet for a while as we both stare at the ocean. He asks me if I want to dance. I nod, and we make our way back into the room. Placing his arm around my waist, he pulls me in as the soft beats of Michael Bublé play in the background. I lean my head on his shoulder and enjoy the music until the song switches and ‘Unchained Melody’ is played.
Our wedding song.
A familiar, anxious feeling rushes through me. The weight of my decisions, where I stand, who I’m with instantly riddles me with guilt, and without even thinking, I pull away and run for the exit. Julian quickly follows me outside, watching me struggle to gulp for air.
“Adriana… what is it?” he asks in a panic.
“I want to go back to the hotel.”
“Okay, give me a minute. Stay right here, and I’ll just say goodbye.”
He enters the building, and with minutes passing, I walk toward the street and hail a cab back to the hotel as my tears fall freely—the weight inside my chest burdening my soul.
I hear my phone vibrate, but I ignore it, waiting until I’m alone in my room.
It’s not a long ride over the bridge but long enough for my guilt to manifest into something bigger. When the hotel is in view, I’m relieved, paying the driver and exiting quickly.
As soon as I’m back in my room and the door closes behind me, I break down in sobs and fall to the ground. In a feeble attempt, I pull out my cell and read the text sitting on the screen.
Julian: We need to talk.
I don’t respond, and it isn’t long before I hear the gentle knock on my door. I’m scared to open it, scared to see his face and feel the conflicted emotions swirling around me. I’m unable to rid myself of the wave of pain which rises and falls, depending on the tide.
Unlocking the hinge, I open it slightly, not looking at his face. Moving aside, he brushes past me but doesn’t enter much further. I lift my head to trace his body. His tie is removed, and the top three buttons of his shirt are undone. With his chest slightly exposed, a stir awakens, and again, I’m conflicted. It’s been almost three years since I’ve been intimate with someone, and to make it worse, I have only ever been with one man.
One man.
The words ring in my head.
My eyes move up to his and reflecting back is worry. Great, now I feel like shit for making him worry about me.
“Adriana, what happened back there?” His soft tone calms me.
I don’t say a word, sick of this rollercoaster of pain. I do the unthinkable and grab his jacket so his body is flush with mine. I don’t give myself time to think, arching my neck as my lips trace his chin until they are firmly locked into his. There’s no resistance, the sweet taste of his tongue circling mine. His hands cup my face, the intimate touch causing this meltdown within me. I hear him moan and feel his hardness press against my stomach. This frenzy that’s consuming me forces me to move my hands toward his belt until I feel the warmth disappear from my face and his hands are gripping my wrist, pushing me away.
Out of breath, our lips unlock, and we’re both standing still, chests pumping loud, eyes wide.
“Adriana, we can’t.”
Confused and rejected, I answer back. “Wh… why? I want this,” I say unconvincingly.
He rests his hand on the wall behind me, towering over me in this tight confinement of the entrance. He closes his eyes, attempting to compose himself, fists clenching. “Because you’re not ready. Whatever happened back there upset you. I don’t want you to regret your actions.”
“You don’t want me to regret my actions?” I ask, taken aback. “Or are you scared you’ll picture Charlie instead of me?”
I watch his face drop, his lips press tight as he holds in his anger. Instantly, I feel ashamed for my pathetic accusation. What the fuck is wrong with me! I reach out to him once again in an apologetic gesture, but he flinches, and I know I’ve caused damage which can’t be erased no matter what I do right now.
“Here, this is for you. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” He opens the door, and I stand there numb as it slams it behind him.
My hands are shaking and within them sit his book. I walk over to the bed, falling instantly against the pillow as I allow myself to cry. Even in my exhausted state, the presence of his book beside me has me curious. I sit up against the bed and prop the pillows behind my back. Turning on the lamp, I lift the book and carefully open the insert. Written in bold is his personal message to me.
Adriana,
Good things come to those who wait.
