Chapter Sixteen

Julian

O ver the years, I had developed several Sunday routines focused on self-care and recharging. I discovered my all-time favorite form the first morning we woke in Christopher's new house. We'd indulged in languid foreplay in the early morning sunlight that turned into a headboard-banging good time with me on my knees, my ass in the air, and Christopher plowing into me. The only thing he'd set up, and the most important in my opinion, was his bed, which we collapsed onto, panting and laughing after we climaxed.

"We probably shouldn't linger in bed," Christopher said. "We'll fall asleep."

Usually, that wouldn't be a big deal, but Christopher was owed several favors, so there would be a lot of people showing up to help us set up his house.

I slapped his bare ass. "I'll start the coffee, and you fire up the shower."

"Put something on," Christopher said as I slid from the bed. "The curtains aren't up yet."

I laughed as I pulled his T-shirt over my head and padded to the kitchen where I'd had the foresight to dig out the coffeemaker and supplies the previous night. I started moving a little faster when I heard Christopher shuffling around because I didn't want to miss a moment of his wet, naked skin bumping into mine in the shower.

We didn't dare dawdle because the Carnegie clan was known for their punctuality. By that, I meant they arrived at least thirty minutes early. We'd barely managed to get all our clothes on before the doorbell chimed.

"They're here," Christopher said, drawing out the last word like the little girl in Poltergeist before darting out of the bedroom.

I followed behind him at a more leisurely pace and had just reached the doorway when my cell phone vibrated with an incoming text, then another and another. Clearly, someone was eager to get in touch with me, though my nearest and dearest would either be present or knew I had a busy day ahead of me. When I saw two text messages from my sister and one from my mom, I assumed they just wanted to show their support for Christopher's big move. They started their messages with warm sentiments for a smooth day, but they also dropped a link to an article about Jorja's wedding. Mom added a little note, letting me know the article included a nice write-up about the dress I'd designed. Jorja's second text was all caps and shouted that the article had gone viral and all the comments were about the dress. At first, I thought she was pissed I'd stolen her thunder, but her last sentence set me straight.

I'M SO PROUD OF YOU! THIS COULD BE THE brEAK YOU NEED!

"Julian!" Harper called out. "We brought donuts, and your boyfriend won't let us eat them until you come out. He can only fend us off for so long."

I tapped out quick responses to my mom and Jorja, thanking them for sharing the article with me, and set my phone down. That's when I noticed the missed notifications from my various social media accounts. The sheer volume was staggering and overwhelming, and I chose to walk away from them rather than tumble down the rabbit hole.

Harper hadn't been joking. Christopher had placed himself between the donuts and his family. Our eyes met when I entered the kitchen, and he must've sensed something was up because he abandoned his station and crossed the room to me.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I said, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Mom and Jorja just sent me a link to an article about the wedding. I guess it included a nice write-up about the dress, and it's getting a lot of attention."

Christopher's smile was broad, putting his dimples on full display. "Congratulations. I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you. I promised them I'd read the article later and text back."

Harper appeared beside us and extended a Boston crème donut toward me. "Saved the last one for you."

"Jerked it right out of my hand," Coy said with a cute pout in his voice.

I felt bad and offered to split it with him, but he shook his head and chomped into a jelly-filled pastry instead.

Reno, Emma's fiancé, lifted his own Boston crème to toast me. "Here's to fast hands and fierce women."

After devouring an embarrassing number of pastries, we divided up tasks. Since Shelby was pregnant, I handed her the clipboard containing my master plan, which included color charts and sketches showing where everything went.

"What about the spare bedroom?" she asked. "I don't see anything about it."

"Don't worry about it," Christopher said. "I'm planning a surprise for Julian."

Of course, that triggered catcalls and wild speculation about what he planned to get up to in there.

"It's not a leather room or sex dungeon," Christopher said.

"Damn," I replied, snapping my fingers. "When do I get to find out what it is?"

"After everyone goes home."

More catcalls and suggestions followed Christopher's response, and he just smirked and shook his head. "Get your minds out of the gutter and get back to work."

Dallas, Coy, Reno, and Christopher's friends did most of the heavy lifting while the rest of us unpacked. We'd labeled the boxes by room, which made it so much easier to sort and put things away. We'd made a lot of progress by the time I retrieved my phone to order pizza. There were additional social media notifications and direct messages, missed calls, voicemail messages, and more texts from my friends and extended family on my phone.

I knew the attention was supposed to be a good thing, but those dreams no longer belonged to me. Christopher was the future my soul yearned for, but tendrils of those old dreams rose unbidden, whispering luring things in my ear. I placed our pizza order, then turned off my phone before I could give in to the temptation to read what people were saying about me.

As always, mealtime with the Carnegies was a boisterous affair filled with laughter and love. They eased the heaviness in my chest, and the sweet kisses I stole from my man during quieter moments chased my anxieties away. Plus, I had Christopher's surprise to look forward to after everyone left. When Shelby decided to take a nap after lunch, I reclaimed the clipboard and lost myself in the process of making this a perfect home for Christopher.

"Where do you want to hang the vintage guitars?" Denver asked.

"In the living room," I said, showing him the sketch.

