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“A mirror of my layout,” he comments as he walks with me in his arms. We reach my room, and he sits on my bed, repositioning my legs but keeping them wrapped around him.
Julian Sterling is in my bedroom!
“I came over because I wanted to say goodnight, but I also wanted to tell you that tomorrow morning, I want you to wake up with one less secret.” His tone is tender, and his eyes are wanting.
I run my hand through his short hair; it feels silky under my touch.
He reveals who his uncle is and how he is leading the investigation. Naturally, his uncle, being the head of the CIA, found out about us. Therefore, tomorrow morning, he wants us to meet with HR to tell them we have been seeing each other.
“What if they don’t agree?” I ask, a hint of concern in my voice.
“There’s nothing for them not to agree to. We aren’t the only couple working for Sterling Defense. It’s frowned upon but not illegal. We will keep it professional at work, which I know at times might be a challenge, but it’s an obstacle I’m willing to face. Are you?” His gaze searches mine for an answer.
I bite my lip. "Yes."
"I want to be honest with you; this doesn’t mean I can shout to the world that you're mine yet." I feel a heat sweep over my cheeks. "I’m still going to have the CIA guarding me until we find out who is behind the threats."
"I understand," I reply. A cloud covers some of the joy radiating from me. I want to know he’s safe. I hope it doesn’t take the CIA long to uncover who is threatening his family.
Threats are not like a sickness. You get over sickness eventually. Threats are more like plagues, all-consuming. I don’t want to see Julian suffer like I did from a threat hanging over your head.
"Are you okay with this? I know it’s a lot. I will try to minimize the risk to you as much as I can, but—"
I grab his hand. "Julian, I understand. Dating you has risks, but dating always does. Sure, it’s not the same risk you’re facing now, but I know what I’m getting into. I know you’re going to do everything to keep me safe.”
He grins and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. “So, Poppy Moore, will you officially be my girlfriend?”
I feel a flutter of wings in my belly, his question igniting a youthful, carefree sensation within me. “That depends. Are you going to keep putting up twinkle lights and making me home-cooked meals?”
His eyes seem to smile. “Only if you promise not to cook me a steak in the microwave.”
I tip my head back and laugh, the sound echoing lightly in the room.
This is how it should be: the start of a new chapter. Exciting, not hesitant. I just pray it stays this way. We might have erased one secret, but I still have many more buried. I just hope Julian doesn’t find the skeletons in my closet.
Chapter 39
Poppy
The past.
I walk into my bedroom, a deep exhale escaping me, filled with a mix of relief and satisfaction. The project that constitutes a whopping thirty percent of my grade is finally complete. As I let the reality sink in, my moment of triumph is abruptly shattered. Hands grab me, and I am shoved against the wall with such force that the air whooshes out of my lungs. The frame holding a cherished picture of Harper, Peter, Henry, and me crashes to the floor, glass splintering across the carpet.
"And... Andrew?" I gasp, my eyes widening in shock and confusion as his face fills my view. "What are you doing?"
Andrew, the tall, all-American guy that could easily land a leading role on the next CW young adult drama, stands before me, his image now contorting into something darker, more menacing. We have been officially dating for two months, but he has never shown this side of himself. The aggression, the raw anger - it's alien and frightening.
"That hurts!" I protest, my voice strained as I try to push away from the wall, only to realize his grip on my shirt is unyielding, imprisoning me against the cold surface.
To be honest, I’m still in a state of shock over what he just did. I feel the shocked part of my mind burying itself away like a crab running back into its hole before the tide comes up.
His handsome face, usually the picture of calm and composure, is now twisted with rage. His cheeks flush a deep red, his blue eyes bloodshot and narrowed in hostility.
"Were you with Jackson Danville at Roy's Bar?" he growls, his voice laced with accusation.
"What?" My heart pounds in my ears.
Without warning, he slams me against the wall again. This time, pain ricochets through my skull as the back of my head strikes the wall. "You were at Roy's Bar with Jackson Danville," he states, not a question but a verdict.
