No, if what Julian says is true—and I’m inclined to trust him on this—it’s best if my parents don’t appear to have too close of a connection to the Esguerra organization.
Their ability to lead a normal life depends on it.
* * *
On the night before Julian is scheduled to leave, I ask Ana to prepare a special dinner for us. I recently discovered that Julian has a weakness for tiramisu, so that is our dessert for tonight. For the main course, Ana makes lasagna the same way that Julian’s mother used to make it. The housekeeper told me it was his favorite dish when he was a boy.
I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like a good meal will suddenly convince Julian to forego the cruel pleasure of getting his hands on Majid. I know my husband well enough to understand that nothing can dissuade him from that. Julian is used to danger. I think he even craves it to some extent. I’m not foolish enough to think that I can domesticate him with one dinner.
Still, I want this evening to be special. I need it to be special. I don’t want to think about terrorists and torture, abduction and mind fuckery. For just one night, I want to pretend that we’re a regular couple, that I’m simply a wife who wants to do something nice for her husband.
Before dinner, I take a shower and blow-dry my long brown hair until it’s smooth and shiny. I even apply a little eyeshadow and lipgloss. I don’t normally put this much effort into my appearance, since Julian is already insatiable as is, but tonight I want to look extra pretty for him. My dress for the evening is a strapless little number, ivory with a black trim at the waist, and my shoes are sexy black peep-toe pumps. Underneath, I’m wearing a black strapless pushup bra and a matching thong, the most wicked lingerie set I have in my wardrobe.
I’m going to seduce Julian tonight, for no other reason other than because I want to.
He gets delayed by some last-minute logistics, so I end up waiting for him at the candle-lit dinner table for a few minutes, anxiety and excitement battling for supremacy in my chest. Anxiety because I feel sick thinking about tomorrow, and excitement because I can’t wait to spend time with Julian.
When he finally walks into the room, I stand up to greet him, and his gaze fastens on me with breathtaking intensity. Stopping a few feet away, he runs his eyes over my body. When he lifts his eyes back to my face, the fire that burns in the blue depths sends an electric tingle straight to my core. A slow, sensual smile curls his lips as he says softly, “You look gorgeous, my pet . . . Absolutely gorgeous.”
A flush of pleasure warms my skin at the compliment. “Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes glued to his face. He changed for dinner as well, putting on a light blue polo shirt and a pair of gray khaki pants that fit his tall, broad-shouldered body like they were made for him. With his dark, lustrous hair back to its former length, Julian can easily pass for a model or a movie star vacationing on a golf resort. My voice sounds breathless as I say, “You look pretty amazing yourself.”
His smile widens as he approaches the table and stops in front of me. “Thank you, baby,” he murmurs, his strong fingers curving around my bare shoulders as he lowers his head and captures my mouth in a deep, yet incredibly tender kiss. I melt on the spot, my neck arching back under the hungry pressure of his lips, and it’s not until Ana pointedly clears her throat behind us that I regain my senses enough to realize that we’re not in our own bedroom. Embarrassed, I push him away, and Julian lets me, releasing me and stepping back with a smile.
“Dinner first, I guess,” he says wryly and, walking around the table, takes a seat across from me.
Ana, her cheeks slightly red, serves us lasagna, pours us each a glass of wine, and disappears before I have a chance to do more than say a quick thank-you.
“Lasagna . . .” Julian sniffs appreciatively at the food. “I can’t remember the last time I had this.”
“Ana told me your mother used to make it for you when you were little,” I say softly, watching as he takes the first bite. “I hope you still like it.”
His eyes lift from his plate, his gaze locking on mine as he chews the food. “You arranged this?” he asks after he swallows, and there is a strange note in his voice. He gestures toward the wine and the candles burning on the outer edges of the table. “It wasn’t Ana who set all of this up?”
“Well, she did all the work,” I admit. “I merely asked her for a few things. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? No, of course not.” His voice still sounds a bit odd, but he doesn’t question me further. Instead he begins to eat in earnest, and the conversation turns to my upcoming exams.