by Greta Milán
“Of course,” replied Julie, stepping aside. “I’m alone.”
Isabelle planted a kiss on her cheek and swept past her into the kitchen. She dropped a bag of croissants on the table and draped her coat over the back of a chair, then turned expectantly to Julie.
“Nice outfit,” said Julie. Isabelle’s fiery-red hair was held uncharacteristically neatly in place by a purple hairband, and she wore a vivid purple dress with a garish lime-green scarf coiled around her neck; a pair of violet ankle boots rounded out the look. “Daphne?” guessed Julie with a smile.
Isabelle nodded wistfully. “I fancied a bit of nostalgia today,” she explained.
“And that means dressing up as your favorite Scooby-Doo character?”
“Sadly, Kermit was in the wash.”
Julie giggled. Isabelle’s grass-green jumpsuit was one of her favorite garments. No one but Isabelle could wear something so hideous and look so good in it.
“But looking at you now, I realize I should have conjured up something red from my wardrobe,” Isabelle continued with a grin.
The color of love.
Of course.
“Would you like some coffee first, or do you want to start in on the interrogation right away?” asked Julie.
“Coffee first!” decided Isabelle. While Isabelle poured herself a fresh mug of coffee and topped off Julie’s half-finished one, Julie pulled out cutlery, sugar, and a jar of Nutella.
“When does your shift start?” asked Isabelle.
“I’ve got to leave at ten thirty.”
“Then we’ve got plenty of time,” she announced, satisfied. Clutching a carton of milk under her arm, Isabelle took the mugs over to the dining table, sank down wordlessly on a chair, stirred three spoons of sugar into her mug, and took a big gulp. “I’m ready,” she said, grinning expectantly.
Julie took a croissant slowly out of the bag, spread a generous layer of Nutella over it, and then filled Isabelle in on the developments of the past few days. She said nothing about his skin disorder. That was his business, and besides, it was of secondary importance to her. Of course she felt sorry for him—cursed as he was with that fate—not only because of the pain he had to endure, but also because of the cruelty he’d experienced that had shaped his character.
“It just happened,” said Julie, bringing her account to a close with a grin so wide it hurt her cheeks.
“Did you at least take precautions?” asked Isabelle with uncharacteristic seriousness.
“I’m on the pill,” she said, ignoring Isabelle’s incredulous gasp. For all her joie de vivre, Isabelle had learned the hard way that her carefree nonchalance could not be extended to all aspects of life. Julie had stood by her during the agonizing weeks that followed a certain fateful night and understood her concerns. But Bastian had to undergo thorough health checks far more frequently than she did, so she needn’t fear infectious diseases. “But we used condoms anyway.”
That seemed to pacify Isabelle and won Bastian a few more points.
“So how come you’re not all tangled up with each other in your bed right now?” asked Isabelle. “Ready and waiting for round two?”
“Four.”
Isabelle licked her Nutella-smeared knife luxuriously. “Congratulations.”
Julie smiled as she finished off her croissant.
“He’s got an appointment at the gallery this morning,” she replied.
Her friend rubbed her hands eagerly. “Excellent. I can lie in wait for him and threaten him with all kinds of hell if he dares to break your heart.”
“Please don’t.”
“Oh, come on. It’d be fun!”
“For you, perhaps,” said Julie indignantly. “But we’ve only just begun our . . . relationship. I want to take things slowly.”
“Slowly?” asked Isabelle scornfully. “So, to recap, you’ve known him for five days, and that’s being generous. On the first day, he gave you the cold shoulder, you spent the next two days in silence in a warehouse—”
“One and a half,” interrupted Julie quietly.
Isabelle raised her eyebrows and continued, “Then you spend a day at the zoo with Luke, and he”—she raised her hands and made air quotes—“stayed the night. The next day, you invited him to your father’s birthday party and then went to bed with him. Have I got it right?”
Julie bit her lip and nodded, a bit taken aback. Described like that, it hardly sounded like she was taking things slowly. If you were thinking about someone nonstop, time took on a whole new dimension.
Isabelle broke out in peals of laughter. “So what’s it like when you’re rushing into things?” she cackled.
“You’re a crazy nutcase.” Julie crumpled the empty croissant bag into a ball and threw it at her friend, who was now almost in tears from laughter.
“No, no, you’re quite right. Anything else would be a mere waste of time. You know what I always say,” she wagged her index finger in warning, “live every day as though it were your last.”
Julie folded her arms sulkily.
“Aw, come on, honey,” said Isabelle. “If it’s true what Elena says—and you in your oh-so-subtle way—I wish you all the best.” She brushed a few crumbs from her sleeve. “Even though he came across as a real cold fish to me,” she added.
“You’re wrong,” said Julie. “He’s not really like that.”
Isabelle shook her head in sympathy. “You’re head over heels, aren’t you?”
“Looks like it,” replied Julie with a smile.
“As long as he makes you happy, he’ll have nothing to fear from me.” Isabelle finished her coffee. “Now, I hate to rain on your parade, but we ought to get going soon.”
