Owning Beauty (Taking Beauty Trilogy 3)

I hesitated, trying to think of how to answer that question. He’d told me what they meant in confidence, and apparently, that much hadn’t been a lie. That floored me a little, to be honest. After things had gone sideways between us, I’d just figured it was another line, something to make me feel special so I’d trust him.

Now I knew for sure that wasn’t the case. Jen was the expert, after all. If he’d ever divulged the secrets of what his tattoos meant, she would have known about it.

And I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. It should have been a relief, really, to know I hadn’t been lied to on the matter—but that just made it even more difficult to discern what Julian’s goal was. Where did the lies end the truth begin with him? The pattern can’t be random, Jen had said of his tattoos. If that went for all aspects of Julian’s life, then what the hell was I missing here?

Thankfully, I never did have to come up with an answer, because someone started knocking on the door to the suite.

“Everything all right?” Jen asked me.

“I think so,” I replied. “Someone’s here. I’ll talk to you later.”

I set my phone down on the nightstand and walked out of the bedroom and through the empty living area, peeking through the peephole to see who was out there.

Julian was standing outside, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet. I slowly turned the knob on the door and opened it just a crack—just enough to peek out and get a better look at my so-called husband.

“Don’t you have a key?” I asked him, my tone as flat and emotionless as I could make it. I didn’t want him to know that I’d cried for almost an hour after he left, or that I was still pissed at him. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of any kind of reaction to his bullshit.

“I do,” he conceded, “but since you were mad at me when I left, I thought I’d knock first—seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Not sure you’re one to talk about being gentlemanly, Julian,” I said. “What do you want?”

“A chance to make an apology,” he replied, offering a slight smile. I hated how cute he looked, how just the sight of him reminded me of how he’d felt inside of me.

“So,” I said, trying not to let my voice soften, “apologize.”

“I can’t come inside?” he asked, his smile going a bit wider in an attempt to charm me into opening the door. This was exactly why I didn’t trust him.

“Maybe,” I said. “If I like your apology.”

Julian let out a soft sight, hanging his head dramatically before his expression grew slightly more serious.

“Everything happening here is new to me. The baby, this marriage, whatever this relationship is between us… I know it’s not traditional. I’m used to focusing purely on my career, and you deserve more than that. Whatever happens between us, I promise I’ll do right by you and our child…”

I watched him for a few moments in silence, doing my best to keep my face free of expression. I wanted him to torture himself a bit with wondering whether I was going to let him off the hook or not.

“I suppose I can let you back in,” I said after he’d put on the cutest pout I’d ever seen on a man. I turned away from the crack in the door, determined not to let him see me smile as I opened it enough to let him through.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he asked as he stepped inside, giving me a cautious smile as I closed the door behind him.

“No one ever said you were forgiven,” I warned. “All I said was that I’d let you in. You’re nowhere near being forgiven yet. Not until you explain what the hell you want from me.”

Julian paused, turning his gaze down toward the floor, his eyebrows knitting together. There was something in that look that broke my heart, as though he were trying to find the words to express something that dug deep into his soul.

“That’s… that’s fair,” he murmured, and once again that rakish mask dropped from his face. “Even though I’ve tried to do right by you, I haven’t been honest, have I? Not where it counts. And that’s the true problem here, isn’t it? You don’t feel like you know me. Like you can trust me.”

I didn’t reply. There was no need. Julian obviously knew what was wrong. Maybe he’d known from the start. That didn’t mean he could stop himself from making things worse. It didn’t mean that, when it came down to it, he had the wherewithal to help himself.

And that possibility frightened me in a way that was almost worse than all the others. If he wasn’t pulling a con on me—if he was sincere—but it turned out that the issue was willpower, rather than intent…

That told me he wasn’t especially good at curbing his nature. And that made me wonder… what, exactly, was the nature of Julian Bastille? There seemed to be two separate men in there who were completely at odds.

So instead of talking, I listened. And I watched him pace as he tried to explain, anxiously carding his fingers through his hair all the while.

“The truth about me, love… the truth is since I’ve been with you—since I’ve known about you being pregnant and about the marriage—I’ve felt like I have a chance to be more than I have been.” There was such hope in his gaze, in the upward inflection of his voice. “When I’m not being a twat, I mean. And whenever you’re around, I… I don’t feel like I’m alone anymore. I don’t feel quite so lost. I feel like I’m home. My publicist wants to turn this whole thing into a big fucking game until we can split badly so I can launch an album of breakup songs, but I don’t want to give this up so easily. Not without giving it a shot, at least. A real, honest-to-God try.”

I swallowed thickly. Looking into Julian’s eyes as he made his confession was bringing something up inside of me—something that I hadn’t expected to feel. I felt a sense of total clarity, a firmness of belief I’d thought was long gone, after all the walls he’d put up, all the masks he’d worn. But the way Julian was talking to me now, the things he was saying, the raw emotion with which he was saying them… it reminded me of how he’d sang to me back in the restaurant. I’d heard the same passionate tremor in his voice then, felt the same openness and vulnerability. When Julian Bastille sang, all his walls came down. Maybe that was the only time they ever did.

Except now… now they were tumbling down right in front of me, not in a chorus or a verse, but in the form of desperately constructed sentences, awkward word pairings, spur-of-the-moment choices in prose. This wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t well-thought-out, and it wasn’t guarded. Julian had just opened a door to himself, and had invited me in.

And the truth is… I wanted to make this work too. Maybe my life needed something to shake it up and get me out of my own rut.

Slowly, I took a step toward him. He stopped moving, lips still parted, but no further sounds coming out. I took another step, closing the remaining

distance between us, and then reached out to grasp his hand.

“I… haven’t hated having you around,” I said, biting on my lip as I thought of something more meaningful to say. If I expected Julian to be open with me, then it had to be reciprocal. “In fact, when your manager isn’t around, you’re a whole different person, Julian. You’re a man I could see myself spending time with. I want to get to know the real you. I don’t know if we can make this work, but damnit, I’m your wife and I want to make this work too. So help me Elvis!”

The little laugh he gave was gut-wrenching. Like he had waited his whole life to hear someone say these words to him. Like no one had ever been interested in who he was, outside of who he could be for them. Was that why he was so reluctant to drop the act? Because every time he had tried, he’d been hurt?

“So,” he began, wetting his lips, “what you’re saying is… I might not be half-bad?”

“I think you’re more than just ‘not half-bad,’ Julian. The problem is I don’t know for sure. Not with the way things have gone between us so far. And given what’s at stake…” I glanced down at my stomach. It was still so surreal to me that there was a little life inside there, and that in a matter of months, it would start to show. “…I’m a little afraid to take a risk.”

That was what it boiled down to, in the end. Now that I’d said it out loud, the weight of those words came crashing down around me like a ton of bricks. I was the kind of girl who made lists and plans, for whom change was a terrifying concept. I always drove the speed limit. I always went with the tried and true method of confronting obstacles. I never chose the path less taken, but rather the one well-trod, where I could walk in the footsteps of others. I’d never once made a decision by following my heart. I’d always trusted my head, and until now, I’d been absurdly proud of that fact.

Now I was starting to see that feeling something, even letting yourself get swept up in it, wasn’t a bad thing. Passion didn’t have to be a weakness. In fact, it could be a great strength. It could open the doors for so many more possibilities than you’d ever dreamed of. It could take your life from “right on schedule” and “good enough” to something beyond imagining—something wonderful.