Page 87 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“What changed?”

“I'll meet her.”

Daniel is quiet for half a beat. “At the airport?”

“Yes.”

“The car is already arranged.”

“Keep the car. I'll use it.”

Another pause follows.

“All right,” Daniel says. “I'll notify the driver.”

“Thank you.”

I end the call before he can say anything else.

***

The following morning, the car takes me out of central Milan while the city is still settling into the day. Traffic thins as we approach the private terminal, and by the time we pull onto the access road, the sky has cleared into a bright, pale blue. I arrive several minutes before the flight. The driver remains with the car while I step closer to the terminal and check the arrival board. Sophie's plane has landed. A ground attendant opens the secured door a few minutes later, and passengers begin emerging in small groups.

Then I see her. Sophie steps through the secured doorway with her handbag over one shoulder and her suitcase rolling behind her. Her dark hair falls loose and full around her shoulders, shifting in the morning breeze as she crosses the tarmac. She is wearing a fitted black dress that follows the shape of her body before ending neatly at her knees, leaving the long line of her legs bare above a pair of heels that should look impractical for travel and somehow don’t on her.

My attention moves over her before I can discipline it. I notice the confident length of her stride, the curve of her waist beneath the dress, the way she pushes a strand of hair away from her face when the wind catches it. I remember those legs around me in Boston with enough clarity that heat settles low in my body, immediate and inconvenient.

Then she looks up.

Her steps slow when she sees me waiting beside the car. Even from several yards away, I catch the surprise on her face before it softens into something warmer. She hadn’t expected me here. She expected a driver holding her name on a placard, another perfectly arranged piece of Blackwell logistics waiting to move her through the itinerary. Instead, she gets me.

Sophie begins walking toward me again, and I stay exactly where I am, watching the distance disappear between us.

Chapter Thirteen

Sophie

The Alps appear first as a pale, jagged line beneath the wing, snow catching the early light like something almost unreal. I watch them as the plane begins its descent into Milan, the clouds thinning in slow layers until the landscape sharpens into fields, roads, and the faint geometry of a waking city. I should be reviewing notes for the day ahead, but instead I find myself tracking the horizon until the wheels finally touch down with a soft, controlled jolt.

Once I make my way through customs and the arrivals terminal, I expect to see a chauffeur with a sign with my name on it. What I do not expect is Julian standing just beyond the secured exit with one hand in the pocket of his trousers and the Blackwell car waiting several yards behind him.

For half a second, I slow. He is dressed simply by his standards, dark trousers and an open-collar shirt beneath a lightweight jacket, but the effect is somehow worse than a suit. His hair is pushed back neatly, silver catching at the temples in the morning light, and the sight of him pulls a warm, involuntary reaction through my body before I can steady it.

Julian’s eyes find mine and stay there.

“Hi,” I say when I reach him.

“Hi.”

I glance toward the waiting car.

“I thought the driver was picking me up?”

“He is.”

I look back at him.

Julian’s mouth shifts slightly. “I came with him.”