I’ve waited, and you, Adriana, were worth the wait.
Yours, Julian.
I officially have the hangover from hell.
The glare of the sun filtering through the window does nothing to ease my pain. Grabbing the pillow beside me, I throw it at the window, hoping for a miracle in which the drapes will shut by themselves. My head is throbbing, the foul taste of beer in my mouth urging me to run to the bathroom as fast as I can.
After emptying the contents of my stomach for what feels like an eternity, I hop into the shower to wash away the regret over what I said to Julian. It was uncalled for. I was a downright bitch all because I thought I am not good enough. If my husband didn’t think I was worth staying alive for, then why would anyone else want me?
Stop with this self-pity crap.
An hour later, I’m standing in the hallway staring at his door, planning out my apology—word for word what I am going to say. Raising my hand against the door, I knock gently. Nothing. My mind immediately thinks the worst, and my knocks become frantic until the door opens.
Julian rubs his eyes. His beautiful disheveled hair a result of me waking him up. My tongue is unable to connect to my brain as I find myself gawking at his chest. Standing in only his boxers, how can I not look. I mean hot damn, he’s cut to perfection.
My eyes trace the lines of his abs.
One… two… three… four… five… six, I count to myself.
“Adriana, it’s early,” he mumbles, sleepily.
Lost in my abs daze, I quickly speak, “I… uh… I came to say sorry, Julian.”
He motions for me to come inside the dark room. Walking over to the windows, he opens the drapes, then grabs a T-shirt hanging off the chair. I take a seat on the edge of the bed as he sits on the small tub chair by the window.
“What happened last night?” His voice is somber.
“I drank too much.”
“Yes, you did. But what got you so upset that you had to run away from me?”
I nervously play with the ring on my middle finger, my eyes glancing to where my wedding ring used to sit. There was a time when anger consumed me overshadowing my grief and yearning to bring my husband back. The band reminds me of a life promised, and so, in the midst of my raging emotions, I removed the ring and stored it inside a small trinket box Elijah gave me in high school. I half-expected to feel a lo
ss when I removed it, but it never came. What came was more pain, more anger, and resentment toward a man who isn’t here to even defend himself.
“Our wedding song, it played. Your publicist… I don’t know, there was just too much going on.”
“My publicist?”
“She was all over you.”
He remains silent, something he does often because he actually thinks about his words unlike myself.
“It’s understandable that a song would upset you. Studies show that—”
I interrupt him in frustration. “Screw fucking studies. It hurt, okay! I hate that one minute there’s this ray of hope, and then, bam.” I raise my hands, the anger swelling inside of me. “Some stupid thing will trigger all the pain. I’m so over feeling this way. Sometimes I just want to forget he ever existed.”
Silence.
“And stop being quiet. Just say it… say whatever it is you want to say.”
“It’s before eight in the morning. I’m tired and mentally drained. You’re hungover and clearly tired as well. Nothing I say or do right now will please you, so if you don’t mind, I really just want to sleep a bit more.”
He takes his shirt back off and closes the drapes. Walking over to the bed, he pulls the covers off and climbs in, resting his head on the pillow, rubbing his face with his hands.
Great, what am I supposed to do now? The room is silent and dark, the jetlag settling in, not to mention I stayed up reading his book. I just couldn’t put it down.
I’m not sure why I climb into the bed beside him and nestle my head into the crook of his neck. Something draws me to him, an unexplainable magnetic force. Gently, he places his arm around me, pulling me in. There’s nothing sexual about this encounter, and for the first time in a very long time, I fall into a blissful sleep surrounded by the warmth of a man.
***
“Are you sure this is just beef?” I use the fork and knife to cut the meat on my plate.
We wake up a little past noon, and Julian decides we both need some fresh air, plus he really wants to show me around Sydney. We end up at a restaurant overlooking the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House called the Toaster. Apparently, it’s supposed to look like a toaster, but for the life of me, I don’t see it.