Chapter 168
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The balcony is quiet–too quiet, after the sensory overload of perfume and paparazzi inside.
I step into the night like I’m waking from a dream, the cold biting at my bare arms. I wrap them around myself and lean against the railing, trying to breathe.
Paris.
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Lily Ellington just offered me a gateway into a world I’ve only conjured in my wildest dreams. And it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t some cruel
test.
It was real. Real enough to make my pulse race.
Real enough to bring all the anxiety and doubt flooding in.
What if I fail? What if I get there and everyone sees right through me? What if they laugh at my sketches and my shaky French?
I stare out over the city. Even from here, Chicago pulses–gritty, electric, alive in a way that gets under your skin and stays there. The El hums in the distance. Neon signs flicker against brick facades.
Except for that UN trip in New York, I’ve only ever known this city
Paris might as well be another world away. Another freaking dimension.
“Where would we live?”
“What about Paris?”
The memory hits me like a wrecking ball to my chest, knocking all the air out of my lungs. I grip the railing to steady myself.
For one brief, magical moment, Nathan and I were going to run away to Paris, and make our home there. And now—
A hand shifts into my line of vision, palm open, a shiny penny winking up at me.
I look up and raise an eyebrow at Julian Ellington. “What’s this?”
He gestures like he wants me to take the penny, and when I do, he smirks. “For your thoughts.”
My laugh catches me off guard. “Tell me you don’t carry this around just to make that joke.”
He shrugs. “You never know when you’ll meet a brooding beauty that needs to be distracted.”
I snort, my fingers closing around the penny.
“So,” Julian starts, leaning his back against the railing so he’s facing me. “What’s got you all contemplative?”
“Who says I’m contemplating?”
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Chapter 168
His finger presses gently between my brows, right on the furrowed line forming there. “This.”
ས
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I sigh, folding my arms on the railing. “What is it?” he urges. “Too many fashion legends in one room? Did someone insult your palate by calling McDonald’s ‘pedestrian‘?”
A shaky laugh escapes me. “No. I think I’m just overwhelmed.”
He nods like he understands. “Mom has that effect. She’s like a fairy godmother with a six–figure Amex and a terrifying gift for bringing out the best in people.”
“She offered to send me to Paris. To study fashion,” I whisper, like saying it out loud might undo it.
He smirks, looking unsurprised. “Guess I have to rethink blacklisting you.”
I snort. “Yay my bright future.”
He chuckles as I sigh, staring down at the city below. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” I exhale hard. “Because I’m not cut out for that world. Because my French is terrible. Because…it’s Paris. I’ve never left the country, Julian. I don’t even have a passport.”
“Well, lucky for you, those are pretty easy to get,” he says, matter–of–fact. “Much easier than talent. And from what I hear, you’ve got that in spades.”
I shoot him a look. “You barely know me.”
“Maybe. But I know Lily; I know Lara. And they don’t waste time on people who aren’t extraordinary.”
Extraordinary… That word doesn’t sound like it belongs in the same space as me.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Did you ever feel like this? Like…everything was too big for you?”
“Nope.” He shrugs. “I was born for the glitz and glamour. It’s in my veins.”
I shoot him an annoyed look, and he bursts into sharp laughter that floats down below.
He smiles, something wistful in it. “My first month at L’Officiel? I nearly had a meltdown in the office bathroom because I couldn’t tell a couture pull from a sample return, and my editor barked at me in French so fast I thought I was having a stroke. I went home and seriously considered booking a flight back to Chicago with my pride packed in my carry–on.”
I blink, “You? An Ellington cried in a bathroom?”
He mock gasps. “How dare you tarnish my image. I prefer to think of it as a single, stoic tear.”
I snort. “Right.”
“But yeah. I was terrified. And lonely. And convinced everyone could see I didn’t belong. But then I learned, I adapted, and one day, I woke up, and I didn’t feel that way anymore. I started seeing the magic. The cobblestones, the cafés, the way people dress like they’re
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going to be photographed at any moment. It’s a city that demands your attention–and if you let it, it’ll change you.”
My throat tightens
零四
“You’re allowed to be scared, April,” he says gently. “But you’re also allowed to want something bigger than what you know.”
A breeze catches my hair, brushing a strand across my face. Julian reaches out without thinking and tucks it behind my ear. It’s such a simple gesture, but it feels like a hug.
Julian Ellington… He’s a breath of fresh air. He makes me forget all the heartache and mental stress I’ve been through.
“I have a little sister,” I admit. “She’s nine. Has diabetes. I’m her only family in this world, and I can’t-”
“Then take her.”
I blink. “What?”
“Look, Paris isn’t Mars. There are schools. Apartments. Hospitals. Real people live there. If your sister’s the reason you’re hesitating, bring her. Figure it out together. You don’t have to have it all mapped out to say yes to something amazing. And I’m pretty sure her expenses aren’t going to break my mom’s back.”
I look at Julian, really look at him, and he just smiles–crooked and confident and so deeply kind.
“You’re really good at this.”
He smirks. “What?”
“At making people feel better, putting them at ease.”
He bows. “It’s the Ellington charm. Genetically embedded.”
I snort, looking back out into the city buzz.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He bumps my shoulder. “You’re welcome, Parisian.”
I scoff. “It might be too early to call me that.”
He shrugs. “Well, if it sways your decision in any way, I’ll be there too. So at least you’ll have one friend.”
I raise a brow. “Is that what we are? Friends?”
“My mom and sister have already imprinted on you. I might as well.”
I snort. “If Lara ever forgives me.”
“Well, let’s find out, shall we?”
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I spin on my heels to find Lara leaning by the door, a brow arched.
“Lara,” I breathe.
:
“I’m heading home,” she announces, and her lips pull into a bare–there smile. “April, wanna come with? We can talk.”
My stomach flutters, and my brain immediately compartmentalizes, momentarily pausing all fretting about Paris to fret about the conversation to come.
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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.
