Page 57 of Reaper's Desire

"Do you regret it?"

He's quiet for a long moment. "Sometimes. The work I do... it's not clean. It's not honorable. But it's what I know how to do."

I laugh. "What, do you work for some tech corporation?"

Surprisingly, he laughs at that, that sharp sound that I remember from Ibiza. "No. Worse. But we'll say it's classified."

"Oh, you're government. You're right, that's worse." I snort into my wine, and I see his mouth twitch. We lock eyes, and for a moment, I can feel the air thicken between us. I see his shoulders tense.

"If you don't like it, you could do something else," I whisper.

"Could I?" He chuckles grimly. "When you've made the choices I've made... there's no going back, Isabelle. You can't just walk away and pretend you're someone else."

"But you're helping me. That has to count for something."

"Does it?" He shakes his head. "I'm keeping you alive, yes. But—" He stops himself, jaw clenching. "It doesn't matter."

I don't understand what he means, but I can hear the self-loathing underneath the words. "You're not a bad person," I say quietly.

He snorts, taking another drink. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." I set my glass down and move closer to him. "A bad person wouldn't be risking his life to protect me. A bad person wouldn't care if I lived or died. But you care. I can see it every time you look at me."

"Isabelle—"

"Tell me why." The words come out more desperate than I intended. "Tell me why you're doing this. Why are you risking everything for someone you barely know?"

He stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the struggle between what he wants to say and what he thinks he should say. "Because I couldn't let you die," he says finally, his voice rough. "Because the thought of someone hurting you makes me…. Because you looked at me in that nightclub in Ibiza like I was someone worth knowing, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since."

My breath catches. "Julian?—"

"Your turn." He cuts me off, his voice tight. "You said it was you and your father. What's he like?"

The change of subject has me reeling. The alcohol has me warm and lightheaded, and I feel my heart beating from what he said a moment ago. But I can see from the hard lines of his face that I've gotten all I'm going to out of him for the moment, so I take another drink of my wine, breathing out before I speak."He loves me." My chest tightens. "But since my mother died, he threw himself into his work, and he tends to show it more with money than actually being around. After she died, I got maids and tutors, and he was gone a lot. He's still gone a lot, even since he married my stepmother."

Julian looks at me curiously. "And she is…"

"Vivienne." Just saying her name makes my stomach tighten. "She married my father when I was twelve. I think he thought I needed a mother figure, someone to guide me. But Vivienne never wanted to be my mother. She wanted to be my father's wife, and I was just... in the way."

"She was cruel to you?"

"Not overtly. Nothing I could point to and say, 'this is abuse.' Just... cold. Contemptuous. Like I was a burden she had to tolerate." I drain my glass and reach for the bottle, pouring more for both of us. "She'd make little comments about my weight, my clothes, my friends. She'd deliberately schedule things when she knew I had other plans. Small things that added up over time. And she's always on my ass now about all the things I do. Wanting me to be more proper, more ladylike, et cetera, et cetera…" I wave my hand.

Julian snorts. "You, ladylike?" He takes another drink, his tone turning serious again. "Your father didn't notice?"

"My father didn't want to notice." I drink, too. "It was easier for him to pretend everything was fine. To believe Vivienne when she said I was being dramatic or difficult. To focus on his business and let her handle the 'domestic issues.'"

"That's why you ran to Ibiza."

"That's why I've been running my whole life." I laugh, finishing off my glass and pouring more. "Parties, clubs, anything to avoid being around her, feeling like I'm suffocating under the weight of all those expectations. And now I'm runningagain." I swirl the wine in my glass. "But I guess it feels different now."

"More dangerous?"

"No." I bite my lip. "You see me differently, I think. You don't treat me like a burden, even though you could. I don't feel like an heiress or a spoiled party girl with you, despite how we met. I just feel like… me."

Something shifts in his expression. His jaw tightens. "Isabelle," he says, his voice strained. "You should go back inside."

"Why?"