He patted me on the shoulder. "That's going to look nice. You have a keen eye for things." The compliment moved me, but I didn't have time to dwell on it because Audrey wanted help arranging the family china in the built-in cabinet in the dining room.

"This belonged to Denver's grandmother. She gave it to us after we were married with strict instructions to pass it on to our son and his love someday."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Shouldn't you hang on to it for a little while longer?"

She smiled gently and shook her head. "He's finally found the right person. Trust me. A mama knows these things."

I flung my arms around Audrey and hugged her tightly. "I was a shattered mess when I arrived in Savannah, but your family put the pieces back together again."

She pulled back and cupped my face. "We'd love to take some credit, but you're the one who put in the effort. We just gave you unconditional love and watched you flourish."

"We'll have to agree to disagree about that," I said.

We worked together carefully unpacking and stacking the dishes inside the display cabinet.

"Looks like they were made to be here," Audrey said once we finished. She kissed my cheek and asked what was next on my list.

By four o'clock, we had the house set up, and the only things left to put away were his clothes and toiletries, which we could tackle on our own. Christopher and I expressed our gratitude as everyone left, and we invited them back the following weekend for a cookout.

I turned to face Christopher once we were alone. "And now my surprise."

He took my hand and led me to the guest room. Christopher opened the door, and I saw the antique sewing table I'd fallen in love with while we were shopping for furniture. My eyes misted up as I ran my hand over the worn wood.

"I originally planned to sand and refinish the table, but I thought you might prefer its original condition."

I nodded through my tears because Christopher got me. I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him. "I love it so much. Thank you."

He tipped my chin up and said, "Move in with me. I know it might seem soon to most, but we've been circling each other for three years. I don't want to spend a single night without you."

I threw my arms around his neck and tucked myself under his chin. "I don't want to be without you either."

We kissed for a long time before breaking apart to tackle the final task on our list—setting up the bedroom. As happy as I was, I kept glancing at my phone. Christopher must've noticed because he picked it up off the table and brought it to me.

"You've been at it nonstop today. Sit down someplace quiet and soak in the adoration your stunning design deserves." He kissed my forehead and returned to hanging up suits in the closet.

I walked out onto the front porch, eased into one of the rocking chairs, and powered up my phone. I didn't know where to start, so I read the article Mom and Jorja sent me first. My craftsmanship had received glowing praise, and the writer included several close-up photos of the handknitted lace and the meaning behind it. There was even a video added to the magazine's social media presence. My eyes bulged when I saw it had been viewed a million times already. I skimmed over the hundreds of comments and was moved by the beautiful messages. My social media accounts had gained thousands of new followers, my YouTube views were off the charts, and I had hundreds of messages stretched over my accounts. I skimmed over them again because most just expressed how beautiful the dress was, but a few asked for custom dresses for upcoming weddings.

One message stopped me in my tracks, though. It was from Jonathon Henry, my favorite designer, whom I'd met briefly during my stint on The Next Face in Fashion . He congratulated me on a beautiful design and said his executive assistant, Emilia Sandoval, would be in touch soon. I started to reply that I looked forward to it but stopped.

"She'd be in touch for what?" I asked, scanning the messages but not seeing one from Emilia.

I shifted to my email next and found one from Rex Hyland, one of the executive producers from The Next Face in Fashion. According to Rex, he was developing a reality show and thought I would be the perfect star. But the email that shook me the most came from none other than Greer Spalding.

Darling, I may have acted too hastily. Let's talk.

xoxo

I mimed jerking off until I realized I was sitting on the front porch in broad daylight. I glanced around to see if I owed anyone an apology, but no one seemed to be looking in my direction. I felt overwhelmed and put my phone away without checking the texts or voicemail messages. I lost track of how long I sat there rocking until Christopher came out with a plate full of reheated pizza and two beers.

"Everything okay?" he asked as he dropped into the rocker next to me.

I leaned forward and kissed his lips. "I'm good."

He quirked a brow. "But our clothes are on, and our dicks aren't touching. How good could you be?"

I laughed and took a sip of beer. "Are you offering good?"

Christopher turned his head and sniffed his pits. "Maybe after a shower." He studied my face intently. "Judging by your expression, you might need something besides sex."

"Said no man ever."

Christopher chuckled but reached for my hand. "Did you get a lot of proposals today?"

For a minute, I misunderstood what he meant and said, "A few."

He leaned a little closer. "Are they better looking than me?"

I remembered the attention he'd received after his stint on CrimeStoppers . "Not that kind of proposal."

"What kind are they?"

"I'm not sure," I replied and recapped the messages for him.

"Sounds like some of them are sorry for the way they treated you." He reached over and brushed a lock of hair off my forehead. "You should at least listen to what they have to say. That way you don't have any regrets."

"About?"

"Us," he said.

"No way," I said emphatically. "You're the dream."

"I don't want to be the one to dim your sparkle."

Christopher repeating Lulu's sage advice on the porch she loved so much was my undoing. I plopped myself in his lap, and he enveloped me in his arms.

"You make me sparkle brighter," I said. "I never expected to be this happy, and I don't want to lose what we've found."

Christopher pressed a kiss against my temple. "I'm not going anywhere, and that's a promise you can take to the bank."