She didn’t feel like going to work, but she gathered up the dishes, took everything to the kitchen, and hurried into her bedroom to get ready.
Isabelle accompanied her to the café.
“What are your plans this week?” asked Isabelle on the way, giving her a cheeky grin. “Apart from the time spent in the bedroom.”
Julie giggled. “I hope that’s going to play a major part in my leisure activities.”
“Lucky you.”
“But otherwise, I’ve been invited to a party on Friday.”
Isabelle stopped abruptly. “A party? Without me?”
“You can come if you like,” offered Julie. “It’s Gabriel’s birthday.”
“The sexy Spaniard?” she asked hopefully. Isabelle knew him from various student parties they’d been to together.
“The very same,” confirmed Julie with a smile.
“I’m so there.” She suddenly stopped in alarm. “Or is Bastian going with you? I certainly don’t want to hang around with a besotted pair of lovers.”
Julie shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. He didn’t seem too taken with Gabriel.”
“Getting his claws out already?” cooed Isabelle.
“Let’s just say I got the impression that he might send out the wrong signals if he came.”
“What kind of signals?”
“The keep-away-from-this-woman-or-there’ll-be-trouble kind of signals.”
“Has he got a violent streak?”
“Of course not.” Julie grinned. “That’s why I said the wrong signals.”
“Possessiveness is so sexy,” said Isabelle.
“As long as it doesn’t go too far.”
They turned the corner to the Siesmayer and stopped by the entrance.
“So, see you on Friday. My place at half past eight?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Great. Looking forward to it.”
“Me too.”
After giving her friend a quick hug, Isabelle set off for the gallery to discuss her latest publicity campaign with Elena.
Julie hurried through the entrance
of the café and past a group of leather easy chairs arranged in pairs around small round tables. In the corners were a number of well-worn sofas that were popular with groups. At the back of the small room was a rustic timber bar, which was always polished to a shine. Despite the slightly outdated floral wallpaper, the café was a popular meeting spot. Julie was sure this was due largely to the scent of the room, a blend of freshly roasted coffee and chocolate cake.
She looked inquisitively around at the customers. An elderly lady sat by the window looking out as she stroked her shaggy lapdog; three young men were laughing, deep in conversation; and a middle-aged couple was sharing a slice of chocolate cake in companionable silence. Everyone appeared to be happy.
Upon reaching the bar, she tossed her bag into the corner and tied on her apron. Her coworker, John, was already waiting for her. John was an aspiring actor, but as was so often the case with creative professions, success was a long time coming, so he took side jobs to make ends meet and support his family. Julie enjoyed working with him, at least in part because of his mellow approach to life.
As she studied the list of orders, she asked about his little girl. Ever the proud father, John gave her an effusive account of his daughter’s first halting steps and first words.
As the café filled up around midday, Julie hurried back and forth between the tables, the cake stand, and the small beer garden on the back patio while John prepared the orders. Julie preferred it when the café was busy, in part because the time passed more quickly, and also because she earned more tips.
In the early afternoon, reinforcement arrived in the form of their boss, Sasha. At first glance, the stocky, tattooed biker hardly looked like the owner of a respectable café, but his passion for chocolate cake was equaled only by his gentle nature. For these reasons alone, Julie liked him a good deal.
Jo arrived at the café the minute Julie’s break began. Though they were five years apart in age, they could easily have been mistaken for twins. Jo wore her dark-brown hair a little shorter than Julie, and her face only had the addition of small crow’s-feet at the corners of her dark-brown eyes. Otherwise, Jo had the same dainty build, clothed that day in an olive-green pantsuit. The sheaf of documents under her arm further emphasized the professional businessperson image she projected, an image she had inherited from their father. She wove her way between the busy tables to the bar, where Julie was preparing two cups of coffee for them.
“Hi, Sis,” she greeted her.
“Hey.” Julie smiled. “Would you like something to eat?”
“No, thanks. Coffee’s fine.”
Julie set the cups down on the counter. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
She ran into the office in the back to let Sasha know she was going on break and returned with a sandwich from the kitchen. She took off her apron and sat down next to Jo on a barstool.
“How was the christening?” she asked, taking a bite of her sandwich.
“Oh, the usual, you know,” replied Jo with a shrug. “But the party afterward was lovely. We were in the customhouse conservatory. Lily had decorated everything in white and pale pink stripes—even the christening cake matched, though it tasted like cardboard.” She giggled. “And how were things with our dear parents?”
“Not as bad as I feared. Dad was out playing golf, so Mom was on her best behavior. We went through the list of objets d’art she’s put up for sale. Did you know she’s selling Grandma’s music box?”
“No,” said Jo, shocked. “Why on earth would she do that?”
“She considered it superfluous.” Julie mimicked her mother’s nasal tone.
“Why don’t you tell her you’d like to keep it?”
Julie gave a derisive snort. “As if she understands sentimentality.”
