Page 91 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“That sounds ominous.”

Matteo smiles. “Only from people who dislike difficult questions.”

“Then I’ll try not to disappoint.”

The introductions move quickly, exactly as promised. I meet two regional directors, an engineering lead, and a finance executive whose name I write down immediately because there is no chance I will remember everyone without notes.

Julian stays nearby without hovering obviously enough to be called hovering.

Almost.

When Matteo walks me through the European expansion timeline, Julian is within earshot speaking to Alessandra. When one of the regional directors pulls me aside to explain a restructuring decision, I glance up and find Julian looking in our direction. He looks away only after I catch him. I make a note of it and say nothing.

Dinner begins early at a private room not far from the office. It remains entirely professional, but the atmosphere is looser than the introductions upstairs. Matteo tells a story about the first Blackwell office in Milan, Alessandra corrects half of his details, and Julian sits across from me with one hand around his wineglass.

I am listening to Matteo when I feel Julian’s attention. I look up. His eyes are already on me. The glance lasts only a second before Alessandra asks me a question about American coverage of European technology firms. I turn toward her and answer, but the awareness remains.

Later, when the wine is poured again, Julian leans slightly toward me.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“The wine?”

“Yes.”

I take another sip. “I do.”

“I thought you might.”

Something about the certainty in his voice makes me look at him.

“You picked it?”

He lifts one shoulder. “I approved it.”

“That sounds suspiciously specific.”

“It’s wine, Sophie.”

His mouth curves as he says it. I turn back toward the table before he can see how much that small exchange affects me.

The rest of the evening passes quickly. By the time we return to the hotel, I am tired enough to welcome the quiet of the elevator. Julian steps inside with me, and once again as the door closes, the tension is thick enough to make my knees weaken.

“You’re at 9:00 tomorrow,” he says, breaking the silence.

“I know.”

He turns to me as he speaks again.

“Matteo first, then Alessandra. And then the operations interviews.”

“Yes,” I say.

The elevator stops at my floor. I step out, then turn back toward him.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Sophie.”