Chapter 181
Somehow, I don’t end up back in my apartment, or at the coffee shop, or even Lara’s house, which has become something of a revenge
- HQ.
I end up sitting across from Julian Ellington in the same McDonald’s as the night of the Vogue showcase, sipping on a chocolate milkshake.
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“Do I get to ask yet, or are we just going to sip in some more silence?” Julian asks after ten minutes of soaking in the low hum of the ice machine and the soft buzz of the slow afternoon.
I exhale. “Do you find it weird that I texted you?”
He shrugs. “Not as weird as you having my number to begin with.”
My eyes widen. “I’m not a weird stalker, I swear. Lily gave it to me after my interview with Margaux Laurent in case I had any questions about Paris or stuff like that.”
“And do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Have questions about Paris.”
I exhale slowly, wondering why I’m here with Julian. He’s not my best friend, or my sister, or my roommate, or the person I thought would spend the rest of my life with.
He’s…new.
“I dropped out,” I finally say.
His brows rise slightly, but he doesn’t look shocked–just curious. “UChicago?”
I nod. “I’m officially a college dropout.”
He…grins. Clinks our milkshake glasses together. “Congratulations.”
A breath of laughter puffs out of me. “Thanks, I guess.”
“How do you feel?”
A beat passes. I toy with my straw, my voice softer now. “I should be panicking. But I’m not. I’m relieved, actually.”
He tilts his head, his attentiveness pulling the rest of the words out of me.
“My scholarship and that school–it’s been my leash. As long as I had it, I had to make ‘smart‘ choices. Had to toe the line. But now?” I shake my head. “I can do whatever I want.”
My lips curl. “I can go to Paris.”
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Chapter 181
A slow smile spreads across Julian’s face. “You’re actually gonna do it?”
“If I can figure out how to submit a portfolio that doesn’t make me look like a lost Intern who watched too much Project Runway.”
Julian laughs, warm and hearty. “You want help?”
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I nod enthusiastically. “I do. I know you’ve lived there, and you know what they expect. What they love. What makes them roll their eyes. I’m not sure I can do it without you.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” he says. “But yeah, I’ll help. We can put something amazing together. Something tells me it’ll be easy.”
I feel a tiny lift in my chest–a hummingbird flutter that tells me this could actually happen.
There’s this…possibility yawning out in front of me, and everything is clicking in place for me to achieve it.
“Thank you,” I say. “I mean it.”
“It’s my absolute pleasure, April.” Julian leans in and steals one of my fries. “So, what do you want to know about Paris?”
I lean in. “Everything.”
We talk for hours. About the hidden bakeries and the smoky bookstores tucked into alleys that smell like ink and burnt sugar. About fashion week chaos and the silence of the Seine at sunrise. About how Parisians can spot an American a mile away by their coffee order and posture.
Julian’s face lights up when he talks about it, like there’s a part of his soul entangled there.
“You really love it there, huh?” I ask.
He beams. “Yeah. And you will, too.”
“Did you ever fall in love there?” I ask before I can think to stop myself.
His smile twitches, and he picks at the wrapper of his burger. “Not with a person.”
My eyes linger on him longer than I mean to.
There’s something easy about being with him like this. No expectations. No past. Just shared fries and far–off dreams.
He’s nothing like Lucas, I decide. They might be friends for some unfathomable reason, but Julian is innately good. No mask. No pretense.
When the sun starts to dip below the windows and the lights inside get too harsh, Julian stands. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
We end up in his car, windows down, wind tugging at my hair as the city blurs by in amber light.
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He doesn’t say much at first, just lets the music and air fill the space. It’s French indie rock–light, bouncy, unfamiliar–and it makes me feel like I’ve already crossed the Atlantic.
We drive past quiet neighborhoods and too–bright gas stations and eventually, out into a stretch of road that feels like it doesn’t belong to the city at all.
“Ever wonder what your life would’ve been like if you made one different decision?” I ask, my voice caught between the music.
Julian glances at me. “Every day.”
I look out the window, watching the sky fade into lilac. “I’ve spent a lot of my life giving, and giving, and giving. Being something else for everyone else.
“And now?”
“Now I want something that feels like mine. Even if it’s hard. Even if I have to start over.”
Julian slows the car as we pull up to an empty overlook. Below us, the city glitters, blurred by distance.
He cuts the engine, and for a while, neither of us says anything.
“You know,” he says quietly, “I think you already made it. Not because you dropped out, or because you’re going to Paris. But because you finally stopped trying to be a rock for other people.”
I turn toward him, heart thudding a little faster.
He’s not flirting. He’s not performing.
He’s just…here.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Julian grins. “Did I do it?”
“Do what?”
“Make myself the preferred Ellington sibling.”
I laugh. “Lara will gouge your eyes out.”
He chuckles. “She didn’t succeed when I was eleven; she won’t now.”
I chortle, leaning my head back against the seat, breathing in the night. The quiet doesn’t feel empty. It feels full–full of the potential of the future.
And maybe I’m not stepping into that future with the person I thought I would do it with. But my current company isn’t so bad.
We drive back in silence, the kind that doesn’t need filling. When Julian drops me off outside my apartment, he waits until I’ve unbuckled my seatbelt to speak.
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“April?”
I pause.
“I’m glad you called me.”
I nod, smiling softly. “Me too.”
Then I step out and close the door behind me, the cold nipping at my ankles as I walk up the stairs.
The further I ascend, the heavier my steps get. I feel my smile fade, and the weight that dissipated reappears.
How easy would it be to love someone like Julian Ellinton? To have easy, unburdened days like this?
It would be really, really easy–but impossible.
At least for me.
Because my heart is still wholly, irrevocably, Nathan’s.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
