Page 122 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“What do you do?”

“Nothing.”

“That sounds healthy.”

I smile despite myself.

“I don't invest much in something once I know what it is.”

Her expression grows more thoughtful.

“That must make it hard to believe someone when they actually care about you.”

Her words hit heavy, and I can't tell at the moment if it’s meant as a subliminal message from her. The ease I felt when I entered the room disappears beneath something more exposed.

“Probably.”

Sophie doesn't look away.

“That's a terrible answer.”

“It's the accurate one.”

She gives me a small, almost sad smile.

“I suppose that's better.”

The plates are cleared while we continue to talk, leaving only our wine and the low candles between us. I should change the subject. I should let the evening remain what it has been and deal with everything else tomorrow. Instead, I look across the table at the woman who has somehow worked her way past every boundary I normally keep intact.

Tomorrow she goes back to her life, and I go back to mine. The assignment ends soon after that, and with it disappears every convenient reason I have had to call her, see her, change flights for her, clear afternoons for her, or bring her halfway across Italy. I don't like the thought.

Sophie turns her wineglass slowly between her fingers.

“What are you thinking about?”

“You.”

Her hand stills. The answer costs me enough that I feel the instinct to retreat from it almost immediately.

I don't.

“Sophie, I don't want the article to be the end of this.”

She looks at me without speaking. I lean back slightly, searching for a way to say the rest without turning it into something polished enough to hide behind.

“I know you're in Philadelphia,” I continue.

“You have your career. I have no idea what the next few weeks are going to look like for me, especially after whatever is waiting in New York.” I pause, then force myself to keep going.

“But I don't want to return home and pretend whatever this is only existed because you were assigned to write about me.”

I pause.

“I don’t want it to seem like every touch or every kiss, or act that was done this past month was just for amusement.”

Her eyes soften.

“Julian—”