“Then buy it from her,” suggested Jo with a grin.
“I thought about it, but the sad truth is that I can’t afford it.”
“It was meant to be a joke,” replied Jo darkly.
“Ah, well, it’s done and gone.” Julie pushed her empty plate aside. “I’m already upsetting her plans for Dad’s birthday party as it is. That small triumph will have to do for now,” she added with a crooked smile.
Jo sat up, all ears. “So you’re bringing Bastian?” she asked eagerly. “Luke loved him.”
“I can imagine.”
“Oh, Mom won’t be the least bit pleased,” observed Jo. “I’ve been keeping my ears open around the office. She’s chosen no one less than Vincent de Rossi for you.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“He belongs to a noble Italian family that’s lived here for two generations. He’s been working for Dad’s firm for about a year or so and was heavily involved in the design of the leisure pool, which included loads of overtime. That’s probably why she thinks so highly of him.”
“It’s bound to impress her more than his appearance anyway.”
“To be honest, he’s really handsome,” said Jo. “Half the women at work are after him.”
“Now I’m beginning to feel a bit sorry for him,” said Julie. “Well, he can at least consider himself lucky that he doesn’t also have to get involved with the boss’s daughter.”
“Have you told Mom that Bastian will be coming with you?” asked Jo.
“Oh, I thought I’d just surprise her.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why not?” said Julie. “Just imagine her face if she suddenly had to start moving chairs around. I bet she’d break out in one of her stress rashes in seconds. God, how I love these things!”
Jo put a hand up to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You’re evil,” she said.
Julie grinned in challenge. “No birthday bash without a blemish.”
“No party without pimples,” responded Jo instinctively.
It had been their battle cry when they were younger and had been presented at various garden parties in smart little dresses. Somehow the two girls had found a way of calming their mother and alleviating these noticeable indicators of stress, whether caused by clumsy movements, overturned red-wineglasses, or interrupting the guests with naive questions. Of course, it had never happened intentionally, but somehow the sisters had gained comfort whenever they were grounded for misbehavior. Julie smiled at the recollection. Unfortunately, they’d grown up all too quickly.
“I still think you should tell her ahead of time,” Jo insisted. “You know how she can bear a grudge. She’ll only end up taking her frustration out on Bastian.”
Julie sighed miserably. “Spoilsport.”
“There’s a good girl.” Jo patted Julie’s thigh affectionately before propping her chin on her hands and studying Julie. “Now, tell me all about him.”
“He’s the photographer from the warehouse.”
“Ah, so that means you ultimately have Mom to thank for the fact you met.”
Julie frowned. Jo had a point. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“His work must speak well for him. The agency wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t good at his job. That graphics agency’s been working for us for years. And he’s good-looking too,” Jo added.
“That’s not all,” Julie went on. “He’s incredibly bright and charming.”
She recalled how Bastian had fired all those questions at her on their first evening together. He knew every book she’d read, her favorite paintings, and the wonders of the world she wanted to visit most. She’d been out with men in the past who didn’t even know such things existed.
“We’ve got a lot in common, and he makes me laugh. He’s”—Julie paused as she searched for the right word—“he’s simply incredible.”
Jo had been watching her closely. “You’ve got it bad,” she observed.
“I’ve been unable to think about anything else since I met him.” Julie brushed a lock of
her hair aside. “Actually, it really scares me.”
“Why?”
“It’s just that I’m afraid my bubble might burst one day,” she confessed.
“That’s nonsense,” said Jo.
Julie stirred her coffee. “He’s also got a darker side, you know.”
Jo looked at Julie expectantly, but she pressed her lips together in tense silence. Julie had said too much.
“Has he got a criminal record?” asked Jo abruptly.
“No,” said Julie in horror.
“Mentally unstable?”
“Of course not.”
“Has he got dubious moral views?”
“Oh, stop it now.”
“I’m only asking because I’m sure you’re quite capable of sorting out anything else”—she explained with a smile—“with time, patience, and trust.”
CHAPTER 17
A smile was playing on Bastian’s lips as he watched Julie through the window of the café. She was standing behind the bar and joking with a dangerous-looking biker as she polished glasses. Although the man was clearly as taken by her as Bastian was himself, Bastian didn’t see the man as competition.
When Julie noticed him through the window, she waved. Although he was tempted to go in and see her, he decided to wait outside until she had finished working.
He indicated that he would wait by the door, then took out his phone and checked his e-mail. There was an acknowledgment of receipt from the agency regarding the warehouse pictures he’d sent that afternoon. He hadn’t been worried they wouldn’t like them; the graphics agency had been satisfied with his work for ages, and indeed they were this time too. They had also sent offers for two new jobs, which Bastian immediately accepted. The busier he kept himself, the less likely he was to indulge in brooding. He had long ago come to terms with the doubts that were his constant companions, but ever since he’d met Julie, they were driving him to distraction. He had still not found a way to still them.
When the door opened, he looked up and shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket.